AN: The bolded text is a direct quote from the Enchantress and thus does not belong to me. I hope you enjoy my variation on the story.
Machiavelli appeared and dropped to the floor beside the two Americans. Without a word, he pressed his palm to Billy's chest and his dirty-gray aura bloomed over his hand. It dripped onto the open wound like sour milk.
"Smells like snake," Billy mumbled, eyes unfocusing as he slumped into unconsciousness.
"I like snake," the Italian muttered. Desperately, Machiavelli forced his aura through his hand into Billy's wound.
As he did, he visibly changed. Already weakened severely from attempting to wake Areop Enap, this new strain of healing Billy was draining him rapidly. But his was a curious transformation which shocked the other immortals in the room.
As he poured his aura into Billy, his features began to reform. The wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out and his grayish white hair was darkening, lengthening. Always close cropped, his hair now took on a wavy curl. His face filled out and his body likewise grew supple. The skin on his hands grew rapidly smoother and then- inexplicably- smaller. The Italian was growing younger by the minute. He was growing smaller, transforming from man to child.
"Enough," Black Hawk finally commanded. He gently pulled Machiavelli away from Billy.
"Let me give him just a little bit more," he pleaded. "I have a little left. I can give it to him."
"No!" the answer rang out around the room.
Machiavelli's face was flushed and his body was heaving from the effort. Black Hawk released him and he toddled back to Billy's side. He not so gently smacked Billy on the face and looked up again. "Why isn't he awake?" he questioned sadly. Nobody answered the boy. Curious as this new dilemma was, they were still tasked with waking the Old Spider and with the Karkinos scuttling around outside, they couldn't be distracted. Machiavelli sat by Billy and placed one hand on the sweaty brow of the unconscious immortal.
~MB~
Billy woke up to a throbbing pain in his stomach. During his years as an outlaw he had been nicked and shot with bullets numerous times, and those had hurt, but never like this. This was comparable with the Lotan stripping his aura from his hand the other day. Machiavelli had said it was foolish, but... Machiavelli! Billy pulled himself into an upright position, ignoring the pain in favor of finding the older immortal. He had only a vague sense of what had happened since he had received his wound but his last memories were of Machiavelli pouring his aura into the wound.
Blearily, he opened his eyes and turned his head. He suffered a body jerking shock to find a little boy next to him, watching him steadily with dark gray eyes.
He got the sense that the boy had been keeping watch over him. When the little boy saw that Billy had woken up his small eyes had brightened considerably and he touched the outlaw's face with both of his small hands. "Billy," the boy enthused. "You're awake." And he threw his arms around the slender frame of the surprised immortal.
'A kid? Here?' Billy thought to himself and closed his eyes briefly. 'When did a kid get here?' He unconsciously wrapped an arm around the boy. Opening his eyes, he guessed, though he had very little experience with children, that this boy was about three or four years old. He had dark eyes and wavy dark brown hair. And he was dressed in an oversized white button down shirt and a black suit jacket. There was something strangely familiar about him, but Billy couldn't put his finger on it. There was something keenly intelligent in the boy's eyes which looked odd on such a young visage.
The boy seemed to sense and understand Billy's confusion. "It's me Billy, it's Mac-Mac- Machi," the boy stumbled over the name. "It's Niccolò. Call me Niccolò." The little boy, no Machiavelli, dropped his arms to his sides, but remained close to Billy.
Billy in turn, blinked in confusion. A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. "Mac?" he said disbelievingly. "But how- why- Mac?" he floundered. "No, you can't possibly be..." But a movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye and moments later Perenelle Flamel kneeled in front of the pair.
"Mrs. Flamel?" he said in polite confusion.
"It's him, Billy," she said softly, gently pushing him back down. "We're alright," she continued. "Areop Enap woke up at last, and destroyed the Karkinos." She pointed to the enormous spider skittering away from them towards a few wandering unicorns. Billy followed her line of sight.
"Oh man, that's ugly," Billy gasped.
"Billy," the little boy said sternly and instantly the American immortal's face lit up.
