Lee hated being a prisoner of the minotaurs.

Yes, he was treated well: The hut was magically kept warm; the minotaurs had brought him a real cot to sleep on instead of the hard bench; Xítway was a fine conversationalist. Other minotaurs came to visit sometimes, too, and Ford came often. Ford had come the evening of January seventh — the day Lincoln had been taken captive — and he made a point to visit at least once a day after that. Lee was glad for his company, even if Xítway had to tie Lee's hands to a stake every time Ford came to visit. She untied them after Ford was inside, and it was worth it to Lee if it meant spending time with his brother.

But, despite the minotaurs' efforts to keep Lee comfortable, Lee still found himself restless and noticeably uncomfortable. The hut felt barely big enough to breathe, and there was certainly no room to run around and siphon off energy. Lincoln tried to exercise as best he could in the small space: pushups, running in place, throwing punches at the air (and sometimes at a willing Xítway, who turned out to be a great sparring partner). But it didn't feel like enough. Lee wished he could leave the hut and run around outside.

Besides the physical confines of the hut, there were also frequent reminders of Lincoln's spiritual bondage to Bill Cipher. After the first conversation between Andrew and Bill (which seemed to have shaken Andrew more than he wanted to admit), the minotaurs insisted on making "possession checks" on Lee. This meant asking the question, "Who are you?" at random times. If Bill was possessing Lincoln, the demon would have to answer, "I'm Bill Cipher"; the magic of his prison would compel him. If Bill wasn't possessing Lincoln, then Lincoln could simply answer that he was himself.

But Lincoln didn't know who "himself" was.

The first few times Xítway asked, "Who are you?", Lincoln answered that he was Lincoln. But. . . that didn't feel right. "Lincoln" was the name of the man who had been kidnapped by Percy, who had been brainwashed by Bill. "Lincoln" was the name of the leader of the Order, and Lee certainly had no desire to have that job any longer.

So he stopped answering Lincoln and started saying, "Lee." It was the only name that described him both before and after his memory loss. Yet it felt too short, too simple to really describe him. Was "Lee" really the name of a man who had lost his memory, his brother, his freedom? Could he be Lee again, with the things he'd done and the cult he'd led?

He didn't answer Stanley. The name Stanley felt too removed from the reality of who he was. Stanley had been an energetic man with a simple love for his brother. Stanley hadn't dealt with demons. Lincoln didn't deserve the name, and it wasn't an accurate description.

Who was he, then? Lincoln, Lee, Stanley? Someone else entirely? He only felt more confused the more he thought about it.

The hours dragged on. The entire experience of his captivity reminded Lincoln of his first year at the Order, before he made his very first deal with Bill. The restlessness, the feeling that he didn't belong here — it was similar to that year in the eighties. This time, however, Lincoln didn't have his anger to cushion his frustration. Bill had taken it away when he'd taken Lincoln's soul. Whenever Lee thought that he should be getting angry, he only slipped back down into despondency and depression. His emotions couldn't crest the hill to anger; they could only linger in the valley of melancholy. He had to force himself to move, to exercise, to do something other than lay on his cot and stare at the thatched ceiling of the hut.

By the morning of January tenth, only three days after Lincoln had been taken captive by the minotaurs, he felt pushed to his limit. The small hut, the possession checks, the depression — it all threatened to crush him. When Xítway brought Lee his breakfast (which had been brought to the hut by another minotaur; Xítway never left Lincoln's side), she asked her customary, "Who are you?"

Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know," he said, "but I'm not Bill."

He opened his eyes, and he thought he saw Xítway looking at him in pity (insofar as he could read her facial expressions). "I'm sorry, Lee," she said. "I know this is hard."

He ate the first bite of his breakfast: a simple oatmeal-type dish. "I'm sure it's hard on you, too," he said. "You're almost as trapped as I am." Xítway had made the hut into her temporary home while she had the assignment to guard Lincoln. She hadn't left at all — which made Lee feel both grateful, because he was never alone, and stifled, because he was never alone.

"I suppose you could say that," Xítway said. "I don't mind, though. I'll do what the elders tell me to do."

Lee glanced at her. "What's the plan for today? More brainstorming with Andrew?"

"I think he's going to come later, yes," said Xítway.

