A hand grasped his collar and he was ripped from the grasp of his dream. Ivan rolled to face the guard but was still jerked to stand in his cell. He barely stretched before he was being led away from the concrete, passing the bars with a side glance and short-lived frown.

Then, it hit him. Today was his execution day. The last day of his life - he really hoped it was worth it. He let his head fall as they walked down the halls. The footsteps thudded in the back of his mind like a headache, and he closed his eyes against the bright lights of the hall.

He just hoped that Ali wouldn't be there, that he would stay home and make it easy for him.

***

Ali ran down the halls, sure he was late.

He ran a hand through his hair as he sprinted, finally catching up with a small audience there to watch. He wouldn't have missed it for his life.

And despite his anger, he silently prayed Amadi would come too, if only for someone to hold during the execution.

Ivan's doing this for me, Ali thought, coming through the doorway.

Guilt struck him hard, but he kept his tears at bay. He would be strong. Besides, he had one last chance to save him.

He took a seat in the second row, despite being one of the 4 people there. The rest of which sat silently in the back row, spectating.

A man appeared at the front of the room, at some wooden dias, releasing an 'ahem' into the microphone to catch everyone's attention. Ali's mind flashed back to when he was no more than twelve years old.

His mother held his hand tightly. He had the distant memory of being called in from the farms - swiftly zig-zagging through the trees. Tears streamed down her face. Ali was forced to watch as they slipped the rope around the man's neck, and mother let out a wail. She covered Ali's eyes and his world went dark as the creaky squeak sounded and shutters banged.

"Father!" He screamed, ripping his Mother's fingers from his eyes.

"No!"

Amadi blinked, then the eight-year-old began to echo his Mother's wails, screaming in unison as they untied the hanging body and the room's occupants filed out the large double doors at the back.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but Ali swiped them away. I did this for you, Father. All for you.

Ali snapped his eyes open, the room the same as it was fifteen years ago. The same benches. The same dias. The same tears sliding down his manly cheeks. The same executioner, the same black bag laying on the same wooden lever. The exact same hurt. He swatted at his tears, letting his eyes dry.

But another person.

Yet he meant the same to Ali.

He massaged his eyes to disguise the wiping of his tears and took one more glance around the room, but his eyes caught those of another standing in the doorway.

The boy made his way towards Ali and instantly, Ali turned back to the front, where the man at the dias was awkwardly re-reading his script in the silence.

"Ali," someone whispered from behind. Ali whipped his head around and was face to face with the boy. With Amadi.

"You can't do this alone."

"But I sure as hell can't do it with you, either," Ali susurrated.

"I didn't know what you meant to him. I didn't know -"

"Yeah, you didn't. What do you want?"

"What?"

"Why are you here, what's the point?" He rephrased.

"Because you're my brother."

"Very slick."

"No, Ali, just listen -"

"Amadi -"

"What I did was wrong. In so many different ways. I just - I need to fix this."

"So what? So you can use him as a pawn? Blame him for more crimes, just to save yourself?"

"It's not like that."

"Then what's it like?" Ali's volume rose. The people in the room shot him a glance and he quickly readjusted, returning to a harsh whisper-shout. Tears pricked at his eyes but he blinked the itch away.

"What will you do to prove that you won't do it again?"

Then, movement caught Ali's eye and he turned back to the front as Ivan emerged from a side door. He hushed his brother and directed all his attention to Ivan.

Amadi slid his hand over the bench to squeeze his older brother's shoulder, and Ali's hate evaporated into the hot, humid air. He took Amadi's hand into his own and held it tight.

"It's not their fault,' Amadi whispered. "You should still fight for their cause. Still fight for his."

He squeezed his hand, and then, Ali squeezed back.

***

Ivan was pulled into a bright room of maybe 6 people. He kept his eyes to the front, not daring to look around. The man at the dias began to speak.

Too soon, a black bag was being put over his head.

"No," he said, interrupting the speaker. The small audience gasped and one person brought a hand to their mouth as he shrugged the fabric away, struggling in his handcuffs. Ivan snuck a glance around the room and when his eyes caught he swallowed hard.

He knew that face anywhere.

A tear began to stream down his face as they locked eyes, but his bound hands forced him to suffer its fall.

Ali's own began to collect. He had the mercy to swipe it away as quick as it came, but the effect lingered.

Ivan blinked.

The rope was put around his neck, and Ivan didn't look away from Ali's hurting glare.

The loop tightened around his throat, just enough to make breathing difficult. The man at the dias stopped talking and the room was eerily silent. The executioner took his post by a lever - the lever which would open the doors beneath him and send him to take a suffocating last breath.

