Cyrus couldn't avoid the consequences of his choice forever. In fact, Raziel only managed to watch the signs of relapse—tremors, increasingly violent thoughts—for three days before insisting they make another visit to Mary.

And, of course, that meant Tuesday as well.

When Cyrus suggested they try Mary during the day when Tuesday would be at school, Raziel reminded him of what he already knew: Mary worked the night shift and would be asleep. Waking a tired witch probably had the same success rate as poking a bear with a sharp stick.

There was no use in arguing. The alternative was far worse and Cyrus had no desire to turn back into a crazed killer. The news segment involving the photo with Crocker and the message that could only have been meant for Cyrus had remained on his mind for days; it did his body no favors. His mind had seen better days, as well, both ones where it hadn't been plagued by killing dreams and ones where it had—but it hadn't hurt to have them.

Mary was just as reluctant to help as the last time, but for the most part did so without verbal protest. Halfway through the smudging, Tuesday came downstairs and watched from the doorway, arms crossed. Cyrus imagined there was hellfire in her eyes to champion any demon's, but refused to look that high and see.

As Mary was wrapping up, Raziel began to pester her about their previous conversation.

"Well, did you find anything?"

"You do understand what an exorcism entails, yes?" Mary snapped back. "You take the darkness out of that boy, where do you think it goes?"

Sighing sharply, Raziel turned away to peer out the window with narrowed eyes.

Mary blew out the bundle of sage, the sudden cloud of smoke in Cyrus's face his cue he could sit up. "Although, as much as I hate to admit it," she said quietly, pausing for a moment until Raziel turned back to face her. "You said it yourself. The kids help each other."

From the doorway, Tuesday snorted. Cyrus finally gained the courage to look up at her only to see she was turned away now, shaking her head.

Raziel and Mary exchanged a look before the former flashed a mischievous grin. "Yaknow, I'm new to this whole parenting thing but—whaddya say we lock those crazy kids in a room and force 'em to work out all their angst?"

Surprisingly, despite her eternal hatred for the demon, Mary laughed. The humor quickly drained from her expression and was replaced by pinched lips, downturned eyebrows. "My girl did nothing wrong."

Raziel mirrored the grimace she was giving him. "Oh, but the boy did? You do realize we have bigger issues on our hands than a silly birthday party and some hurt feelings?"

Before the embarrassment of the two taking on parental roles and bickering over him could set in too deep for Cyrus, Tuesday suddenly whirled around. She wrinkled her nose, glaring at Raziel like he was just a dog that had left a less than pleasant surprise at her feet. "Don't think I won't stab you again," she said cooly before spinning on her heel and leaving the kitchen. Seconds later, the front door slammed hard enough to cause the little potted plants along the windowsill to rattle.

Mary laughed again, her humor just as short-lived—she quickly turned semi-aggressive, mostly pensive stare on Cyrus. "Maybe you're under the impression you're in the clear, but I assure you I'll deliver you to hell myself if you don't apologize to her right now."

Cyrus reluctantly got to his feet, halfway to the door when Mary spoke again.

"And make it a damn good one."

The sounds of her and Raziel resuming a hushed conversation came back to him, but Cyrus couldn't make out what they were saying before he was outside and totally out of earshot. Tuesday was pacing the yard, angry breaths materializing frequently on the air to the point it seemed she was hyperventilating. She didn't initially look at him as he tred across the yard towards her.

"One thing, Cyrus, I asked you for one thing!"

"Have you seen the news recently?" he responded weakly.

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

Cyrus waited until most of the redness left her face and the anxious energy subdued just a little. When Tuesday stared at him with dull resignation, he suggested she look it up. He didn't bother telling her what to look for; it was still in the headlines and would be hard to miss.

Muttering under her breath, Tuesday pulled out her phone and tapped at the screen for a minute. Cyrus knew when she found the right article judging by how her eyes widened and her breaths stopped making little puffs of fog in the frosty air. Raising one hand to cover her mouth, she met Cyrus's eyes.

"What—the hell—does that mean?"

Cyrus couldn't help but sigh as a brief wave of relief washed over him; he'd been half-afraid she would suspect him of the crime. It seemed even in anger her loyalties remained solid. Come hell or high water, she was unshakeable.

He shrugged, muttering, "Someone wants to get my attention."

"Well, mission accomplished. But what's going to happen next?"

Cyrus had no answer.

"This shit's never gonna end, is it?" Tuesday said flatly. She sighed, kicking at the ground so hard little clumps of soil went flying. "Here I was starting to think we could finally have normal lives."

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"We?" Cyrus hadn't meant to say it aloud, but through the haze clouding his mind and judgement it slipped out. At Tuesday's confusion, he felt compelled to continue, feeling too far deep in everything to back out now. "What makes you think 'we' can have anything?"

"Excuse me?" Tuesday took a few steps closer, fuming again. "Have you forgotten what I've done for you?

"I kept your secrets," she said, voice rising into a hoarse shout. "I fucking helped—" When Cyrus gained the good sense to retreat, she was already upon him, placing her hands on his chest and shoving with all her might. He stumbled and fell back into the snow. "—you kill," she finished, breaths coming in gasps as she glared down at him.

He thought he was being supportive, in his own way, doing the right thing by trying to show her staying away was the safest option. As long as Cyrus's life clashed with hers, she would never obtain normal. He had no idea how to express this, that much made obvious by Tuesday's reaction to his next words. "I saw you that night, on your birthday. I did come here, but I saw you with—them—and knew there was no point to going inside."

Shaking, Tuesday spat, "Are you jealous?"

Cyrus blinked, looking up at her in confusion. No, that wasn't right. That made no sense; what did he have to be jealous about?