For the past few days, Andrew (and occasionally others, like Ford and Juniper the hamadryad) had talked with Lincoln about ideas to help him join the Cipher Wheel. The conversations were hardly uplifting: First, they considered using nymph magic to block Bill from Lee's mind, but the demon had taken over Lee's body and told them every reason why that wouldn't work. Then, they'd talked about every possibility, magical or otherwise, that had a remote chance of stopping Bill from possessing Lee — but it seemed nothing could get in between the deal that gave Bill such control.

Their conversation changed, then, to ways that Lee could join the Cipher Wheel even while Bill was possessing him. Their options were to force Bill, while in Lincoln's body, to be a part of the Cipher Wheel (which was probably impossible; Bill could hardly help cast the spell designed to destroy his own power) or to give Lincoln another body to use. The latter option seemed vaguely possible, but unlikely. The Cipher Wheel called for the souls of the Symbols: spirit and body. Bill's spirit in Lincoln's body wouldn't work, and Andrew didn't think Lincoln's spirit with someone else's body would work, either. "We should at least try it, right?" said Lincoln, desperate for a solution. "How can I inhabit a body when Bill has mine?"

"You'd have to possess someone yourself," said Andrew, "which is rare for human spirits to be able to do. It's extremely hard to push someone else's spirit out of their body, because both spirits have about the same strength, and the other person has the advantage of already being in their own body."

"Could I make a deal with them, like Cipher?" asked Lee. "Could they agree to let me take over?"

Andrew shook his head. "You don't have the power to make deals the way Cipher does. You could try to get someone's agreement, though you'd probably need someone else to contact them for you, since ghosts don't have a lot of access to the mindscape. And even if someone agreed, I don't know what they would have to do to allow you to take over. Then, once you manage to possess someone, there's still a big chance that the Cipher Wheel won't accept you."

With those odds, conversations about the Cipher Wheel felt almost pointless. It certainly didn't help that Bill liked to randomly possess Lincoln and taunt Andrew and whoever else was with him, thereby halting any progress in the discussion. It felt as if Lincoln had been shoved out of his body more in the past few days than he had been in twenty years, and he was sick of it.

Luckily, that morning, Bill didn't possess Lincoln. Unluckily, nobody came to visit. Lincoln ate his breakfast, sparred with Xítway, and stared longingly at the door (which had been repaired) as the minutes slipped by.

After what felt like hours (though Lincoln had no way to know for sure), there was a knock at the door. Xítway went to answer it. "Hello, Stanford," she said. "Wait a moment." She closed the door, crossed the hut to Lee, and gestured to the wooden pole that stuck out of the ground beside the bench.

Lee glanced to the door, wishing he could go to it and throw it open and welcome his brother into the hut. But he couldn't; he had to allow Xítway to tie his hands behind the stupid stake. Because the magical barrier around the hut blocked all humans from entry, Xítway had to temporarily take the barrier down to let Ford in. But Bill couldn't be allowed to escape in Lincoln's body while the barrier was down, so Xítway tied Lincoln up whenever the spell was down and untied him when it went back up.

Ford came into the hut not long after Lincoln had been tied up. "Hi, Ford," Lee said in relief.

"Hello." Ford waited for Xítway to untie Lincoln, then came forward to hug him. "How are you?"

"Better, now that you're here." Lincoln hugged his brother tightly. The two then went over to the bench and sat beside each other. "How's everyone at the Museum?"

"The twins are a lot happier now that they've gotten to see you." Lee smiled at this. Ford had brought Mabel and Dipper with him to visit last night, and it was a relief to see them again. "We're gathering supplies," Ford continued, "from my bunker and people's storage. And Andrew's gone with some other minotaurs and the Corduroys to take glowfly lanterns and heat mushrooms to town."

"What are those?"

"Glowflies are basically magical fireflies; I don't exactly know what's magical about them, but Andrew said different creatures use them around the forest for light. And heat mushrooms are fascinating. Their spores give off heat." Ford gave a small smile. "Dipper says we should call them 'sunshrooms.' I told him that wasn't accurate, because the sun is a billion times hotter than the mushrooms."

"I like that name," Lee said. "It's catchy."

"True," Ford admitted. Then he pulled out a pen and the third Journal, which he'd been bringing along to his visits, and opened to a page near the back that he'd filled with the ideas they'd discussed over the past few days. "By the way," he said, "Gideon wanted me to tell you about an idea he had. If he had his amulet, do you think he could exorcise Bill from your body? He says he's done it before with ghosts and similar creatures."

