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Somewhere, in the part of his mind that isn't screaming, Buster knows he brought this on himself. A sane person would've quit as soon as danger was looming, would’ve bailed out of town when they were told to, but he had to be stubborn. He always has to be stubborn, and now he’s going to pay the price.
“We did what we came here to do. And there is nothing you can do or say to change that.” The words sound hollow even as he says them, and as he sails higher and higher, a nagging voice in the back of his head asks was it worth it?
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But he’s not going to live long enough to find out.
The lift stops moving. All he can see is Crystal— and Crystal has always been intimidating but now he’s completely unhinged— looking at him with nothing but hatred in his eyes.
"Oh, I can do whatever I want."
And then he's falling. All the breath seems to get sucked out of him. His life doesn’t flash in front of his eyes; instead he watches as Crystal grows smaller and smaller, until he can no longer see the satisfied smirk on his face. The whole world is quiet but for the whoosh of wind in his ears. He tries to scream but he can't breathe. All there is is falling, falling, falling—
Something slams into his back. For a brief moment he’s falling sideways instead of down, and then he lands on something hard and rolls several times before he stops.
Buster holds very still. He’d kept his eyes open as he hurtled to the ground but he closes them now, too scared to see if he’s dead or alive. There are sounds, but it’s all muffled. The only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, still racing with terror. He doesn't dare move, just stays put with his face buried in his arms and waits for… whatever comes now.
Something—someone—is looming over him, and for a moment he’s sure Crystal has found him again. A hand grips his shoulder and Buster can’t help but flinch. The hand quickly disappears. He needs to get out of here, but he can’t move. Need to get up, need to move, need to run—
"—ister Moon? Mister Moon, it’s me, it’s Johnny. Can you hear me?"
Johnny. How is Johnny here? Maybe he hasn’t died after all. It takes all the strength he has left, but finally, he manages to suck in a breath. Whatever fog in his head that had blocked his hearing is gone, and the muffled sounds turn into a screaming roar.
Yelling. A lot of someones are yelling. Music? There's definitely music. It takes a moment for him to place it, but it sounds like Rosita and Gunter’s song for the show. Why are they here, they shouldn’t be here—
The someones aren't yelling, they're cheering. The audience is cheering, because the show is still going on. Someone is talking—Johnny. Johnny is still here, talking to someone that isn’t Buster. It’s a struggle to pick the voices out over the crowd and the music and still-rapid pounding of his heart in his ears.
"…—sn't look hurt… think he's in shock…"
"…—ould I call someone?…"
"…—ive him another couple… go find where my dad…?"
The voices go away. Buster is suddenly scared that Johnny has left him. He dares to open his eyes.
It takes a few hard blinks for the world to come into focus. Underneath him is black metal grating… stairs, these are the stairs to the catwalks. Bright lights nearly blind him as he looks up, so he turns away from that, and finds—
"Johnny?"
His voice sounds wrecked to his own ears. Yes, here is Johnny’s big frame kneeling in front of him, Johnny’s hand hovering over him like he’s scared to touch him. The boy looks so worried and for a moment Buster can't think of why.
"Yeah, it's me, Mr. Moon. Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?"
Oh, that’s why. Is he hurt anywhere? Breathing is still so hard. But he doesn't think that's the kind of hurt Johnny means. "I don't… think so?" The cheering audience gets even louder, and he realizes the song has finished.
"Johnny?"
"Yeah?"
"I didn’t… I’m not…?"
Johnny looks like he’s near tears. "You’re alright, Mr. Moon. Rosita caught you."
Rosita caught him? She must’ve made the jump. She was so scared to do it, but she’d done it for him. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, Mr. Moon,” Johnny lets out a wet-sounding laugh. “She caught you and then she sang her heart out.”
“And you’re okay?”
Johnny shakes his head at him. “You just got tossed off the rafters and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
For about the fifth time that day, Buster’s blood runs cold. Crystal tossed him off the catwalk. Crystal wanted him dead, but here he was, alive, and that wolf wouldn’t stop until he finished the job.
