"Can't sle- uh, never mind."

Arthur caught his comment halfway, and Mathew acknowledged it with a shrug. "What about you?"

Arthur made a twisted expression. "Something like that."

Mathew went back to staring out the kitchen window, and Arthur traced his gaze.

"I was going to cremated you." He said suddenly, thickly. "But Alfred insisted you'd be happier buried close to home. Guess I know why he insisted so hard now."

It was the first time Arthur had admitted what happened to Mathew outloud, instead of dancing around the subject. It surprised Mathew, but he appreciated it.

" Yes." He was angrier than he should have been at the thought, and clenched his fists tighter. "I should still be there."

That's not me! He tried to calm himself with his usual mantra. It didn't seem to work. Arthur didn't say anything. Mathew continued.

"Why did he bring me back! Why couldn't he just leave it be! I don't want-" He almost stopped himself, but the anger made him plow through. "I don't want to be here!"

It's the first time Mathew had voiced this outloud too, and saying it outloud made him angrier. He whirled on Arthur.

"You know it too, Art! This is wrong! I shouldn't be here! How could he just force me like this! He-"

His voice was getting dangerously loud, and a part of him tried to hold it back, Alfred shouldn't hear - Why not? Why shouldn't Alfred know? Alfred was the one who made him like this, who trapped him as a monster, why should Mathew have to act like he wasn't angry?

Arthur threw up his palms and tried to soothe Mathew.

"Calm down, this isn't you,"

"That's the point!"

Mathew was snarling now, anger fully taking control of him. He knew he wasn't himself! Mathew died and he should have stayed dead! He hated the monster he was becoming, he hated how he hurt Alfred, and he hated the fact he hated himself for it! He hated everything, and he hated being angry all the time, and it just made him want to-

"-attie! Art, are you okay? Oh my god, Mattie! Snap out of it!"

And when Mathew came back to his senses, his blood ran cold. But the blood on his fingers, dripping down his face, and tasting metallic in his mouth wasn't. The blood dripping from the gaping wound on Arthur's forearm wasn't. And Mathew flung himself back, slamming into Alfred, who was holding him back from behind. It had happened again.

No! Mathew hated himself. This isn't me! This isn't right! I never wanted to hurt anyone!

But Arthur was pale, pouring an unhealthy a mount of blood, and Alfred was still holding him back like he was going to attack Arthur - he had attacked Arthur - and Mathew could still taste the blood, still feel the hujnger for it inside him.

"A-Arthur! I-I didn't mean-"

Alfred, apparently convinced Mathew was "sane" again, released him, rushing to Arthur's side, desperately trying to staunch the blood flow with a kitchen cloth. Mathew could tell the wound was deeper than he'd left before. It was getting worse, and Mathew felt terrified.

Arthur had to be convinced to go to the hospital, but Mathew threatened to hurt himself if Arthur refused, so Arthur caved. He must have forgotten that Mathew's injuries healed themselves, and Mathew didn't remind him. Instead, he tried to mop up the blood, choking on his own saliva at the scent, hands shaking so bad he was only making the mess worse. He curled, trying to retch, but nothing would come up. Whatever inhuman thing Mathew had become had made it so his body would no longer reject what it never should have accepted.

Eventually, Mathew gave up, and curled, covered in blood, cowering in the corner of the living room, watching the front door for his brother's to come back. He felt sick,but only emotionally.

This isn't me! I don't want this!

Mathew knew it couldn't be put off any longer. No matter how much it hurt his brothers, no matter how much they tried to deny it, no matter how much Mathew himself wished he could stretch the precious moments between them, no matter how much he wanted to be "normal" - no matter what, they needed to finish it. He needed to go back to the grave, and whatever nothingness lay beyond.

Or the next time Mathew lost himself, he might lose one, or both, brothers too.