Lee thought about this. "I doubt it would work, but we should certainly try. But he doesn't have his amulet right now, does he?"

"No, he'd have to get it from his manor. He says Gaston probably has it locked away somewhere."

The brothers talked more about that possibility and others, with Ford jotting down ideas and adding notes to previous entries in the Journal. The conversation didn't really go anywhere that it hadn't been before, but Lincoln didn't mind too much. He was just happy to be with his brother.

Another knock sounded at the door sometime after Ford had arrived. Xítway went to answer, and Lee and Ford looked up in interest. Was it Andrew?

Xítway glanced back at Lee. "Another human is here to see you."

"Who?" Lee asked.

"He says his name is Fiddleford."

Ford immediately jumped to his feet. "No. Don't let him in."

"Why not?"

"Because he's the one responsible for Lee's deal with Bill, that's why," Ford snapped.

Lincoln stood and put a hand on Ford's shoulder. "That's not true," he said. "I'm responsible for my deal with Bill."

Ford flinched at Lee's words, but Lee wasn't going to take them back. They were true.

"Should I let him in or not?" asked Xítway. "Who is he?"

Ford opened his mouth to say something, but Lincoln squeezed his shoulder to stop him. "He's the man who erased my memory," Lee said. It hurt to hear the words out loud, but they were also true. "Why does he want to see me?"

Xítway turned and spoke through the door. Then she glanced back. "He wants to apologize."

Lincoln's eyes widened. He glanced at Ford, whose face was dark and stony. Could Lee face Fiddleford? Was the man really here to apologize for destroying Lee's memory?

Lee decided that he wanted to find out. He went over to the pole. "Let him in, then."

So Xítway came over, tied Lee's hands around the pole and behind his back, and went back to the door to let down the barrier spell. Ford put a hand on Lee's shoulder. "Don't do this," he said. "I don't — I don't want him to hurt you again."

"I don't think he will," Lee replied. "Besides, you and Xítway are here to protect me if need be."

Ford's face was pained, but he didn't reply. A moment later, Xítway fully opened the door and stepped aside.

Lee's stomach flopped as Fiddleford entered the hut.

The man moved slowly and hesitantly. His beard was much shorter than it had been when Lee had last seen him; his skin had more color to it; he wore an eyepatch over his right eye. His visible eye met Lee's, and he froze in place. "Stanley," he whispered.

Lincoln swallowed. "Hello, Fiddleford."

Xítway came over and untied Lincoln's hands; while she did so, Ford took angry strides toward Fiddleford. "I told you not to come here," Ford hissed.

"He's welcome here, Ford," Lincoln said. Xítway finished untying him, and he rubbed at his wrists. "Thanks," he said quietly to Xítway as she moved away.

"Stanley, I — I'm sorry," Fiddleford blurted.

Lincoln regarded the man silently. His chest felt tight with the onset of an emotion, but it soon faded away. It was likely anger, come to rage at Fiddleford, but blocked by Bill's magic. Lincoln couldn't be angry at Fiddleford for erasing his memory. Instead, he only felt sad and confused.

"Call me Lincoln," he told Fidds. "It's the name Percy gave me."

Fiddleford just stared at him. Tears swam in his visible eye.

"A lot has happened in thirty years," Lincoln added. "I. . . I built a new life."

It was too much. Fiddleford let out a sob and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with grief. Lincoln watched him and glanced around at the others. Xítway looked uncomfortable, and Ford had turned his glare to the wall.

Lincoln took a deep breath.

"Here, Fiddleford," he said, stepping towards the man, "come sit with me." He put his arm around Fiddleford and guided him to the bench.

Fiddleford took his hands from his face and, after glancing up at Lee in surprise, sat down. They sat together; Lincoln didn't take his arm away. Fidds leaned into Lincoln's shoulder and kept crying, his tears leaking through Lincoln's shirt. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Lincoln held him, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and confused. Why was Fiddleford crying and not Lee, the one who had suffered from Fidds' actions?

Even as he wondered this, he knew the answer. It had been thirty years for both of them. Lincoln had gotten over the grief from his amnesia; Bill had used his magic to help Lee accept the memory loss. But Fiddleford, according to what Ford had told Lee, had been suspended alone in his thoughts for all those years. He hadn't had a real chance to process his own grief from his actions.

