When Harry came to, all he was really aware of was the scent of death. His body ached and burned from the energy that had rushed through him. He felt like he had regenerated but, without the energy and excitement of gaining something new, he simply felt like he had lost an old form of himself.

He blinked away the weariness from his eyes and let the scene before him come into focus. Kel was on his knees in the grass, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hands slick with the purple black blood of a Weeping Angel. He had cut its wings off and stretched them out of the ground beside the body. On one wing, he had laid out all of the angel's organs, carefully removed and placed for presentation.

For a long moment, Harry did nothing. He watched in silence as Kel so carefully used his hunting knife to sever delicate blood vessels one by one, until he was able to remove a dark mass that Harry couldn't identify. He laid it carefully with the others, placing it as gently as he would if it were made of glass.

Something about the process was fascinating to Harry and it took him a while to work out what it was. Even though it should have been a ghastly sight, Kel somehow managed to make it look peaceful. He took apart a body the same way Harry might take apart a machine. He understood and valued each piece, handling each with precision and care. It wasn't malicious or violent or angry. There was no triumph or aggression in the victory—only the quiet fact that something had survived and something else didn't.

"Are you feeling better?"

Kel didn't look back when he spoke, keeping his eyes trained on his work. Harry was starting to learn how his ability to sense electrical signals worked and, the more he learned, the more he realized how difficult it was to keep anything hidden. He couldn't pretend to be asleep. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't in pain. He couldn't lie.

"Somewhat." His voice sounded gravelly and deeper than he was used to. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it dried on his face and his neck. "I think I need to get home soon."

There was no point in trying to hide it. He was hurt badly. He couldn't keep up with the damage. He couldn't heal fast enough. He wasn't getting any better in Salem.

The muscles in Kel's shoulders tensed but his voice sounded the same when he answered, "I agree."

Harry watched him for another minute, not bothering to try to sit up. His mind wandered back to the moments before he passed out, shaking Tom's body and desperately trying to get some kind of response. He remembered feeling like he couldn't breathe when the response he did get was weak and quickly fading. He hadn't felt fear like that in a long time.

"Don't worry," Kel said, as if he had heard something Harry didn't say. "You'll see your family soon."

The sun was hot. The smell of blood and of the dissected body was nauseating. The ground was hard beneath his bones. None of it mattered.

"Kelevra."

Kel finally turned to look at him, knife poised in his black hands, eyes staring curiously. "Yes?"

"Why did you ask me if I think of Earth as home?"

Kel blinked, cast his eyes downward, and turned back towards the body. "A curiosity."

"I don't think so. Why did you really ask?"

"It doesn't matter."

It did.

"It matters to you," Harry persisted, being careful to keep him voice calm. "I've seen you react to the word before. It's important."

"It would be insensitive."

"I'm not asking you to be sensitive," Harry answered simply. "I'm asking you to tell me something about you."

Kel closed his eyes, sitting quietly for a moment. He laid the knife down on the ground and took a moment to gaze upon the angel's body, open and bare before him.

"In my language, there are different words for the place you were born, the place where you live, and the place where you belong," he explained slowly, his eyes unmoving from the open corpse. "'Home' is where you belong. It's the place where you feel comfortable and loved. It's the place that you care about most and that you put yourself into." He paused, picking up the knife again and turning his attention towards the stained blade instead. "I would hate to think that your version of that is some place that no longer exists."

But Harry could see it, even from a distance—Kel's eyes were blank. There was something he wasn't saying. He was hiding.

"But why would that matter so much to you?" Harry pressed. "Why did you ask me to choose one planet to call my home?"

Kel shrugged, but his eyes were still blank. "I was just making conversation, I suppose."

"Please tell me."

Harry said it softly, gently. He wanted Kel to know that it wasn't an interrogation. It was important to Harry to know because he knew that it was important to Kel. He just wanted to understand.

Kel sighed. He wiped his hands off on the grass, staining it black and purple.

"My people . . ." He cleared his throat, finally turning to look Harry in the eye. "I was taught that that's where you go when you die. You go home. You take care of your home and the people you love because you spend your next life watching them, seeing what comes of your lifetime of work."

"Do you believe that?"

Kel took a long time to answer, carefully thinking it over before speaking. "I do."

