“Camaxtli’s back,” he told her, figuring being to the point would shock the hell out of her.

It did. She stopped slowly blowing up Jean’s head to glare at him - or as much as she could actually glare without proper eyes. “No he is not. Things I kill stay dead.”

“He had an avatar. And, on top of that, Osiris brought back his old one, Xiuhcoatl, to cause trouble and use his power to burn shit. Considering you killed Cammy, I imagine he’s working his way towards you, as soon as he gets enough powerful gods capable of defeating you.”

For a moment she just stood there, the oddest statue ever erected by any being. She radiated arrogance like the sun gave off heat, and he knew he had offended her on several different levels. Finally, she said, “That isn’t happening.” With a single violent wave of her hand, Xiuh appeared in all his emaciated, serpentine glory some four meters from them. He looked around violently, instantly disoriented, but when his big eyes landed on Eris, he hissed and stepped forward … and froze. Eris was more powerful than Cammy, and she was more powerful than him; it wasn’t even a contest.

“You wished to die, did you not, you pathetic wretch? Have your wish,” she said, the stars in her black eyes flaring into supernovas.

Jean had tried to move, attack Xiuh while his back was to her, but she couldn’t move either. She was obviously unaware of the invisible barricade Eris had thrown around them. Bob knew this might be suicide for every single one of them, depending on how pissed off Eris was, but he hadn’t seen a way to avoid the potential suicide, not if he wanted to screw Cammy out of what he wanted one last time. “All my bones are laughing,” he sang under his breath. “As you‘re dancing on my grave.”

Xiuh had the time to issue an ear piercing shriek, like a drill hitting metal too thick for the bit, and then simply ceased to be. It looked like he explosively dissembled into bright fragments of molecules, a brief collection of energetic confetti that dispersed on a mysterious wind.

Jean grunted, a noise of pain at the sudden influx of returning energy, and grabbed her head once more, this time for a different reason. Bob felt the barrier fall, but when he looked at Eris, he couldn’t read her expression at all. Or see it coming.

Jean just disappeared. Eris vaguely waved her hand, and Jean dropped out of the dimension as if she’d never been there at all. It was too fast for him to even catch a glimpse of the energy signature. “What did you do?” He asked, trying to keep anything that might be any accusation out of his voice. She wouldn’t like it.

“Sent her to one of the nether realms. She hated you too much to kill. And just think how much she’ll hate you after that.”

The “nether realms” were some lower universes, where troublesome or inconvenient gods were sent to stew and fight amongst themselves, and breaking out was nearly impossible. It was like a godly “Thunderdome”, and as a mere avatar, Jean wouldn’t have an easy time of it. She would probably survive - no one actually died there permanently - and it was possible she could get out eventually, but thanks to time dilations, it would be decades, maybe even centuries for her, although it wouldn’t be that long on the Earthly realm. She would be pissed; she would also be that much more deadly, battle hardened and tested. “So it’s a two- fer: punishment for her, and punishment for me as well.”

“You deserve it for annoying me. You have tested my patience far too much. Speaking of which …” Eris didn’t do anything, not even twitch, but a startled Osiris appeared, several meters away from the base of the steps. And even though she didn’t move, there was no transition, she was suddenly standing right in front of the befuddled Sy.  He was able to spit a single word: “What -”

She grabbed his head, and his big bird eyes widened in fear. Being touched by Eris was never a good thing. “Camaxtli is dead, and he and his people stay dead. Further insubordination will not be tolerated.”

He never got a chance to say anything further. His head exploded between her hands like she was crushing a raw egg, gore and ichor splattering the courtyard but somehow missing her, even as his body collapsed to the ground like an empty suit. She hadn’t dispersed him, just eradicated this form, and he would be back in his death realm soon enough. But he’d know why he should never piss off Eris ever again.

In less than time it took for an eye to blink, Eris was right in front of him, grabbing his chin in a vise grip. He could feel her fingers burning through his skin like hot irons, the bones beneath becoming as malleable as clay. “Do you get the point, Bob, or do you need further instruction?”

“I get it,” he growled, as that was the only way he could talk. Gobs of his flesh were melting off and hitting the marble with a sizzling sound, like bacon on a skillet. The stink of his own baking flesh was nauseating, but he knew he was getting off lucky - his head hadn’t been cracked yet.

