Sometimes it came towards them slowly, like a marble rolling down a gently sloped floorboard and sometimes it came at them 100 miles a minute, crashing through clouds. For Hawks it came in the change of Dabi's expression through the one-way mirror, through the tears pouring down his cheeks. The flickering of his irises as he realized he'd said it all, said it all to hurt Endeavor, but in the madness of his words and pain he wanted to reciprocate, Hawks was watching, Hawks was listening.

As always, Dabi realized afterward, heard his own voice ringing through the walls and back into his brain to remind him he was bad, he was wrong, he was the one who made things filthy.

And Hawks saw him sinking, saw his body moving impulsively, opening his mouth wide and gearing up in a way that would stop the words. Hawks knew just as soon as the detectives had and Naomasa was shouting, another officer rushed through the door and then a gag was in Dabi's mouth. His eyes rising to the ceiling, the tears wetting the length of the straps of cloth.

Then Hawks was rising too, ignoring the shouts from Naomasa and seeing only Dabi submerging, panicking, gasping around what would prevent him from harming himself and Hawks dashed by a stunned Endeavor.

There were more shouts from the officers but Hawks' warm palms caught Dabi's cheeks, Hawks' face came into view above his, blocking out the light, blocking out the sound, blocking out all else with his familiar soft whispers.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here, Touya, it's okay, look at me, I'm right here, I'm right here Touya, hey, it's okay."

Now a mere form trembling in his restraints and letting out a desperate whimper around a ball of cloth soaked with saliva, the tears did not stop, but the warmth of his angel's hands provided a sliver of reprieve. It was not lost, not completely. The harm he'd caused forgiven again in seconds and in comforting whispers because though he was the villain, he was, in the end, the victim.

And though he couldn't recall the two weeks where he'd pulled himself away from Dabi like the finicky peel stuck to a mandarin, he could remember a time where Dabi had drifted, drifted away from him. In fact, he could remember multiple times it had happened, the way his eyes were suddenly miles away. Back then, both seated on the smoothed, aged floorboards of Dabi's apartment, Dabi with his back against the bed frame and Hawks with his shoulder to the cool metal, his neck stretched and his cheek on the mattress. He'd watched Dabi float away on a rotting piece of driftwood and asked.

"Where are you going?"

On a single upsurge of the dark waves beneath him, he'd come floating back toward the sun sitting beside him. And in their extended silences, he'd find himself in Hawks' arms, cradled against a chest not wide enough to bear his burdens, but willing, willing and wanting to try. Dabi had felt words on his lips, requests, an opportunity to voice his needs. Things like take me, make me feel, lay me back, make me yours, fill me and flood me, but he'd never spoke it aloud. Because against a chest not wide enough to hold him, he'd assumed and accepted a role.

I am here to give. I am here to take. That is what he wants and to keep him by my side, I shall provide.

In prison, in Hawks' hands surrounded by the beasts demanding they be torn apart, Dabi realized that he was allowed to lie beneath, let himself be taken and taken in, his eyes fell shut and he stilled.

So Hawks tried to hide him. His wings tensing again beneath their casts and unable to unfurl, he pulled that silently weeping face into the crook of his neck and continued to preach. He did not know he was saving him again, reminding him there were reasons to keep breathing, but maybe he did and maybe that's why he kept going, refusing the commands of the officers and the detective. Sliding his arms around Dabi's head he wanted to take him and run, away from it all, away from the barks and snaps. For a moment, Hawks forgot who he was and what his ideals were because all he saw was a group of hellhounds attacking a shivering, abused kitten.

But he couldn't open his wings, he couldn't fly.

He also couldn't feel Cerberus awakening just a few feet away, his jaws frothing with fury at the image of someone approaching the hell-gate he guarded.

"Keigo, enough."

It was Endeavor, the dog whose territory was encroached by his own son and the sight of them touching in this way brought out everything he'd held back.

And when Hawks didn't hear, didn't listen, only clutching his kitten tighter to his body, Endeavor's fist clenched harder than needed to punch. Three jowls opening to snarl with increasing fury.

"Keigo."

What had it all been for? The therapy, the removal, the requests to limit physical intimacy, what had it all been for if he was not acknowledging and addressing the other half, the fact that the man he loved also loved his son. What did Endeavor want? Did he even know? Did he want-

"Keigo," his volume was rising faster than the realization.