The words felt like a blade slipping into Harry's chest. "And what happens if you don't have a home?"

Kel smiled one of his unnatural smiles, quickly turning his attention back to the body. "Then you'd be lost—drifting without purpose." The smile stayed in place, his eyes empty when he added, "I've never had a home before."

That old sense of shame was back. Harry couldn't help but think of all the times he reacted with anger or suspicion at Kel's behaviour. He remembered finding out that Kel was aware that J.J. had been injured and had chosen to watch him on the cameras instead of tending to him. Kel had argued that he needed J.J. to know how to take care of himself and Harry had blown it off as bullshit, assuming, as always, that Kel had been lying through his teeth for no reason other than that he could.

"Kel—"

"I told you that you wouldn't have believed me," Kel cut him off quickly. "When you asked me what I wanted—you wouldn't have believed me if I had told you then."

It was true. He wouldn't have, and he knew it. He would have laughed and probably said something cruel, maybe even muttered some kind of threat.

Harry sighed. "Kel, I'm sorry."

"I know," Kel answered quietly. "You've already apologized, and I accepted your apology."

It didn't make him feel better. An apology didn't feel like enough.

"I just don't know why I did that to you."

Kel stayed silent. He picked up the knife he had set aside and went back to work without a word. But Harry knew him, and Kel's silence often said just as much as his words. Part of Harry knew that Kel's decision to not speak was wise and that it was probably best to let it go, but it seemed that Harry's nature was to drag the ugly things that no one wanted to face into the light.

"The Doctor lies to me."

Kel nodded slowly. "I know."

"He lies to everyone."

"Yes."

"About everything. For no reason."

"It's normal to project behaviours you're used to seeing onto other people."

"It's not normal to lie that much though, is it?"

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard a door slamming shut. And Kel stayed silent.

Harry felt his eyes stinging and knew there was no use in trying to hide it. "Fuck."

Harry sat in the silence and watched Kel carefully cutting away at the angel's flesh. He felt like his throat was swelling and he tried to blink away the sting in his eyes. For nearly thirty years, he had simply accepted the Doctor's behaviour as a part of everything else that came with their marriage. Why should it bother him now?

"What do . . . What do I do with that?"

Kel glanced over his shoulder, eyes slightly widened and looking a little startled. "I really don't think I'm the one to ask," he answered. "I've never been in a relationship. I've never had children. I rarely manage friendships, Harry."

"But you can read his brain activity, right? You know what he feels."

Kel raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me if he loves you?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Maybe. I don't know."

He was frustrated and the stinging in his eyes was getting worse. He didn't know what he was asking. He knew there was a question nagging at him, but he couldn't articulate it. He didn't know what he needed to ask.

"He loves you," Kel said quietly. "Very much. And I know that you love him too. I have never sensed any reason to doubt that."

"No . . . you wouldn't."

Harry sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, willing the frustration away. He didn't know what he was feeling or how to process it. He wanted Kel to talk to him and help him through it but, at the same time, he almost didn't want Kel to see him. He just wanted to remove himself from everything and hide away for a while until his mind worked out what it was trying to do. His hands came away with a small smear of fresh blood on them.

"You should rest," Kel suggested gently.

"I don't want to rest."

"Then we should start heading back to the tavern. We need to reassess our situation and we have work to do. We can talk while we travel."

Harry nodded but quickly decided that the conversation should end there. There was too much for them to worry about for him to allow himself to get emotional or distracted. If he got the work done, he could go home, and he could have that conversation with the Doctor himself.

Harry carefully got to his feet, feeling slightly dizzy and light-headed, and made his way over to investigate the collection of organs that Kel had put on display. Luckily, Kel had collected some blood while it was still fresh and had already removed the organs they needed—a Weeping Angel's equivalent to a stomach and kidney. He took an extra kidney, the brain, and a few feathers for the sake of future experiments or projects he might have. If he could, he would have kept the whole body. It seemed such a shame to waste it.

"Could you have worn it?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the body.

Kel nodded. "I thought about it, but the inconvenience of turning to stone far outweighed the inconvenience of a damaged ankle and wrist."

"Damaged wrist?"

Kel raised his left hand, showing a bruised and swollen wrist. "Broken when it attacked me. You seem to have repaired the bone, but there is still some damage. Nothing to worry about."