Still, he could feel her fingers in his very jaw bones, bending them into a brand new, uncomfortable shape. The stars in her eyes were almost blindingly bright. "Good. Do not bring your dirty work to me ever again, or the Powers will find out exactly how much I can do to them, and you."

Once again, there was little transition. One second he was standing there, Eris digging her fingers into his marrow, and the next instant he was falling through the sky. It was like a dream, only a lot less pleasant. Also, he seemed to have his pants on.

He hit the water at a force that was jarring; it was like being thrown into a brick wall, and if physicality meant that much to him, he would probably have pulped organs and broken bones to show for it. As it was, he wasn't perfectly corporeal yet, so while he felt it, it was only distantly. Mostly what he felt was the cold - the water was freezing.

"Oh, goddamn it!" He shouted as he surfaced, shaking his water soaked head. He was floating in cold gray water that seemed to extend for miles in all directions. It was the Earth plane all right, and he treaded water for a moment as he got his bearings. Atlantic Ocean? Most likely. Now he had to make a choice: where to go first. In the end, he had to go by need, and the person who was on death's door would always take priority.

He thought himself back to California.

Los Angeles General had a brand spanking new "mutant" ward, thanks in no small part to his ex-wife Lilly, who had ponied up the dough for that specific wing. Okay, so he asked her to, but she was agreeable to it enough; as a full blooded Belial, she knew mutants could only cause trouble with normal Humans, and this gave her a happy. All mischief gave Lilly a happy, which was one of the more exciting - and frustrating - things about their marriage. Belials were the most slippery of demon species, and certainly the most dangerous for it, simply because the only thing you could trust was that they were, at all times, completely full of shit. He knew this was why the Powers initially imprisoned him in a Belial body.

He walked through the azure and white tiled high security wing, earning attention from a passing orderly. "Tell me where Scott Summers is," he ordered. Not a request.

The man, a six foot two bruiser who you might have mistaken for a boxer (but was actually working his way through nursing school), stared right through him as his will bent to his cause. "Down the hall, fourth door on your left, burn unit."

"Thank you. I'm not, nor was I ever, here."

The man continued with his rounds, no longer aware of him in any respect. He made sure a passing doctor and two nurses didn't notice him either, and he made sure to dry up and not leave puddles of sea water in the halls.

He was still alive, which was something, but Bob knew the instant he walked in his room that it was a near thing. The mutants all got separate rooms, unlike their normal Human counterparts, but that was only because some mutations could interact with others in unforeseen ways, and no one wanted to risk it. And his room smelled like burned flesh and antiseptic salve.

He was laid out on his white bed, angry red skin covered in salve, fresh grafts, and gauze stained with blood and other fluids (it was probably close to bandage changing time). About half his hair was missing, flash burned off, but he still had his visor on. Good old Brendan, he probably made sure they had it and knew what it was for; there was an unmistakable lingering trace of Brachen still in the room. You had to love Brachens, they generally meant so well. And that generally got them killed, which is why they preferred hiding. It was one of those ironies of evolution that the less friendly and helpful a demon race was, the more likely they were to thrive.

Scott was on a respirator that made mechanical hissings sounds, not unlike a smaller and less reverb-ed Darth Vader. Bob didn't detect a hint of consciousness, which was good, because if he was conscious he'd be in hideous pain. "Listen to me," he said, once again making it an order. "You will sleep for twenty four hours, and during that time you will completely recover, and wake up perfectly fine. You are not hurt, you're not in pain ... you have all your hair too." Well, he had to give him that, otherwise he'd look like he had the mange. "You will remember what happened ... but you won't remember Jean was there. The real Jean wouldn't hurt you or abandon you to die."

That was true. The only problem was he wasn't sure where the real Jean was anymore, and that was a decision he came to long before Eris had marooned her in the nether realms.

Sure he had done what he could here, he opened a portal, and slipped over to Dublin.

He stepped out of an alley next to O'Connor's Pub, and the sky was overcast, sending down a fine sprinkling of gentle rain. With a thought, he changed his shirt to read 'Kiss Me, I'm Agnostic', and gave himself a nice fedora, as he always fancied a nice one.

