Yamato doesn't let go. And as much as his head is spinning, and the guilt is already welling up in his gut, Takeru doesn't want him to. He just wants this moment not to stop; for it to just be him and Yamato, and to forget about the reason why his brother is holding him so tightly it's actually a little hard to breathe, or why Yamato's tears are making his shoulder damp. He's got his brother back and that's all that matters.

For a few minutes, neither of them speak. It's almost as much as Takeru can manage to lift his arms and hug Yamato back anyway. But once the memory of why he's there takes root in his mind, Takeru can't get rid of it, and it builds and builds until it's all he can think of. He lets his arms drop, and takes as deep a breath as he can manage.

"I'm sorry."

It comes out as a whisper, but that's more than enough for Yamato to cling even tighter, shaking his head.

"No. No no no," Yamato mumbles into his shoulder. "You don't apologise Takeru. This wasn't your fault. None of it was. I'm just…I'm so glad you're alright."

Yamato is crying again, and Takeru wants him to stop because it's all wrong—it was his fault, and Yamato shouldn't be crying still because that was all part of the nightmares in that other place, and his head is still just jumbled enough that it's making him scared this is all part of a dream and he's going to wake up there, still alone save for Poyomon.

And there's a part of him which still feels eight years old, and it just wants to cling to the fact Yamato is telling him everything's okay, because to that part of him, Yamato is his whole world—strong and brave, and if he says everything will be okay that has to be true. But now Yamato's crying, and that's not what his brother does.

It feels as though he's torn in half—no, into three. Into the Takeru who always lived in the cottage, happy and carefree; the Takeru who somehow managed to help save the world, and the Takeru who became a monster, turning on his friends, his partner…everyone. And nowhere in that muddle is there any room for him to work out which of them is the real one. All he can be sure of is the growing certainty that this is his future—this mess in his head isn't going to leave him, and he's got to sort it all out by himself somehow. After all, there's no one else who could possibly understand…

…Except maybe there is.

He's about to ask how long he's been asleep, or what time it is, or whether anyone has found Ken yet when the door opens and the man walks in, chasing the memory of that last day in the other place from his mind.

Takeru corrects himself—it's Gennai, somehow, not "the man"—but it's hard to think of him as anything else. Hard to see him with eyes other than Cottage-Takeru's, filled with frustration and anticipated discomfort.

"Hello, Takeru," Gennai says. "It's good to see you again, and under improved circumstances this time."

Takeru's not really sure the circumstances have improved, but talking is hard work, and despite the fact he's only just woken up he feels too tired to reply. Besides, everyone else seems to think it's a good thing, so who is he to correct them? After everything he's done, all the trouble he's put them through, does he have the right to complain? Part of him is still waiting for them to get angry, to tell him that he's not welcome any more. Part of him wants to be unwelcome, and pushed away, so that he has an excuse to return to the other place, where he can start to work through his guilt in peace.

Yamato has lifted his head and turned around, and Takeru can feel the arms holding him upright start to loosen their grip. He falls forward, slumping against his brother, and Yamato flinches, before gripping him tightly and trying to prop him up once more.

"What's wrong?" he cries. "Takeru, are you alright?"

"He is fine, Yamato," Gennai says. "But you must understand that it's been a long time since he's moved about, so his body is bound to be weaker than usual. It will likely be quite a while before he fully regains his former strength. Indeed, I hadn't expected to see him upright at all just yet. I'm surprised he managed it."

"I didn't," Takeru mutters. "I…I tried, but my arms…they're too weak. It was Yamato."

He feels out of breath just from talking, and his voice is hoarse and wrong. But while he can feel Yamato flinch once more, Gennai doesn't seem surprised at all. Patamon lands beside him, and nudges his arm.

"You'll get stronger soon, Takeru," his partner says. "I know you will."

Takeru looks down at Patamon and tries to smile, but even that is suddenly difficult. Exhaustion is washing over him in waves, and he yawns.

"I hope so," he mumbles, feeling the words slur a little. There's one good thing about the tiredness, he thinks, leaning on his brother. The turmoil in his head is quieter, and for just a while he feels like a little kid again, eight years old and safe because Yamato is there. He's got his brother back, tall and reassuring, and he closes his eyes, letting his weariness wash all the chaos from his mind.

And as his exhaustion grows—much as he's dimly aware that he's probably being selfish—he lets the part of him which is still eight years old take over, and comforts himself with the fact he can fall asleep, safe in his brother's arms.

Takeru opens his eyes to find himself lying down again, with a warm presence by his head which is probably Patamon.