"We can find you a new host when we get home."

Kel smiled.

They packaged up their prizes, tucking them away in satchels and cleaning up any traces of blood. They considered burying the body but decided that the time required would mean traveling in the dark and the forest would reclaim it soon enough anyway. It would be best not to linger longer than necessary.

Kel's limp was significantly better and he was able to walk without the crutches Harry had made him. Harry chose to walk a little slower than normal to avoid aggravating the ankle too much, but it seemed that the small amount of energy that Tom had absorbed had been enough to handle the worst of the damage.

With the snow gone, the forest looked like an entirely different place, but Kel's eyes still lingered and his head still turned when they passed by a fallen log. Even with his patchy memory and with all the physical evidence erased from the area, he didn't forget.

Harry chose not to say anything about it and simply hoped that Kel would talk about it if he wanted to. They passed by the log and past a thick tree root that arched up out of the ground, and it was only after they'd left those things far behind that Kel chose to speak.

"I want to thank you, Harold," he said quietly. "This is the second time I'm walking out of here alive when I probably shouldn't be. I know what it cost you to do that for me."

Harry's mind took him back to the moment, vividly replaying the scene for him. Tom's body was pale and cold, and the tiny lifeform inside was growing weaker and quieter by the second. He remembered the feeling of panic overwhelming him, shouting aloud even though he knew Kel couldn't hear him. He remembered the sense of horror that overcame him and all that followed when what few signs of life he could detect flickered and snuffed out.

"A small price," Harry answered quickly. "And happily given."

"Not small to me." Kel turned to look at him then, risking another stumble on the treacherous path to offer a genuine smile. "Are you in danger now?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't regenerate now but I'm in no more danger than anybody else. It'll take some time to restore the energy I used, especially here, but I'll get it back eventually and then I'll be able to regenerate normally again."

"Let's hope you don't need it."

The sun was starting to get low by the time they stepped out of the trees and Harry was thankful for it. Even in the shade, he had found the heat to be uncomfortable and had not been looking forward to being out in the open.

Harry started to wonder what they would find at the tavern with the sudden passage of time and it occurred to him that Kel might not have even noticed they were suddenly in a different season. What if Bridget wasn't there? What if they had gone into the past and all their buried ingredients no longer existed? Starting over from scratch would be enough of an inconvenience as it was, but it would be significantly more difficult to keep Kel safe if they suddenly had to survive on their own in the woods.

A hand slipped into his own.

Harry looked down and saw Berran walking beside him, his tiny hand holding onto Harry's ring and middle finger. He thought about shaking his hand free and trying to force the memory from his mind. The Doctor was always telling him that he should try to dispel his hallucinations as quickly as possible, no matter how tempting they were. He knew he should push Berran away and quickly, but he was tired. It was hot, he was in pain, and he was just so very tired. No doubt the memory of Berran would just be replaced with something else—something less pleasant or more difficult to distinguish from reality. He decided that walking hand-in-hand with his son wasn't so bad.

"Kel?"

"Hmm?"

"Do your people think it's possible for someone's home to be a person? Can you stay with someone even if they travel?"

"Continents shift, the planets move through space, and the galaxies move through the universe," Kel answered, quickly and easily as though they were words he'd said many times before. "Every home travels. Some are just faster than others."

Harry's eyes moved to the image of the little boy walking beside him, holding his hand and scanning the area with the curious eyes of a three-year-old. "I had two sons before Ganbri," he said softly. "They never knew a physical place to call home, but they belonged with me."

Kel nodded slowly. "Then I'm sure that they watch you with pride."

"Do you think it's possible to perceive them?"

Kel took a deep breath in, closing his eyes for a few seconds before answering, "People's minds do something strange when they remember people they've lost. I can sense your brain activating memories, experiencing grief . . . but there's always another signal along with it. There is a strange kind of activity that my people have never been able to fully understand but it's similar to the kind of activity we sense in someone as they die. My people believe that that activity is the presence of the one you've lost, like how humans report hearing whispers or feeling phantom touches."

He shouldn't entertain the thought. He knew he shouldn't. Berran was a hallucination and nothing more.

"Can you sense anything now?"

"I can."