After a moment of silence, the executioner began to pull on the lever. Ivan shifted his gaze between the gloved hand and Ali, but Ali only looked at him. Ivan's vision flooded with memories of the past years. Finding Ali passed out, bringing him to his camp. Ignoring each other, yet still understanding one another. Being called Commander and almost getting killed because of Ali, then being protected by him. The Japanese. Watching so many people - innocent people - die. Ivan released two more tears. Letting go of Ali in the river. They weren't meant to be friends. But it was still worth it. The executioner was just at halfway through the pull and Ivan could hear the creaking of the planks beneath him. Ivan pushed out a shaky breath, more tears cascading.

He returned his gaze to look at Ali one last time.

But his gaze landed on his stomach, and Ivan realized Ali was standing.

"It was me," Ali admitted. The executioner stopped his death pull. While Ivan couldn't understand every word, he knew exactly what Ali was saying.

Ivan subtly shook his head, trembling. No, he mouthed. Don't do it. More tears fell and a prickling itch came to his nose just as it began to run.

"I hurt all those people. I planned the attack."

Ivan's eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head. Tears came streaming and he couldn't help but sniff, drawing attention back to him.

Ali looked at him and nodded. Ivan's thoughts spiraled in the second of quiet - It's worth it. It's worth it, he chanted.

More visions flashed of Ali. We weren't meant to be friends. But it's worth it.

"I'm sorry, Ali." Ivan's voice trembled, but the chanting inside his head was the most powerful of all. It's worth it. It's worth it. He opened his eyes again to see Ali's face one last time, giving him a small smile. "I'm sorry, Ali. I truly am."

Disbelief and horror overtook Ali's face, and he began to shake his head. This time, he didn't bother to move and stop the tears flowing down his cheeks. Ivan took a steadying deep breath, the antithesis of the heavy shaking now taking hold of Ali's hands, legs, his own shallow breathing.

Ali gave Ivan an admonishing look, directing as much force into such a glare. A glare he'd learned from Ivan himself.

Don't do this, he thought, as if his words could reflect in his eyes.

Ivan lifted his knee, raising his foot.

"Ivan. Don't even think about it." Ali said aloud.

Amadi stood behind him, beginning to pull something from his pocket. Ivan felt more tears pour down his face as his guards leaped from around Ivan. Ali shoved Amadi back into the bench - moving into the center aisle himself.

"Ivan, I swear. I'm getting you out of this. It wasn't -"

"I'm sorry." Ivan's voice - barely a whisper yet it still managed to shatter Ali's heart into hundreds of shards of glass. Ali nearly doubled over from the pain, but he knew neither of them could handle him breaking too.

"No. Ivan," he screamed. "This isn't how it's supposed to be! It never was. All we went through to get here - I can't! I can't lose you again!" Ali's voice cracked as the world began to spin. He was losing his mind. Ali began to make his way towards the raised floor where Ivan stood. The guards leaped from their posts. One moved towards the executioner, whispering some command in his ear. The blank-faced murderer tightened his grip on the lever. Ali caught the movement and his eyes trailed the guard as he returned to his post next to Ivan, the rest of his comrades ready to defend.

Ali heaved a breath, urgency coursing through his veins, trembles bursting throughout his limbs.

"Please," he whimpered, dropping to the floor in a ramshackle mess of broken pieces.

Ivan's cries wilted his vocal chords and his voice left him, left him to be mute.

"You did so much - we did so much. Don't let it turn to nothing." Ali sobbed, then raised his fist. "It wasn't nothing! You were so much more than nothing!" He slammed his hand into the floor, the concrete merely absorbing the brute force.

"I'm -" he twisted to wipe his nose on his shoulder. "Ali," his eyes were so glossy under the layer of tears and the force of Ali's passion.

"I can't let you be nothing, when you were meant to be so much -" Ivan raised his foot again. "So, so much more."

He flashed half of his usual quirky smile. And laughed.

"I -" he struggled, tears still cascading despite his perky undertone. "I lo -" he shook his head. It was worth it. The phrase replanted itself in his mind, and he was suddenly reminded of his task, his duty to Ali.

"I'm sorry."

It was worth it. And he slammed his foot into the trapdoor. The executioner's hand tugged on the lever.

The sound of the trapdoor slamming open, crashing into the sides of the pit in which he fell, disguised the agonizing sound of rope stretched - and, for that matter, the sound of a heartbreak within a young boy, twice crushed, shattered, and broken.

Yet never once fixed.