He stops in the doorway, almost turns around, but pushes on ahead and takes the stairs two at a time, going down.

The sound of the door opening and closing doesn't help anything. He's not sure anything will help, really, and he only gets a few steps out before he stops and sits on the porch, drawing his knees up and crossing his arms over them so his fingers can dig into his shoulders.

He could run, probably for miles, just go until he finds something to hit or yell at or anything. He could, but he can't, in the fact of the sudden irrational fear that this is some kind of test, and if he runs from it, or runs too far, he'll disappear or Billy will and then life will be that much worse.

So he sits on the porch and, thank God, doesn't cry.