Wisdom of Ages

by Paradoqz

A somewhat disconcerted Pete Wisdom finds out that life and its demands don't stop just because you're dead.

1. The Road Back.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters belong to marvel. Some mention of the
characters that belong to DC & Wildstorm. No profit is being made off this
story. Feedback and flames are welcome

***
Wisdom of Ages.

"Soddin' blockhead! Stupid idiot. Fookin' moron! Dumbass! Shit for brains
amateur fuckhead! Goddamit how dumb was that, Wisdom?!!"

The string of expletives rung loudly in the gloomy desolation of the
cemetery. Strangely, the murder of crows, who were digging around the nearby
clearing, did not appear to be disturbed by either the curses or the man
delivering them.

"Idiot! Idiot!! Idiot!!! Damn, wet behind the ears, greenhorn! Never
occurred to you that he put tracers in HIS OWN BASE?!! And to pay a little
bit of attention? Nah! I don't need it. I am the soddin' James Bond! I don't
need to take the elementary fucking precautions. No. Not me. Not The Pete
The Soddin' Wisdom! So now I have a soddin' hole in my head! Serves me
right! Dimwit!"

The crows finally deigned to pay attention to the figure that continued to
yell and gesticulate agitatedly, only several steps away from them. It's a
man. Dark hair, cut shortly, framed the thin, slightly gaunt face,
underscoring the sharp features and blue eyes. Average height and rumpled
black suit were belied by the lean build and the quietly competent way of a
fighter, with which the man carried himself. Cawing one of the ravens left
the rest of the gaggle, to approach Wisdom. Stopping a few paces off, the
black bird cawed again, the sound a little curious as it tilted its head to
the side, the black beads of its eyes sparkling mockingly.

"Ah, shut it, you." Feeling the verbal rebuke to be inadequate, Pete kicked
the nearest pebble at the bird. Cawing indignantly, the crow hopped away,
dodging the rock, and giving Pete a look of scorn and haughty pride, turned
and flew back to his flock.

"Would you kindly refrain from abusing the animals?"

"They are not animals, they are bir... Holy shit, do you look wasted, mate!"

Pete's comments were cut short as he felt as much as heard flapping of wings
directly above him. Instinctively his hands flew up to protect his face.
When, seconds later, he decided it was safe he saw his old nemesis sitting
on the shoulder of the new arrival.

"Damn bird. I swear it's laughing at me."

"He is. Dworkin has a great sense of humor."

Making a face, Pete examined the speaker, not bothering to conceal the
inspection behind some polite gesture. The thorough look-over served nothing
but to confirm his earlier impression. About the same height as Pete, the
guy looked somewhat older - perhaps mid-thirties. Heavy army-issue boots,
jeans that had seen their share of beatings, flannel shirt and poncho of
uncertain color were capped off with a wide-brimmed hat. Surprisingly enough
the total result somehow managed not to look completely ridiculous. Not
completely. Perhaps because the observer's attention was drawn to the face.
Not that it was any spectacular face. Dirty blond hair, thin lips, green
eyes, a nose a little too big for the face and a grimace all too familiar to
any who ever woke up with a hangover. All in all, not that great of a sight,
but... there was something about the man. Something odd.

"Do I know you from somewhere, chap?"

"No. Get your stuff and come with me."

"Well... see here, blondie. My mother told me never to go with the strange
men. And I always listen to my mother. So piss off."

"Watch your mouth, English."

The raven cawed in agreement, making as if to whisper something into his
'perch's ear, when Pete eloquently replied with the universal gesture.

The man shrugged irritably, almost dislodging the crow, "Yes.. Yes, I know.
You do not have to convince me! SHE said to do it, so take it up with HER.
And don't yell! My head is killing me!"

Pete raised an eyebrow sardonically, "So... Talk to your pets much, are you?
That's all right. It's when they answer back - that's when there is a
problem."

"You'd know." The man replied acidly.

"Umm... er... Damn. How'd you know about the overgrown lizard anyway?"

"Never mind that. You coming or not?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes. You can come or you can stay here and bother the Dworkin's clan some
more. I have to warn you however, they are really nasty when irritated."

"That's all I need... All right. Lead on."

"Do you even want to know where are we going?" One of the man's eyebrows
quirked as he turned around, obviously expecting Wisdom to follow him. Which
he did.

"What's the difference? I am sick of this place. Anything is better at this
point."

"Well... if you are so sick of it, why haven't you left, genius?"

"Shuddup, you Eastwood wannabe. I tried. I always end up in the spot I
started."

"Hmm... You lying?"

"Hmm... You wanna get punched in the nose?"

Pete's companion smiled grimly, "Please. Try it. Please."

"Oh knock off the mysterious, enigmatic stranger bit, would you. What's
your name anyhow?"

"Charon. And by the way - mysterious and enigmatic mean the same thing. No,
make left here."

Pausing his stride, Pete squinted at the fork in the narrow path, "Are you
sure? We already made 3 lefts..."

Not slowing down Charon shrugged, once again upsetting Dworkin, "Fine. Make
a right. After all you had such a success navigating your way out of here up
till now."

Giving the retreating back another two-finger salute, Pete pondered the
situation for a moment. Finally, swearing softly, he spat and quickened his
pace in order to catch up with Charon, "You better be right, Charlie."

"The name is Charon, you Saxon reprobate. C H A R O N. "

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. Wot, your parents didn't like you or
something?"

"It's Greek, you heathen product of public school system!"

"I know, Just jerking your chain. Jeez, you are easy. So... Charon, huh? As
in the boat-guy?"

