_
regret


Fox races out of the alley, alarming Falco in his dumbed down state.

"What the f-"

Rounding the vehicle, Fox reaches in over the door and pulls the lever to pop the trunk.

"What are you-"

Falco's confused attempts to understand the situation are ignored as Fox digs around in the trunk of the car to leave it open and abandon it with something in hand.
Something Falco only briefly recognizes as a tire iron before Fox disappears into the shadows. He fumbles, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car and calling out to Fox as his voice echoes into a sickening thud and yelp from the darkness. His heart pounding as he freezes, body tensing up.

He takes a few hesitant steps forward into the shadows as his heart pounds faster and faster as his eyes adjusts to the heaving and panting silhouette of his friend standing over and obscured figure.

"Fox..." he says, cautiously. "Fox, what have you done."

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses without turning around. "Get over here. Help me. Let's make this quick."


You wouldn't be able to tell, but under Falco's feather's he's turned pale.
His wings trembling and weak.
He doesn't even notice the rain starting again until the sound of the convertible top electronically extending itself overhead snaps him out of his daze. Looking over at Fox, he notices another beer in his hand. Falco doesn't have the stomach to keep drinking. He doesn't understand how Fox does.

Fox juggles the can and the wheel in one hand as he snaps the top into place. He glances over at Falco and there's a brief moment of silence before he says anything.

"Get that side, would ya?"

Falco looks up at the ceiling a brief moment before securing his side of the ragtop roof.
Cutting off the harsh flow of wind as they roll up their windows.

Tension in the silence so thick you could cut it.

"Say something," Fox demands quietly. Not aggressively - but demanding all the same.

"I don't like we did what we've done," Falco says, sounding ill as he feels.

"Yeah, well," Fox sighs, stuffing the can between his legs and rubbing his face. Ears pinned back with stress. "What's done is done. Something we both have to live with."

"What if the cops find us?"

"They won't be looking. Some fucking bum like that? Cops won't be looking for anybody."

"What if we left something behind?"

"What, are you fucking molting now? Don't be such a pussy." No response. Fox sighs. "The only thing we left behind is the dead body and brains of a homeless animal nobody gave a shit about. As long as you keep your fucking mouth shut, we'll be fine."

"I don't feel good about this..."

"Hey. Hey!" Fox keeps bouncing his attention back and forth between him and the road. "I don't have to fucking worry about you blabbing about this, do I?"

Falco shakes his head, weakly. Still trembling. "Confessing to this crime won't make it go away. Won't make me feel any better. I never want to speak or think about this again."

"Good," Fox says, popping his knuckles with the thumb on his right hand. "Good, good."

Falco doesn't say anything. Fox looks back over at him and puts his right hand on his shoulder. Falco looks over to make brief eye contact with him between intervals of checking the road.

"It's gonna be alright, alright? You're gonna be alright," Fox says, massaging his shoulder. "Right, right?"

"Right, right.."