Fetter stood over the table, steadily pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher. A few ice cubes clinked against the glass as he tried to hold his arm steady. This new room wasn't the medical room that he had been in before. It was his old bedroom that had been left untouched. The dark stain of the wood made the red blankets and accents pop against the yellow stone and gray carpet. He set the pitcher back down right as Don came into the room.

"What are you doing out of bed Fetter?"

"Just getting some water. I'm headed right back over."

"You can call me for that, I don't want you fracturing your arm over something small, give it time to really heal."

"It's fine. I'm not gonna break my arm pouring a cup of water."

Don scoffed, then nodded his head down as his eyes fluttered.

"You okay Don?"

"Huh? Oh, I must not be getting enough sleep. I must not be getting enough sleep."

"Do you need to take a nap or something?"

"Maybe. Grant's here to see you."

The lumbering man peeked in through the doorway.

"Hey you big lug!" Fetter happily yelled. "Let me rub your head for good luck."

"I'm not bald, Fetter," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "You look like a scrawny kid without your ratty jacket. Not like some delinquent."

"Did you bring my anything?"

"Not this time, did you need something?"

"Something to eat would be nice. Something besides instant noodles. Can't even taste them anymore."

"You haven't gone out to get anything?"

"Don won't let me."

Grant looked over to Don, who was now sitting down in a chair with his face hidden behind a hand. His other hand was clutching onto the table next to him, with his claws digging into the wood.

"You alright Don?" Grant asked.

"I'm just... tired."

Grant looked at him for a little bit. "I'm going to go get you a coffee. You look like you need it. Anything you want Fetter?"

"Caramel macchiato ?" Don said, sounding unsure.

"Fine, fine. Now I just need to remember how to get out of this place."

"Just take the main entrance," Fetter said. "Not like anyone is watching anymore."

"You two take care. I'll be right back."

Grant left, right back through the door. After waiting for the heavy footfalls to disappear, Fetter focused his attention on Don.

"Hey. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. I just..."

"Don. Don't lie to me. What's going on? This isn't you being 'tired'. I know how you are when you're tired. You get loopy and act like you're drunk. Tell me."

Don gripped onto his face, his claws skating across his skin, unable to cut through it. "I don't know, okay?"

Fetter stood up and walked over to Don. "I met someone the other day Don. I think he was the one who did this to you."

"How do you know that?"

"He said so. And he broke my arm. His power looked about right, too."

"Don't stand next to me."

"Why not?"

"Just don't."

Fetter moved closer to him, putting his hand down against the table.

"I'm not the brother you remember, Fetter. Something's wrong."

"You are the brother I remember. You're just a little different."

Fetter reached forward to grab Don's shoulder. Don grabbed at his hand, his claws easily ripping into Fetter's skin.

"I'm sorry! I- Get back!" Don pushed him away.

Fetter stumbled back, catching himself as he almost fell over. "What's wrong?"

Don's breathing was heavy, and he was hanging his head down, right over his claws covered in blood.

"Don?"

Don brought his claw up to his mouth and licked the blood. Fetter reached forward with his bloodied hand, trying to slowly approach him. Don's head snapped upward, his pupils had shrunk to narrow slits, and his three sets of fangs were fully out, easily visible in his panting mouth.

"Fetter, run. I can't... stop."

His eyes were locked on to Fetter's hand, staring at the blood running down his fingers. A single drop fell, splashing onto the floor. Don lunged forward.

Fetter pulled up his arm, putting it right in the way of Don. He bit onto it, sinking his fangs between Fetter's bones.

Fetter grabbed Don by his belt with his other arm, and flung him over his shoulder. Don clawed against Fetter's sides and arms, easily ripping into his skin. The claws were incredibly sharp, but the cuts weren't particularly deep.

Fetter slammed Don onto the ground with a solid thump. He sat down on his stomach, using his knees to pin down Don's hands. His arm was still lodged in Don's mouth.

"God I wish Grant had stuck around a bit longer," Fetter said aloud.

Don's face started to shift, with his fleshy cheeks starting to turn to fine scales. Fetter felt strength coming from him, and started increasing his own weight, slowly. Don started thrashing, trying to throw Fetter off of him, but he managed to stay on, ever increased his weight, trying to just barely keep himself too heavy. Then he got thrown off.

He crashed against the floor, shaking the entire underground room, sending the hanging fluorescent lights swinging. Don was already on top of him, ripping into the outer flesh of his arm with his front teeth. He pulled off a strip of meat, and swallowed it. The words of the man who did this stuck out in Fetter's mind.

Don was eating him. It was only a couple bites until a few wet drops started to land on Fetter's face. Don was crying.

"Oh no. Fetter. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!"

