a/n: sorry again for the gaps in updates. :) this chapter was written in October. gah, i'm so bad at this. please keep the reviews coming, they really are encouraging to me!


Ch 16 || Counterfeit (Can You Find It?)

As much as Takeru missed and loved his mother, and as glad as he was to reconcile with her, he was even more thankful to be out of her car and in the safety of his and his brother's bedroom. Today felt like it dragged on and zipped by simultaneously, and now that they were finally home again, Takeru was exhausted.

Before they parted ways, his mother gave him another hug. She initiated it. Wrapped her arms around him like she'd done it a thousand times, like he was five years old all over again. It wasn't that she never hugged him, she just… she wasn't around that often.

If she… if she cared about him this deeply, then… why didn't she show it?

No. He needed to let this go, and just appreciate what he had now. Being angry wasn't fun, and it wasn't going to make things better. It wasn't that he was denying himself the right to feel angry, but…

But being angry was draining.

It was probably why he was so exhausted now. Just like before, his emotions wanted to wreck him from the inside. Wanted to feed on his blood, draining him ounce by ounce, pint by pint. Didn't stop until he was weak and dizzy. Until very little remained.

Maybe it was anxiety from the car ride. Maybe something wasn't actually there, leeching off his energy. Because that'd be ridiculous, right? To have something vampiric buried underneath layers of flesh and muscle? It wasn't even that late in the evening, but Takeru was content to just crawl into bed and sleep until the latest hour of the morning.

Except… something wasn't right.

Yamato had barely breathed a word on the ride home. Takeru was too preoccupied with the deceptively simple tasks of keeping his dinner in his stomach and remembering how to breathe properly to pay much attention to it. Once they were in their room and away from the curious ears of their mother and the general public, however, it was hard not to notice.

"Nii-san, you're doing it again."

He was careful to keep his tone soft. No annoyance. No accusatory undertone. It was merely a statement, said with the sole purpose of getting his brother's attention.

"Yeah?" Yamato's tone, however, was distracted. Flippant. "Doing what?"

"Worrying," Takeru said with his brows raised. "You're going to give yourself grey hairs. And wrinkles."

"Teek. Does this face look like the kind that gets wrinkles?"

"No, but it does look worried."

Takeru smiled quietly as he spoke, hoping Yamato would see the humor in his words. Hoping he'd accept them as an invitation to talk. Wasn't it Yamato that told him that he was there to help Takeru when he struggled? Did he not think the same was true when their roles were reversed?

"...was it Mom?" he prompted hesitantly when Yamato remained silent. "Did she upset you?"

"No, kiddo. That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

Yamato glanced down at Gabumon, and then at Patamon, and then back at Gabumon. Takeru looked down at the child-level digimon in his arms, and Patamon pushed himself into the air to find a comfortable spot on the bed.

"Yamato," Gabumon hedged tentatively. "The sooner we talk about it, the sooner we can figure out what is going on so we can fix it."

"I know that, Gabumon. Trust me, I know."

Takeru stayed quiet, awaiting an explanation. Seconds ticked by and nothing came, and that only made Takeru nervous.

"Nii-san?"

"Koushiro says he discovered something."

A pause. Takeru's eyes blew wide, heart plummeting so hard and so fast from its place under his ribs that he knew any attempt to slow its descent would fail. "...wh-what?"

"I was going to tell you, Takeru," Yamato said as he lowered himself on the bed. "I swear. It's just… you looked so happy, at Mom's. I didn't want to ruin that. You've had enough of a rough time as it is."

Some nearly-hidden part of him was touched. Deeply and genuinely, Takeru appreciated that Yamato wanted to protect Takeru's happiness for as long as he was able. It was so kind of Yamato to let Takeru just enjoy the moment while he could.

But… but to have that knowledge on his shoulders… how heavy of a burden was it? The hopeful side of his brain told him that it could be a positive discovery, but the haunted look on his brother's face killed that hope as soon as it appeared.

"But you were really tense," Takeru murmured with soulful, remorseful eyes. "I knew something was wrong."

"Can't hide anything from you, can I, bud?"

Yamato smiled as he said the words, but it didn't look like much of a smile at all. Instead, the gesture looked dry. Watered down with anxiety. Laced with sadness.

"I can handle it," Takeru assured him. "Honest."

"We did a lot today," Yamato said. "Don't you think… we should wait?"

