Every damn word that left Ogron's mouth sounded like Yllidith. Felt like him. Every little habit he had felt like a twisted reflection of his former mentor as his fragmented mental state struggled to rail against its every better judgement and push Gregory deeper and deeper into darkness.

'Again!' He flinched right alongside Gregory as he barked the instruction. He was trying…he was trying so hard, why wouldn't his tone soften? Why couldn't he calm down? Why wouldn't his head stop screaming? Okay, well, at least he knew the answer to that last point. Neruman's power was foreign, and unwelcome amongst his own magic, so it was much the same as an immune response. But Neruman's magic wasn't going anywhere, and thank god; it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. The knowledge of his own weakness brought on another sharp snap as Gregory…did he even do anything wrong? What did he even do? Ogron was barely present by this point.

Oh, fantastic. Another wonderful moment of assertion that his teaching was effective! Through Gregory blasting him through a wall. Excellent… Was he even being sarcastic? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he was both furious and eternally relieved when Anagan called, 'Okay, that's enough. You guys need to call it a day there.'

'Ugh, finally…' Gregory muttered, brushing the dust from his clothes and stalking inside, being certain to throw Ogron a glare, just in case he had been at all unclear at whom his hatred was directed.

'You okay?' Anagan's question was obviously directed towards the wall debris littered across Ogron's exhausted form, and the blood merrily trickling down his forehead without a care in the world, but it also, as always, went deeper, to the panic and anxiety that never, ever left him, to the thoughts that beat him down every second of every day. To the comparisons Anagan didn't even know he was making.

'Fine.' Ogron's answer, as always, ignored Anagan's concerns, ignored his pain, able to compartmentalise it with things he no longer needed to care about.

'Are you…are you sure?'

'Certain. I'm…I'm going to…going to go…' He didn't have an end to that. He was just going to go. Not do anything, just go. The promise of collapsing to his bed danced temptingly in his mind, and that, about the only pleasant thought drifting through his mind, got his legs moving enough to wander inside, Anagan following with the offer of support Ogron would never accept. He couldn't make himself.

As they headed inside, Gantlos stalked past, on route to wherever it was he was going as of late. Ogron wasn't asking. He was too tired. Gantlos wasn't coming back with bruises or broken limbs, just puffy, red-rimmed eyes. He wanted to ask, of course he did…or did he? He was so tired…it wasn't like he could fix anything anyway. He was useless to everyone…just a practice dummy…

Anagan hadn't quite reached his level of beaten apathy, however, stopping Gantlos in his tracks with a hesitant, concerned hand on his shoulder.

'Gantlos…? Where are you going? It's nearing midnight…'

'Out.' With that one grunted word, Gantlos shook Anagan's hand off and stalked outside, exchanging a death glare with Gregory on the way, as was habit.

'Where is he going…?' Anagan murmured, watching the door slam shut, his eyes brimming with concern.

'Out.' Ogron was adopting Gantlos's monosyllabic answering strategy; it was so easy…used so little energy. And now he was going to sleep…

He was so close…he'd pulled the blanket back… He almost sobbed when Anagan stopped him. Why?! Why would he do this…? Was this cosmic punishment for everything he'd done?

'Ogron, you're bleeding; I know you want to sleep, but if I don't clean and dress it, you could get an infection.' Good. Let him get one. Then maybe he could just drop dead and escape this whole nightmare. Unfortunately, Anagan was far less on board with such a plan, guiding him to sit while he summoned over the well-used first aid kit.

'Okay…this is gonna sting a little.'

Ogron would have rolled his eyes if they weren't glued to his pillow and the promise of rest. Anagan spoke as though they hadn't done this a thousand times before. He gritted his teeth and hissed through the antiseptic, and sighed almost fondly as Anagan gently pressed the band-aid to his forehead.

'There…better?'

Ogron responded with a borderline-desperate grunt, sinking into bed and curling up against life.

'Ogron…' Why wasn't Anagan leaving? This was his time! This was when he pretended it didn't hurt…other people weren't allowed!

'Ogron, you know if you need to talk…about whatever you're feeling…you know I'm always here, right?' He was right here. Right here, where Ogron was trying to cry himself to sleep.

'Mm.' He very pointedly rolled over, ignoring the searing pain across his ribs. They were probably broken, but whatever. He'd had worse, and he'd get worse if he didn't get up at six to get blasted through another building.