"Yes. As in the boat-guy."

"I _am _ dead then, huh... Thought as much. Damn."

For once Charon failed to come back with a poisonous retort, giving Pete
time to collect his thoughts. For some time the trio traveled in silence.
Not even Dworkin made a sound. Led by Charon the group made their way to the
modestly sized and largely undecorated gate. It sat in the middle of the
path but, as far as Pete could see, had no fence connected to it.

Charon stopped in front of the construction and sighed deeply. "I hate this
part." Muttering something else under his breath he produced a satchel from
somewhere under his poncho. "All right, lessee..."

"Hey, I don't know what in hel... What are you doing there, mate, but I'm
telling you now. I saw that "Crow" flick. If you think you are getting me to
paint my face with some white crap and prance around in a black trench-coat,
you better think again."

"Strip."

"... wot?"

"Strip."

"All right, that's it. You can do whatever the hell you want. Play with you
bird, talk to the Voices or whatever - I am out of here. Cheers."

"English, we don't have a great deal of time here. Besides you flatter
yourself, you are not my type."

"Now that hurts. I'm weeping on the inside. But I am still not taking my
clothes off."

"Does the phrase 'sky-clad,' means anything to you, you loud-mouthed,
foul-smelling boor?"

"Yes. You, pervert."

"Oh, for Lady's sake... You are not the stinking Tom Cruise! Let me explain
some facts of DEATH to you, Mr. Wisdom. Either you do what I tell you or you
can stay here and wait for somebody else to come and take you to the
appropriate department. I assure you, I AM the nicest of the bunch! Now
then, you can not enter the stupid gate while you still have the earthly
belongings. Like clothes. So strip!"

"Now listen here, Charlie... I am dead, right? Right. So I am like a spirit
of whatever. Boo. These are not clothes, just a figment of our
imagination... Right? So I don't need to strip. Just pretend I did, all
right."

"Fine, smart aleck. Go through."

Looking at Charon suspiciously for a couple of seconds, Wisdom shrugged,
stepped up, opened the gates and moved through... Or tried to in any case.
Pete was not _exactly_ sure what kicked him and where, but it hurt. A lot.

"Och... This is abuse, this is."

"Your clothes are 'symbols,' Mr. Wisdom. Now, unless you'd like to try that
again - please dispose of them."

"I AM!" The chattering teeth detracted somewhat from the force of the snarl,
as did the fact that Pete was at the moment hopping on one foot, trying to
take off his right sock. With only a minimum of harsh landings, Wisdom
finally undressed and kicked his stuff in a pile near the gate, "Al-ll
rrrright. Can we get on with it? I am frrrreezing my unmentionables off
here."

"You'll live."

"..."

" Umm... Sorry."

"Shut it."

The silence stretched, as Pete stood shivering and Charon busied himself
drawing something in front of the gate. Dworkin, after a minute's thought,
decided to take up a perch on the selfsame gates and was looking over
Charon's progress. Finally, just as Pete was about to say something rather
cutting, Charon stood up revealing an intricate pentagram.

Perhaps the name itself is too simplistic, but it is hard to otherwise
describe the design. A spiraling web that seemed to draw one's gaze into
itself as if a magnet... or an abyss. Not wasting any more time, Charon
placed a small, half-burned candle in the very middle of the pentacle,
obviously a practiced procedure as not one line had been smudged in process.
Stepping backwards, he grasped Pete's shoulder firmly with one hand and
beckoningly extended the other. With a loud cawing screech, Dworkin swept
towards it and the moment he touched down, the candle ignited.

Before Pete's startled eyes the small sparks began to separate from the main
flame and make their way through the pentagram. Soon every line, every
string of it was completely engulfed. The living flame covered the
hieroglyphic, presenting a starkly beautiful sight of a something strangely
akin to a pulsing heart. Suddenly the burning star flashed brightly, too
brightly for Pete's eyes. The design burned itself into his mind, like brand
on calf's skin. It burned itself deep into him, so very deep... and then he
was falling, and falling, and falling.

"You know, I am being an awfully good sport about all this..."

"Yep. You are. Refreshing really."

"Bullocks. Weird is what it is. Why am I being so calm? I am dead for
Crissakes. I. Am. Dead. Why doesn't the concept bother me just a biiit
more?"

"Eh... Am not sure. You mortals are a weird lot. Some freak so badly, you
would not believe. Others are actually happy. And then there are your kind
of people. Just take it in stride... Spooky. I think it's something to do
with the cemetery, actually. Does something to your minds... prepares you.
What is unusual though, is that you couldn't get out of it by yourself.
Usually folks find their own gate and I just meet them there... Weird."

"Weird."

"Cawww."

"So is this it?"

"Uh-huh:"

"So... what _is_ it?"

"A start."

"Informative, that is."

"Annoying, you are."

"Aaand now that you've shown your truly spectacular lack of humor... What am
I supposed to do here?"

"Walk."

"Walk?"

"Walk."

"Where?"

"Just walk. The road will find you."

"The road will... What? What the.. Charo... where the hell did he go?"

"Cawww."

"Oh, shut up."

The spot was strange, no question about it. But on other hand, Pete _was_
dead. Very little wasn't strange about the situation. He looked around.
Charon was gone. A cheap trick in his private, personal opinion, but that's
these mythical types for you. Can't trust. Just can't trust them. On other
hand his clothes were back. And -hey a bonus! - his pack was full again,
when he fished it out of the packet.

It just figured that he was out of matches.

Of course.

Typical.