"Mac! It is you!" he squawked with little dignity and pulled the boy into an impromptu, bone breaking hug. Just as impulsively, he kissed Machiavelli on the cheek. Billy felt rather than heard him sigh. He scrutinized Machiavelli. The Italian was olive skinned and small, almost delicate. He smiled self-consciously, revealing tiny baby teeth. "Oh, you were a cute kid, Mac," the outlaw said lovingly.
The Alchemyst came over and joined his wife gingerly on the floor. "He put a lot of his aura in you to save you," the older immortal explained. "Normally, such a huge use of one's aura would age one's body immensely. However, acts of selflessness have an opposite effect." He shrugged. "Or so the Codex says," he concluded.
"We've never actually seen it in practice," his wife added.
"Is it reversible?" Billy wondered out loud. He tenderly stroked Machiavelli's back, not realizing what he was doing.
Both the Flamels shrugged helplessly. The three adults looked down at the little boy nestled in Billy's arms. Somewhere in the middle of them talking, Machiavelli had fallen asleep. His face was turned towards the warmth of Billy's body. A tiny hand had slipped into his mouth. In the quiet brilliance of the early morning, they could hear the soft sounds of his breathing.
"Well," Billy said decisively. "If he does stay like this forever, that's fine. I'll take care of him." A brilliant smile graced his face. "I was just thinking the other day that it would be nice to have someone there to greet you at the end of the day. Maybe this is my chance."
A lull in the conversation eased its way in. Billy laid back, careful not to shift Machiavelli or wake him. Under his arms, he could feel the rise and fall of the little boy's chest. He tried counting the breaths, feeling the intake and outtake, but his mind, sluggish already from the previous pain, exertion, and finally surprise, quickly succumbed to sleep once more.
As early morning broke over the island, the Flamels left Billy and Machiavelli alone in the warden's old home to assess the damage done the previous night. The married immortals had waited for the American immortal to wake up before they left, leery that something might have survived through the night. Once they were sure that Billy was awake, Perenelle Flamel had patted him on the shoulder and promised to be back soon.
The sunlight slatted through the windows. Machiavelli slept on, but Billy kept watch. He zoned out as the minutes dragged by. There was a rapping at the door and he started. The American outlaw looked up as the Flamels reentered the building and was surprised to see them smiling at him. "Hey," he said. He licked his lips and grimaced when he tasted blood. "What's up?"
"Ah, we found somebody we thought you'd like to see," Nicholas said. He motioned to someone outside of the door. "Come on in."
Black Hawk ducked through the door. Billy's face lit up. "Black Hawk!" he shouted. He attempted to pull himself up, but three pairs of hands pushed him back down. Black Hawk squatted by his friend. Billy grabbed his hand briefly and shook it slightly. "I'm glad you're still alive," he said faintly.
"I told Machiavelli you were too stupid to die," Black Hawk laughed and embraced Billy.
"What about you?" Billy exclaimed. "We thought the Nereids had gotten you for sure."
Black Hawk settled back. "I thought they'd be waiting for me too," he acknowledged. He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "But I guess after Nereus died, they didn't feel like sticking around."
Machiavelli stirred and sat up. He looked up at Black Hawk and rubbed his back. "You're still alive then?"
"As sure as you're still puny."
Billy curled his fingers around Machiavelli's hand. "So what took you so long to get back here?" he questioned the Native American.
Black Hawk grinned and took one of the little boy's hands too. "Hey friend, have you not heard about the currents on this island?" He looked over at Perenelle. "Your friend, the ghost, he helped to guide me. You can get really turned around out there."
Perenelle pushed the hair out of her face. "I think we all owe de Ayala a debt of gratitude."
"So," Billy addressed the room. He cocked his head and gave his most winning smile. "When do we get off the island?"
"Something we'd all like to know," Nicholas muttered at his place by the door.
Black Hawk coughed. "We can go now if you want." Everyone in the room looked up. The other American immortal grinned. "Like I said, it was one hell of a current. Washed up on the shores of San Francisco." He shrugged. "Rented a boat."