Fetter felt a familiar warmth enveloping his tired body. He opened his eyes, absently hoping to see the same smile that always comforted him.

Golden irises with narrow slits of black glared back down at him, with anger clearly visible in the brows. Don opened his mouth, about to say something, pausing with his frontmost set of fangs slightly folding out. He closed his mouth again for a moment, looking away.

"Don't look so satisfied, Fetter," he finally said.

"How could I not be. I'm alive. You're alive. What could be better?"

"I've put you back together... Just like I always do."

"How long was I out this time?"

"More than a day."

Don walked off, letting Fetter's eyes wander around the room. It wasn't Nero's one room studio, it was something much more familiar to Fetter. The yellowed stone arches and creaking spring mattress told him everything.

"We're underground," he said.

"Yes. Back at home."

"Home."

Don looked back at him, staring for a moment before his gaze drifted down to the floor. "You know, I wanted to ask what happened, but I knew I wouldn't like the answer. With what happened to me. I can only assume it was something terrible here."

"I couldn't tell you even if you did."

"Everything I remember growing up, the red banners hanging from these stone walls. The grainy pillars under my fingers as I ran around in front of the guards walking their paths. Is everyone gone?"

"I don't know."

"How many times have I told you that I wouldn't treat you if you got hurt doing something stupid again." Don's voice started to crack. "Why did you go?"

Fetter looked over, pinned down by the heavy blanket on him. He still hadn't really accepted the sight of the wings sprouting out of what he called his brother. "I felt guilty."

"What?" Don looked back, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I felt guilty. I couldn't save anyone. I couldn't save you. Then Nero just asked for my help, and... I had to. I owed him." Fetter laid there silently, staring up at the fluorescent lights hanging down from the ceiling.

"I fixed your arm." Don said, sniffling. He brought his arm up to his face, wiping his nose on the fleshy area on the inside of his elbow.

Fetter lifted up his arm, snaking it out from under the blanket, looked at it, and remembered the feeling of the bones being shattered in it. Every little piece of bone had to be pieced together like a puzzle, then healed over.

"How long did that take?"

"A while."

He dropped his arm back down to his side, letting out a deep sigh. "Look. I'm sorry."

"That's it? You expect that to fix anything?"

"No." Fetter pushed the blanket off of himself, sitting up on the bed. The hole where he had been shot was gone, not even a scar remaining. "There's some things I have to take care of."

"No! You need to rest. You lost a lot of blood and you'll pass out if you start moving around."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I assume Grant and Nero are back to their normal lives right now?"

Don furrowed his brow. "And?"

"And that means I have to do this myself."

"Do what? What could possibly be so important to risk dying over right now?"

"My men need a grave." Fetter's eyes told of a deep sadness held inside himself. One that he only barely let the world glimpse before shutting it away again.

Don paused, letting go of his tense expression. "They'll forgive you if you rest first."

Fetter laid back down, defeated. "Fine."

***

Rose sat there, curled up into a ball. Her flower patterned pajamas clung onto her body, with tears rolling down her face. Ignatius's arms were wrapped around her, giving her a gentle warmth.

"Igni, I... I'm sorry... I did it again..."

"No, no. Don't be sorry. It's okay. It's okay. I have you, right here in my arms."

They sat there for a moment, the only sound was Rose occasionally whimpering. Their room was plain, with dull beige walls, and pure white molding. The black frame of the bed peeked out from the corners under the light blue sheets wrapped around the mattress, barely in Ignatius's view. The black end table sat with the old lamp, a reluctant gift from his mother.

"I had to, Igni. I had to."

"I know. It's okay."

"It's not okay. I already look like this, and now I made it worse because I didn't do it right earlier. I know you don't like this. I know it's hard for you, why are you just saying it's okay?"

"You said you had to. So you had to. That's all there is to it. We just figure it out now."

Rose started swinging her arms at him, lightly thudding against his side. "Why don't you ever get mad at me. I did something wrong."

"No you didn't."

"You won't love me anymore though, and it's because I messed up."

"Why would I stop loving you?"

"Because... Because I look like a child!"

Ignatius took his arms off of her. He took a few deep breaths, watching her stare back up at him through her tears.

"That doesn't..."

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Right now. Prove it."

"I can't just-"

"Why not? We're married. What's the problem?"

Ignatius turned away, looking at the curtains hanging from the window. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. I don't like saying it. I don't like mentioning it. It's why I ask you not to wear your ring. I'm not like that. It was already awkward for me when you asked me to marry you. Now it's... It's too much for me to be in a physical relationship, and now you want to force me."

"I didn't mean-"

"You did! I know it's hard for you, but it's not hard for just you. I don't want to lose you again. I really don't. I'm really upset at what you did. I'm really upset, but I know I have to let you do these things. I don't think you could forgive yourself if you didn't. What was the penalty this time?"

"Three years."

"Three years younger. Your mind is older than mine, but I can't willingly keep up like this. It hurts. I loved you. I still love you, but you... are you."

"See. I messed up."

"That doesn't matter."

"I love you," Rose said, wiping away the tears from her eyes.

"You should get some sleep, it's late."

"You won't join me?"

"I have to stay up."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to disappear without me having a chance to say goodbye. We're almost out of the couple days. Now good night. I'm going to get some coffee."

Ignatius gave her a kiss on the forehead, before leaving the room. He gave one last look before disappearing down the hall.

***

Fetter kicked the head of the shovel down into the gravel. It wasn't a pretty field full of grass, but it was the only place deep enough that he could dig through. After throwing this scoop over to his side, Fetter wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. He looked around at the giant shipping containers. Despite the giant gashes through them, they still blocked the sight of him from the rest of the city.

They were torn open from that one woman. She could dash around just as fast as him at her full body weight, she could rip through steel using the rocks like a saw, and she could beat him. He angrily pushed the shovel down into the ground again, moving another scoop of gravel.

Once he got a hole deep enough, a full six feet, he grabbed one of the bodies and moved it in. This one was Tom, the man who guarded the entrance. Fetter could hardly look at his face, locked into an expression of pain, even with his eyes closed.

Once the body was in the hole, he started covering it with the gravel, just like the dozen he had done already. Fetter gave a few words for him, and sunk his shovel once more into the gravel.