"I'm sorry." Fidds whispered the words over and over again. Lincoln had no idea how to respond. He couldn't say, "It's okay," or, "Don't apologize," because it wasn't okay, and Fiddleford should apologize.

Lee glanced at Ford. Ford was watching the two of them with a mixed expression of hatred for Fiddleford, sadness for Lee, and discomfort for the whole situation. Lee sent Ford a small, reassuring smile (though he didn't know if it looked all that reassuring), then looked down at Fiddleford. "Ford told me what you told him," Lincoln said, "about the day you"—he swallowed—"wiped my memory. I have a question."

"Of course," Fiddleford said. He sat up a little straighter, wiped his eyes, adjusted his eyepatch. "I'll answer anything you ask."

"What did you type in?" Lincoln had wondered since Percy had shown him the memory gun all those years ago. "What did you type into the memory gun?"

Fidds flinched at the question and looked away. "Stanley Pines," he whispered. "I typed in your name. Bill told me that it would. . . erase everything."

Lincoln's eyes widened. Was that why? Was that why the name "Stanley" made him so uncomfortable? Because it was the first thing Fiddleford had erased?

"How much of it was your idea?" asked Lee. "Building the memory gun, using it on me?"

"It was Bill's idea," Fiddleford said. "All of it. But I — I was the one who did it. I built the gun, and I — I used it on—" He couldn't finish that sentence; he buried his face in Lee's shoulder again.

"You trusted him," Lincoln said quietly. "You trusted that you were doing the right thing. You were wrong, but Bill is. . . very persuasive."

"I never — I never should have—" Fidds' breath was ragged.

"I know." Part of Lincoln wanted to shove Fidds away, to get as far away from the man as he could. But another part of him felt real healing from this experience — even though it was tremendously painful. Lee pulled Fidds closer. "It's been hard," he said. "Really hard. I built a new life, but it's not a good one. And now. . . now I've found Ford. And that's wonderful. But I still. . ." He let out his own ragged breath and glanced at Ford. "I still don't remember him."

Ford's face was pained. Fiddleford only cried harder at Lee's words.

Lee closed his eyes. "Fiddleford, I. . . I know this probably isn't possible, but. . . you built the memory gun. Is there any way to reverse its effects?" He highly doubted it, based on his own experience with the gun, but he had to ask.

"I don't think so," Fidds whispered. "The Northwests' amulet hides memories away; I remember stories of people getting them back in certain situations. But the gun. . . the gun destroys them. I destroyed them."

That was what Lincoln knew of the gun as well, but it still hurt to hear. Fiddleford had, in a single moment, destroyed over thirty years of Lee's memory. Almost half of Lee's life had been lived as an amnesiac.

Lincoln was sitting with his attacker, and he wanted to be angry at him. He wanted to be — justifiably — enraged that Fiddleford had stolen half his life. But he couldn't be. He couldn't get angry, no matter how much easier it would be, no matter how much Lee wanted it. Why had he ever made that deal with Bill? Lincoln needed his anger. He couldn't handle this situation without it.

But he didn't have it.

He didn't know how long he sat there with Fiddleford. Eventually, Fidds' breathing settled, and he turned his head so that the back of it was leaning on Lincoln's shoulder. His eyes were closed; Lincoln wondered if he was asleep, but then his left eye opened and looked up at Lincoln's face.

Lee forced away the depressive feelings that were ready to envelop him. "Fiddleford," he said, "thank you for coming."

"Thank you for letting me see you," Fidds said quietly. "You have every right to be. . . to be angry with me."

Lincoln did have every right to be angry with Fiddleford. But he wasn't. That was probably better for Fiddleford, but it was extremely painful for Lincoln.

"I. . . I should probably go," Fiddleford said. "Melody will be worried that I'm taking so long."

"Ford tells me she's been helping you."

Fidds nodded. "She's been wonderful." He glanced to Ford. "I'm sorry for barging in, Stanford."

Ford wouldn't even meet Fidds' gaze.

Fiddleford looked away and nodded, accepting Ford's hatred. Then he got to his feet. He went to the door, but Xítway put out a hand to forestall him. "We have to take the barrier down first," she reminded him.

With a longsuffering sigh, Lee went back to the stake. Xítway tied him up, then went to the door and muttered some words in an unfamiliar language. "There," she told Fidds. "Go ahead."