Unexpectedly, Harry felt a lump appear in his throat and he quickly tried to swallow it down. "So . . . so you think that means—?"

"I think that means that your son is visiting you," Kel answered gently. "It's a nice day for a walk together."

Harry nodded and swallowed again. "Yeah, it is."

And he walked with his son.

Some time later, as they neared town and the view became less interesting, Berran's fingers slipped free from Harry's hand. When Harry looked down again, he was gone. It had been a nice walk, he decided, and silently bid his son goodbye.

Harry and Kel walked along the outskirts of town on their way to Bridget's tavern, but Harry could tell from even there that something had changed. The air was tense and fearful. They passed a few people on their way, and Harry noticed each one turning their heads to watch them, some of them muttering quietly to their companions.

Harry had a feeling that he knew what was going on, but he hoped he was wrong, and suddenly he was glad that Berran hadn't followed him into town.

Bridget's tavern came into view and Harry found himself staring at it, eagerly looking for some sign that they had been there before. He didn't know what he was hoping to see. He and Kel had done no work to the exterior of the building that would be visible now and it wasn't like they had carved their names on the door or anything.

If Kel felt as nervous as Harry did, he did nothing to show it. The only reaction he gave to seeing the building was to say, "I think I'll lie down for a little while when we get in. It seems that dying and coming back to life is tiresome work."

Harry pushed open the tavern door and stepped through, unsure if he was entering as a stranger or as a friend. It wasn't as busy as it usually was for the middle of the day, but there was still a handful of customers at the tables.

The way everyone hushed and looked up at them told Harry what he had already suspected. They needed to leave.

"God be good, what the hell are you doing here!?"

Bridget's voice had roared at them loud enough to have caught the attention of everyone in the tavern even if they hadn't grown quiet. She was standing near the entrance to the kitchen, an empty pot on her hip, staring at them with a face full of shock.

Harry stepped forward quickly. "Mrs. Bishop, can we talk?"

"Not now," Bridget interrupted, storming over and shoving the pot into his hands. "Fetch some water and bring it to the kitchen. We can talk once we've got the soup on." She turned her eyes to Kel next. "That soup needs chopped onions too."

"Yes, ma'am," Kel answered quickly and immediately hurried off towards the kitchen.

The only convenience that the winter had offered was that water was easy to get. Without fresh snow to scoop up, Harry had to walk several minutes to the river and back, carrying the heavy pot. He didn't blame Bridget at all for sending him out the second she saw him—such a chore must have been exhausting for a woman her age.

He returned to find Kel chopping onions as instructed, while Bridget pointlessly pushed around a wash cloth on one of her cutting boards and watched over him. Harry recognized the look in her eyes as that of a worried parent. He remembered his own mother looking at him that way when he was young. He felt certain that he must have looked at Ganbri that way not too long ago.

Bridget looked up and met Harry's eyes. Before he had a chance to say anything, she gestured towards Kel.

"He's still hurt," she said in disbelief. "You've been missing for nearly six months. Why hasn't his lip healed? Why are you still wearing the same clothes?"

She was upset and frightened. Harry noticed Kel look up from his work, clearly noticing the emotions but not understanding where they were coming from.

"It's a very complicated—"

"How about you explain it to me and I'll decide how complicated it is?" Bridget interrupted sternly. "You were supposed to go home. You both vanished without a damn trace just before all hell broke loose and bloody Judge Hathorne starts looking for heads and I've been telling myself that at least you two were safe and now you're here. Why, God help me, why are you here?"

Harry looked down at his feet.

As expected, Kel chimed in. "What's Hathorne done?"

Bridget didn't answer. She was still waiting for her explanation.

Harry took a deep breath and tried his best. "The creature we went after—the thing that had been taking people from the woods—has the ability to move through time. As easily as you can walk through that door into the tavern, it can move from this year to another. We managed to kill it but, when we touched it, it moved us. One second we were surrounded in snow and the next it was summer." Harry searched her face for any sign of understanding or forgiveness. "We had no control over it, Mrs. Bishop. I'm so sorry."

Bridget stared at him hard, slowly absorbing what he'd said. "You two," she said slowly. "Things like that happen? Here?"