'Ogron…' Anagan's hand hovered over him for a moment, unsure whether to offer comfort for something he didn't understand. After a second, he committed, and Ogron had to wrestle with the conflicting desire to snap at Anagan to go away, and the desire to lean into his touch and let him keep stroking his hair. After a moment, he opted for the latter, unable to shove away something that made him feel so good. This was his time…but so long as Anagan wasn't speaking…he could stay. He could stay a little while.

'Well, aren't you having an odd little time.' Oh no…no, not again…

'Why do I keep coming back here?!' Ogron demanded furiously, already stalking for the door without waiting for a reply.

'Oh, yes, try the handle.' Yllidith snickered. 'Stuck in here centuries, and that never once occurred to me. But you never were all that bright…'

'Yes I was.' Ogron didn't know why he bothered asserting himself. He'd just crumble down eventually…

'Why so eager to get away? Don't feel like asking for teaching tips?'

Ogron froze.

'After all, you've been adopting my methods quite nicely…'

'How…how do you know that?'

Yllidith practically facepalmed. 'For the last time, Ogron, this is not really me. I am a figment of your imagination, and thus I know everything you do. You see, this is why I say you're not that bright…you keep acting as though you actually think the real me has somehow found a way to reach beyond my cell, and the first thing I do is hop into your mind to taunt you.'

Ogron rolled his eyes, his dream providing just enough energy to do so. 'Because that's exactly the kind of thing you'd do.'

Yllidith smirked. 'True. Well, now I feel bad for my real self, trapped in a cell, unable to see you squirm. It's just so delicious…'

'I hate you…'

'Do you? Or do you hate yourself?' Yllidith asked, adopting the tone of a therapist that nobody in their right mind would dream of going to. 'I know you're feeling more and more like me by the day…and you hate how effective it is.'

Ogron finally stopped scrabbling at the door. His entire body tensed. '…What?'

'Gregory has learned at a rate that surprises even me. Certainly his raw power contributes, but I can see it's your teaching methods - my teaching methods - that are getting him there. Once you stop caring about compassion or rest, you get so much done…'

'No…I have compassion…I'm not like you!'

'I am your literal mind; do you really think you can pretend 'I am like Yllidith' hasn't been your only psychological headline for the past several days?' Normally when Ogron got stuck here, Yllidith stayed in the corner, lounging on a wooden bench and watching Ogron suffer. But this time, slow, predatory, he got to his feet and crossed the cell, Ogron's heart rate speeding up wildly with every inch of distance snatched.

'You're acting so like me…I know you're not me yet, but how long will it be before you stop caring at all? Before you're so broken that you'll fall back on the methods that left you scarred? Before you understand that I made you the strong wizard you once were?'

Ogron choked back a stifled, fearful sob as Yllidith stroked the hair back from his face, the gesture sickening in its seeming comfort.

'Don't touch me…'

'Stop me. Find the strength. Stop me.'

Ogron's fists clenched, but, glancing up into those acid-yellow eyes, all he could feel was small. Small, like a weak little child, a boy waiting to be berated.

'That's what I thought. I'm honestly impressed with this Neruman…he's broken you better than I ever managed…and he didn't even get undermined by your little pets.'

The disrespect afforded to his friends was enough. Finally, gritting his teeth, Ogron slapped Yllidith's hand away.

'I said don't touch me. And don't speak about them that way. I want to leave; I won't listen to you any longer.'

'Always were afraid of the truth, weren't you?' Yllidith remarked lightly, unperturbed by Ogron's brief surge of aggression. 'You didn't want to accept that your mother left, didn't want to accept that you provoked the fairies that killed your father, didn't want to accept that you're just a slave…tell me, Ogron, have you ever just accepted a truth?'

The words honestly stole the breath from Ogron's lungs. Whatever sense of resistance he'd managed to dredge up visibly crumbled, and he sagged back against the door, hugging his arms around himself. 'Shut up…please, please just shut up…'

'Look at yourself…' Yllidith muttered, sounding both amused and disgusted. 'No, I'm serious, look at yourself.' He yanked Ogron up by the hair, pushing him to stare into a mirror that, thanks to this being a dream and all, was just conveniently there. If Ogron hadn't been shaking like a leaf, he'd have sarcastically thanked his brain.

'I always did want a twin…' Yllidith purred, laughing as Ogron recoiled from his reflection. It was just a dream…just a dream…just a dream…and yet he could barely breathe, closing his eyes and whimpering, trying to find the words to assert that Yllidith was wrong. To find the words to lie with all the desperation coursing through him.