Endeavor. One step forward, four steps back, easy and foolish, ignoring the sources of his anger once again for the sake of duty. Was he hoping to help his son, sure, in some sense, but once again Endeavor was a hero, first. A hero. Hawks' hero. And if he was Hawks' hero, why wasn't Hawks looking at him, speaking to him, soothing him, why was Hawks cradling the sick creature in a chair and not him? This was wrong, this was wrong. He was right. He was right and Hawks needed to stop, Hawks needed to listen.

Once again a slave to himself, Endeavor burst out.

"Let him go!"

He was a fool.

The shout made them both flinch, Hawks turning back to look at him with eyes wide in fear, but he also put his body in the way, he would protect him, from the shouts, from the screams, from the blows. Endeavor must have seen it flash through Hawks' wide eyes because he stepped back, from the reflection of all he'd done and all he continued to do.

And Hawks avoided meeting his gaze the moment they'd lined up, holding Dabi's head to his chest. Like gold falling to the earth, his irises dropped to focus on the dark hair he palmed and the trembling body attached to it.

"Hawks-san, we have to take him back to his cell, please let go," one of the officers spoke calmly but with the slightest hint of irritation bubbling beneath each syllable.

To the law, to the world, the one who was wrong was Hawks.

It was too much to turn that face up, catch those desperate eyes begging him not to let go, begging him to stay, and Hawks forced his smile.

"It's gonna be okay, Touya," Hawks could feel his voice weakening, each word more uncertain than the last. "You're gonna be okay, okay? I'm gonna come see you again. I promise. Just us two, okay?"

He cleared away the remains of the streaks beneath Dabi's eyes, with painstaking slowness his unsteady fingers slipped away from his pale, thin cheeks. But Hawks maintained eye-contact with him, even as the officers collected the slumping young man and led him toward the door. And just as Hawks was moving to chase them, maintain eye-contact, reassure Dabi he wasn't abandoning him, he would never abandon him, he was halted by a firm clench to his forearm.

Hawks nearly tripped, his knees losing strength from the grip holding him back. But he would still not look up, fixed to earth, unable to fly, he listened to every thud, slide, lug of Dabi further away from him. He could hear the soles of Dabi's shoes grinding to the floor as he was must have been using his weight to slow them down. He had to be going limp, was being dragged, to prolong the chance to breathe the same air and Hawks felt it through every bone of his body.

It made the fingers clutching his upperarm burn that much more, but when Hawks finally forced his eyes from the floor, towing them up until he was staring into Endeavor's he clicked. Back and forth. As simple as a lightswitch, he was going to take what was in front of him.

"Endeavor-san," and he sort of remembered where they were, under those red furrowed brows and frown. "I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself."

The fingers loosened and he brought that grin to his face. What did anything that ever happened matter if he always resorted to the same tools to pretend it hadn't happened? But maybe there was something in those eyes, something deeper in the teal that now saw through him like he was a wet piece of paper. Did he know, Endeavor was taking steps, tracing back his steps, recognizing and unrecognizing everything in the same chaotic way? Did he know Endeavor was surely heading toward some kind of limit?

"Hawks," it came from outside the interrogation room.

Hawks turned away, slipping out from fingers that decided to let go.

He entered the adjacent room to meet a frustrated and exhausted Naomasa.

"The Hero Public Safety Commission President is here, she would like to speak to you," Naomasa held a palm over the receiver of the landline. "She's waiting for you in a meeting room upstairs."

It brought a different sort of sinking that landed somewhere in his stomach as heavy as a brick. Duty. His job. His mission. The winged-hero Hawks might have disappeared the moments his wings were twisted, might have disappeared for him, but as soon as he was healed he had to return. That was what the world expected. That was what the world wanted and was waiting for. It was a role and he was supposed to play it.

But hearing footsteps behind him, he whipped around his head to see Endeavor walking toward the door that led into the hallway, Hawks couldn't hold back.

"Enji-san!"

Endeavor paused, unable to fight or flee just the same. Then he turned and saw it in Hawks' eyes, the openness, and need. Why else did he stop and look at him? Though he was brushing the limit, the remnants were vibrating with a learned need to dote.

"Will you wait for me? It shouldn't take long…"

Hawks' wings twitched again within their casts at the sound of a short, quick huff, almost like those sighs from before, but not exactly.

