For a moment, Cyrus nearly crumbled under the realization he was back to square one: alone, damned and on the run from whatever would come for him next. For over a month he'd simply been prolonging the inevitable.

Then Tuesday placed a light touch on his arm and tethered him back to reality. No, he wasn't alone, even if he didn't understand why--she'd been so furious with him not so long ago. Remembering how he'd considered her loyalty unshakeable, Cyrus realized it shouldn't be surprising. Raziel had said it himself: this kind of thing...it always comes back.

She was still hurt, Cyrus could see that in how her hand rested on him only briefly before dropping just as quickly; however, Tuesday was a thousand other things in that moment as well. Exhausted. Lamenting. Remorseful. He knew because he felt all those things too, and they warred within him until the emotions all blended together and he couldn't tell the difference between them any longer. It was like when he'd nearly drowned--unable to tell up from down, rock bottom from shore. It was like he'd been driven out to sea on nothing but a tiny life raft filled with holes, and the both of them were going down together.

They wandered silently, absently, until the sky was as black as an oil spill but it no longer appeared empty to Cyrus. It was a blank slate, waiting patiently for the morning to come, as it always would. A small part of him wondered if he should be afraid, if Nevaeh was still out there and would want to exact her rage upon them. A bigger part remembered the world was not as black and white as he once believed, and that she was in pain, too...but not everything in pain lashes out.

Still, they couldn't amble along forever. Eventually Tuesday had to acknowledge the nearly non-stop vibration of her phone and answer it. Cyrus could hear the panicked shouts of her aunt; Tuesday could barely get a word in but somehow managed to console her and promised she was coming home now. When Cyrus fell out of step, she glanced back at him with raised eyebrows.

"I think this is where we say goodbye," he muttered, kicking stones that littered the street and sending them rolling away into the darkness.

"Not yet," Tuesday responded. She was biting her lip but it still wobbled, hinting at the tears that were sure to come. "We both just lost someone. I'm not gonna lose you too, not now. Not yet."

Beyond words, Cyrus could only nod and let her drag him along. He didn't have enough energy left to care about Mary's reaction when he once again showed up on her doorstep--but it ended up not mattering. She looked between him and her niece, and the state they were in must have been blindingly apparent because Mary opened the door wider and let them both in.

"What happened?" Mary asked in a slightly unsteady voice, busying her nervous energy by whisking around the kitchen and readying a pitcher of tea.

Tuesday didn't bother masking the truth. This was, after all, the only other human they knew who could have possibly believed them. With an increasing level of horror, Mary listened; by the time Tuesday had finished, Mary's hands were shaking too hard to continue her work and she sank heavily into one of the dining chairs.

"I had no idea how far deep you were in," she said quietly, tears now sparkling in her own eyes. She glanced at Cyrus with no malice and added, "You poor children."

Of course, Cyrus would have a feeling she wouldn't be so kind if Tuesday had told the whole story, straight from the beginning, not just that night's events. He was not in the place to argue though.

Tuesday spared Cyrus, who had not spoken during the whole story, a nervous glance. "What can we do to fix his, y'know...situation?"

Mary did not respond immediately, rubbing at the frown lines that had appeared on her forehead, cutting deep lines there. "The last time that demon," she finally said to Tuesday, tone souring on the word, "was here, we actually discussed that. You remember when he said you make him more human?" She gave a curt nod in Cyrus's direction.

Tuesday weakly nodded.

"Well, it seems that happened to be more literal than any of us imagined."

Tuesday and Cyrus exchanged a confused glance, neither of them in the mood to solve any more puzzles.

"I hear you," Mary prompted, this time looking at Cyrus, "don't have a soul."

He felt Tuesday's eyes on him but didn't risk looking to see what emotions would be in them. It wasn't a detail he'd ever explicitly revealed to her, he realized, but at the same time it paled in comparison to all the other terrible and strange things she knew about him.

"Well, that isn't completely accurate." Mary crossed her arms and rested them on the table, leaning forward. Cyrus was still shocked at the complete lack of hatred in her eyes. "Every moment you've spent with my niece, she's been giving a little of it back to you."

It was Cyrus's turn to lean back, the force of his shock almost tangible. He didn't understand how it could be true, but at the same time, it was nearly embarrassing how obvious it had been. The answer had been staring him right in the face the whole time. His newfound feelings, desire to redeem himself, even the fact that he'd never even close reached the potential Acheron seemed to envision for him. The soul was a safeguard for magic, the demon had told him, and maybe--just maybe--he really had gained a few pieces of himself back.

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"I--" he took a moment to sort through the chaos this realization had brought him. "Does this mean..."

Cyrus couldn't finish the thought.

"It means stick around long enough and you just might learn what normal is," Mary responded, an edge suddenly entering her tone. She sighed, looking back at her niece as she said, "I never wanted you two to be so close, but I can't deny things may work themselves out in time. To heal from all this, I think you have to do it together."

The three of them mulled this over for several minutes before Tuesday broke the silence with a yawn. Mary smiled softly. "You've had a long night. Why don't you go to bed and we can continue this discussion tomorrow."

Tuesday peeked over at Cyrus, mouth starting to open when Mary quickly interrupted.