So - the spot. Well... it was spot-like. And such.
Looked as if someone took a flame-thrower to the field of grass. All around
him, as far as Pete could see, there was grass. Tall grass, easily reaching
to his knees. Except in the place he was standing. An uneven square-shaped
spot of black.

"The road will find you... Pile of blarney. Cryptic wanker... Everybody is a
freaking Pythia. Well, I am here. Where is the bloody road?"

Dworkin returned from, apparently, reconnoitering the surroundings and
serenely assumed his seat on Pete's right shoulder. Blithely ignoring the
latter's glower. "What do I look like to you? A tree? Get off! Get off, you
pillow stuffing! Get... You are not getting off, are ya?"

The crow pecked under his wing and, squinting at Wisdom, answered flatly,
"Caw."

"Oi. Why me. Do _you_ at least know where am I supposed to go?"

The crow shrugged, happily oblivious of the facts that crows can't shrug.
Pete glowered at the bird a little more, until he concluded that while fun
the glowering wasn't very productive. Besides his neck started to hurt from
twisting it to look at the damn bird on his shoulder.

Spitting and muttering disgustedly Pete looked around, his hands absently
brushing the grass and plucking a solitary blade. "I am waaaaiting... The
road will find you... Some people... I swear.. You know what? Screw this."
Gripping the stem in his lips, Pete flipped off the empty field and boldly
stepped forward.

So did the spot.

Well... sort of.

The black square hadn't moved _exactly_. It just elongated, lengthened. It
had become a rectangle..

Another step.

The black rectangle forged ahead of Pete.

Another step.

The end of the black path disappeared from eyesight, winding it's way among
the reeds, toward the horizon.

"Well, fuck me..."

***

The black road was... well, it was perfect. Unpaved but still firm, as if
beat by thousands of travelers, it seemed to push back up at his feet,
putting a spring into his step. To Pete, it seemed that he could walk it
forever. It was also empty, as far as the eye could see. He left the field
of grass sometime ago and now was walking through what resembled badlands of
Utah. Only uglier.

It became quite boring, quite quickly. He tried whistling, which worked for
a while - up until Dworkin indicated his approval with trying to make it a
duet. He tried doing the multiplication table in his head. He tried to
catalogue the nicknames he made up for Rasputin. He was still very, very
bored.

The time seemed to lose any relevance, flowing heavily and meaninglessly
around him like dense honey. The sun, if there was one, was nowhere to be
seen in a crystally blue sky. It was when he caught himself thinking of
Kitty, leather and ice-scream that he decided to experiment with black road
instead.

And so he did.

He turned right. So did the road.

He turned left. So did the road.

He trotted around in a circle. So did the road.

He jumped up and down. The road stayed in place and Dworkin looked at him
oddly.

"Having a bit of fun with the metaphysical manifestations, are we?"

Pete didn't leap up in the air as the tradition demanded. He _was_ a Black
Air operative after all. He knew several dozens of way to kill a man using
his belt. He had survived in places that would make an average SAS man
shiver uncontrollably and cry like a little girl. He was not surprised
easily. He had his dignity to consider.

Besides he was already in mid jump, waving his arms and whoo-hooing
excitedly, testing whether the road would jump with him.

Well, that's life for you. More often then not you'll end up looking a fool.
The trick is in recovery, you see.

"Jesuuus Christ! Who the hell are you and can you tell me how the hell do I
get the hell out of this hellhole?!"

"Easy on the cussing there, sonny."

"Oh fer Chrissakes..."

"Hey! What are you simple, kid? I told you, knock it off. This is not hell,
but if you yell a little more... things can happen. Same for the Name.
Just... take it easy, all right?"

A square kindly-smart face, framed by the steel gray hair, criss-crossed by
lines of age and completed by the dark-blue eyes, peering at him through
old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses, was not what you would exactly call
authoritative, but… Pete spat and grimly reflected that there were a whole
lot of 'but's lately in his life… death… Crap!

The old man observed Pete, squinting understandingly as he witnessed the
interplay of emotions on latter's face. "Weird, innit?"

"Wot, dying? No shit, Sherlock."

"You can call me Ben. I'll take you part of the way… well not really take
you, but sort of… you know…"

Pete frowned and made another half-hearted attempt to knock Dworkin off his
shoulder. Dworkin proved reasonable and vacated the shoulder.

In favor of Pete's head.

This was really shaping up to be a bad afterlife.

"No! I do NOT know. Me life-after-death experience is somewhat limited and
rusty, ya ken it? And your buddy helped exactly squat!"

Ben frowned, "My buddy?"

"Yeah! That ponce Charon. " Pete kicked the helpless road, while making a
truly atrocious attempt to imitate Charon's voice "The road will find you…
Be one with everything… May the force be with you… The sodding blockhead!
Couldn't give me frikking straight directions?! And now you are going to
pull that 'appear out from nowhere and be all-mysterious like' crap. I am
not in the fucking mood, all right! Just tell me which way to go… to
wherever I am supposed to go. Heaven, Hell, whatever. I just want to
flonqing get there…" Pete trailed off, a horrified expression slowly
creeping across his face.

"What?" Ben, stepped toward Pete, his brows creasing in concern, "What is
it?"

Backpedaling violently Wisdom pointed a slightly trembling finger at him,
"Youuuuu.... youuu... don't come near me, you .... you bastards. Look what
you made me do! I used HIS bloody stupid, idiotic, moronic, dumb-ass, future
curse!" Face screwed up in a grimace of honest pain, Wisdom half-moaned,
"It's not even a frigging word..."