"Okay."

"Thank you, it really won't take long. I'll meet you at security in a bit, okay?"

"Okay."

As usual, Hawks was in a rush to get to where he needed to be so he could get to where he wanted to be. Of course, he couldn't help that he was antsy, that the heel of his shoe tapped incessantly as he rode the elevator up alongside the officer escorting him to the meeting rooms. It was time to play the part again, after weeks of anxious jitters in and around a hospital, avoiding contacting anyone, his agency, the Commission, he'd known this day was coming. He'd avoided it so well, avoided checking in so he could milk his recovery to its limits, before he was asked to rejoin the fray, divulge anything and everything he'd discovered. Yes, the last time he had a full conversation with the president of the commission was the morning before that fateful night.

I'm getting close, they just want me to prove myself.

By what means? She'd asked.

Dare he say what the League had requested? The very thought of it made his skin crawl and his fists clench, but he had resolved to do it.

"Just down the hall, on the left," the officer informed him.

"Thanks!" Hawks chirped it in a voice too light for the gray walls.

The officer departed and Hawks followed his instructions, he slid both palms into his pants pockets, and his gaze dropped to the carpet beneath his feet. He knew what was coming and he braced for it, even without his wings to defend him. The moment Hawks' foot crossed the threshold, before he could look up-

"Do you not have your cell phone?"

Hawks brought that pained smile to his lips.

"Ah, I haven't gone back to my apartment, it's probably th-"

"Were you expecting us to find you on your own? You realize we learned of your incapacitation through the media?"

"Right, I was-"

"And you didn't think to contact us the moment you were awake? Or the moment you could leave the hospital? You didn't think to inform us you were planning on visiting one of the most high-profile villains in the country? You didn't think we'd need to consult first and come up with a strategy to get him to provide information?"

Hawks kept smiling, not in patience, but in a recession, a regression. This was normal, this feeling of being minimized.

"You realize Detective Tsukauchi told us everything? That you didn't heed the officers at the interrogation, that you acted on your own and potentially ruined any chance they had of obtaining information about the League?"

"It's not ruined, I can just talk to him again-"

"You of all people, should be smart enough to know it is not that easy," her voice was sharp, snapping, flaying at him in the way it always had since he was a child. "Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused?"

Hawks was grinning, nonchalant, splitting, sliding into a fetal position in his center as his shell returned in full force.

"You asked me to get my hands dirty," his palms rose from his pockets and splayed, ready to be crucified. "And I have been. It got hairy and I couldn't contact you without getting caught. Would you rather I have blown the mission altogether?"

"We would have rathered you communicated somehow, you're lucky the number one hero was on the scene to save you. That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so careless."

There it was again, the thing that always rattled him whenever he was brought before judgment. His carelessness, his wrongdoings, the mission they gave him was his. And he belonged to them. The people. And though he belonged to them, if he did not rise high enough, it was his fault. Everything was on their terms of course, always on their terms.

"And now we have an opportunity to gain information from someone close to the leader. And what do you do?"

Hawks let his eyes close and he scratched the back of his head.

"I have to maintain the appearance of a relationship with him to keep his trust-"

More rattles, louder, sounding from his own lips as he lied again. Somehow they came so easily to him, but it didn't change the fact that they stung and tore up in their ascension through his throat. If Dabi ever heard, ever heard the things he spouted to quiet his superiors, he knew he'd already be over the edge and not just dangling and clinging to a single strand of golden hair.

"So that's what that was then?" Her voice was lowering, in the growling way as though the rambunctious child in front of her, not understanding but afraid of punishment, was finally fessing up to knocking over her expensive vase.

"What else could it be? He trusts me."

Hawks for a split second felt it, something else, the thing he kept forgetting, or had forgotten. Pinching him from the inside only to recoil in fear of realization. Whatever it was, it had to be growing, reforming, preparing itself to come to his surface again. But that would only happen if he decided he'd had enough. This Hawks, not Takami Keigo, had not had enough.

"Then that's how we'll be conducting the interrogations with him going forward," she leaned back in her leather chair, her frown defining the wrinkles in her displeased expression. "I would have thought you would have outgrown your impulses by now, Hawks, but from now on you have to report to us before you speak to him. Understand?"

"I get it, I get it," he laughed in a hollow way, shifting his feet forward.