The spells were all in place, he could feel their shiny happy glow before he walked in the door, but he sensed trouble. He knew it too well to ever mistake it for anything else, even in the presence of all these "good time" vibes.

The pub was packed - another result of the spell - and a hale and hearty looking Angel glanced his way as soon as the brass chimes over the door rang in his entrance. "I'm not here," he announced, and Angel looked right through him, giving the door a curious look. No one in the pub saw him, so he had to weave a bit to avoid being jostled ... and there was the trouble skulking at a rear table, as hidden from general view as possible. He had a magical aura that was almost incandescent, as if he wasn't just a magic practitioner but an actual being of magic. And that's when he knew instantly who this was.

Mordred looked up from the pint he was pretending to nurse, and looked around, his brow furrowed in consternation. He knew something powerfully mystical was here, but he also knew he couldn't see it. Bob got close enough to touch him, then said, “You can see me.” As soon as Mordred looked up, startled, Bob touched him on the shoulder and teleported them both outside, into the alley next to the pub. Before he could recover from the shock of being instantly moved elsewhere, Bob told him, “No powers.”

That was risky on a being that was literally a child of magic; he couldn’t keep him powerless for long, or it would actually cause him physical damage. As it was, Mordred staggered, putting a hand to his forehead. “What the fuck …?”

“Don’t talk, just listen, and I’ll restore you quicker, okay?”

“Who the fuck are you, and what have you done to me?” He roared, holding on to the wall and his head with equal strength.

“I’m Bob, and you need to leave Angel the hell alone. If you don’t, I’ll wipe your memory of him and plop you back in France - and for a kind like you, that’s gonna hurt.” It would. To wipe his memory would be a bit of a more laborious - and painful - process, but he’d do it if he had to.

Mordred glared at him, his eyes a pale sky blue that somehow seemed translucent. “Bob? What … wait, Maximum Bob? The King of all liar demons?”

His shrug was sheepish. “That is the rep, yeah.”

“So you’re in on this?” He scoffed and shook his head, like he should have known it. “So this was for kicks? Getting your friends to bring a monster like Angelus back into full humanity -”

“Ooh, you’re one to call Angelus a monster, aren’t you, Mordred?”

That hit home. He scowled violently, the irises of his eyes showing little sparkles of crystals. “I’ve changed.”

“And so has he. That is not Angelus, you idiot, it’s Liam, the poor sucker who ended up a vamp snack. He doesn’t remember his life as a vampire, and he won’t, not for the next three months.”

Mordred looked both suspicious and slightly unbalanced, and he never let go of his head. “What do you mean not for the next three months?”

“This is a vacation. He doesn’t know it - and he’s not gonna know it, get it? - but the Powers decided to give him a taste of what he’s fighting for. He has three months to live his life as a Human, and then he’s going to wake up in Los Angeles, a vampire with a soul again, with his last actual memory being his killing of a Senior Partner. But he will have a feeling of what he’s missing, the goal he’s aiming for, and hopefully that will give him a renewed sense of purpose in his fight, even though he’s back where he started, with no friends, no plan, and no idea what to do next. And quite possibly some really pissed off Senior Partners sniffing after him.” It was true. He couldn’t convince the Powers to make his change to Human permanent; they felt he had more he needed to do to atone for what he had done, and frankly, although they didn’t admit it, they needed Angel. He was the best champion they’d ever had. How do you bench your best player? But they had to do something - if they hadn’t transformed Angel back into Human, he would have died on that hell plane.

Bob was frankly glad that Angel wouldn’t remember the actual fact of having lived as a Human for three months, because he would be so disappointed that it was just a side trip. And he’d probably blame him for not being able to keep him Human. Bob wouldn’t actually blame him for that either.

Mordred stared at him for a long moment, not daring to trust him. It was raining harder now, splashing them both, although Bob’s nifty new fedora spared him the worst of it. “So you’re saying this is a punishment?  He gets a life, and then they yank it away from him?”

“Well … see, when you put it that way, it sounds horrible …”

“Why should I believe you? Belials are full of shit.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh please! An old Belial could keep someone from seeing them, but could he teleport you out of a pub? Could he take away all your powers? Think, mate. Do you get a whiff of spell based magic offa me?”