Of course he knew the answer. The normalness she so easily fell back into, the sense of community she had—and that girl's arm around her. Maybe Cyrus was human enough now to understand exactly what he had to be jealous of.

"I think you need a reality check," Tuesday continued in an icy tone. "You're the one who drove me out."

Images of blood clashing with the reality standing before him, Cyrus took the whole "seeing red" thing a few steps too far. Glancing down, unable to look at Tuesday without thinking of the hundred ways he could tear her apart, he saw the angry heat coursing through his body had manifested outward. The snow beneath him had melted, leaving a patch of soggy grass with a diameter of a few feet all around him.

This would be the time to get away, calm down, do anything smart.

Cyrus hadn't made a smart decision in a long time, though.

"Sometimes I wish I had killed you," he said monotonously. "It would have made my life a lot simpler."

The anger drained from Tuesday's face. She stumbled a few feet back, finally regarding him for what he was—a monster.

Nothing had changed, but finally, she saw the truth.

Whatever she tried to say, she choked on the words. Lower lip wobbling, tears glistening in her eyes, Tuesday stared at him frozen for just one moment before dashing past him. She made it to the porch just as the front door opened. Coming to investigate the commotion just a little too late, Raziel didn't have time to move out of the way before Tuesday crashed into him. She picked herself back up in one fluid motion and disappeared into the house as if nothing had happened.

Raziel stalked over to Cyrus's place on the ground. "Uh, kid, what the hell happened?"

"I need a drink," Cyrus responded, not moving from the ground, glaring at his clenched hands.

"You're hitting this mid-life crisis a bit early, don't you think?"

Despite the comment, Raziel went silent on their trip back and once home, immediately brought out a bottle from the bar and set a glass on the counter. "Who would have thought I'd be serving you," he muttered. "Consider this a one time kinda thing, I'm much more content getting paid for this."

Cyrus downed the drink immediately, ignoring the fire it set in his throat, stifling the cough that scraped up it. Snorting, Raziel refilled the glass before coming around to join Cyrus on the bar stool beside him. Not bothering to get his own glass, Raziel tipped the bottle back and took a drink straight from the source. He sighed quietly, leaving one elbow on the counter to half-twist in Cyrus's direction, eyeing him up and down.

"Ever feel like your fate's inevitable," Cyrus mused, spinning the glass in circles just to occupy his shaky hands, "and there's no use in fighting it?"

Raziel laughed softly, taking another swig. "I already told ya, kid, I'm tired—why do you think that is?" He rubbed the label on the bottle absently, studying it for a minute before speaking again. "Considering how easy Ach fell, my money's on that he was, too. Tired."

Cyrus automatically stiffened at the mention of that name. He shut his eyes but what he saw in the darkness they provided was much worse.

Sounding more like he was talking to himself now, Raziel continued, "Wonder what that will be like, dying."

Cyrus couldn't imagine anything bringing him down. At this thought, Raziel shook his head slowly, closing his own eyes.

"That's where you're wrong," he said quietly, peacefully, surely. "My day will come. Could be a year, could be a couple eons...but it'll come.

"But the question is how. Will I cease to exist, or..." Raziel shot a quick glance at him, one so unnerving Cyrus had to look away. "...somehow live on? What a condemnation that would be," he said with a visible shudder, "living on in the likes of you."

Cyrus was beginning to doubt his abilities as a bartender. He didn't imagine many patrons would come back to hear such pleasant conversation.

The front door opened with a soft click, high heels tapping along the floor announcing Nevaeh' entrance before she appeared around the corner. She took in the sight of them at the bar with raised eyebrows.

"Rough day?"

"Trouble in paradise," Raziel said sarcastically. He rose from his seat, stowing the bottle away again and shrugging on a jacket. "My shift starts in thirty. Can you keep an eye on Romeo over there?" Dropping his voice, he added, "I don't think he should be alone."

"I can hear you," Cyrus muttered around another sip of liquor.

Without responding, Raziel slipped out and left him alone with Nevaeh. After a moment she strode over to take Raziel's place beside him.

"Girl trouble, huh?" she inquired with a playful grin. When Cyrus didn't respond, she lightly kicked his foot with her own under the counter. "C'mon now, we're stuck with each other—might as well make the most of it. I'm a girl too, you know, maybe I can help put some things into perspective."

The smile of a seasoned seductress leered back at him, and Cyrus's first reaction was to make up some excuse to leave...but maybe it was time Cyrus get a little open-minded. People had been judging him—right or wrong—without actually knowing him his whole life. He of all people should see the injustice in that.

Shifting on the stool, Cyrus let his next sip sit in his mouth for a moment, savoring the burn. Then he slowly narrated the fight.

Nevaeh remained quiet for a minute, tapping her fingers on the counter and staring off into space. Then she gave a light shrug. "That's a shame she can't accept you for what you are. To me, it sounds like she's deflecting...trying to hide from who she truly is."

"That's not the point," Cyrus muttered, regretting saying anything.

"Then what's the point, Cyrus?" Nevaeh placed a hand on his arm and he resisted jerking his own back. "Forget all the complicated stuff, pretend for just a moment you don't have all that baggage—what do you want?"

"Her." The answer was simple, but whatever implications hid behind it Cyrus didn't know. "But I screwed up. She hates me now." She's going to go running back to her normal, human friends now, he couldn't help but think.

Nevaeh sighed, retracting her hand finally and propping it under her chin. "Don't be so sure. You don't know what the future holds."

Cyrus couldn't believe her. He knew she was trying to be nice and consoling, probably for Raziel's sake—but it just wasn't true.

He and Tuesday were far too different. That had never changed, no matter what Cyrus thought he knew about her.

Mumbling an assent, he drained his drink and stumbled off to his room to sulk.