She pulled a device from her bag and slid it across the table, which Hawks reflexively caught with a deft hand.

"Use that phone for now, we can't be losing contact for long periods of time again," she clasped her fingers in her lap with a long sigh, not a sigh Hawks loved. No this one struck him painfully through the chest, reminded him he was on a special kind of leash.

Had growing up nurtured for a single path made him inclined to flinch when he detected disappointment, when he could feel a glare that hinted at his inadequacy. Since he'd met them he was bound to be a hero and young Hawks had agreed, thinking, I can be like my hero. But there was something distinctly different about growing up in aspiration to be a hero from being raised to be a hero.

And maybe that's why he'd cradled Dabi so close because he understood that pressure, the force and demand to satisfy the expectations of others. Yet, he also understood, he was gifted with a power too useful, too incredible, totoo lucky not to become what the world wanted.

"We'll develop a strategy with the detectives and call you when we are ready to try again."

Hawks knew when he was being dismissed. He waved the device by his head with a nod, turning to stroll away.

"Hawks,"

His fingers were inches from the door handle. Part of him expected something, praise? Maybe a well-timed and sympathetic are you okay? Maybe that's what he wanted. A simple, are you okay? Who had asked him those things, Endeavor yes, Dabi yes, the person who practically raised him?

"Don't mess this up."

No.

As he rode the elevator down he thought he heard a whisper, something I'm? Something not? He couldn't hear the last of it. It was coming from within. The shell was clutching around the throat of the thing inside and keeping the whisper from fully reaching his conscious.

Defenses in place, Hawks felt there was hope yet. When he saw Endeavor standing by the entrance, awaiting his arrival he felt there was hope yet. By the side he was meant to stand by he poutily suggested food and they exited.

Endeavor nurtured. It was his unspoken apology for yelling, his way of keeping those golden eyes on him for the time being. When one half concealed the other could match it as easily. Hawks set off on some prattle about their upcoming meal. Guiding the whole conversation without issue, like nothing was wrong, nothing amiss, until they were in a private restaurant being served their main course.

Despite the screen of normalcy they both pretended was there, Endeavor made one important move.

"I know you're probably concerned about how much I know concerning… your mission." Each of Endeavor's fists held a utensil, each was on the verge of bending from the strength of his grip. "But I don't plan on asking about it and I'm sure you're still unable to talk about it. I'd rather have an uncomfirmed hunch than force you to speak on it."

The prongs of Hawks' fork pierced through the piece of chicken beneath it, splitting the fibers apart. His mouth was watering, but he knew that if a single bit of it touched his tongue it'd taste like mud.

He managed a soft hum of agreement and for some reason he still felt jitters, lingering from the reprimand before. Though he never showed it on his face, the creature curled up in the shell flinched when he thought someone was upset with him. His eyes flicked up and he forced a hoarse, "Thank you."

Was he going to cry? He wasn't sure, but when the bite of meat made it passed his lips he tasted without tasting, chewed without chewing, and swallowed without swallowing. Robotic, reflexive, at a table he was supposed to eat. The moment he stepped outside the restaurant he was supposed to resume, the second he returned to his apartment he was supposed to be a hero.

He felt the weight in his wings, that wiggled behind him beneath the layers built upon them. They were coming closer to being removed, he was coming closer to returning to his station. Then there was dread, a sensation that someone was holding a bucket over his head, tilting it gradually in anticipation of being drenched.

After their meal, in the backseat beside Endeavor he could feel the bucket teetering overhead, threatening him and as the car pulled out of its parking space, Hawks acted on impulse again.

"Enji-san, wait..." Hawks' clutch on the seat belt weakened as he put strength to the things he was desperate to ask for despite how close it edged to the things he was told he was not allowed. "Will you... can we spend the night in a hotel? Not-"

The raise of Endeavor's eyebrows was already the beginning of a refusal but Hawks persevered.

"Not for that, I just... I don't want to sleep alone tonight and I'm... I'm not ready to go back to the apartment. Just one night, in a clean bed, outside of the hospital. I don't want anything else."

With a hand on his clothed elbow, dainty, but not hesitant because the angel knew he still held domain. Despite restrictions he could dodge and slither things here and there without repercussion. Against eyes that shined even in the dark, asking for some intimacy after being starved for what felt like a century to him, Endeavor was a mere blade of grass beneath his heel.