Mordred had to think about it a while, and Bob watched the expression on his face move from incredulousness and disbelief to perfect shock and sudden enlightenment. “You’re not just a Belial, are you?”

“No, I am not. And I fought for Angel, and I lost, so all I can do is protect him and make his life, while he has it, as enjoyable as possible. Now bugger off and leave him be, or I’ll remove all your powers and make you think you’re a shoe salesman in Yorkshire.” He waved his hand, and Mordred disappeared. He would reappear on the upper level of the Eiffel Tower, probably startling several tourists and destined to end up in more than a handful of stranger‘s vacation photos. But Bob hoped that would be enough to convince him to leave Angel alone.

With a sigh, Bob decided he should hang around for a couple of days, just to make sure he didn’t try anything, and just maybe shore up the protection spells around Angel and his place. He couldn’t make him Human forever, but he could give him a good time while he was around.

It was the absolute least he could do, as well as the only thing he could do.

14

This was always the most awkward part.

Logan was in a separate room in the medical unit, mainly because he wasn’t really getting better at all. He looked strangely at home in the cold steel room, even with the white sheet and blue blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and while he didn’t look pale, he didn’t look perfectly alive either. When you got within several feet, you could start counting the individual whiskers of stubble on his face; they seemed unbelievably dark against his ashen skin.

Rogue crossed the room and put the CDs she brought down on the counter beside the portable player. Helga had done this for Bob when he was in a coma, on the off chance that he could hear, and she had decided to do the same thing, as she had nothing to lose. Yesterday she had started playing the CDs she’d found hidden in his room (they were not hidden to her, not when she still had access to his memories), and there were only a couple more left. She’d brought some of hers, the ones she thought Logan could tolerate, and some others she had scared up from the kids. She actually liked having the music, as it gave her a reason for being down here beyond simple voyeurism.

“Okay, I don’t know what’s on this one, but I don’t want you to tell me,” she said, loading up a cd that Helga had burned for him. “Oh, and Scott’s back. He seems perfectly fine; his recovery was miraculous. He thinks maybe Jean did it, but … man, I couldn’t believe what I thought when he first said that. I thought we can’t trust her, and she wouldn’t help you. That was your thoughts, I know, but I couldn’t quite believe it. But you really don’t trust her anymore, do you? You know she’s changed, more than the rest of us.”

She hit the “play” button and pulled herself up on the empty section of the counter, as there were no chairs down here. Eerie sounding music started coming from the speakers, and Logan’s memory told her this was Tool’s cover of “No Quarter”, which meant next to nothing to her - it was a cover of what now? “I think you’re starting to fade a bit. From me. A little. I managed to go three hours without cursing yesterday. Course, I was by myself in the gym for half that time, but it still counts. I’m hoping I can learn enough cool fighting shit that I can keep it when your memories fades. I’ve been sparring a little with some of the other kids, and I’m like totally kicking their asses without using my power. Even I don’t know how half the time. I’m also learning how to take a punch, which I was afraid of before, but I’ve learned that a little pain is worth if it you can get a bigger benefit outta it. Scott told me that was just sick, but it has some tactical benefits. Well, as long as I can heal from the damage.”

She kicked her legs idly, as the music swelled from eerie low key to angry raging, which explained why this would remind Helga of him. “Oh, anyways, I told Scott I thought it was Bob, Bob was there when the motel exploded, after all, but he claims not to know. Frankly, I think he wants to believe it was Jean, even though he knows it’s unlikely. He isn’t ready to let her go. I’ve left a message with Hel, but Bob hasn’t checked in with her yet. As soon as he does, she promised me she’d send him our way. She’s still kinda sweet on you, but I guess that’s mutual, huh?”

It was so weird being him and being herself at the same time. You’d think it would get less weird as time went on, but it never did. “The Professor’s recovering really well; we think he’ll be conscious any time now. Rags was able to contact this friend he has - well, a friend of a friend, I guess - who threw a healing spell on Saddiq, so he recovered from his Titan ass kicking, but we’ve kept him in an induced coma ever since. We’re still trying to figure out some way to get that thing outta him, Rags’ friend is trying to cook up a spell, but we’ll probably have to wait for Bob. I hope he hurries up. You could use him too.”

