James and Sirius are both panting. Blood is flooding the linoleum between them from the killer's open skull, and James doesn't trust for one second that he is actually dead this time. He keeps his eyes on the body and picks up the dropped knife and stabs them in the back again and again. The body doesn't twitch, doesn't scream-- the only movement is from the knife going in and pulling back out.
He stands, knife clenched in his hand. He doesn't want to let go; he's afraid to let go. He looks at Sirius, wondering if he'll think he's crazy for this, but Sirius is holding onto the bat in the same way.
"If I say we should burn the body, are you not going to kiss me?" Sirius says.
"Show me the fucking gasoline," James grins, and it makes Sirius laugh.
"Let's take care of this, and- I dunno, get a fucking milkshake."
"I've never loved the idea of milkshakes more."