'It'll happen…' Yllidith whispered, his breath hot in Ogron's ear. 'And I'll be here to watch…to watch you lose what scraps of humanity you've been clinging to.'

Yllidith shoved him roughly, and Ogron pitched forwards with a startled cry, screaming as he tumbled through the mirror, blood seeping into his eyes from a thousand lacerations as every splintered reflection glitched between him and Yllidith, laughing with a cruelty that sounded so horribly, horribly familiar…

'Ogron! Ogron, wake up, it's just a nightmare!'

Ogron jolted awake with a scream, blindly shoving the person trying to calm him away. In the fog of fear, it was Yllidith. He didn't know otherwise.

'Okay, ow…'

Ogron blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze from his eyes, grimacing as he saw Anagan picking himself up from the warehouse floor. Had he shoved him down there? Dammit…

'Ogron, you're safe…you're safe, breathe…'

He gradually became aware that his breathing was so fast and frantic that barely a whisper of air could fight its way into his lungs, his panic keeping his chest in a chokehold.

'Ogron…Ogron, you're okay, you're okay, just focus on me, focus on my voice…' They'd done this a thousand times. Anagan had guided him through a thousand panic attacks. Helped him wake after a thousand nightmares. But this one…never had a dream left him more shaken. Was Yllidith right? Was he just messing with his head? Of course not: he was his head. He hated that…hated that this torment was being inflicted upon him by his own brain…but it meant, whatever Yllidith was saying…he already knew. He already knew he'd get there eventually. Or did he just fear it? Fear the inevitable? Hurt people hurt people, right? Well, he was hurt as hell, and he'd already tumbled so far into evil, how much further did he have to fall before he was Yllidith? How dark was his shade of grey?

As his mind raced with thoughts and fragmented attempts at reason, he barely heard Anagan trying to get through the confusion to speak to him.

'Ogron…Ogron…hey…hey.' His hands were gradually guided away from his face, coaxed out of their rhythmic twisting and tugging on his hair, settling in Anagan's, gently clasped to prevent further panicked tics.

'Hey, stop.' Anagan slowly rubbed his thumb in a soft circle on the back of Ogron's hand, and somehow, the motion grounded him. He timed his breathing to it, slowly coming in to rest in a vague sense of clarity.

'Can you hear me now?' Anagan asked softly, and Ogron managed to nod. 'Good…' Anagan stared searchingly into his eyes, watching him with a deep, loving worry. 'Ogron…what was that?'

Ogron began stammering flustered excuses, some of which didn't even seem to be in English. Or even Gaelic. He appeared to be making up an entirely new language dedicated solely to his panic. But Anagan wasn't hearing it.

'Ogron, you were screaming in your sleep, and muttering to yourself when you woke up.' Muttering? Oh god, what had he said…?

A second later, the question was answered. 'You were saying, 'I'm not like you.' Like who? Ogron, I can tell something's wrong, something beyond everything that was already wrong; please, tell me. I want to help.'

There were a few moments where the only sound was of Ogron's slow, shallow breathing. Thoughts raced through his mind. Should he tell him? Tell him what? That he was afraid he was acting like and maybe turning into their old master? The man that had treated Anagan almost as deplorably as he'd treated Ogron? No, that was trauma that didn't need needling. Ogron had made a choice, the day he'd taken the mantle of leader, that Yllidith was in their past, and regardless of what his mind may choose to torture him with, he refused to let his name enter the waking world.

'…Just Neruman stuff.' He used to be an excellent liar. Now…Anagan didn't believe him for a heartbeat.

'Ogron, I haven't seen you that distressed in a dream for a long, long time. It's not just that, you're acting strangely, you'll barely let me patch you up…your body can't take much more training, Ogron.' The conversation, had Anagan not said that, might have taken an entirely different turn. But that…the suggestion of weakness, however accurate…made Ogron's stomach churn. Weak…he was weak. Too weak to free himself from Neruman. Too weak to train Gregory how he wanted. Too weak to keep his trauma from making him everything he hated.

'Yes, I can. I'm fine, Anagan, and I'm getting a little sick of you treating me like a helpless child.'

