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Summary
Clenching and unclenching his hands into fists in his pockets, he tried not to think about how he could feel Hoobler’s blood underneath his fingernails. He’d done his best to clean his hands of every little bit of Hoobler from the crevices in his hands. But he never could seem to get it all off. Felt like the aftermath clung to his skin like leeches on a summer day. Always felt like their blood was permanently staining his hands. Senseless violence and gore that would embed itself into his palms. Hoobler’s death in particular seemed so senseless. So avoidable. The weight of being utterly useless in stopping the bleeding sat its heavy burden on his shoulders. Adding itself to the weight of everyone he couldn’t manage to save.
OR: When Eugene fails to take care of himself, he falls badly ill. Babe is left to pick up the pieces