The idea would have been tempting if he wasn't one-hundred percent certain of the fact that not knowing Koushiro's the details most recent discovery would cause him—and, inevitably, his older brother—just as much anxiety as knowing it would.

"I… I think that Gabumon's right," Takeru said slowly. "The sooner we figure things out, the sooner it'll be over. Don't you think so?"

For some reason unknown to Takeru, Yamato still looked afraid. That fear was like a disease—dangerous, deadly, and highly contagious.

Since Hikari had embraced him back in the digital world, the spider web in his brain, and its unidentified creator, had been shoved away. Its presence had weakened considerably, and though he wasn't sure why, he didn't have the energy to question it.

Listening to Yamato's rehearsal helped mute the voices continuously echoing in the back of his mind. Beat by beat.

Watching Yamato immerse himself into the world of his music helped snap the web apart. Thread by thread.

Making amends with his mother and feeling like an actual family again made his body feel like his own again. Pulse by pulse.

But all that progress didn't matter when fear returned, not even bothering to knock before it stormed in and wreaked havoc on his still-fragile mind. Fear could turn up the volume of those voices.

Fear could tape the web back together.

Fear could reattach the strings, learning how to control him once again.

"Takeru," Patamon said, reaching for Takeru's phone. "You have a message. It's from Hikari."

He'd set it on the bed when they came in and was so wrapped up in Yamato's confession that he'd forgotten all about it. Didn't even hear it go off.

Slowly, numbly, Takeru stepped toward the bed. The web was in the middle of reconstruction, but… but if he stayed near his friends—if he stayed near Yamato—it'd be fine, right?

He sat down between Patamon and his brother, gently taking his cell from Patamon's tiny paws. Patamon took one look at him and faithfully climbed into his lap, curling up like a cat. Even Gabumon nuzzled into his right knee.

Hikari's message read: Are you okay?

Yamato leaned in slightly as if to read the message. Takeru felt no reason to hide it, so he accepted the warmth of his brother and their digimon partners.

The construction paused. The strings slackened just a little.

"Did Koushiro tell you what they found?" he whispered without turning to face his brother.

"Not yet." Yamato's voice was now quiet and threaded with ribbons of fatigue. "I told him I'd get back to him."

"Tonight?"

"Whenever I felt like it."

"Nii-san," Takeru murmured with a frown of disapproval, but the twitching of his lips gave him away. Still, he continued, "Koushiro's very intelligent. One of the smartest people I know! I think… I think you should go easy on him. How many times has he pulled us out of a tough spot?"

Yamato paused for a few heartbeats and then expelled a long-suffering sigh. "...yeah. You're right. It's… it's just like… a puzzle to him, I guess."

"That's just the way his brain works," Takeru said patiently. "He's a genuinely good person, Nii-san. I've seen it. People express their feelings differently. Koushiro wants to figure this out just like we do."

Yamato looked like he wanted to say something, but held his tongue at the last possible second. Takeru waited again for him to speak, and when he didn't, he carried on, "I'm not saying… that you're wrong in any way. Please don't take it that way, Nii-san. Of course your feelings are valid. I'm just… Koushiro deserves a bit of credit, doesn't he? So he's not much of a people person, and he doesn't express himself well, but… but he's trying to figure it out, like the rest of us. I don't think he's prioritizing the case over any of our safety."

Another pause, but it didn't last as long. Eventually, Yamato leaned back slightly, reclining his back against the mattress. He rested an arm over his eyes. "I know. I know, I just… it'd be different if we knew where Mirrormon was. But we don't, and it feels like that gives him an advantage."

Gabumon hummed in agreement, though his eyes remained soulful and solemn. "The element of surprise."

"Exactly."

Patamon looked up at Takeru. Butted his head into Takeru's palm, coaxing his fingers to uncurl so he could pet him, and said, "We have something Mirrormon doesn't have."

"We do?" Takeru asked.

"For sure." His smile was small but proud and full of hope. "We have the power of the crests."

"...what if it's not enough?"

Yamato's words unleashed something cold and monstrous from his heart, something that swept suddenly, rapidly, completely, through the rest of his body. Through veins. Through muscle. Through bone. He said them so softly, so brokenly, that Takeru couldn't believe it was his older brother—his ever-cool, indestructible brother—who had spoken.

Yamato was scared.

Yamato was veridically, deeply, undeniably scared.

It was unfair of Takeru to think that he wouldn't be. Takeru didn't blame him. Before he could breathe a word, however, Patamon said, "It will be. I know it. I can feel it."