He doesn't really feel any different, but he tries to sit up regardless, straining to make his body work. Belatedly he realises someone is holding his hand, and looks down to see that Yamato has brought the chair to his bedside and fallen asleep there, head slumped forward onto the bed.

His brother is stirring, woken by the movement. The moment his eyes open to see Takeru watching him, he flinches and sits upright.

"Are you okay Takeru?" Yamato asks, but the expression on his brother's face is one of fear and concern, and suddenly Takeru is high in the air, laughing as his brother stares at him, aghast.

The vision is gone as quickly as it arrived, leaving Takeru feeling sick. He doesn't want this. Doesn't want these memories. Doesn't want it to have all been real, but it was. It is, and now he has to carry on, knowing how badly his actions must have hurt his brother. He's not eight and small; he's older now, and he's done things more terrible than he could have believed himself capable of.

"Takeru?"

He blinks back tears and tries to meet Yamato's eyes, but the shame is too great. Memories are replaying in his mind, each one worse than the last.

"I'm a monster," he sobs.

And then there's a scraping sound as Yamato pushes the chair back and stands, leaning over and pulling him into another fierce hug.

"No you're not," his brother says firmly. "You're the furthest thing from a monster there is. It…that wasn't you, Takeru. Everyone knows that. No one's holding you responsible for any of what happened. We just want you to get well again. So no more blaming yourself, okay?"

Takeru nods miserably, but his heart isn't in the pretence, not even for Yamato's sake. How can he excuse himself when he can still remember how it felt to laugh while he enslaved hundreds of digimon, and while Devimon flew through the air, terrorising anyone in his path? The memories won't go away, and they press upon him from all angles, crowding his thoughts. It's like a nightmare, except he's awake already so there's no escaping it. No freedom from a past which condemns him.

He feels sick; a deep, clawing nausea which makes him shudder, and close his eyes tightly to try and stop himself crying. How can he carry on after everything he's done? He clings to his brother as the tears start, and Yamato tries in vain to comfort him because they just go on and on, until exhaustion starts to crowd him once more.

He falls asleep in his brother's arms for a second time—still sobbing into his shoulder—to the sound of Yamato hoarsely telling him over and over again that it will all be okay.

When he wakes once more Yamato is sat in the chair again, this time nearer his head. He smiles warily at Takeru, leaning forward a little.

"How are you feeling?" Yamato asks quietly.

There are too many ways he could answer that question badly, so Takeru settles for the one which he hopes will make his brother smile again.

"Hungry," he admits.

It works. The corner of Yamato's mouth twitches.

"Glad to hear it," his brother says, sounding more like his normal self than he has since before this nightmare began. "You think you can manage to eat something? Gennai reckoned soup would be best to start with."

Takeru nods, although he has no idea if he really can manage, and Yamato pats his shoulder before getting to his feet.

"I'll be right back, okay? If you need anything, get Patamon to come find me."

He nods again, although he as absolutely no intention of sending Patamon anywhere. The thought of being all by himself in the room fills him with a quiet horror. The last time he was alone, his memory came back, and there are still enough gaps in it left that he doesn't want to risk a repeat. Who knows what he might remember next time? It's bad enough already without adding more to his list of crimes.

And it turns out that he can't eat, either. Or at least, even after Yamato helps prop him up in the bed against a mound of pillows, he can't manage to hold and lift a spoon. He stares down at the bowl, feeling utterly defeated, and sighs. Not normal. He's not normal. He's back in his body, but everything is wrong, and awful, and the part of him he recognises as Cottage-Takeru just wants to go back to a place where he never had to worry about anything like this.

But he can't. It would just be running away, after all, and with everything he's put the others through, what right does he have to do that?

So when, a minute or so later, Yamato asks him if he wants some help, all he can do is nod. Nod and allow his brother to look after him, and try not to feel even more guilt when after a few mouthfuls he has to admit that he's full.

"I'll go get rid of this then," Yamato says, frowning with obvious concern. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Takeru nods yet again, but the weariness which has plagued him since his awakening pulls him back into slumber before his brother returns.

A.N.: And I'm back! It feels good to be sort-of up to date with my posting schedule. After way too long, Metanoia and Hope's Fire have both gotten new chapters within a week of each other, and I'm partway through the next Equanimity chapter, too.

As for this chapter...I'm sorry. All this time, and it's an angst-fest. I swear, it wasn't intentional. And I promise it won't be months until the next update, so there is that?

Anyway, thank you so much to everyone for being so patient with me while I got side-tracked writing Renascent. I'm looking forward to moving on with this story now (although my updates might skew over to Equanimity for a bit until it catches up), and working my way to the actual end!