The old man grinned, "Son, you better cut don on all that caffeine. You
poofs - always too excitable by half."

Narrowing his eyes, Pete closed the distance he so recently put between them
and tried to tower over the man before him. The valiant effort, he grimly
concluded, was for naught, considering that they were of about the same
height and he was not sure to whose advantage it was that he had Dworkin
nesting in his head. "Are you gonna tell me which way to go or not, old
man?"

"Well I can tell you, it's not up. So you can stop trying to fly, for one
thing. "

"I was not trying to fly!"

"Than, what in the name of all that's holy, were you doing waving your arms
and yelling like a stepped-onto cat?"

".... calisthenics. "

"...."

"Wot?! Good for you. Ask anybody."

Ben squinted again, his eyes almost disappearing behind the bushy eyebrow,
"I think I am beginning to see why Charry left you so early on... hey! Where
you going, kid?"

"That way! And you stay away from me.. you and your little bird too! Get
off. You hear? Get off.. argh... ow." Pete sat up gingerly and sadly looked
at the tear in his pants. Upon thinking, he sighed and morosely commented on
the fact that if a certain damn bird would ever come near him again, it'd
very shortly become a very dead bird. Upon thinking a little more, he added,
"And ow."

Ben grunted as he pulled Pete back to his feet, "Oi, I'm old. You done
fooling around now? We are on a timetable here."

Pete stopped beating the dust out of his clothes to shoot a venomous look,
"Well, if we are in such a hurry, why don't you people get yourself some
road signs or something... no! Get away!"

Cawing in soft reproach, Dworkin changed his course and gently landed on
Ben's shoulder, who accepted the development philosophically, "Come on,
Peter... It's Peter, right?"

"Pete."

"Right. Pete... you are on our turf now. Gotta trust the natives. And.. We
are helping you as much as we can, you know. Pushing it, in fact. Charon, he
is a busy guy, he couldn't go in details and stuff. He told you basically
everything you need to know. Road WILL find you. This is, more or less, your
call out here. It will take you wherever you want to go. You just have to
pick. Carefully."

"Christ. If you only you'd realize how you sound..."

"A bad neo-fantasy novel?"

"You said it, mate, I didn't."

"It gets worse."

Still cleaning his jacket, Pete finally moved under the wordless urging of
his companion. The latter waited patiently as Wisdom suddenly paused in
mid-stride, tilting his head and squinting, seemingly straining his
attention for something. Finally, muttering under his breath he made a sharp
left turn and so the trio was on its way. Soon the Ben's voice and Pete's
frequent break-in remarks, that carried well and far along the road, were
the only sign of their progression as they disappeared toward the horizon,
occasionally supported by Dworkin's commentary.

"You see, kid, this is the Otherside... "

"Other side of what?"

"Everything. This is a weird place, Peter.. sorry, Pete? Yeah, Pete. I mean
when I first got here it threw for a hel... heck of a loop. I mean, imagine
this.. a world ... well it's not even a world I suppose, strictly speaking.
Malchus once tried to explain this stuff to me, but I guess it's just went
over my head. Basically think of this as plane of existence. "

"Gee, thanks for making it all clear."

"Hmmm... I know. Well, sue me. I am still confused myself about this. Ok...
You know all the religions talk about Hell, Heaven and such?"

"Yeah...."

"Most of that is true."

"Most?"

"Well, in my personal opinion Shaitan doesn't smell like brimstone at all.
Jasmine, would be my guess... Anyway, let's move on."

"Yes. Please. Let's. And if you don't feel like going into details, as to
why you sniffed Satan, I'll understand completely."

"Oh, shove off. See, most of these Hells and Paradises occupy their own
dimensions. Whatever you do, don't visit Dormammu. Trust me, I learned it
the hard way."

"Dor-who? Never mind, I don't care. How long IS this story and where the
he... umm...bollocks is the end of the bloody road?"

"Dormammu. Story is almost over. Don't know. And pay attention, this is
important."

"Caw!"

Pete closed his eyes and very slowly counted to ten Opening them he, with
positively superhuman effort, produced something meant to be a smile. It
looked more like a rictus of death brought by apoplexy, but it's the thought
that matters after all. Turning to Ben, who blanched slightly at the visage,
Wisdom enunciated very deliberately, "All right. Go on, then. I'm
listening."

"Umm... good. Where was I..."

"Dormommy."

"Dormammu. Ah, yes. Ok, see the universe that you are familiar with is huge.
Immense! The size of it, by far, transcends any word I could think up to
describe it."

"Universe - big. Got it. Move ON!"

"It's huge. But it is not boundless. Like most things, universe is finite,
in both its reaches and its life span. However... that's just a part of the
story for you see.. your universe is not the only one."

"Yeah, and Pope shits in the wood. 'Ey, remember me? I hung around those
weirdoes in spandex. You know - X-Men! Besides Ridchards' "Theoretics of
Multiverse" was a required reading at Whitehall. The poofs at Langley tried
to keep it from general circulation, even. So spare me the bull."

"Would you be quiet?! Lord! Nothing worse than idiots like you trampling
through here! Read a book did you? Well, good for you!"

Ben worked his jaw, his eyes still sparkling with anger, an expression ill
suited for him. Dworkin looked at Pete reproachfully from Ben's back. Pete
sniffed. The crow turned away, his whole posture indicating that his opinion
of the Englishman has just reached an all time low. Wisdom sniffed again,
muttered something under his breath and sighed, "Hey, sorry, mate. Just a
little jumpy... you know?'

