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Hollis dragged their fingertips around the side of the hill until they dipped into the hollow, then Walt crawled inside.

The trees stopped at the edge, clearing space for the wild Michigan sky. The moon was too new for light, there was nothing but stars.

Hollis put their arms into their coat so he could tuck one hand around his side and rest the other heavy over their throat.

Tell me.

I don’t want to.

Tell me, Walt, stop hiding from me. I can’t hide from you; it isn’t fair.

You’re going to be angry with me.

Probably.

He could feel Walt’s anxiety like a stomach full of snakes, and there was probably a good reason for it.

What do you think is going to happen? Yeah, I’ll be angry at you, but what then? Will we yell at each other a bit? Maybe I’ll give you the silent treatment? I’m struggling to imagine what is so much more horrible than what’s already happened. I think even if you told me you killed people, I’m already kind of prepared for that, seeing as though you jumped out of a dead guy and then made me hide the evidence. You don’t leave much to the imagination.

That situation was different.

Not for me it wasn’t. I had nightmares about it, I’m still sort of worried about it.

I don’t want you to hate me. I’m afraid that you’re going to hate me, and I don’t think I can handle that. Not now.

Hollis sighed and looked up at the trees.

You’re scared of me getting so angry I turn into another Sam, he said simply.

Walt didn’t answer.

I won’t, Walt. I promise.