Dylan's fingers tightened in the fabric of Cam's sleeve. "Tell me how he died." He said softly. "Tell me he didn't kill-" But he couldn't finish that sentence. He didn't know which world be worse, a shooting, a drug run gone back, an overdose. But suicice; it was unthinkable, and yet - not so unthinkable. Hadn't Marijuana said that Dave had been contemplating it before they met? And once that was inside his head, it was all possible. "What did Marc say?" He said, gritting his teeth. "Cam, I can barely, you know I'm sick- I'm having a hard time- thinking." The leaves were lush above his head, dew threatened to drip down onto his forehead. Dew - or blood.