Then he turned back to Takeru, eyes sparkling. Those blue eyes were similar to his own. Like a mirror.

"We've done it before, right? We've always pulled through. We can do it again. Just you wait."

"He's right," Gabumon added gently. "There is always a period of time where we struggle with what to do, but we eventually find the answers we need. It's ok to be afraid, but we mustn't let that feeling control us. We mustn't give up."

Warmth. Warmth and violent, painfully cold chills, fighting for control. Takeru's fingers struggled to move on Patamon's head, and he couldn't really figure out why. Like some invisible force was holding him back. Like he'd lost the ability to move his body altogether.

The weird spell broke almost as fast as it came, and Takeru slowly gathered his partner in his arms, holding him to his chest. Focused on the sound of his own heartbeat, and imagined Patamon's sounding the same. Focused on the memory of Hikari's arms around his torso, chasing away the feeling of apathy and replacing it with the same kind of warmth that fought for purchase inside him now.

Focused on the warmth he felt as he watched his brother rehearse.

Focused on the warmth he felt as his mother embraced him.

Takeru smiled fondly down at his partner. Folded his legs up and leaned back next to his older brother, still holding his partner. Rested his head on Yamato's shoulder. It was a little awkward given Yamato's arms were still folded over his eyes. Wondered if the physical contact would soothe him, if only just a little. They weren't similar in that aspect—which was something Takeru himself didn't fully understand—but he had to do something.

Thankfully, the gesture had the desired effect. Yamato relaxed a little, but his next words weren't as comforting:

"I just don't want anything to happen to you, bud. I…" A pause. "I can't help but worry. You're… you know how important you are, right? If… if something happened..."

Takeru's throat constricted, trapping the warmth before it could travel any further. It built and built, and if it didn't find a place to go, it would, inevitably, force its way out. He wasn't sure if it would return.

And the undeterred ice inside him would consume him. Would render him frozen, entombed in a state of sleep paralysis, even in lucid, coherent wakefulness.

Except… was he awake? Or was he falling asleep? Could sleep paralysis happen while he was awake?

Just… breathe. Breathe. You can do that. You really can.

Still. Takeru had to fight back. Had to find some semblance of control, of normalcy. Clung to Patamon and tried his hardest to make his partner's optimism his own.

Excruciatingly slowly, it worked. Takeru drew in several deep, cleansing breaths, the warmth seeped through, and he murmured, "I… don't want anything to happen to you, either. You're…"

He couldn't say it. Not out loud. He knew deep down it wasn't true, but it felt like Yamato was the only one in their family who truly loved him. Like Yamato was the only one in their family who cared if he was left alone. Like Yamato was the only one who really cared if he ate, or slept, or drank enough water.

It was a false insecurity, a wound that only deepened and festered because his brain refused to let it heal. He knew his parents were really trying—more now than ever, which was further proven by the events of this evening—but it still hurt.

He didn't want to be angry, and at this point, he wasn't. He just ached, and he missed them, and sometimes it felt like he was the only one who couldn't move on. The only one who mourned the loss of a family he didn't even remember having.

"Takeru?" Patamon whispered. "Are you ok?"

"We have to get through this," he choked out. "We… we have to, Nii-san. I… spending time with you and Dad… even Mom, tonight… it's everything I've ever wanted. I can't… no. I won't accept that I've finally got something amazing, only for Mirrormon to take it away. You said it yourself. We'll take him down."

Yamato chuckled. "I said that, didn't I?"

"You said you'll take him down 'cause you're 'ruthless'."

He said it jokingly, lightly, if only to get the image of Yamato's distant expression—the one from the other day, when he first said the words—out of his mind. Present Yamato just looked at him with an owlish expression.

"You doubt my word?"

There. A spark of humor. A whisper of feigned hurt. Takeru couldn't help but laugh when he realized the solemnity in his brother's gaze was false. "Nii-san. You're the nicest person I know."

"I'm pretty sure nobody else agrees with you, Teek."

Gabumon's head popped above the edge of the bed, and he gazed at Yamato with stunned ruby eyes. "I agree with him, Yamato."

"I trust you a lot," Patamon chirped. "But Takeru's the nicest person I know."

Takeru's cheeks felt warm. "Patamon…"

This. Takeru made sure to savor this feeling, to cling to it with all his strength, and never let it go. To use it as an anchor when the web and its creator returned, when the puppeteer resumed in its mastery.

