"Lee, I don't understand," Michael says helplessly. "I don't know enough Hebrew, I'm sorry, I should have paid attention in shul like Pop said."
Their fingers in his hair are uncharacteristically clumsy and weak. He holds their body more tightly to his (because regardless of what they might be saying, they need to be held), and then the inside of their elbow presses against his neck and he feels the bandage.
He looks to the side, gets a glimpse of it. This close, he can smell the disinfectant. It's obvious what happened now. The thought makes him furious, makes him ill. It makes him want to run, right now.
So he does.
-*-*-
They reappear in the living room of the New Jersey portion of their home, wrapped in a similar pose. The two of them are bound together by a series of strong black tendrils and the room is dark and cold; in their current state Lee couldn't get away if they tried.
Michael doesn't say anything. All he can do is look at them and keep trying to tell himself they're alive, they're alive.