Anagan flinched with surprise, hurt flickering across his face. 'Ogron…you know I'm not…'

'Yes, you are. You leave Gantlos alone, to handle himself however he sees fit, but me, you treat like some invalid! And I'm sick of it!' He wasn't. Not truly. He was sick of practically being an invalid. Of needing to be taken care of in the first place. He wanted Anagan to care for him, he just didn't know how to let himself want it.

'I'm still a damn powerful wizard, and I don't need you watching me when I sleep, like I can't handle a night without you.' A part of him hated that Anagan had seen his nightmare. The other part never, ever wanted to sleep without Anagan there ever again. The first part had got more sleep.

'Ogron, I'm just trying to help.' There was a quiet, almost hesitant edge of irritation to Anagan's voice. He almost never sounded anything but concerned when Ogron was snapping, but, had Ogron been thinking, he might have thought about how Anagan was suffering too. He was tired too. But Ogron was more tired, too tired. Too tired to think about what he was saying.

'What time is it?' Ogron muttered, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He had to get up. He had training to do.

'It's like four in the morning.' Anagan stared incredulously as Ogron staggered to his feet, trying to…to what? Prove something? He didn't even know. All he knew was that he wasn't weak, and he could get through this. He had to get through this. Had to be stronger than everything Neruman and his own toxic mind could throw at him. And Anagan, with his insistence on rest, on lying about like some weak child, was not helping!

'Ogron, if you're thinking about training, think for a second.'

'I have thought. I've thought, and I'm getting Gregory up.' An extra two hours would be good, actually. Maybe that would get Gregory gone sooner. If Gregory left, he'd stop teaching. He'd stop turning into him! Yes, go, train, good…

'Ogron!'

Ogron startled as Anagan caught his wrist, staring at him with annoyance. 'Let go! I have to work, Anagan!'

'You have to sleep! Ogron, you're gonna collapse, and I don't know how many more times I can help you back on your feet.'

Ogron scowled. There it was again. Anagan thought he was weak. 'I don't need you to get me back on my feet, Anagan! I can stand on my own!' His point was undermined as he swayed on his feet, but he swatted away Anagan's attempts at support. 'I said I'm fine.'

Anagan's expression twisted with heartache as he watched his friend staggered and sway, haggard and exhausted. 'No…no, you're not…please…please, just let me help you…'

'I do not need your help!' Even Ogron was surprised by the force with which he spoke. With which he shouted. He almost never raised his voice at his friends. Near them, yes, all the time, but seldom at them.

The rarity of the occurrence was epitomised in Anagan's shocked, hurt expression. Fix it, his mind urged. Say sorry, tell him what's wrong, let him help you. You did before, remember? Yes, he remembered. And what had it fixed? Nothing! Neruman was still his puppetmaster, his life was still hell, and sobbing into Gantlos and Anagan had fixed nothing! All crying and hurting did was make him weak, and he had to be strong if he wanted half a hope of surviving this.

'I'm waking Gregory up and getting started,' he snapped, stalking across the warehouse, leaving Anagan staring after him in silent, surprised hurt. His words had wounded him, so callous, so careless. So like him. He bit his lip to force back tears. He'd lost control of his life, his body, and now, it seemed, his own personality.

…What the heck?

Anagan took a deep, steadying breath, shushing and soothing the anger churning in his chest, boiling and burning red hot at Ogron's callous words, his utter disregard for his attempts to help. He attempted to extinguish it with the usual excuses: Ogron was exhausted, terrified, traumatised… A few more deep breaths, and it started to subside, but it was getting harder and harder to bite it back.

There was the sound of snapping and yelling from across the warehouse; evidently Gregory wasn't loving the new sleep schedule. He could try and help, but Ogron had just made it perfectly clear that he neither wanted nor needed his help.

'Bullshit,' he muttered hotly under his breath, stalking for the door and slipping out with a lot of effort going towards not just slamming it. 'Absolute bullshit.' Ogron needed his help! He needed help! And that didn't make him weak! It just…it just made him alive!

He needed to run. He needed to get the emotions bubbling up inside him out, and the only way he knew how to do that was by running as fast and as far as he could until his chest burned and his muscles ached. He'd run. He'd run, he'd vent under his breath, the way he always did when he was upset, and nobody had to know. Nobody had to know he was mad. Least of all Ogron. He had enough going on…he could be his stress ball if he had to be. He just had to stay calm, stay together, hold everything together as it shattered around him.

Gantlos didn't sleep at the warehouse anymore. Well, not really. He'd managed a few hours of sleep the other night, but his nights had been taken up with something else entirely.