Fidds looked back at Lincoln. "Well. . . goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," Lincoln replied. Fidds went through the door; Xítway muttered another incantation and closed the door behind him. Then she came over and untied her prisoner.

Once she was done, Ford crossed the hut and silently threw his arms around Lincoln. His body shook, much like Fidds' had — but Lee had the feeling that Ford was shaking out of anger more than anything else.

"It helps that he apologized," Lincoln said as he hugged his brother.

"It doesn't fix anything," Ford argued.

Lincoln leaned his head on Ford's shoulder. "It helps," he repeated. "Just a little."

The brothers stood there, arms wrapped around each other, both crying on the other's shoulder. Lincoln's tears were from grief; Ford's from anger.

It wasn't fair, Lincoln thought, that he couldn't be angry himself.

~~~~~

That night, Lincoln faced Bill Cipher in his dreams.

Lee had fallen asleep demanding in his thoughts that Cipher appear to him tonight. The demon now floated in front of him with an unamused glint in his eye. "Go ahead," Bill said, "ask me. See if I'll agree."

The words brought Lincoln into lucidity. He took a deep breath. "I need my anger back, Cipher. You have to break our deal."

Bill let out a harsh laugh. "No, of course I won't. Surely you know that I will not do that. Our deal is, quite possibly, the best deal I have ever made."

"I don't want to be in the deal anymore. I don't want you to possess me or block my anger. If I don't agree, then the deal is off."

Bill laughed again. "That's not how it works, Blind Eye. You know this. Once someone makes a deal with me, only I have the power to nullify it — at least until the deal is fulfilled. But the only end date for our deal is your death."

Lee did know this, and it terrified him. He told himself not to beg, not to plead, but his desperation leaked through his words. "Please, Cipher. I need my anger back. It. . . it hurts too much."

Bill flew in a circle around Lincoln. "Yes, you are in a lot of pain. Your emotions are trying to move to anger, but they're blocked — they're stuck. But, as hard as that is for you, there is some advantage for me. Without anger, you're more submissive; it's been so much easier to order you around." Lincoln bristled at this; he started to protest, but Bill cut him off. "However, it's also been harder to stimulate your body into action when I'm possessing you. Giving you back your anger would certainly add to your adrenaline and such."

"Then it's to your advantage. I'm not submissive to you anymore, anyway — anger or no."

"True," Bill conceded. "Still, I'm not willing to give up my power over you. How can I give you your anger back without breaking our deal that lets me possess you?"

Lincoln knew it was futile to convince Bill to give up on that front. The demon had too much of an advantage with his ability to possess Lincoln. As much as Lee desperately wanted Cipher's power broken, he knew he had no chance. "Surely there's a way to. . . to keep your power," he said in a subdued voice, "while also getting rid of this block on my emotions."

"There is." His small cane appeared, and Bill twirled it around his hand. "It would involve another deal. Two, actually."

Lincoln stiffened. "No more deals."

Bill shrugged. "Then no more anger. At least hear my proposition." Lee glared at him, and he continued, "We'd do this in two stages — two deals. For the first deal, I would promise to break our current deal, and you would promise to make another deal that gives me the same power over you." He paused. "Or you could give me the power to possess your body and control your spirit."

"Absolutely not," Lincoln replied immediately.

"Well, it was worth a shot," Bill said. "The second deal would be a replacement deal. You would give me the same power from the current deal, and I would give you something you ask for. That's my only offer — the only way for you to get all your emotions back. What do you say?"

Lincoln hesitated. He wanted the deal broken; he didn't want to make two new ones. But this was, as Bill had said, the only option.

When he'd first made the deal with Bill, it was because he was stuck in his anger. Now he was stuck without his anger. Bill's meddling with his emotions had only made his life harder — although, admittedly, that fact hadn't caught up with him for twenty years. Not having his anger had served its purpose; he'd become an effective Order leader without it. But now that missing anger was only hurting him.

"Fine," he said. "I'll do it."

"I knew you'd see sense," Bill said. "So, do you agree to make a new deal with me — giving me the same power of possession that I currently have — if I break our current deal?"

"I'll make a new deal that allows you to possess me once a week," Lincoln tried.