"Please?"

Crushed into the dirt without effort, Endeavor let out one of those long, low-volume sighs that made Hawks smile in gratitude.

In the cover of darkness, Endeavor's private driver took them somewhere secluded from the city, near the beach, to a small inn with low lighting. For a moment Endeavor had panicked, wondering if his employee would notice the not-so-subtle back and forth between the two men, but he was quieter than normal and he proved to Endeavor a level of privacy and kindness he'd never expected. He almost wanted to thank him, but then he would have acknowledged the thing he'd been trying to hide for over half a year.

Over half a year.

It hit Endeavor like a ton of bricks, how little and how much time over half a year meant. Sliding from the car seat and into the cool sea air, using a single palm to steady Hawks as he climbed out. Endeavor dismissed his driver for the evening with a quiet thanks, for his job and for going beyond.

Hawks squeezed his hand and refused to let go, even as they entered the building and Endeavor requested a room. The man in front of them made no remark, no expression or regard to their gripping hands or the familiarity of their faces. He had blinked upon first seeing them, but not a word beyond logistics.

In a room new to both of them they prepared for sleep. In a silence heavy with all that had come before, in a tension of anxieties, and in a cloud of resurging patterns, somehow the presence of cotton sheets and pillows threatened to ignite it all again. The ruffle of clothing from bodies and the thumps of bare feet across the tatami, the intensity and overbearing feel of one another forced a hum in the silence. A single strings miniscule vibration as they climbed into their shiki futons. In undershirts and boxer briefs they were beside one another.

Endeavor on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and a hand on his chest.

Hawks on his side, staring at Endeavor, and a hand on the comforters.

Neither bothered to wonder if they were going to discuss the follies of the interrogation room. Both focused only on enduring the achy, needy sensation caused by one another's slight adjustments. Above them was a plain ceiling, surrounding them were a few walls and a few shoji. Separate but close it was too easy, too quick, and once again would solve absolutely nothing.

The brush of Hawks' fingertips on his arm tightened the knot in Endeavor's chest, twisting it, but also blossomed heat in an uncontrollable rush through the rest of his skin. Hawks had to have seen the effect, the bloom and burst, the invisible shiver, because he slithered through the cracks of a poorly constructed concrete wall and asked so softly and innocently.

"Can I have a kiss?"

Against a smile that could melt icebergs, Endeavor was a mere cube of ice. Alongside that smile was a hand smoothing up his toned bicep, warming him, reawakening things he'd stamped down with work and focus and absence. Refusals were lost somewhere on the current, lost somewhere where their lips weren't pressed so lightly.

Then Hawks was edging closer, adding pressure, laying his torso over the expanse of Endeavor's shoulder, rising, overtaking, cradling him the way he had cradled Dabi, only providing kisses instead of homilies. Too soft to pull away, too comforting, Endeavor slid an arm slowly under Hawks waist, lifting until he too was on his side, opening his lips to shape them against a mouth too small for him.

It was the beginning of a new pattern, a reversal, a sequel worse than the last, because Hawks' thigh glided up, cresting when it reached Endeavors knee and sliding between his thick thighs without resistance. All with angelic steadiness and assurance, Endeavor's easy undoing in the grind of a thigh and a pink velvet tongue pushing into his parted lips. Up slow and down just as excruciatingly, he was already out of breath, flushed, breathing into Hawks' mouth and cursing how he sprang to life at nothing, nothing at all.

He had to have known he was enabling. Submitting was to prolong things that needed to be acknowledged and reevaluated, but the way the tips of Hawks' fingers tenderly followed the outline of his jaw and the way his pillow-soft bottom lip kneaded up into his, Endeavor could think of nothing else.

And Hawks was in ecstasy, ecstasy from the heat that lathered his lips and reaffirmed his subconscious idea that this is what it meant to express love. Physically, bodily, he was explaining himself in the press of his thigh against the swell in Endeavor's underwear. Making him feel good was a way to apologize and avoid, to fruitlessly search for signs of the snowglobe.

With the thrust of Endeavor's strong muscular thigh between his own legs and a fiery sigh into his mouth, Hawks couldn't hold in his moan. It was warm and thick like alcohol-laced syrup, dripping into Endeavor's mouth and blurring what little clarity he had left.