Gardenia Park was busy during the day. Filled with people that knew his face, knew he was wanted, knew how to contact the Winx and have him back in the deep freeze before he could so much as blink. So he had to go at night.

For the first week, he'd been too afraid to look. Too scared to try and follow the trail he knew would be there. It wasn't that it started by the Specialists' apartment; he wasn't even sure they still lived there. (After going there, he could say, no, they didn't. Just a bunch of college guys.) No, what scared him was seeing where it led. It hadn't been much more than a year since everything…happened. Went to hell. So the trail had still been there. A wild, toxic, heart-breakingly familiar trail, twisting across the sky from the apartment. His trail. His magic.

Gantlos had always been a good tracker. His skills were almost unparalleled. Most of the wings they'd stolen were thanks to his powers. So, if he could track a fairy across a continent (but apparently not to California), then it had been a pretty easy feat to track a shapeshifter's powers across Gardenia. That hadn't been the hard part.

No, the hard part had come after. When the trail ended. When he'd shoved through bushes and brambles and dropped to his knees at the edge of the scorched grass, in the clearing covered in the tattered, tattered remains of Duman's magic. Of the wild, wonderful powers of the man he'd loved. He'd sobbed the entire night.

He'd visited every night since. Duman didn't have a grave, didn't even have a body to bury, but this place…scorched and drenched in magic and solitude…this was the closest Gantlos could get. He'd just cried, the first few nights. After a while, he'd started to speak. Nothing really, at first. Just… 'I miss you.' 'We got out of Omega.' 'I saw a cloud shaped like a lobster today. You'd have liked it.'

Then deeper stuff. Neruman. Ogron. The puppetting. He vented everything, his fear, his grief, his guilt over not being able to keep Ogron safe, all to a scorched patch of grass. A silent clearing.

Lately, the visits had felt more important. All thanks to one topic. Gregory. The interloper, as he was coming to be known in Gantlos's mind, was trying to force his way into their lives, to crawl through the cracks, and Gantlos was sick of it. But, more than that, when Anagan said things like, 'He's one of us,' Gantlos had to assert to himself, to the universe, that Duman was still there. Not beside him, not holding him; he'd never do that again. But…in his heart, as Winx-like as that sounded. He was in his heart, his memories…on the team. There was, and always would be, a gaping hole in their circle, one that no bratty teen was ever going to fill, no matter how much his friends seemed to be trying to jam him in there.

'Hey.' As always, no answer came but the gentle night breeze. Nevertheless, Gantlos sat, cross-legged, just off the scorch marks. It felt like a gesture of respect, somehow. Like…that was all that was left of Duman. Like a grave. He wasn't supposed to meddle with it.

If anyone had seen him laying flowers next to the other wilting blooms, he'd have been tempted to destroy them to hide his grief. But it had become ritualistic. Plus, these were stolen with the aid of magic from Bloom's mother's shop; Duman would have liked that. Anything to combine screwing with the Winx and petty theft.

'So, things are still a disaster,' he started, absentmindedly running his talons through his matted hair, the way Duman would have done if he was stressed. 'Ogron's training himself to exhaustion, and he won't listen to Anagan…Gregory's just making things worse…as usual.' He huffed, crossing his arms at the thought of the kid. 'Sorry. I don't really want to talk about him in front of you…I know you're not getting replaced, I'd die before I let that happen, but…it's hard not to feel that way, y'know?'

The trees rustled, as though to say yeah, they knew. He could keep going.

'I'm pretty tired…haven't really been sleeping. Or eating. Not that there's much food. But maybe I should shut up and stop complaining about that; I've gone hungry for three weeks, you were on the brink of starvation for years. But I'm not that hungry, honestly. I don't feel like eating without you.' A long, painfully heavy pause. '…I don't feel like doing anything without you. I miss you…I keep thinking you'll come back…you always had nine lives, I never thought they'd get used up…that someone would actually do it…take you away from me.' He stroked the grass, his touch slow and hesitant. '…Please, please don't let it have been painful…' The usual tears fell, tumbling to the grass in silence. Everything was silent. Duman had never been silent. He was loud, and wild, and crazy, and if he was there, he'd have been hugging Gantlos, stroking his hair, soothing him, kissing him, saying the stupidest things he could think of to make him laugh. He'd smile his crooked smile and say, 'There's my beautiful wizard.'

