[he knows that, deep inside, but there's no reasoning with a madman. back home there isn't, but here there is, and jack struggles to keep it in mind.

jack's hands are bloody, streaks of bright red drying into maroon (like always), but oswald's calms him, steadies him, and bows, pressing his forehead into oswald's hands.]

I'm sorry. [he breathes, shoulders shaking.] I'm sorry, Oswald. I shouldn'tve asked him, my life isn't - mine to give any longer, isn't it?

[he uses oswald's hands to cover his eyes as he tries to calm down, trying to find comfort in the darkness.] It's yours. [oh gross oswald's hands are now wet with salt and tears, sorry, well, not sorry at all for that,] Sorry.

[it's his penance for living, for existing, for that one day when he'll destroy everything that his best friend stands for.]