Bill laughed shortly. "No. I demand the same control over you." He put out his hand. Blue fire flared to life on his fingers. "You'll make a new deal that allows me to possess you whenever I choose. I'll break the deal that blocks your anger."

It felt wrong. But it was his only choice. "Deal," Lincoln said heavily, and he took Bill's hand.

The blue fire spread to Lincoln's hand, then disappeared. "Great," said Bill. He let go of Lincoln's hand and snapped his fingers. "Deal broken. You have your anger back." He put his hand out again, and another flame of blue appeared. "Now for the new deal."

Lincoln didn't feel a difference, but he suspected he would when he woke up. "What's your side of the new deal?" he asked. "I give you. . . I give you the same power, but what will you give me?"

Bill shrugged. "What do you want?"

"I want my memory back," Lincoln said quietly.

Bill narrowed his eye. "No, you don't. Our very first deal, where I stopped your desire for your memory, is still in effect."

"I don't want it for me," Lincoln admitted. "I want it for Stanford. It's killing him that I don't remember him." Yes, the brothers were still able to bond, but Lincoln's amnesia seemed to be as hard on Ford as it had been on Lee all those years ago.

"I can't retrieve your memories. Fiddleford told you himself: The memories are gone. Destroyed."

Yes, Lincoln knew that. But it was the first thing that had come to his mind. "Then. . . I want you to leave my family alone," he said.

"They're my Symbols; there's no way I'll leave them alone. Try again." Bill's voice took on an edge of impatience.

Lincoln looked away. Anything he really wanted was something that Bill wouldn't give him. What could he ask for that Bill would agree to?

"Our deal," he said slowly. "Our first deal, back in '83. It's still in effect.''

"Yes."

"Then. . . I want you to undo everything you've done to mess with my mind. I want you to stop changing what I think and feel."

Bill's yellow glow brightened as the demon thought about this. "It would make things harder for you," he said. "You would want your memory back. You would be even more frustrated with your captivity, since my magic is helping you feel at least somewhat content with the minotaurs."

Lincoln took a deep breath. "Then I'll mourn with Ford. I'll deal with it. I'd rather do that than have you manipulate my mind."

Bill shrugged; the blue flame on his hand wavered with the motion. "It's your suffering. So, you'll give me the ability to possess you whenever I want, and I'll break our first deal — along with the deal I've already broken — and stop manipulating your mind with my magic."

Lincoln nodded slowly. "And that's the best you'll give me?"

"Yes." Bill floated closer. "Do we have a deal?"

Lincoln hated this. He didn't want to go through with it. He tried to say, "No," but he couldn't form the word. His hand twitched at his side.

"The magic from our other deal compels you to take my hand," Bill said. "You already promised that you would make this deal. Take my hand, Blind Eye."

There was no getting around it. Lincoln's hand moved of its own volition and grasped Bill's.

The blue fire only licked Lincoln's hand for a moment before Bill let go. He snapped his fingers again. "No more mental manipulation from me," he said. "You got what you wanted."

Lincoln lowered his head. Yes, he'd gotten the main thing he'd wanted — his anger, his full range of emotion — but he also wanted to break Bill's power over him. It felt as if Bill's power were stronger than ever.

"I'm glad you still recognize your bondage to me," Bill commented in response to Lincoln's thoughts. "Freedom is hopeless for you, Blind Eye. I don't want you to forget that."

Lincoln flinched. He lifted his eyes to say something, but Bill glowed so brightly that Lee had to look away. "Your dream cycle is ending," the demon said. "Until next time."

The next thing Lincoln knew, he was sitting bolt upright on his cot in the minotaurs' prison hut.

His breathing was heavy; his heart raced. Why was his heartbeat so fast? What was wrong?

The memory of his dream came easily to his mind and answered his question. He stared into the blackness around him as a long-forgotten feeling swept over him. His pulse, rather than slowing down, grew quicker. His hands clutched his blankets. His face felt hot.

He was angry.

He gasped aloud at the strength of the feeling. Cipher had ruined his life! And Fiddleford had helped! And he'd had the audacity to come here earlier asking for forgiveness!

Lincoln threw off his blankets and jumped to his feet. He didn't know what he was doing, but he had to move. He had to get out of this sweltering hut. He had to get outside and find Fiddleford. And then, since Lee couldn't physically hurt Bill, he would have to hurt Fiddleford instead.

He headed in the direction of the door to the hut. His mind was too fired up to care that there was a spell trapping him inside. He'd get out by sheer force of will, and he'd get rid of anyone who got in his way.

"Lee? What are you doing?"