'I can't believe you're never gonna say that again…' Gantlos voice cracked, and his hands twisted into the grass under his fingertips, healthy green blades ripping in two like his heart.

He sobbed there a while. Gradually, he sank to curl up on the ground, as he always did. When he was too tired to cry any longer, he curled up on the soft grass and slept until dawn light chivvied him from the clearing with her promises of people, of discovery.

But just as his hair brushed the blades, he sat up with a start. Someone was here. Magic. He sensed magic. The Winx? He wouldn't let anyone touch this place. He wouldn't!

The ground trembled under him as he got to his feet, roughly brushing away tears. He stalked towards the trees, ready for a fight, but stopped short as a familiar voice met his ears.

'…think you can handle it, but guess what? You can't. You're human, Ogron, accept it! Sleep! Eat! Tell me what's wrong, because I love you and I can't help if you just shove me-' A heartbeat later, and Gantlos found himself face-to-face with what had to be most frustrated expression he'd ever seen on Anagan's face.

'…What are you doing here?' The words came out harsher than he intended. But he couldn't help it. This…this place felt private. Even from Ogron and Anagan. There was a reason he hadn't told them where he was going. Not that he could articulate whatever that reason was, but it was present, and it was painful.

'What are you doing here?' Anagan glanced around in confusion, at an evident loss for why Gantlos was spending his night hanging out in a park. After a second, he sighed, rubbing his temples. '…Sorry. Tired. Ogron and I had an argument.' Gantlos almost asked, but he just couldn't take it. He didn't have the strength for empathy right now.

'But seriously, what are you doing here?' Anagan asked, surreptitiously schooling his expression into calm curiosity, rather than the sharp, frustrated, angry hurt Gantlos had witnessed when he'd run in. An unusual thing to see on his face, for sure, but they were all stressed and exhausted. Why ask? Alright, he just didn't want to deal with the answer.

'I…' Gantlos glanced back at the scorched grass. What did he say?

'What is this place?' Anagan murmured, walking forwards. His foot lowered towards the grass, and Gantlos reacted instantly.

'No, don't!' He pulled him back, looking away as Anagan turned to him in confusion.

'Gantlos?'

'This…I…this is where…where…' His voice cracked, and he pulled his hat low over his face to hide the emotions drowning him.

Anagan looked around, confused, then something clicked. Maybe it was the flowers. The scorched ground. The echoes of magic. The way Gantlos was audibly trying not to cry. '…Oh.'

'Mm…'

Anagan backed up from the black mark, hugging his arms around himself. 'So…this is it, huh?'

Gantlos nodded, kneeling back down in front of the grass. Anagan joined him, and they sat in silence for a while.

'…This is where you've been coming?'

'Mhm. Every night.' He stroked the edge of the grass, clinging to whatever traces of Duman were left. 'Every night…'

Neither knew what to say. What was there to say, sitting on the site where a person you loved more than anything had been killed, where his energy rested in tatters that would eventually fade, leaving nothing of him? Nothing but their memories to know he'd ever existed?

'You think he'd know how to fix this?' Anagan asked after a while. 'He was always creative…'

The use of the past tense about Duman…it hurt. It tore something in Gantlos in two. But he didn't let it show.

'…Maybe.'

'…He'd at least cheer Ogron up. He's miserable. Something's wrong, G, and I don't know what.'

'He's a puppet to a sociopath,' Gantlos replied bluntly. 'Of course something's wrong.' He loved Anagan like a brother, but right now, he just wanted him to leave. He wanted his tearful solitude back.

'No, I mean…' Anagan groaned, covering his face with his hands. 'Something new. He looks scared as hell every time he speaks, he's letting Gregory beat him down and barely noticing, he yelled at me…'

Gantlos looked up with surprise. 'He yelled at you?'

'More snapped, really…he's just tired…' Gantlos could hear the note of irritation in Anagan's tone. That explained the furious muttering… He almost asked for context, to know what was happening, but he couldn't find the words. Couldn't summon any words but the ones that assured him that Ogron and Anagan could fix this alone.

'Gantlos…' Anagan started, taking a deep, trembling breath. 'Gantlos, we…we need you.'

Gantlos glanced up with surprise, looking to Anagan in confusion. 'You have me.'

