Three months prior the Pilot's coming to Kaeleer.

It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment, the guys and I are strolling down this little side street, looking at all the State Fair had to offer, the next, Heero's yanking me out of the way of the first bullet, his own gun already in his hand and firing. One down. My weapon leapt to my hand in an instant as I dived behind the nearest stall. I picked off the man behind Quatre- how I wish I didn't have to do this anymore. They kept coming, slinking out of the crowd, the only indicators were the guns they held and the unnatural focus they had on us. Heero vaulted over the stall, landing next to me amid a barrage of bullets. We fired steadily, I taking the left, him the right. Quatre and Trowa were two stalls down, and Wufei was somewhere in between. We held our own, any who weren't us or out to get us had long since fled, screaming in terror. My gun clicked empty, and I dropped below the stall to fish out my spare clip. Unprofessional, sloppy, but it saved his life because that's when I saw them, the two that had been sneaking up behind me; guns up and fingers pulling at the triggers. I didn't have time to yell, time only to throw myself in front of Heero. I felt three ribs crack as the first one hit, followed almost instantly by the second, and the third. I'd missed one. I took a breath, and knew one of the bullets, if not all three, had hit my lungs as I felt the air bubbling up my throat. Darkness started to close in, and I had one moment to see Heero's frozen face, his eyes locked on mine, a second of relief, because they knew now, and Heero could handle any odds, and then consciousness fled.

Two Weeks After the Shooting; Emerging from the Healing Web.

It was bright. I grumbled, tossing onto my side. Some one had forgotten to close the be-damned curtains again. A second later my brain caught up with me and my eyes flew open. It was bright.

I'm in a lavishly decorated room, my practiced thief's eye registering the items in the room to a mind-boggling wealth. A woman slept in the chair next to the door that was further away than I would have expected. The room is huge. A quick survey found her to be sleeping deeply. She looked to be in her early twenties, a few years older than myself, with black hair that fell past her waist and dressed in patched pants and a short-sleeved blouse that looked like it had seen better days. As she continued breathing deeply, I turned my attention once again to the room. As I had said before, it was huge. The bed I was in could have fit all four of my buddies and I comfortably. Hell, I think we could have room for about three other people on top of that. The comforter was a deep, deep purple, almost black, and the mountain of pillows around my head varying shades of purples, blacks, and greys. The walls were a cool mist-grey, and the furniture an expensive ebony. All of it. The tables, the chairs, the door and doorframe, and the windows. The windows. I sat up, not feeling an ounce of pain, and expecting it. I had died, after all. I knew those kinds of wounds; not even the best surgeon available could have saved me. Walking over to the window, I am greeted with a gorgeous courtyard, filled to the brim with plants I can't put a name to. In the center, a large fountain reared above its surroundings, a vicious-looking cat-man-thing poised over a sleeping woman, its paw extended in warning to whomever those fierce eyes glared at. I wonder if there's a story behind it, an ancient tale about adventure and honor. I loved those things. Wufei had ones about honor by the score, and Quatre's maguanacs liked to tell them during the war, gathered around the cooking fire at night, keeping at bay the miserable winds and scouring sand with their hero stories of good deeds and warriors honor, and love. I smiled and continued my scrutiny of the garden. A large statue lay at the back, amid a plant I knew as rosemary, not in it, but on a sizeable rock just above the top fringe of the plant. It stared at my window, unblinking, glassy yellow eyes seeming uncommonly real. It was a giant version of a white tiger, easily twice the size of any tiger I'd ever seen, mouth open in a motionless pant and tail draped over its hind paws. It was gorgeous, incredibly life like… and very familiar seeming. I mean, sometimes you get that feeling that you've seen something or someone before, but you just can't place it? And then it proceeds to bug the shit out of you? That feeling.

"This sure isn't what I expected Hell to look like." I muttered.

A snort from behind me made me twist around, I had forgotten the woman behind me. "Hell doesn't." She said shortly.

I gave the deadly statue a look, then studied the colors in the room again. "Its not what I'd expected Heaven to look like, either."

She gave me a puzzled look, her eyes almost the color of ice. "This isn't 'heaven,' either. Whatever that is."

"Well, I'm at a loss, then, Lady. Where is this?"

"The Hall of Kaeleer." She said, as if that explained everything.

"Kaeleer? I've never heard of it. What religion is this 'Kaeleer' from?"

She sighed, looking exasperated. "I'm sure Jaenelle will explain everything to you, but frankly I don't have the patience. Sit down, I have a few simples you need to take, and then you're cleared for a romp around the place."

Simples? Romp? She grabbed a cup from the table, looked at me, looked at it and put it back down. She grabbed up the other one and handed it to me. I looked down at the greenish liquid blankly. "Lady, I'm dead. What do the dead have to do with medication?"

She snorted. "Dead. Uh-huh. You tell me how that goes, honey. Drink that, now."

I sighed, and took a sip. Surprisingly enough, it tasted good. I grinned, finishing the short amount with relish before setting it back on the table. "So, what's a fella got to do to get food around this joint? Or do the dead eat? Because if we don't, this is really going to suck balls. I'm hungry enough to eat a hippo."