Ben rubbed his temple and also sighed deeply, "No worries. Long afterlife.
OK. Here is the condensed version. There is a whole mess of the variations
on true, the Source universe. Some call this the Web, some call it the
Multiverse, some call it the Bleed. Over time there were of course a number
of contacts made, but only few traverse the Barriers at will. With me so
far?"

Nodding, Pete narrowed his eyes, to protect them from the rising, chilly
wind.

"All right. Contrary to logic and the belief of the majority, the Source
universe is not in the center of the Web. We are."

"We being...?"

"The Nexus. The Otherside. The Path Between the Realms."

The wind was becoming steadily stronger, blowing dust and dry leaves into
the faces of the two men. Dworkin had left suddenly, some time ago, taking
off into the air with a shrill cry and disappearing out of sight moments
later. The road itself changed slightly, Still black it felt different now.
More tough as if... it was paved? Pete glanced down and tsked uncertainly.
The road _was_ paved now. A dozen quips featuring Ben as Toto sprung to his
mind and were backhanded away as he concentrated on the latter's voice.

"Some things transcend the Multiverse. SHE says that at one time Elder Gods
ruled over all of it. Then their Age was eclipsed. They're still powerful
and rule over some dimensions but they have been barred from many by Heroes
and Younger Gods. Some of them, and a lot of later Gods, have weakened, lack
of faith and such... they're Shades now. Most retain immortality but not
much else. Almost all get to here when that happens... makes for an
interesting place, as you can imagine. You have NO idea how easily they get
bored..."

"So... What happens when they do?"

"Stuff. Weird stuff. Well.. I exaggerate a little. They find hobbies.
Ninkasi and Pan are amusing themselves right now by torturing Strange. They
hinted to a Passage that might lead him here and now are making him jump
through the hoops... Ah well, better him than me, I suppose."

"Who?"

"Stephen Strange, The Sorcerer Sup..."

I know who _that_ is. Who are the two jokers?"

"Ah. Ninkasi is a Sumerian dame. She invented booze. And Pan... well... You
have to meet Pan."

"Pass."

"Smart."
.
"Kitt... a friend of mine liked Bullfinch."

"Ah. Well as I was saying, some of the deities are worshipped all through
the Bleed. Sometimes under different names, and even different images but
still... And where they're worshipped, or even simply believed in, they have
power. Not all of them are connected to us that closely, though. Some
existed before Man and will outlast him, if they wish to. Those are the
scary ones. Total weirdoes. See this is where you come in..."

"Parker! Yo! Parker!!"

The wind carried the voice to them but its radically changing direction
played merry havoc with the pitch.

"PaArkEEeR!

"HERE! Over here, you dumbell!"

Pete cupped a hand above his eyes and tried to locate the source of the
summons. The gesture was almost laughable when pitied against the nearly
impenetrable fury of the dust storm now enveloping the road.

"Finally! Sheesh, whatta frik did you do, man?!"

The man, who emerged suddenly directly in front of Pete, did not waste any
time in getting on his good side. The Englishman especially appreciated
being poked in the chest with a finger. So much so that he let the guy know
his feelings on the matter immediately.

The generally effective pinkie hold -- transferred into choke hold
--transferred into a knee-meets groin move -- transferred into a sobbing
opponent on the ground... failed abysmally in this instance. By the time
Ben forced the two apart the stranger was nursing his nose and Pete's upper
lip was more than a little tender.

Screaming over what now was pushing definition of a hurricane, the old man
shouted to the new arrival to do something about a shelter. Glaring pure
murder at Wisdom, the stranger complied grudgingly, gesturing with his right
arm. After just a few seconds the sounds of the storm died down and it was
as if an invisible sphere was now protecting the trio. Wiping his face, Ben
sighed with exhaustion worthy of Atlas, "What IS it, James? What is so
important that you had to come beat up on Pete here?"

"Hey, I got him too!"

Last time Pete has seen similar look on anybody's face was before he was
dropped into a vat full of acid. After considering all the facets of the
current situation, he smiled winningly at glowering Ben and suddenly decided
to become fascinated with his shoes. They were all black, had interesting
laces and in way were capable of doing things to him that involved long
visits to therapist to forget.

He didn't miss the smug glance from this James fellow, but decided not to
press the point, listening to the latter's message instead. Which was as
long as it was informative, "She's back. The bitch is back."

As much as he did NOT expect that remark, Pete anticipated Ben's reply even
less, "Which one?"

"Tall, pale and unpleasant ring any bells?"

"Too many. Narrow it down, J."

"Her Majesty 'I Dream Of Slaughter.' "

"Oh, cripes... Barnes..."

The young... well he was about 22 anyway, man instantly went into defensive
mode, his short black hair violently dispensing the dust and sand collected
shortly before as he jerked his head upright, "What?! What?!! How is that my
fault?"

"I don't know." Ben replied glumly, "But it invariably is."

"Is not! Last time she even got by Captain! Antway, they are asking for
you... They are OUT IN WESTERN REACHES!" James Barnes yelled last sentence,
as Ben suddenly disappeared in a portal that opened directly below him.

Pete made as if to follow him, but was stopped by a firm and unforgiving
grasp on his shoulder. "Sorry pal, looks like we are stuck with each other
for the rest of the way... Mind doing something about the hell-soup you made
out there?"