"Oh, absolutely not. I may not be your mother but this is just a universal rule of parenting: no boys allowed overnight."

"He has nowhere to go," Tuesday protested, exhaustion giving way to anger.

Mary worked her jaw, staring at Cyrus disapprovingly. "Fine, but one night, and he sleeps on the couch."

Tuesday stood, crossing her arms. "He can take my bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

Mary laughed and Cyrus shrank back, intimidated by the squabble over him, thinking how ridiculous it was. He'd slept in much worse places.

He tried to voice this when Tuesday shot him a look to silence him. "Great, so it's settled," she said quickly before Mary could object, grabbing Cyrus's hand and tugging him to her room.

"Why--?"

"I don't want to sleep alone tonight," she muttered back, voice wavering. "I can't."

Cyrus didn't feel the same way. He'd never not slept alone. Nonetheless, he wasn't in the mood for a fight and let himself be pushed down on her bed--and Tuesday joined him there.

"Aren't you angry?" he whispered. He remained at the end in awkward perch, ready to rise if an opportunity allowed, but Tuesday wasted no time in getting comfortable and laying down.

Eyeing him emotionlessly, she responded quietly, "I honestly don't know. I don't know what I want to do about you but...let's save that for the morning." She propped herself up on one elbow, desperation entering her eyes. "Can we pretend, just for tonight, none of this happened?...I need this."

Forcing himself to breathe even when it stung, Cyrus nodded quietly and joined her. He settled inches away, her presence washing over him until he couldn't focus on anything else. He half-turned his head to see she was lying on her side now, hands folded as if in prayer beneath her head, hair spread out in a blonde halo around her.

"What?"

She gave a small shrug. "I'm just...thinking."

Cyrus closed his eyes, falling deep into all the things he had to think about as well. After an immeasurable amount of time, he noticed her breaths had grown softer and evened out; when he looked at Tuesday, her eyes were shut and she'd come closer--her arm brushing his. Sighing in her sleep, she slung that arm across his chest and turned her face into it.

He stiffened, his own arm half-raised and hovering over her, unsure what to do. For several moments he considered gently pushing her away again to her own side of the bed.

Then he let his arm drop and curl around her, pulling her closer.

Cyrus was powerless against all the memories that came flooding back at her touch: every time she'd made him question humanity and every time she'd helped him doubt it. Cyrus had witnessed her transformation from a little girl in pigtails to the preacher's doting daughter and yet again to Lilith incarnate. Maybe Lucifer had fallen from grace for his hatred of humanity, but Cyrus had fallen for all the opposite reasons.

But that only drove home the realization he had to leave.

The plan yet another group of apparently well-meaning people were setting out for him would not work, not really, because no matter how much Tuesday could help him she was also his weakness. Holding her there in the dark and quiet for just that briefest moment in time, Cyrus realized he would rather bring about the destruction of a thousand strangers than ever hurt her again.

He needed to handle his darkness himself or not all. Maybe for a while he had only been prolonging the inevitable, but the whole experience had finally given him a reason to try.

When Cyrus was sure Tuesday was totally out, he slipped out from under her grasp and padded down the hall as quietly as he could manage. He'd almost made it to the door when he became aware of someone watching him. Cursing under his breath, he slowly turned into the kitchen where Mary was sitting in the darkness; he could just make her out from the faint light coming in through the window.

She watched him emotionlessly before nodding once. Not knowing what to make of it, he nodded back and found the strength to move again. Cyrus left without looking back at the house; the briefest of pauses would crack his resolve.

He would take Raziel's advice and leave the city, but he wasn't quite ready to put New York behind him--there was one more thing Cyrus wanted to do.

He found himself back in the house he'd been raised in. It had long since stopped being a crime scene and was relatively easy to enter, taking the smallest effort on Cyrus's part to break the lock--although he did notice the feat was not as simple as it would have been for him a month ago. Cyrus paused in the threshold, staring at the door and remembering the day he'd leaned up against it, waiting for the girl on the other side to leave.

Maybe Raziel would prove to be right and his past would come knocking once again--he just couldn't be sure yet if he'd be strong enough to open the door this time around. It wasn't for Cyrus to decide.

He finally forced himself to move on, taking his time to scan each part of the house, memories lighting up the darkness and playing in his mind's eye like they were truly being projected upon those walls. There was the kitchen, where he'd learned Acheron's true plans and every foundation that had slowly been cracking suddenly crumbled altogether; there was the den, home to hundreds of hours spent with the demon honing his skills and beliefs, with all the good it did him in the end. Cyrus drifted out of each room, surprised when no sense of attachment held him there. It didn't even hurt, not like it should have.

The place held no significance any longer. It was a skeleton of a home, held together by tears and blood and betrayal. Cyrus left it just as quickly as he'd come.

Cyrus didn't know what lay in wait for him outside the city limits. He didn't know how far away would be far enough, or what he'd do when he got there; he had never been one for looking too far ahead. But he felt for once he knew what he was doing, that maybe he could get things right this time.

He entered the subway and took the ride all the way to its end. With nothing left to do but walk until he'd come upon a reason to stop, Cyrus shouldered all his regret as dawn creeped her red-orange-pink fingers across the horizon and cleared the slate another time.