- Jesus Christ, Dad,
- what are you doing?
- He shot me, the crazy old prick.
- He thought I was Rose.
- What is it?
Holy shit, Dad.
God, what did I do?
God.
Okay, Vicodin.
Here, eat up.
Rose don't need 'em anymore.
How's Nate?
Hopefully he'll forget by morning.
We got to get you to the E.R.
It's a bullet wound.
They'll report it to the cops.
It was an accident.
They can't arrest your father.
Not him I'm worried about.
Okay, but you're going to have to pull this slug.
Think you can do that?
I'll just use a little lube.
I'm sorry.
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