Seeing that portal was already gone, Pete turned around, neatly throwing
Barnes' arm off his shoulder. Reaching inside his jacket he fished out his
cigarette pack and flicked out a solitary fag with one practiced, fluid
motion. Clamping his teeth on the stem he chewed on the paper, thoughtfully
assessing the individual before him. As the taste of nicotine attacked his
taste buds, Pete's eyebrow crinkled slightly, giving his face an even more
sardonic look than usual. "So you are my new best friend, eh?"

***

The short pause followed Pete's sardonic query, during which he found
himself on a receiving end of a thorough sizing up. When the answer came, it
was about what Wisdom expected.

"No. But I'll keep you from getting... deader."

"Oh, you will, will you now?"

"Couldn't do any worse than you."

Wincing on the inside, Wisdom couldn't help but to concede the first point
to the kid. Not that he'd admit it of course.

The blue-brown eyes looking at him were far too serious, he decided. The boy
was slightly taller than him and stood ramrod straight. Something in his
posture just screamed "army" to the trained eye. As if trying to offset it,
James's clothes were almost too casual. Ripped jeans brought to mind the
heyday of 80's Rock Bands Fashions, the effect was not helped by black shirt
and an earring in the right ear. Still... Pete's bleeding lip reminded him
that the kid wasn't as harmless as he looked. And for all his seemingly
stiff pose, the former Black Air agent didn't fail to notice the
lightly-on-the-soles stance or the those...serious, serious eyes. This kid
had been to school...

"All right then, Jimmy boy. Let's get a move on. And what do you mean '_my_
hell soup?'"

James, made a slight head motion, indicating the raging typhoon outside of
the protected space in which the pair stood, "That. That's what I mean. Get
rid of the special effects now? Maybe? If it's not too much frigging
trouble."

"Chill, mate. I may look like Moses but actually I am his long lost twin. We
swapped, you see. I got the nifty accent and he got the sea-parting thing. I
came out ahead if you ask me."

"...what?"

Pete sighed heavily and spat the bedraggled cigarette out, "Nobody
appreciates my sense of humor.... Ok, in simple terms, small words and
colorful illustrations - How the fuck do you expect me to stop that?"

"Just how you started it." Quickly, James raised his hands effectively
shutting Pete up before the latter had even spoken, "Yes you did. You did
start it."

Pete smirked at the youth, instinctively finding the approach most likely to
drive the guy up the wall. It's a talent he had. "Oh, you got me. Caught me
at it. See, that's what I do for a bit of fun. Go around starting
hurricanes. Occasionally I drop houses on the Wicked Witches. But that's
only on Thursdays. "

James sighed heavily and visibly restrained himself from saying something.
Sighing several more times, in a measured manner peculiar to divers or
people desperately striving to keep a grasp on their temper, he looked at
Pete, the earring gleaming dully with the light coming from God knows where.
"You still don't get it, do you? This your road. You are freaking God on
this road. It takes you wherever you want to go.."

"Bullshit. Yeah, sure let's say it takes me where I want to be... But what
if I don't know! Where am I supposed to want to go? Huh? And don't give me
that crap about 'every man makes his own Hell'! I made my choices. I ain't
looking for no excuses. But I'd make them again. And no, I don't think I am
a fucking angel or something... but..." Pete trailed off, something in the
back of his mind wondering where did the burst of anger come from.

Deflating slightly he reached for pack once again to get another
cancer-stick. Upon thought, he offered one to James. "Kill your liver a
little?"

The kid has been watching him all through his diatribe, silently but closely
with those serious eyes of his, unreadable as the MacTaggert's handwriting.
So it came as a slight surprise, when Barnes suddenly grinned and deftly
plucked the cigarette from Pete's fingers. "Eh, why not. One of the few
upsides of being dead... Here, I got a light."

Grabbing the lighter almost greedily, Pete shuddered in almost orgasmic
pleasure, as seconds later nicotine invaded his lungs, "Mmmm... Hey, look at
that, the storm's died down."

James snorted and snapped his fingers leisurely, letting the invisible walls
dissolve.

Narrowing his eyes, Wisdom followed him as Barnes stepped out on the road.
Gesturing with his right hand, the smoldering cigarette still firmly lodged
in between the fingers, Pete intoned acidly, "Don't tell me. The storm was a
manifestation of my psychological turmoil and subconscious anger brought on
by a difficult childhood and the fact that I desperately wanted a fag?"

"Got it in one."

James never did notice the look on Pete's face as he continued on,
confidently expecting the Englishman to follow him. Briefly Wisdom
considered telling the kid that he was joking... but decided against it.

The time passed the travelling pair by, as they made their progress down the
black road. Almost as if to follow the silly clichT, their manner with each
other became easier with every step, the little tassle seemingly breaking
some barrier... Occasionally thin wisps of smoke make their appearance,
signifying the rapid destruction of the "Camels".

"...and that's where you came in and started putting fingers in me ribs."
Pete finished the sentence and flicked the cigarette stub away.

James nodded unchalantly, "So basically you know most of the story but not
the really important parts. Figures."

"Bloody typical. So, care to enlighten me?"

Barnes took a long, satisfying drag on his own cigarette and shrugged,
"Well, I suppose I should... if you ask me nicely."

"I'll bloody ask you nicely... Can't believe you're actually poncy enough to
call yourself Guardians... I mean... Christ."

James blushed, "Well, so what? It's descriptive! And it's a tradition, you
damn limey! You should know about that stuff."

"'Ey, whatever floats your boat, mate. Just get on with the 'splaining...
Lucy."

"That's funny. You are a funny guy, Wisdom."

Pete smiled beatifically, "Yeah. I know."

