Stephen does put his unbroken hand on the Cat, a steady and warm presence if not actual, proper pets. He shudders now and then -- with pain, with cold from the water that's soaked through his trouers and bandage, with aftershocks of what's just happened. Still he sits, able to offer at least his physical presence even if he doesn't have any words.

They'll need to get up eventually, he thinks. Lay Blue out more respectfully, maybe, before they leave her. Throw that bucket out into the rubble for the spiders to take.

Practical thoughts at least give his mind somewhere to go, let him push away the sickening thought, under the shock and sadness, that this almost simplifies things in a way. He hates himself as soon as he's thought it at all; he and Bluestar may not have seen eye to eye, but she was a living, breathing person. She didn't deserve this. Peter doesn't deserve this.

Never this.