Work Text:
Home is a swift drop. Falling. Wind resistance. Hitting with the force of Dorothy's house as it crunched the witch's bones. Staring down from the roof, staring at the ground, staring at hard concrete salvation, he doesn't think he'll feel it – the crunching of bone and splatter of blood and the force of impact. He's certain he'll be gone before he hits.
So why hasn't he jumped yet?
His fingers curl around the railing, and he has to pry them away. The breeze makes his knees feel weak.
Home is a single, definitive step.
A step he cannot take yet.