He held out his hands onto Fetter's chest as the mutilated arm fell limp to Fetter's side. The familiar warmth of healing spread throughout Fetter's body, closing up the gashes all across him. The ripped off flesh from his arm reformed, and new skin sprouted across the new flesh. Fetter just laid there, wincing in pain.

Don finished healing him, and ran off from the room with his wings drooping down to the floor. Fetter just laid on the wet floor for minutes, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts swirled around in a haze.

Grant walked in, looking at Fetter laying in a pool of his own blood. He set the drinks on the table and squatted down next to him.

"Holy shit. What the hell happened? Are you okay?"

Fetter's eyes were quickly moving around, but he didn't immediately answer.

"I don't know, Grant. I don't know."

"Can you stand?"

"Probably?"

"Here." Grant held out a hand. "Where are your clothes?"

Fetter took his hand, pulling himself to his feet. He almost slipped on the blood. "Whoa. I'll get my clothes."

"Is that your blood?"

Fetter looked back over it. "Yeah."

It wasn't that much, not even enough to be called a puddle, it was just a few thicker spots, and a bunch of smears across the stone floor.

"Are you feeling okay? I saw Don run down the hall. Did he heal you? How did you get hurt?"

"One question at a time man."

Grant set Fetter down on the bed, and moved over towards the dresser.

"I said I'd get it," Fetter protested.

"What happened?"

"It's... Don attacked me."

Grant pulled a rolled up white shirt out of the second drawer and tossed it to Fetter. "Why? Did you do something?"

"No I didn't do something. He kind of... lost control or something."

"Like Dr. Mendele said?"

Fetter sat there for a bit before ripping off the dregs of his tattered shirt and sliding on the new one.

"Maybe. He sort of bit me. You should probably go talk to him."

"Why me?"

"So he can feel safer, not being able to hurt you."

"What would I even say? You're his brother, you should talk to him."

"I'll go with you. Here, give me your arm." Fetter held up his arm, with his hand drooping loosely from his wrist.

"Can you not walk?"

"I was already low on blood, but now I'm back to worse." He waved his hand, beckoning Grant over.

Grant came over and locked arms with Fetter, holding him up by his shoulders. Fetter's legs nearly gave out from under him, but he stopped them from buckling.

"Did you see which way he went?" Fetter asked.

"Yeah, let's go."

The two heaved along, out of the room and down the hallway, the carved stone around them echoing the sound of sobs. It wasn't far, only a few broken doors down, until they found Don. He was curled up in a room, with wooden furniture smashed around him, splinters littering the corners of the floor. It looked like a destroyed version of Fetter's room. A pool of dried up vomit was off to the side, it's content clearly the mushed up instant noodles that Fetter had been eating for the last couple days. His wings were wrapped around him, shielding all but the square of his back in a leathery shell.

"Don," Fetter said.

"Go away!" he yelled back.

"I've got Grant here, you don't have to worry about hurting me right now."

"I'm a monster! What do you mean I don't have to worry? I'll always have to worry!"

"I said right now for a reason."

Don didn't respond.

"Have you been eating?" Grant asked, looking over at the bit of vomit.

"No." Don's voice was pained. "Everything keeps making me sick."

Fetter lowered his head, catching on.

"Everything? You were eating just fine at Nero's place."

"I was, and I don't know what changed. I just can't anymore." Don opened up, spinning around towards them. Fetter tried to move towards him, but Grant held him back.

"When was the last time you ate meat?" Grant asked, rubbing his hand against his chin as he looked down at the pile of vomit.

"Meat? I think it was when I cooked some bacon, so back at Nero's?"

"Fetter," Grant said, turning his head to him. "You said he bit you. Is that all he did?"

Fetter clenched his teeth. "We'll need to get you some meat. Grant, I hate to ask this of you, but can you lend me some money?"

"A boring life alone has some benefits. Of course I can. If I didn't help out my friend, I wouldn't have much of anything left."

"Sugarcoat it all you want, I still don't like to."

"Yeah, yeah. We should get you back to bed." The two turned back, leaving the room.

"Wait!" Don said. "I have something to ask."

Fetter looked back over his shoulder. "Let's hear it then."

Don slowly unwound his wings, turning around to look up at the two of them. His face was red and glossy from the crying.

"Can- can you get raw meat?" He asked, barely getting the words out.

A heavy silence filled the room for a moment after the question. Grant looked over at Fetter, waiting for him to say something.

"You really are a freak, huh?" Fetter answered back.

Grant tapped Fetter on the chest. "Why would you say that to your brother?"

"I'm trying to lighten the mood! What the fuck do you mean 'Why would you say that'. He's my brother! Of course he can handle it!"

Don started giggling. "You really are terrible with words Fetter." He wiped the tears away from his face with the back of his hand.