'No…' Anagan shook his head, and suddenly he just looked very, very tired and broken. 'No, we don't…I don't think we've said more than ten words to each other in the past week, and I…I really need your help. Whatever's going on with Ogron, he's not talking to me…'

'And you think he'll talk to me?' Gantlos demanded, curling in on himself more and more as he prayed Anagan would just leave. Please, just leave… 'You're his safe place, Anagan, you always have been-'

'Not always,' Anagan corrected softly, and Gantlos sighed. True. For a few years, it had just been him and Ogron. Just him, and a very broken, traumatised kid that didn't get what it meant to have someone actually give a damn whether he lived or died. But…at some point he'd sort of…handed him off to Anagan? Ogron confided in Anagan, felt safe with him, he was better at emotions than Gantlos anyway…

'I won't be any help.' He turned away, hoping that was the conversation over, but Anagan was tenacious. Sometimes he hated tenacity.

'Gantlos, you can't just hide in grief forever.'

The words caught Gantlos off-guard. His entire body stiffened, and he turned to look at Anagan with surprise. And not a small amount of anger.

'I'm not-'

'Yes, you are. Gantlos, we're your friends, and you're barely acknowledging us. Ogron's hurting, and you're just detaching, and I know you're hurting too, but we can't help if you won't admit it and let us in.' He reached out, putting a hand on Gantlos's arm. 'Please…please don't just leave life behind.'

'What life?' Gantlos snapped, harsher than he'd intended, but this was his place of grief. This was where he was able to sob and weep over what he'd lost. Other people weren't allowed, least of all if they were going to make him get up and talk about this.

'No, seriously, what life? What life am I giving up on? On being enslaved? On using whatever scraps of strength I have to serve some psycho? On watching a bratty kid try and force his way into our lives when he doesn't belong there?'

Anagan flinched, but didn't give up. 'On us. I just told you something's wrong with Ogron, and you've alienated yourself so much so you don't have to talk about this that you don't even seem to care!'

Gantlos recoiled, the words pushing buttons he couldn't even identify in the mess of emotions he was suppressing.

'Of course I care!' He got to his feet, eyes blazing. Of course he cared if Ogron was hurting!

'Then show it! Be there for him! Acknowledge he exists beyond…beyond…beyond grunting at him if I ask where you're going! You two haven't spoke in days, you barely even listen to me if I try and talk to you-'

'What have you even got to say?! Unless you have some plan to get us out from Neruman's thumb, why am I supposed to care?!'

'Because I'm your friend!!' Gantlos hadn't heard Anagan actually yell in a very, very long time. 'I'm your friend, Gantlos, and so's Ogron, if you could bother to notice we're alive!'

'Of course I notice you're alive!'

'Then actually engage with us! Please! Please, just…if I tell you Ogron's hurting, that I need your help, just…help!'

Struggling for words, fighting back the part of him that knew Anagan was right, Gantlos spat the first thing that fought its way to the surface. 'Leave!'

'What?' Anagan shrank back, but Gantlos didn't apologise. He just wanted him gone.

'I said leave! This is no place for fighting. This is for remembering Duman, and for people that actually care to remember he existed. Not for you, apparently.'

Gantlos's chest burned with guilt as Anagan's eyes glistened. 'Of course I remember him…Gantlos, how could you say that?'

'Just…just go.' Gantlos turned away, folding his arms. This wasn't going to end well, no matter what he said. He could apologise, of course he could, but he didn't trust his temper. The sooner Anagan left, the better.

'…Gantlos…'

'I said leave!'

Gantlos turned as he heard Anagan's breath hitch, an apology trying to find its way to his lips, but Anagan's speed had already carried him away.

'…Dammit. Anagan! Anagan, I'm sorry!' He waited, holding his breath, but Anagan didn't come back. He was probably too far to hear him now. He sank back to his knees, raking a hand through his hair, trying to sort through what the heck had just happened.

'What would you tell me to do?' he whispered. He already knew that. Duman would tell him to run after Anagan as fast as his legs could carry him, apologise, give him a big hug, say he was upset and acting out, and he was so, so sorry, then go do his absolute best to help with this new Ogron thing. It didn't matter if he didn't think he could help, he just needed to be there. If Duman was there, he'd have hugged him tight, stroked his hair and given him a kiss, before dragging him back to the warehouse and shoving him at Anagan. But if Duman was here, he and Anagan would never have fought.

He knew he should go back. He knew it. But his legs wouldn't let him up. He knew his mouth wouldn't let him speak when he got there. All he had the strength to do was stay there, on his knees in the weak, anaemic moonlight, and sob.