"Oh." Takeru sat up with such haste that it dizzied him. Even Patamon yelped in surprise. "I didn't respond to Hikari!"

Yamato sat up as well, with noticeably more reluctance than Takeru. "Guess I should… call Koushiro, huh?"

He was reaching in his pocket for his cell, and Takeru had his back in his hands. He didn't even remember putting it back on the bed—maybe he had done it reflexively as he talked to his brother?—but regardless, Hikari was awaiting the response.

Nii-san says Koushiro discovered something? he typed out.

Yamato muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse word. "Of course."

Patamon wiggled in Takeru's arms to face Yamato but didn't leave Takeru's lap. "What is it?"

Takeru's phone buzzed to life in his hands. From Hikari: Can we video call?

"I haven't looked at my phone since I got Koushiro's first message," Yamato admitted with a sigh. "He's sent multiple, which I kind of expected. The last one says he's at his apartment with some of the other kids."

"Which 'other kids'?" Gabumon asked.

From Hikari: I'm at Koushiro's now. Is it a good time? How are you?

"Hikari's with him," Takeru said. "I don't know how else."

"Apparently Miyako is, too," Yamato added. "And Ken and Iori."

"That's cool," Patamon said. "Just you and Daisuke and it would've been the whole younger team!" And then, after a wince, and in a stage-whisper: "I'm glad Koushiro's got Ken and Iori to keep him sane."

"Patamon," Takeru chided as he typed a reply back to Hikari. "That's not nice."

From Takeru: I'm ok, thanks for asking. I hope you're ok too? Video call sounds fine. Gonna warn you tho, don't point out Nii-san's worry wrinkles lol

From Hikari: :P I wouldn't dare

Moments later, Hikari's name lit up on the screen. Yamato looked at him curiously, but Takeru swiped 'accept' before giving an explanation, and the teasing, bubbly atmosphere shifted back into something darker. Colder. Gut-wrenching.

Hikari looked like she'd been crying.

Hikari, who had just texted him back teasingly, who hadn't answered his echo of her question, had been crying. She looked extremely troubled, with a slightly reddened nose and puffy, darkly-ringed eyes. Like she hadn't slept at all the night before.

Takeru's smile faded, and with it went the warmth in his chest, and the already-slim hope that this discovery could be anything remotely positive. His heart had just recovered from its fall and had finally reached its normal place again, but now it was gone. Sinking lower. Lower. Phasing through skin and exiting his body.

"What's wrong?" His voice barely reached a whisper. "Your eyes are…"

There was a crunching, ruffling noise as Hikari aimed the camera away from her face. Yamato instantly looked over Takeru's shoulder to see, but before he or either of their digimon could question it, Hikari said with a watery chuckle, "You… you can tell, huh? I thought I recovered enough."

Takeru's frown deepened. "What happened?"

More shuffling. Miyako's face appeared on the screen, and she said, "I… I have a theory, but… I'm not sure if you'll like it."

From the other side of what was presumably Koushiro's bedroom: "Did Yamato look at the attachments I sent him via text? I was going to send an email, but I assumed—"

Miyako faced the screen again. "Koushiro wants to know if—"

"I heard him," Yamato said stonily. "I got the pics, but I haven't opened them yet."

"Ok, rude," Miyako muttered. "I didn't even get to finish. But I'll let it slide given the situation."

Takeru studied Miyako's expression through the screen, noticing that her eyes were slightly pink and swollen, too. He swallowed with difficulty, scrambling to figure out how to breathe again.

His heart had called an emergency evacuation. Now his lungs and everything else craved escape, desperate enough to take the fastest route possible without any concern about how it would affect the rest of his body.

Would everything leave? Would the puppeteer have everything it needed to fully control him? If he was completely hollow inside, like the shell of a doll? Would he remember anything, or would it be similar to his sleepwalking episode?

Gone was his determination to take back what was rightfully his. Gone was his courage to put up a fight. Gone was the warmth and hope to which he desperately clung.

Because something was wrong.

Something was wrong, and Takeru was agonizingly, banefully aware of it. Every inch of him wanted out, out, out. Like they thought his body was no longer a safe place to call home.

"—de. Hey. Takeru? Takeru?"

Miyako's voice snapped him back into the present.

"Teek?" Yamato whispered.

Gabumon and Patamon were gazing at him worriedly. When did Gabumon get on the bed? Takeru blinked several times to focus his vision, and he realized then that five different faces were crammed together on one screen: Iori, Hikari, Ken, Koushiro, and the speaker herself, Miyako.

