The morning after is always quiet. It doesn't stay that way long, mostly because of Patty, but until at least ten, the house is silent. Kid sleeps off his fit. Patty colors him a get-well card with eight giraffes with eight spots each on them and watches television. I study, or try to.

Soul usually leaves after Kid falls asleep. Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't stay, but at the same time, I know that Maka needs him more than we do, after that. But last night he stayed longer, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee with me long after Patty went to bed. The first half of the night, we were silent, but the time had come to discuss the breakthrough. "So Kid's mom was a pretty sick fuck, wasn't she? Uncool." Soul's face didn't change as he took another long drink from his mug.

At first, I just sat there. What could be said that we weren't both thinking? Soul kept going while I thought. "Liz, he needs help. He needs medication and therapy. Maybe sometime as an inpatient would do him some good. He-"

"No."

Soul looked startled for a moment before turning to see Patty standing behind us in the doorway. She gripped her giraffe tightly, glaring. "Kiddo doesn't need a crazy doctor. He needs us."

However, this time I couldn't agree. "Patty go back to bed. We'll talk about it later. Soul was just making a suggestion."

Instead, she sat down next to me and stole my untouched coffee mug. "Kiddo stays with us."

Soul and I exchanged a long look. "We'll see," I said aloud. But the unspoken agreement had been made.

Usually the morning after was almost peaceful. It was lighter, freer. However, today was filled with tension. Shinigami had made arrangements from Soul's and my suggestion. Patty would most likely never forgive us.

Convincing a sleepy, docile Kid to dress and get into the car that Shinigami sent was almost painfully easy. Getting Patty in was not.

"How could you, Sis? How could you!?" She kicked at me. "NO NO NO NO NO! I won't let you! No! I don't wanna go with you, you're a bad sister and I hate you!"

In the end, the sleepy-eyed Kid watching from the doorway was what got her into the car. In the end, it was preferred to stay with him until the end.

Shinigami cared about his son. The care-center was close enough for easy visitation and was one of the finest that he could find. It was plush, pretty, and welcoming. Not sterile, organized, and hospital-like, as the ones we'd seen before. But that didn't change what it was, and by the time we'd driven up, Kid knew. His eyes looked sad; his body was slumped into defeat.

But he didn't let go of my hand for a single moment.

I hugged him when we said goodbye. I don't do hugs, but I hugged him. "I don't blame you," he whispered. "And I'm going to get better. I promise."

Patty screamed when we finally pried her away from him.

Three weeks went by. We heard nothing. Protocol said he had to write us and ask us to visit; we couldn't just walk in on visiting days. We had to be on his list. We received no letter.

Of all people, Black*Star was the first to receive one, along with Tsubaki. Her face, at least, was apologetic when they left to see him.

Next was Soul. He went alone. We heard nothing of Kid's status from him. Whatever they said, whatever he saw, and it wasn't for us to hear from him. Only Kid could tell us. If he ever decided to speak to us.

Two months later, Shinigami-Sama received a letter. He came back angry, wounded, and shocked by whatever Kid had told him. But still no letter came to Gallows Manor.

Maka received one. Chrona received one. Even Blair got a letter. Our mailbox stayed empty.

Eventually Patty stopped looking for one. Eventually, I stopped waiting.

Dear Ms. and Ms. Thompson,

Upon the request of inpatient Death the Kid, you are invited to Visitors Day on Sunday, the 22nd of September. We are pleased to inform you that your loved one will be awaiting your presence.

Your attendance is, however, under the enforced policy of working toward the benefit of the patient, and in the name of their healing process. Thank you, your understanding is appreciated.

Woodfolk Mental Health Center

Patty wanted to wear a pink dress that day. Eventually we both ended up in blue button downs and jeans. Symmetry was key, after all.

He was skinnier than I remembered. Not that he'd ever been anything but on the scrawny side, but he seemed slimmer all the same. That could have been that he wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, though, which I'd never seen him wear. In fact, I'd never seen him in any color other than black. His hair was longer, his eyes brighter. His cheeks had more color. His skin was paler.

He was smiling.

The hesitant, shy grin was the most welcome sight in the world. "Liz…Patty…hi."

Patty jumped on him. "Hey Kiddy-Kid-Kiddo! How ya' been? We missed ya! Especially Big Sis, she missed you tons! When are ya coming home, huh? I drew you a card! Look, eight giraffes!"

Kid just hugged her. "I missed you, too, Patty." His eyes meet mine. "I missed both of you. So much."

Later, when Patty was distracted by playing checkers with a patient whose visitor had left, we finally talked. "Six months," was all I said. It was enough.

"If I told you I can't talk about why, would you accept that it was the only way I could get better?"

I shrugged. If I had to, I would. "But still…six months."

"Yes, I know," he murmured. "But I'm better."

"You're better."

"Yes."

"How?"

He looked around the room, his eyes landing on everything but me. "Medication. Therapy. A long talk with my father."

"Why couldn't we be here? Why everyone but us?"

"Different reasons. Black*Star was…I needed a touch of normal. And as a first visitor, he was cheerful enough and unquestioning enough to be easy to deal with. Tsubaki was here for damage control. Soul I had to talk to about…everything. Chrona and the others were part of the steps I needed to heal. My father…deserved a visit. But you…if you had come it all would have been for nothing. I would have wanted to come home. I wouldn't heal. I'd still be…that."

"I missed you," I said.

At the same time, he said, "I can come home."

"What?" My mouth dropped open. "When?"

"Next Tuesday." He smiled gently and it was so new, so healed, that it was almost foreign. "Will you be here? Will you come? If you don't want to, I understand. I kept you waiting. Father can send a car. But I'd like it if you were here."

This was the moment. The one that would change us: either break us or make us. I put my hand on his arm and smiled. He met my eyes and I pulled him forward, touching my lips to his. "Of course we'll come. We'll always come. It's what you do for the ones you love."