"Everywhere, ma'am," Harry answered quickly. "Most people find whatever reasons suit them, saying that people just moved on without saying goodbye or got lost or, if they can't think of a good answer, blame it on spirits. All those people who disappeared have simply moved to another time and you would have never known. The only reason we're here now is because the creature died before it moved us very far."

"God help us."

"What's Hathorne done?" Kel asked again, a little louder than before.

"Taking advantage of whatever and whomever he can, as befits him," Bridget answered with a scowl. "The man with the little girls that came to see you the day you disappeared, Samuel Parris—his niece fell ill later that day, having fits. Mr. Parris paid it no mind at first, blaming it on the stress of seeing poor Betty injured, but then his daughter also fell ill the next morning. He brought them here, but I had to turn him away."

Kel brows moved together firmly. "What kind of symptoms?"

"Fits, boy," Bridget answered. "Shaking and thrashing, like demons were set upon them. Their eyes rolling about as if possessed. Poor Mr. Parris was terrified."

"Seizure activity," Kel said quietly, then he looked over his shoulder at Harry with a wounded look. "Oh, Harry . . ."

Harry felt a chill run up his spine at the tone in his voice. "What?"

"That's what I thought," Bridget cut in quickly. "I've heard you say to be careful. I've seen you use cloths and things before, so as not to touch the salve." She gestured to her own collar bone, letting her hand rest on it as she spoke. "You put it here so that people don't touch it accidentally but, when Abigail fell, you cradled her against you."

Harry felt a stone drop in his stomach. "You're saying I did this?"

"The salve you've been using can cause seizures in humans and children would be especially susceptible," Kel explained quickly. "But, excuse me, I still don't understand what 'this' is. What has Hathorne done?"

"He's pushed the girls and Mr. Parris to claim bewitchment," Bridget answered with a sigh. "He's convinced them they were put under a spell."

Kel's frown deepened. "Well, that's ridiculous."

"Townsfolk don't seem to think so. More accusations of witchcraft keep coming and people are scared. If anyone speaks in defense of anyone else, they fear people might turn on them too."

Harry felt ill. He'd known since they arrived in Salem that the witch trials were coming, but he never imagined that he might be the cause of them. He remembered the feel of Abigail's arms hugging tightly around his neck, the feel of the doll that he'd tucked beneath his chin, and his mind raced over every fact he knew about Salem's history.

"We have to get you out of here," Harry said firmly. "There's no choice now, Mrs. Bishop. It's not safe for you."

"You think I don't know that?" Bridget snapped back. "When Mr. Parris couldn't find you, he went to Doctor Griggs in town instead. Hathorne's got that ward of his, Miss Hubbard, spinning tales of seeing apparitions of me, tormenting her at night. I went to Samuel Shattuk to buy some dyed lace for the girls' doll, to replace the dress on it so as not to poison them anymore, and suddenly there are rumours that I'm making poppet dolls for bewitching folks. All of a sudden, Judge Hathorne's friends are seeing evidence of witches everywhere they look."

Kel leaned forward in his seat. "Then Harry's right. You have to come with us."

"No, boys," Bridget answered, shaking her head. "This has gone too far. It won't stop until Hathorne hangs himself a witch. If I disappear, they'll go after someone else—probably someone with valuable property so that the church can take ownership of it. Or they'll go after the folks who just don't fit in with them. Miss Hubbard has been making mention of that Indian girl in town, Tituba. I'd bet my tavern that her accusation is based on nothing more than her red skin."

Kel turned in his seat, suddenly looking a little pale. "How many people, Harry?"

Harry quickly looked away. They weren't supposed to be a part of any of this. They were supposed to be long gone by the time the trials started.

"I don't know if my information is accurate anymore."

Kel's blue eyes pierced through him. "I'll have it just the same."

"Twenty-five," Harry whispered.

"And Bridget?"

Harry swallowed hard, glanced at Bridget, tried to look Kel in the eye and found he couldn't help but look away again. With great hesitation, he gave a single nod.

"Shit," Kel hissed.

"What's that mean?" Bridget asked, her eyes suddenly widening. "What are you talking about?"

"We've moved through time too," Harry explained gently. "Where we come from, we've created technology that allows us to do it. Hundreds of years from now, Salem is still famous for a frenzy of witch hunts, during which twenty-five people were killed."

