Author's Notes: A drabble for the Cave-in Challenge at ds_flashfiction. Huge thanks for beta to isiscolo, and china_shop, who also gave me the title.

This weight is wrong. The weight on his shoulder should be a large, slightly sweaty hand accompanied by a leer or an insult or a lunch order. It's a weight he's never had to carry before, though he's farewelled his fallen brothers from the sidelines too often. He's sure nothing can pry the brass handle from his grip, but this weight has its own momentum, bearing it to the ground. After the dull echo of gunfire fades, after everyone has gone, he stands on watch as the polite carpet is rolled up, and the earth falls in on his partner.