All of them were wide-eyed. Concerned. Yamato's hand came to rest on his back, and Patamon and Gabumon sat on either side of him with identical expressions of fear.

Takeru shivered, inexplicably cold. He was surrounded by beings who were constantly warm, but he was covered in goosebumps nonetheless.

"What?" Takeru croaked, still blinking.

"Everything ok?" Yamato asked. "We've been talking to you for almost a minute. Are… are you cold?"

His hand moved away from Takeru's spine to rub his arm.

His vision cleared slightly. Abruptly, everything rushed back into place. Unbroken. Steady. The force of the change left him dizzy once again, and without even thinking, he leaned into Yamato's warmth. Then, breathlessly: "I-it's cold, yeah."

"Did… did you hear what Miyako said?" Iori asked, eyes slightly hazy. Takeru couldn't tell whether or not that was just the camera on Hikari's phone.

"Sorry," Takeru murmured, suddenly lacking the energy to even feel ashamed. "I didn't."

"That's… ok," Miyako said slowly, and even she looked slightly dazed. "I just asked if you could compare the pictures for us. See what you noticed."

Gabumon gasped in shock. "So there are differences?"

"I'm afraid so," Koushiro told them regretfully. "Now—"

"Wait, why do you need us to look at them?" Yamato said, his voice sharp. "Why can't you just tell us? Spit it out already."

"We just need confirmation," Ken said gently, quietly. "That's all."

For some reason, Ken was able to lure Yamato into silence. Takeru swallowed again. His heart was beating so fast. Picking up momentum like a predatory animal initiating the final step in its plan to feed: the chase.

"Ok," Takeru said, despite the fact that his mind and body were screaming that this was anything but ok. "I'm ready."

Shuffling. Takeru watched and listened as their view of their friends and Koushiro's room became distorted. Everyone was moving around. He barely caught glimpses of Hikari's face. Of her hair. Of her shirt.

"Are you able to open it on your phone?" came Koushiro's voice from a place that neither of the brothers could see. "The photos? I screenshotted them side by side so you would have an easier time comparing the two, but if it's too small on your screen—"

"No," Yamato said. His voice was strangely wooden. Flat. Added, "I can see it just fine. Takeru?"

Takeru looked from his screen over to Yamato's. Heard Hikari say, "We're looking at them, too."

"What do you notice?" Koushiro hedged.

"Give me a damn second," Yamato said, though the softness of his voice neutralized the heat in his words.

It seemed, as dramatic as it sounded, that they were waiting on Takeru's response with bated breath. He squinted to enhance his focus, leaning away from the camera of his own phone to study the image.

At first, he wasn't quite sure there were any differences, except that His eyes darted back and forth, back and forth between the photos. Scanning. Searching. Searching. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch. But he couldn't—

Wait a minute.

Oh.

Takeru's eyes popped, and he sucked in a sharp breath without even realizing it. The shock of this discovery shifted into fascination. Fascination into confusion.

Confusion into horror.

"The rings," Takeru rasped, goosebumps pebbling, from head to toe. "They're on opposite legs."

"Precisely," Koushiro said.

"...what does it mean?" Yamato pressed after a moment's pause.

Shuffling. Some indistinct, muffled murmuring. Takeru's gaze snapped back to his own screen to see a Hikari's thumb brush over the camera, but it was gone a moment later, revealing her anxious expression.

"I did some digging," Koushiro answered, his voice followed by the clicking and tapping of his keyboard. "The Bakumon Miyako mentioned looks identical to the one on Hikari's camera. I asked for the D3s belonging to Iori, Hikari, Daisuke, and, of course, Miyako, just so I could search through their encounter history, and they're the same; but the one on your D3, Takeru… it's different. Look at the symbols."

Takeru obeyed, his heart beating faster and faster as he repeated the process from before: scanning, searching, examining.

"What the hell?" Yamato muttered.

Reversed.

The markings on the second Bakumon—the digimon from Hikari's camera—were reversed from the ones in the first photo. Just like they would if the original was looking in a mirror.

Colder. Colder. It was summer, and their apartment was already naturally warm, but Takeru couldn't escape the invigorated chill that accompanied this newfound piece of knowledge. He didn't want to accept it. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't—

Except he didn't need to. Because at that moment, Patamon said, "It's a reflection."