"Will be killed," Kel corrected. "And you're one of them."

"It doesn't end with you, Mrs. Bishop," Harry added quietly. "If you come with us, we can at least save you from it."

Bridget blinked at them both in disbelief. "You want me to run?" she asked. "When I know what foolishness Hathorne is playing at, you expect me to run away and let him? To let him take my tavern and hang my neighbours? I need to try to stop this. This is my home."

Harry's hearts slipped down into his stomach, knowing full well that she'd just said the magic words. Kel would never leave now.

Kel turned to look at Harry again, his face determined and his eyes pleading. "We must be able to do something."

Harry felt completely helpless. If his fracture was healed, he could make it all go away in a matter of hours. He could have hypnotized the entire town into disregarding the accusations. He could have even made them turn on Hathorne if he wanted. But, as it was, he couldn't even read someone's thoughts without being crippled with pain and bleeding.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted quietly. "All I know is how to get the both of you out of here."

"I'll think of something," Kel answered quickly. "You get started on our passage home and I'll think of some way to stop the trials. I can do it."

Harry agreed. There was nothing else he could do. He decided to hope that Kel could find a solution but also knew he had to prepare himself to force him and Bridget to leave if he had to. Once he had the ability to open a portal, he was dragging them both through whether they wanted it or not. He could always return with the TARDIS once his fracture had healed and fix the situation then.

They tried to pretend that everything was normal while the tavern conducted its usual business. Kel went to their old room, left untouched in their absence, and laid down like he had said he would, though Harry couldn't imagine that he was able to rest. Bridget had Harry fetching water and slicing meat for most of the afternoon and washing up in the evening. Finally, as darkness overcame the sky, the last of Bridget's customers wandered out and they were free to set to work.

Harry dug through Bridget's kitchen and dragged out the biggest cooking pot she owned while Kel gathered the dry ingredients they had stored in their room. Harry ran over the instructions with both Kel and Bridget, making sure they understood how to begin the process so that they could work on it while he ran out to retrieve the buried ingredients they would need.

For a minute, he thought it might work.

As he stood before them, watching as Kel and Bridget sliced thin slivers of root into the cauldron and crushed bark into powder, the tavern door swung open.

Harry knew who it would be before he even looked up. He didn't hear the words that rang through the empty tavern, but he knew that they would be accusations of witchcraft. That feeling of helplessness overcame him again as Hathorne's men pushed their way inside and he felt sick at the thought that there was nothing he could do.

Someone made a snide remark about confessing to their crimes and Harry kept his mouth closed, taking the time instead to ponder if he had the strength to kill all five of the men that were moving toward them without getting himself killed in the process. Bridget opened her mouth to argue with them, when Kel's voice cut through all the chaos loud and clear.

"It's me."

Harry blinked and stared, not sure if he'd heard right.

"I'm the witch," Kel clarified. "I've put these two under my spell to make them do my bidding, the poor fools."

Harry was about to tell him to stop and be quiet when a sudden storm of emotion struck him like a tsunami, just like the ones Kel used to unleash in the mornings. Without warning or preparation, Harry's mind instinctually reached out to connect and the telepathic strain felt like it might split his skull in two. Harry doubled over, shouting in pain, as blood began to pour from his nose.

"See?" Kel said simply, and Harry could see him gesturing at him through blurred vision. "Like a little puppet."

The men stared at Harry in horror, hesitating. As if to make his point, Kel suddenly put the little finger of his left hand into his own mouth and Harry clearly heard the cracking of bones as he bit down. Without so much as flinching, Kel bit his own finger clean off and spat it out at them.

"Shall I bewitch one of you next or is that enough of a confession for you?"

"The woman isn't moved," one of the men muttered with uncertainty.

"Only because women are too stupid to be moved so easily," Kel answered quickly. "They take more effort to make useful."

It didn't work.

"They are both witches. Take them both."

Harry heard every person in the room moving suddenly but he couldn't make out what was happening. His vision blurred to the point of blindness and the scent of blood clouded his mind. He started to feel light-headed and nauseous. He was aware of a struggle happening around him and he felt the urge to fight and protect, but his knees were weak and his body was shutting down.

The last thing Harry heard before losing consciousness was Bridget's cries that they only take her.