Don Thousand left his creation to rest, knowing he wouldn't be able to physically move just yet. Those demon children really did a number on him; this sickness showed no signs of leaving.

It's been more than a week, he grumbled to himself, and it hasn't gone away. I don't understand what I'm doing wrong!

Maybe it was the crystals? Was it the chaos? Was it just that the demon children's illness was too deep? Well, whatever the reason, he had all the time in the world even with his short temper. He'd find a way to make his creation well again.

~.~.~

Black Mist managed to sit up a few minutes after Don left. While his body was in immense pain, he still chose to get up to at least look at his surroundings.

It looked very familiar, though he swore he'd never seen it before. The floor and ceiling were littered with stalactites hanging low and stalagmites jutting high. The odd thing was that there was no liquid dripping down from the ceiling, so they must have been made manually. For what, though? Another odd thing was that there seemed to be aged pieces of paper stuck on the walls. With what, he didn't know.

Despite the pain, Mist grabbed one of the low-hanging stalactites and hauled himself to his feet. His stomach lurched in protest, and the burning heat came back, but that didn't matter. Something about those aged papers piqued his attention, and he just had to see them.

Well, now I know what these things are for, he thought to himself as he used the stalagmites to lean his weight on them as he walked.

When he made it to one of the walls, he squinted to get a better look at the papers. They were faded, but they seemed to have pictures drawn by a child. Each one had a tall, dark figure with. There were no distinguishing features, but for some reason, Black Mist knew they were pictures of Don Thousand.

Daddy...

The thought popped into his mind so suddenly that he physically jumped. "Why did I think that?" he asked himself. "He's not..."

But something told him that wasn't true. Mist shook his head; it was best not to think about it.

He continued to peruse the drawings that littered the walls; they all had something to do with the tall, dark figure.

"Did I draw all of these?"

"Why, yes you did."

Black Mist yelped and whipped around to face the voice; at the entrance of the room stood Don Thousand, leaning against the stone archway. He seemed to be frowning in disapproval, though it was hard to see with the dimness of his eyes.

"You shouldn't be up, you know," Don Thousand scolded.

"I was curious," Black Mist replied. "Something about this room struck me as odd."

"Oh?" His voice betrayed nothing but slight disapproval, but to Mist, it seemed like his expression softened imperceptibly. "I suppose this would seem familiar to you. It was your old room, after all."

A wave of confusion washed over the Number. "My room?" he asked in disbelief. He almost didn't believe it. Perhaps it was just Don Thousand messing with him, but the room was very familiar. The energy within its walls was fading, but there was no mistaking that it was his own. "But I've never been here before. How could this have been mine?"

"You lived here when you were an infant. I suppose that's why you don't remember."

"I suppose..."

Don Thousand said nothing for a while and then sighed. "Do you really want to keep moving around? You had no problem staying put in that hospital bed."

A pang of pain shot right through Mist's heart. "That's because..." He couldn't bring himself to say the rest. That's because he died...

Another sigh escaped Don, but this one was more sympathetic. "I understand. Still, you need to get some rest. I can't take you back home until you're well again."

Don Thousand's gentle tone sent a shot of fear through the Number. The irrational panic that the curse would strike again, but that didn't make sense. The demon children were definitely behind those deaths, he realized. That was clear the moment they killed his precious baby. Even so, even when they weren't present, that fear lingered.

"Just send me back home," Black Mist protested. "I don't want to be a bother to you."

A grin spread across Don Thousand's face. Unlike the other ones, this one didn't appear sad at all. If anything, it seemed more threatening or eerie. "Are you afraid? That little curse is nothing here, you know. Now, just lay down and take a rest. I'll make sure you're all better." He gently brought his creation back to the bed and stroked his hair. "No worries here, okay?" Without waiting for a response, he turned and left.

Black Mist remained where he was for the time being, taking in the words Don spoke. Did he really mean what he said? Would the curse really not work here, or was that just him trying to reassure his creation? Don didn't look like the type to tell lies, but then again, according to Hope, he was a Barian deity. In the Number Realm, Barians were known to be manipulators.

I guess I just have to trust him for now. At least, until I get home.

His body felt heavy with sleep. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

~.~.~

Don Thousand remained just outside the room. When he felt Black Mist's energy slowly pulse, he knew to take it as a sign of sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief; finally, that boy was resting! He knew that he was full of energy and pride, but he didn't quite expect it to be like this. Even so, he couldn't help but look past the current frustration and look to the future, when everything has been solved and everyone was happy. More importantly, he couldn't help but think about how happy his creation would be.

The idea was repulsive; his stomach even heaved at the thought even though he was physically incapable of vomiting. And yet, the thought also pleased him. 

What is going on with me?

Don Thousand shook this thought out of his mind. He just needed to focus on making sure his creation was better and back in the Number Realm.