Xítway's voice startled him, but the sound of it only made him more angry. That was the voice of his prison guard. The voice of the person who was keeping him trapped. He ignored her and kept moving towards the door. He couldn't see anything in the dark, but he was pretty sure the door was in this direction.

Hands grasped his arms. "Stop," Xítway commanded. "Who are you?"

The question was only fuel to the fire. Lincoln fought against Xítway's grip. "Who do you think I am? Let me go!"

"Are you Bill Cipher?" she asked in a deliberate voice.

"No! I want nothing to do with that stupid triangle! Let me go!"

"Calm down," Xítway said; she didn't let go. "I'm sorry, Lee, but you can't leave. You'll only hurt yourself if you try."

"Then take down the spell!"

"I won't do that," Xítway said. She tried to keep her voice calm, but she sounded startled. "What's gotten into you, Lee? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he repeated. "What's wrong? I'm being kept from my family by you, that's what's wrong! You and Cipher! You, and Cipher, and Percy, and Fiddleford, and everyone else who lied to me for thirty years!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry they lied to you."

"If you were sorry, you'd let me go!"

"I won't do that," she repeated. "Let's just calm down."

"No!" He struggled against her grip. Not only was she stronger than he was, but she seemed to anticipate his movements. "How are you doing that?" he demanded. "It's pitch black in here!"

"Minotaurs can see better in the dark than humans," Xítway said. She pinned his arms to his sides. "Lee. Please. Calm down."

"I can't calm down!" His anger shoved itself against his chest and escaped through his screams. He tried again to throw Xítway off him, but to no avail. He was an aging human; she was a strong, young minotaur. Lee had no chance against her.

He kept trying anyway. He struggled against her, and she held him fast while pleading with him to stop. Someone frantically knocked on the door, roused from their bed by the shouting; Xítway yelled, "We're okay! Go back home!" and the knocking stopped.

The moment of distraction gave Lee a chance to push Xítway away, but she anticipated this and resisted him. "What do you need?" she asked, desperately, as Lee kept fighting against her. "How can I help? Do you want to spar, work off some of your energy?"

"I can't see," he reminded her with a growl, "so that wouldn't work. Just let me out."

Xítway murmured something in her strange language, and a ball of soft orange light appeared, floating near the ceiling. "There," she said. Her round black eyes bore into Lincoln's. "Look at me, Stanley. Look at me."

Hearing his real name gave him pause. At first, another surge of anger encouraged him to struggle against Xítway some more, but something about the sound of his name brought a new sensation to replace the rage. Another emotion traveled up Lee's trachea and lodged itself in his throat. He stared into Xítway's eyes and went limp in her arms.

"Stanley?" she whispered.

His vision was getting blurry, and his face was suddenly wet. Stanley let out a sob and buried his head in Xítway's chest.

Xítway's restraining grip turned to a hug as Lee sobbed in her arms. His shoulders shook as he struggled to get enough air, and his tears dampened Xítway's rough nightshirt. He hadn't cried this hard in a long time, not even on the day he'd met Stanford. His depressed, languid grief of the past few days gave way to a new, more powerful grief borne from adrenaline and the remnants of intense anger. All the emotion that had been bottled up, unable to properly express itself because of Bill's magic, now flowed from him in loud sobs and wet tears and hitched breaths.

Xítway gently guided Lee back to his cot and sat with him — much like he had done with Fiddleford earlier that day. She held him as he cried, and he was too emotional to even be embarrassed.

Lee cried for quite some time. His grief lasted longer than his anger had: The anger had been strong (especially since it had been the first pure anger Lee had felt in twenty years), but it had had a quick fuse. This new grief, almost as strong as the anger had been, had a much longer life. There was a lot of pent-up emotion that now took its sweet time coming out.

At least it could come out. Cipher was no longer blocking it; Lee finally had access to his full range of emotion. Even as grief tore through him, it was accompanied by a feeling of relief that the emotion could finally express itself.

As the grief slowly waned, Lee felt fatigue replace it. He was exhausted. He dimly thought of saying something to Xítway, something that would send her back to her own cot and leave him to sleep. But he was too tired to open his mouth and actually say anything. Xítway's embrace was warm, and Lee eventually decided with his tired mind that he wouldn't mind falling asleep in her arms.

So, eventually, he did just that.