He doesn’t realize he’s started hyperventilating until Johnny grips him by the shoulders and begs him to breathe.
“He’s gonna come back, Johnny, he’s coming for us—“
“He’s not! He’s not, I promise!”
“He is! He said he would, we have to run!” Buster tries to get up, but Johnny pushes him back down. Doesn’t he know how much danger they’re in? Suddenly there are footsteps clambering up the stairs behind them, and surely it’s Crystal, it’s too late to run and—
Johnny has gripped both of Buster’s hands in one of his; the other is firm at his shoulder , keeping him still. He looks up, and says over Buster’s head, “Hey, do you know where Crystal’s gone?”
“Yeah, your dad’s got him,” someone answers. “He’s not going anywhere. He looks pretty mad.”
"Crystal? Or my dad?"
"Well, both of 'em."
Johnny huffs out a laugh. “Did you hear that, Mr. Moon? My dad’s got Crystal. He won’t let him hurt you, or any of us.”
Buster isn’t sure about that. But Johnny looks fairly unconcerned, and he wouldn’t lie to him, so he nods.
“Is he alright?” asks the voice behind them.
"I think so, he just needs a couple minutes,” Johnny says. “Will you ask them to wait down there?"
“Sure thing.”
"Thanks, Nooshy."
Johnny is looking at him again. "Take a few deep breaths, Mr. Moon, before you pass out or something."
Buster tries to do as he says, but all he can manage still are quick, shallow breaths.
"Hey, you're fine, you're okay, take your time. Just breathe."
He slows down, tries to focus on the show still going on below them. Is that Rosita talking? He thinks so but he can't tell for sure. Johnny pulls at him until he's half-laying in Johnny's lap. He works on his deep breaths while Johnny rubs at his back. That’s nice. Dad used to do that, when he was little.
"There you go, that's good.”
“Is everyone else okay?”
“Everyone’s fine, I promise. You wanna go down and sit with them?”
Buster nods. Johnny helps him stand up and a wave of dizziness nearly knocks him right back over.
Buster grips the railing in one hand and Johnny's shirt sleeve in the other. The world still feels like it's going to crumble at any time. They go slowly down the stairs, so many of them, and suddenly there are lots of people talking at him but he barely hears. Everything seems fuzzy again, maybe walking was a bad idea—
Someone— Johnny? Probably Johnny, that's definitely Johnny prying his hand off of his shirt— gently sits him down on the floor against the wall. Someone sits next to him, someone tall, and pulls him to lean against them. Meena, he thinks, but thinking and seeing are too much once again. Someone else sits on his other side and soothes their spindly fingers through the fur on top of his head, and that has to be Miss Crawly. Yet another someone crouches in front of him. His vision focuses just long enough to see Suki holding a water bottle up to him, and he realizes he is indeed very thirsty.
The water helps; his vision clears and he can hear again, and it's definitely Meena he's leaning against, definitely Miss Crawly petting his hair, definitely Johnny and Nooshy and Porsha and Darius looking at him with concern. Definitely Ash singing, somewhere he can't see. He'd know her voice anywhere. Wait a minute.
"I…" He tries to stand up, but he's pulled back down. "Please, I wanna… I want to see the end…"
The others all look at each other, having a silent discussion. They don’t seem to think it’s a good idea, but they help him back up anyway.
They can't see much from the wings, so they go back up the stairs. Buster leans gently on the railing, vaguely aware of Miss Crawly's hand resting on his arm, just in time to see Clay Calloway step out and join Ash. The audience has gone wild.
Was it worth it? The voice in his head asks again. Buster looks at his troupe, cheering just as loud as the audience at the scene below them. At Rosita and Gunter, off to the side of the stage, their grins so wide he can see them from all the way up here. At Ash, radiant in the spotlight, and Clay, joyously doing the thing he said he’d never do again.
Was it worth it? Now, he knows the answer. Yes.