Sniffing and muttering something that Wisdom chose not to hear, James gave
his companion one last glare before starting to talk, "See, it's like Ben
told you. There is a bunch of... well, Big Boys. I never messed around with
any of them, personally. Captain and Ben though had an occasion. Cap, almost
bought it too, that time..."

"Cap? As in Britain? Did Braddock got a slight case of dead while I wasn't
looking?"

"Nah. Actually you are probably know of him. He's an alien? Did his heroics
about your time too... Got some virus or other... Ring any bells?"

"Some... Anyhow, what do you mean 'almost bought it'? He was already...
well.. not terribly alive."

"It's complicated. Anyway. Where was I?"

"Insulting me intelligence, I believe."

"Touchy. Hmm... AH! So some time ago a Bad Thing happened. A Synchrony. One
of the Endless ones... well ended. That's all right though. Happened before,
will happen again. Grand Wheel, rebirth, all that good stuff... But. There
was a but. At about the same time another one got it between the eyes. The
Murder. Or the Spirit of Murder, rather and so.. a Synchrony. Get it?"

"No. In English?"

James sighed and stopped, turning to Pete and squinting in thought. Suddenly
his face lighted up and he waved his hand agitatedly, "Aha! Ok, look.
Imagine a cup filled with ink."

"All right..." Pete replied cautiously.

"Ok. Now -WHAM. Somebody breaks the cup. What happens?"

"A dirty carpet?"

"Exactly! Now the cup is that Murder chick. Now imagine that in the exact
moment the cup broke there was like a strong gust of wind. Get it? The wind
is like an... well.. echo I guess from when the Endless One bought it.
Oneiros, his name was. So this ink is blown over the whole freaking Bleed.
Do you know what I am saying? This Oneiros - he's like the god of Dreams...
A Sandman, basically. It's like he carried the shards of the Spirit of
Murder all across the Multiverse. It's not really noticeable right away.
Just a few more muggings here and there. A few killings. A couple of little
wars or a broken dream here and there. An odd assassination. Nothing out of
the ordinary. But it's going to get worse as the shards get stronger, you
see. The original one, Rose Tattoo... she's gone. No one knows what the hell
happened to her. She should have resurfaced some time ago. Instead we got
all these... these... fucking ink-blots all over the place, making trouble.
That's where you come in."

"You don't say."

"Just shut up, for once in your life and listen, all right? Ours, well yours
and mine, universe is one of the Hubs. Very important. If we get the shard
'amputated' there it's gonna mean a lot. Everybody was looking for
candidates... And then you die! Like, excellent timing, man!"

"We aim to please."

James deliberately ignored the dry tone of the comment and stoically plowed
on.

"I am not exactly sure, why they chose you, to tell the truth... There were
a couple of other guys I'd think... eh, never mind. It's easier with you
though - you got a thread. So - you're up. Going back. Take out the shard.
Save the world. Get a ticket to Heaven. Easy."

"Yeaaah. What thread?"

"Huh?"

"What did you mean I got a thread?"

James sighed... "All right. Damn, you ask a lot of questions..."

"Indulge me."

"Oh, shut up. All right.. it's easier to show you... Watch this..." Pete
observed as James shut his eyes and concentrated, his hands slightly akimbo.
Suddenly the air before them began to shimmer. Narrowing his eyes, Pete
stepped closer... Near and yet far, a mirage-like picture was forming.

A black road, winding its way between the dunes of a desert. The trio of
vultures is circling it, their eyes intent on a barely visible prey. The
picture zooms and the black dot grows before his eyes. It is a man. No...
it's a boy. He's lanky and dressed in to the tatters of a spandex. He's
exhausted and hunched up, as he makes his way down the black road, toward
horizon, with the white sun unmercifully beating down on him.

The sudden feeling of familiarity rings discordantly inside Pete and he
watches more closely. Slim figure, disheveled mop of brown hair, brown
eyes... he doesn't know him! But why does it feel as if he should?

Suddenly the clouds gather ahead of weary youth. They coalesce into the
shape that Pete knows all too well... And suddenly the picture becomes all
to clear.

The boy raises his head as the visage in the heaven begins to laugh. He
watches calmly as the sand around him begins to dance under the rising wind.
Soon his already slow progress is slowed to a snail's pace. Still he
persists... The shoulder dropped, his hand futilely shields his face from
the sanddrops, hot as coals, biting into weary flesh. Soon his
self-composure vanishes, his lips pull back in a snarl and the eyes glow
darkly as stars on the drawn face. Still he goes on.

The wind gets stronger, every step is now a struggle and eventually,
inevitably the boy looses his footing and falls... the storm covering the
lying form from Pete's eyes. Still, the boy gets up. Once again he casts his
eyes to the face above him, his hands rise and he screams... no, he roars,
"Not enough, Nur! Never enough!"

The figure of the boy blurs and changes into the muscular body of a man. The
colors of the remnants of the uniform, draped around him, change to the blue
and gold...only his wounds, the determinedly set eyes and the defiant snarl
remain the same as he plunges back into the thick of sand storm,
disappearing from sight.

The form ahead, is not laughing anymore, instead Apocalypse's face reflects
fury. Soon, it too fades...the sandstorm quiets down, revealing the empty
desert. The road, the scavengers, the boy... all gone. A weeping face of a
red haired girl appears briefly in the place of the Forever Walker and
then... darkness.

Turning angrily toward James, Pete stalked toward the young man, his face
grim, "Why is he alone? Why is Summers alone, eh?! Where the fuck are your
Guardians when people actually need them, huh?!"

