There's a cigar in his mouth. He always has a cigar in his mouth. Soul blinks and then smiles because really, they're literal undercover agents and all but for fuck's sake, a cigar? Makes them look like they're on some cheap noir film and he tells Wes so in a dry (if fond) deadpan.

The elder Evans simply rolls his eyes and continues puffing, settling down on the bench beside his brother. It's fall in New York City, and the leaves on the trees have turned varying shades of orange and red and brown, littering the ground, clinging to the trees in a last desperate stand before winter really digs in its claws. There's a breeze blowing too, just strong enough to cut like knives and make everyone feel a little on edge. Soul dips his chin and nestles his face a little deeper into his scarf. Everything's so vivid today, bright and crisp and clear; it's all a little disconcerting. He glances at his brother. Wes's hair is neat as usual, tamed in a way Soul never could quite manage, clean-shaven and impeccably dressed in a tan trench coat and polished dress shoes. Wes notices his stare and smiles in that quiet way he has. "Something on your mind, kid?"

Soul sighs, stretching out on the bench with his arms behind his head. "Nah. Just that stupid cigar, s'all. It stinks."

"Don't hate, this thing exudes class and makes me feel exceedingly clever."

"You look like a pretentious douchenozzle is what."

Wes tries to suppress his laughter and fails. "Douchenozzle. How do you come up with these? We're s'posed to be professionals."

Soul grins. "I've been around."

"I'll say."

Silence falls. Soul can hear the wind in the trees, hear the leaves rattle. The smile slips off his face. "I didn't expect to see you back so soon. What gives?"

Wes shrugs. "Oh, you know," he says lightly. "Things happen."

"Yeah, yeah. Was the contact not there or something?"

Wes taps the end of his cigar. Ash falls out, fluttering to the ground below. "You could say that."

Soul shoots his brother a look. "What happened?"

Wes smiles. It's one of those expressions that looks like it's going to dissolve into tears at any moment, and sure enough, there's a telltale glitter in Wes's eyes. Soul straightens. "Woah, shit, bro, what the fuck, why are you…"

But Soul's sentence trails off, because a flower has bloomed on Wes's coat, bright and crimson and growing much too fast for Soul's liking. There's a hole, a yawning black pinprick that contains any number of universes, in the center of the stain, right over where his brother's heart should be.

Soul's eyes widen. He reaches forward but his hands won't work and so all he can do is watch as his brother bleeds to death on the bench in front of him.

"Goddammit, I'm sorry," Wes says, and his voice cracks and his eyes close and tears slip down his cheeks one by one. "I've left you all alone."

Soul sits up in bed with a gasp, his heart pounding and a tightness in his throat. Panting, he stares blankly ahead, his brother's face etched in his brain. The room is dark and dim, lit only by stripes of moonlight seeping through the blinds. Soul curls into a ball, his head on his knees.

If he's crying, it's impossible to tell.