Gareth's eyes flicked up from Winter's prone form as he remembered the others in their group existed. Some looked on, expressions mixed, but most were already looking away. Winter crying was something that none of them were really prepared for--especially when they couldn't offer her any easy answers. Would Zelly be alright? Had they made the best choices they could have? Would everything solve itself in the end?
Gareth didn't know. None of them did. But he hoped it was all true.

He held her tight, not knowing much else to do with himself. He hated it. "Shh, shh," he breathed, one of his hands caressing her bright red hair. Whole chunks of it had been burned away by whatever she'd come up against fighting Percival, filling the air with traces of acrid smoke.

"We'll fix it," he promised her. It wasn't anything like he was lying to make her feel better: he couldn't conceive of a world in which Zelly didn't exist. In which she'd died because of-- because of--

"She's a Vampire, remember?" he tried to soothe her. "She'll be fine. She'll recover, just like she did months ago in the rain. Remember?"
"She'll be alright."