James, his eyes still closed, shrugged - a curiously helplessly angry
gesture, "We don't have a choice." He replied tiredly. "Some people must
walk the road alone. We're not done. Watch"

The air shimmered once again. Soon Pete was watching as faces, sometimes
familiar, sometimes not made their appearance. Each walking the black road.
Sometimes alone. Sometimes not. Sometimes opposed, sometimes helped. Faces,
faces, faces...when he recognized one as the kid from Frost's school, Pete
had just about enough... Thankfully, so did James apparently. As the
Guardian collapsed on the road, breathing heavily, Pete bit the inside of
his cheek. "Very... educational."

"Was.. it..? Good." If Barnes was at all repentant he hid it well.

"What was the fucking point of that little picture show? I asked you what my
thread was."

James sighed and sat down, cross-legged on the black pavement, "Think,
Wisdom. Think. I know it's not something you are used to doing, but give it
a try. Did you wonder yet, as to why exactly you chose all those turns on
the road? I mean there is not a whole mess of a lot to choose from here.
Yet, you did all right..."

"How the hell was I supposed to know how I did?! None of you jokers ever
told me."

"Shut up. Stop talking. Close your eyes. Listen."

Pete glared at the sitting figure for a moment. Eventually though the
Englishman acquiesced and closed his eyes, his face still reflecting his
absolute belief in the foolishness of it all. Just a few seconds later
however, his eyes flew wide open and he stifled a gasp of surprise. "God
damn... I should've known the witch wouldn't even let me die in peace..."

James smirked as he got up to his feet. "There you go, pal. That's your
thread. She was calling you all this time... That's probably a major part
why SHE chose you in the first place. Time is of the essence here, you know.
So we should get a move on here... Know what I mea.."

James was interrupted in the mid-word as the air shimmered once again,
directly in front of the pair.

"What the hell are you doing now?" Pete queried testily "I thought we were
in a hurry?"

"I ain't doing this.. Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

The shimmer continued to intensify until the air seemed to be trembling,
Pete was just thinking how it looked ready to explode when it... did.

The shock-wave threw him hard against the ground a good 5 feet from he was
standing. By the time he regained his presence of mind, the situation
deteriorated significantly.

James was bleeding. A tall, pale woman was beating him into a pulp, and
Pete's jacket now too sported a tear to match the pants. On the plus side,
he now had a target to vent his feelings.

Goodie.

The lady was pretty, Pete reflected absently as he flew back to the spot
from where he got up just a minute ago. The lady also packed a punch like a
frigging mule. From what James was screaming it was someone named the Dream
Queen.

She reminded him a bit of Domino - same snow-white tint of skin, same evil
smile as she sent you flying... Thankfully so far this one didn't seem to
have any artillery.

On the negative side, she didn't seem to need any.

Pete wasn't even completely on the ground when his progress was sped up by
James who collided into him with a loud 'whump'

"Och.. get off me, Jimmy.."

"Shit-shit-shit. Ben should have held her.. Look out!

"Jeesus, that's one pissed off bird you got there. What next, she is gonna
start shitting lightening at us?"

"Worse... Whoa! From the other side-try and get her.. Whoa!"

The hand on his throat bore all the resemblance to anaconda that Pete cared
to test. Incongruously his second thought was how silly it was to feel his
legs dangling in the air. The hold tightened, cutting his air supply to a
precariously slight amount. Gasping, Pete suddenly found himself face to
face with the Dream Queen.

She wasn't pretty. She was beautiful. In that cold and malevolent way that
seems to attract so many men. Her crimson lips, widened in a smile,
seemingly all the brighter when contrasted with the pallor of her face. Also
her cleavage was noticeable. She might be evil but she had a truly
impressive set of... That particular train of thought came to an abrupt end
when he felt her nail on his neck. A very sharp nail.

"All right. That's it. I ain't standing for any more of your shenanigans. I
was an almost married man. I understand how irresistible I am to a gal of
your advancing years but...gahhh"

The smile slimmed down somewhat as the Queen tightened the grip,
"So...Bucky.... that's the best you all could come up with?"

Somewhere outside of his field of vision, Pete heard James wheeze out
something affirmative-sounding.
The lady pursed her lips and shook him about a little like a stuffed toy. By
the time the stars cleared, the Queen was pouting, "I am not impressed. He's
so... fragile."

Another wheeze from James. Apparently something offensive concluded Pete as
the grip tightened yet again, finding his vocal chords lacking Pete made a
violent and a very rude gesture toward Barnes, basically hinting to shut the
fuck up and not to irritate the 6'9 woman with a hand around his throat. An
apologetic wheeze seemed to indicate that James got the message.

About the time Pete was starting to see black clouds, he thought he heard
Ben's voice. He was not exactly sure what the old man was saying, but the
next thing he knew he was flying again... falling...somewhere.

The last sound he heard before the darkness claimed him was Ben's agonized
scream, "Nooo! It's too early!"

Coming to hurt. His vision swam. Shaking his head didn't help but eventually
things did begin to come into focus.

He was in a small room, in a middle of a circle painted on the wooden floor.
He was dressed in the same, twice torn suit, a feet from the circle there
was a familiar spiraling pentagram with only one change, a thin silver
thread slashed across it. The room seemed even smaller because of the
towering bookshelves along the walls.

Feeling more than seeing or hearing another presence in the apartment, Pete
turned painfully and looked, strangely unsurprised as he made out the face
above him, "Hey there. You look like shit."

"Yeah well, you are dead. Get off my clean floor." Romany Wisdom sniffed
disdainfully and moved away to give her brother room to get up.

To Be Continued...