She shivered, as it was cold down here, which didn’t make sense to her. Shouldn’t it be warmer for sick people? Scott said there was some reason behind it, but as soon as the explanation veered into its second minute, she stopped paying attention. The machines monitoring Logan’s vital signs made small, weak noises, drowned out by the music, but also just so pathetic it was better to drown them out. “You should be getting better, but you’re not. Piotr thinks maybe you just got overtaxed this time, it was too much, but I’m thinkin’ you don’t wanna get better. Are you still kickin’ yourself over takin’ us on a Organization revenge mission? Stop it. I wanted to go - do you know how fucking bored I get here? They treat me like a regular kid, but I’m not. I may have forgotten most things, but I glimpsed Magneto’s mind, I’ve glimpsed yours several times, a Ressik demon‘s, Pyro’s, now Xavier’s and Titan’s … I know stuff that my friends just can’t know. I’ve lived lifetimes in a millisecond. I know stuff sometimes without knowing how I know it - kinda like you. I’m not like the others, but I’m not sure who I’m like. Anyways, I know Saddiq feels the same way; he was indoctrinated, he spent his whole life being groomed for a single purpose that’s now irrelevant. We may all be mutants, but even we don’t quite fit in here, no matter what the Professor and Scott say.” If anyone could understand that, it would be Logan, who felt like he didn’t belong here either. But then again, Logan questioned whether he belonged in this world at all. Of course he'd never said that, but she’d been living with his mind long enough to know.

“So I had this dream last night. I thought it was a dream, now I’m pretty sure it’s not, but either way it’s yours. I was you, and I was on a really high floor of an office building. It had those mirrored windows, y’know, so you could look down on everything, and I was in this city of skyscrapers, some of them shaped like broken swords. I’d never seen this place before, but I knew from you we were in Tokyo. You were escorting this woman down the hall. She was wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase, and she was bitching at you. Apparently there was a credible bomb threat, and you were evacuating the building, but you came up to personally escort her out, and she was upset with you because that was a breach of protocol; her Uncle was the senior man, so you should be escorting him out first, not leaving him to your subordinates. But as soon as you guys get in the elevator, you hug her, just take her in your arms and tell her you don’t give a damn about protocol, you couldn’t live if she got hurt.” She paused to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes. She was pretty sure that was Logan’s mental reaction, not hers, but honestly she wasn’t sure. There was no way for her to get into words how powerful his feelings were for her, for his wife Mariko; she’d never felt anything like it, and doubted she ever would again. It convinced her her relationship with Bobby would go nowhere, because she didn’t even feel a sliver of that for him. Lust, yes, but love? If that was love, she’d barely ever felt it. “Mariko. That’s her name, isn’t it?  She relaxed against you, and called you, somewhat jokingly, her hero. She wasn’t really angry at you, just afraid you’d get into trouble for breaking the rules and protecting her over him. And you didn’t care. You were always gonna pick her over them, ‘cause she was the only one in the family that you thought was worth anything. You also thought - still do think - that she was the only woman who could ever accep! t and love a freak like you. You would have died for her, and I think that’s the problem. I think you did, and I don’t think you’ve ever come back. I know she’s dead, and I know you think it’s your fault, that you weren’t good enough to protect her, to save her, that you failed the only person you ever loved. And now you think you’ve failed all of us.” She swallowed hard, and was torn between feeling absolutely horrible for him, and absolutely furious at him. “You’re wrong, you self-pitying bastard. The only thing you’ve failed to live up to is this insanely high standard you’ve set for yourself. Being nearly invulnerable doesn’t make you perfect, and nobody here expects you to protect all of us. We can take care of our fucking selves, okay? Yer not the only guy around here who can fight, you just think you are.”

She sniffed and glanced at the machine readouts, hoping some of this had sunk in, and maybe pissed him off. If she could piss him off, she knew he’d wake up. But the readouts remained steady, and there was no outward sign he had heard her at all. “Come on, old man, wake up,” she said, trying to make it more of an order than a plea, but she wasn’t sure she had succeeded.

Logan just laid there on the table, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly beneath the blanket, and she wondered if there was anything that would encourage him to wake up on his own.

The End