"My thoughts exactly," Koushiro said. "I… I also studied your most recent encounter of Kuwagamon, Takeru, and compared it to a previous one on the database…"

Clicking. Rapid tapping. Koushiro's keyboard again.

Hikari faced the camera toward Koushiro's computer screen, stepping in close to give them the best view she could. The screen was still a little blurry, the camera refusing to focus on the words or pictures on his computer. Takeru couldn't really read it, but then, he didn't have to.

Koushiro concluded, "I found the same types of differences between them, as well. The features—markings, symbols, jewelry, or any other distinguishable characteristics on their bodies—mirrored the original. The same was true for… for the other digimon, excluding Floramon. Though the explanation for that is quite simple: none of us saw the Floramon whom Mirrormon enslaved before he moved onto another digimon."

"What… what does it mean, though?" Takeru echoed his brother's words.

He already knew. He'd already figured it out, but denial weighed heavily in his heart. It whispered traitorously of small, false reassurances. Whispered, It's unconfirmed.

Whispered, Lack of confirmation means hope.

Whispered, Hope means… means he's not there. It means it's not him. Not him.

Like an echo: Not him, not him, not him.

"We're not quite certain of it," Koushiro went on, oblivious to his turmoil, "but… Miyako's got a theory."

"I don't like the sound of that," Patamon said, anxiously shifting by Takeru's side.

"Neither do I," Yamato said, his voice low. "But… but if the Bakumon on Hikari's camera is the real thing, then… the one on Takeru's digivice…"

"...is a reflection?" Gabumon finished hesitantly when Yamato stopped. "A counterfeit?"

"You think he was created by Mirrormon?" Patamon asked fretfully.

It was then that Koushiro quieted, though, for what reason, Takeru didn't know. Miyako was the one who answered him.

"We think…" She drew in a deep breath, like she was preparing herself. "...at least, it's possible that… those digimon were Mirrormon. Maybe… Mirrormon mutated himself to look like them. He took their forms, and… and controlled them from the inside."

His brother, he realized, was just as tense as Takeru was. The only thing anchoring Takeru was the presence of Yamato and their digimon. It was the only thing keeping from freezing to death. Takeru shivered. Murmured, "Nii-san…"

He wasn't even paying attention either of their phones anymore. The muffled shuffling noises fell mute. Their voices sounded like they were underwater.

"Nii-san," he repeated, another shudder crawling down his spine. He wanted to scream it, but all that came out was a breathy whisper.

"I am a holy digimon, after all."

The puppeteer. The spider who spun the web. Takeru could only vaguely recall the voice of the speaker whose words echoed in his head, but something…

"Usually, he is meant to soothe those whose sleep has been disturbed by nightmares and other such things."

...something was really, truly there…

"I have heard a lot of things in my time here."

...warping his view of reality itself…

Nii-san...

"He helps others sleep peacefully."

...manipulating threads, muscles, thoughts, bones…

"Let's get you out of this forest, shall we?"

...chilling his blood, draining him, freezing him from the inside…

"But an unholy Bakumon, corrupted by evil and greed…"

...help me…!

...stealing his perception of time, his warmth, his lucidity…

"...he steals the good dreams and traps them in an endless nightmare."

It wasn't his imagination. It wasn't Takeru being ridiculous or paranoid. There was something inside him, and he had no idea how to get rid of it.

"Onii-san!"

He didn't mean to yell out so loudly. It was like he was trying to expel every bad, harmful thing in his body with that one name. Like it was enough to completely, irreversibly eradicate the infestation of whatever had made a new home out of his body.

"I'm right here," Yamato said, sounding just as frightened as Takeru felt. "I've… I've been right here this entire time. Ok? Takeru? Can you see me?"

"Is he ok?" came Hikari's quivering, choked voice. "Yamato... please, can you unmute?"

His phone. They were in the middle of a video call. He didn't remember dropping or moving his phone, but the device was no longer in his hand.

Dazedly, Takeru followed the sound of his best friend's voice. His cell was now on the other side of Yamato, facing up. All his friends could see was their bedroom ceiling.

"Nii-san," he tried again, pleading with every cell, every fiber, every part in him that could, because he ached for this to just end. "Please… please get him out. Please."

Gabumon secured a blanket around him, and Patamon curled up against his neck. The phone remained on Yamato's other side. None of them acknowledged it. Instead, Yamato's grip on him tightened. Tucked Takeru's head under his chin, thawing him out.

And he whispered, "I'm working on it, buddy."