Hawks' body chased the friction, rubbing while whining into increasingly passionate kisses. It'd been so long since Hawks felt anything like this and like a starving animal he feasted on every last morsel.

Every hump was long and slow, the rhythmic brush of clothing mixing with faint pants. Glazed and golden eyes, hot saliva-coated lips, hands that stayed firm on his cheeks, Endeavor was drowning in Hawks' touch. A breathy "Enji-san," breezing across his tongue, he groaned and brought him closer, curling that writhing form into his.

Hawks could disappear, underneath those rough large palms kneading down his waistline to his hips, guiding him as he fucked himself atop Endeavor's leg. It was not clarity or hesitation that they didn't remove the last of their clothing. It was Hawks shuddering, clutching at the back of his head and whining into his neck, enjoying the way the tingles spread through him.

Hawks breathed out beneath his chin, panting harder and bouncing atop some invisible phallus only to roll in circles with a backward toss of his head. Endeavor's rough lips teased down his stretched neck and Hawks bucked hard, driving his straining length up through the soft cotton of his boxer briefs, stretching the hem until his tip nearly peeked out.

"I'm sorry, Enji-san," his words were so airy, peppering the lips coming back to consume him. "It's been so long-"

A mountain of a man was made a mole-hill in moments.

Hawks awoke to silence. Not absence, but silence. Endeavor was getting ready to leave. The light was bright, piercing through the rice paper and Hawks sat up, looking away from the sun toward the fire, but something was different.

Hawks was good at one thing, aim. He could send his feathers flying and they would catch, launch, sweep, and strike with precision. All this was possible because he could gauge distance.

Sitting up in thick, disheveled comforters he gauged the distance. They had not woken up together, Endeavor did not wake him up, and had he slept any longer, would Endeavor have-

Hawks started again, that habit of dismissing righter judgments in favor of judgments that served his fantasy. That's what carried him out of the inn with Endeavor, what situated him in the escort, what kept him smiling as they arrived in front of his apartment building. Endorphins aiding, carrying, he kept close as they ascended another elevator. Endeavor was kind enough to walk him all the way to his front door, maybe they could enter together, maybe they could clean, refresh, renew together. Hawks hoped.

He hoped and hoped and hoped, outside his front door, taking the key out of his battered wallet.

All for nothing.

"We need to take a break."

The words did not settle, did not land, in fact they bounced away. They did not reach his ears, they'd hardly come close, and Hawks smiled and smiled and smiled. Just when he was going to laugh it away it came back, firmer.

"I hope you'll understand. This is for both of us."

For both of us.

Hawks grin was big enough to split his cheek, straining, forcing, faltering.

"Ha-" It was all that came out against Endeavor's next move, which was as simple and solid as turning away.

Hawks, on impulse, reached for his hand only to find it pulled out of his reach. His eyes darted to the dodge then back up to Endeavor's face, but he was still looking away.

No.

"Just for a few days at least, I'd like no contact, afterward, then we can speak again," Endeavor's foot was shifting back and Hawks' was sliding forward.

No.

"I know this will be tough for you, but I hope you'll contact a professional in the meantime," Endeavor continued.

Nothing was sinking in, everything slipping passed Hawks, because Endeavor wasn't looking at him. Was it his punishment for not looking at him before? Was this punishment for being too much, for being wrong, for not being enough? Hawks didn't know, he didn't know what this was and the trembling returned. He didn't know that the thing he pretended wasn't there was lifting its head inside him and whispering something too familiar, too familiar that he still didn't hear.

I'm not enough.

It was drowned by the shell screaming look at me, look at me, look at me. Just look at me, I'll make it okay, I'll be better, I'll do better, I'll make it okay. It's going to be okay, just stay, just stay, just stay.

"I hope you get some rest… goodbye."

The body betrayed. He said nothing, did nothing, stared after the back wide enough to carry all the burdens in the world, watching it grow smaller as it reached the elevator. Watching him turn, still not looking. Watching the doors close. Still not looking.

Somewhere inside him something let out a sharp and short cry, like thumbs had pressed into it's throat, preventing it from voicing it loud enough for Hawks to hear clearly. Though it bathed his body and kept him fixed to his spot, he did not hear it. He did not hear its wail as it was put to sleep, though his body knew, his brain did not.

I'm not enough.