"Huh. Well, while we don't have any hippos, Mrs. Beale has food being prepared in the kitchen. Down the hall, and then the stairs, take a right and go through the second door. Once you're in that hallway, go all the way down until you reach the last door on the left. Those are the kitchens." Before I could thank her, she left, muttering about watching 'brats' and doing favors. I had the distinct feeling this wasn't going to be a pleasant place.

So, I stretched out, getting all the kinks out of my system- It felt like I'd been sleeping for weeks. When I felt nice and limber again, I began my trek for the kitchen. The place gave off the feeling of one of Quat's Manors; the straight, gilded hallway with many doors, probably all furbished in the same way. When I reached the stairs, I knew I was in some sort of manor. They were large, curving down into an even greater… geez, what would you call that? By the sizable and expensive doors down there, I'm hazarding a guess they're the front doors, but you couldn't call this colossal space a foyer. You just couldn't. I shook my head. This place is gargantuan. There's just no other word for it, and I was not going to tramp down all those stairs. I'm dead, damnit. I hopped onto the rail and slid all the way down without mishap. Of course, I wouldn't have mishap, would I? I've been sweeping down stair rails since the Maxwell Church days. I could have sworn I heard some one snickering when I reached the bottom, but closer inspection yielded no results. Imagination. Or ghosts. Do dead realms have ghosts? What am I considered? A ghost? A angel? Zombie? Nah, none of those sound very appealing.

Alright, back on track. Second door, second door… there it is! Opening it, I set off another posh corridor, more of the same. Last door on the left, and Jesus H. Christ that smells good. I strolled into the kitchens, and there lie the most heavenly roast I've ever seen.

Stepping forward, I picked up the fork and the large knife lying next to it. The utensils were poised over the roast when a deep woman's voice rang out. "If you so much as poke at my roast, my lad, you and my meat cleaver are going to a very in-depth conversation."

I cautiously put the fork and knife down, adding a slight angle to the knife so I had the quickest time available to get it to hand should the occasion call for it. A life time of paranoia does this to you. Turning, I came face to face with the largest woman I had ever seen. She was tall, and she was big, and, as gathered from her comment, she had an extremely intimidating meat cleaver held in calloused hands.

"Your meat cleaver, ma'am? Funny, I was having this stunning conversation with another meat cleaver just the other day. Had quite a few interesting things to say, at that." I offered my most winning smile, and hoped she'd fall for it. Hoped she'd at least put down that cleaver. She glared at me long enough to make my fingers itch for a gun, then dropped it through a loop in her apron.

"You're Jaenelle's boy, aren't you? You've been out long enough, I suppose you're wanting some vittles. Come along, then. Bread just came out and we'll have you a quick lunch on the ready, and stew's almost ready. That'll be enough for you until Lady Jaenelle clears you for real food."

Bread and broth? I'm dead. What the fuck am I eating bread and broth for? Just as I was about to voice that very question, I caught sight of her meat cleaver, and, for one of the first times in my life, kept silent. Jesus, this woman is intimidating.

She sat me at the long island counter in the center of Martha Stewart's kitchen times ten. The few assistants in there reminded me of ants, scurrying around the place and, ultimately, staying out of the lady's way. She, too, bustled around the place, checking a pot here, a skillet there. The oven was a massive hunk of stone and fire, and gave off heat like none other. A bowl of glimmering, golden berries rested just within reach, and hell if I was going to eat broth and bread and that be it- I'm starving. When she had her back turned I snatched a few and popped them into my mouth. A second later, I died for a second time from an explosion in my mouth, my throat, my chest. The large woman spun around as I started coughing and hacking, staring as my hand went to my throat and I started screaming every curse word in every language I'd ever come across. A few minutes later a glass of water was thrust in front of my face, which I gulped down furiously. When I could breath again, I glared at the woman.

"Who are you tryin' to kill, lady?"

To my absolute chagrin, she started laughing. She laughed so hard tears leaked from her eyes and rolled down her face. "I knew I'd get that little chit back," she crowed. "I knew it."

"What the hell are those things?" I asked. This whole place was insane.

"Those are pickleberries. They've got quite a kick, don't they?"

Quite a kick- "You leave those things out for just anyone to get a hold of?" I asked furiously.

She grinned, unrepentant. "People don't waltz into my kitchens all that often, boy. You might say they're afraid of me."

"Sad day." I retorted, knocking back the glass of water. I still felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach, but that didn't make sense. I was dead. No feelings left, right? No heart, lungs, I didn't have to breath… did I? Ah, hell, I don't know anything about bein' dead. "So, where did you come across those things?"

"Jaenelle."

I jumped a foot; some one had snuck up on me for the second time that day. "You know, I keep hearin' that name-" I broke off, because the man I just turned to face big-honkin' bat wings attached to his back. "What in the name of hell are those?"

The man's golden eyes met mine, sparkling with a mischief I'd seen often when looking in the mirror. He responded without missing a beat. "My ears. I was born with a birth defect." He spread out his wings, an eighteen foot wingspan considerably dwarfing the kitchens.

"Ah. Nice ears." This was weird. I ain't gonna lie. "You know, I have this dream, and there's this man in it that has those same funny looking' 'ears,' and I thought, hey, man, at least I know I'm dreaming, because who in this world has wings? So now I know I'm dead." With that, I reclaimed my seat. "What about this 'Jaenelle?'"

Batman took a seat, next to mine, smiling wolfishly at the cook. "You wouldn't happen to have a snack lying around here, would you?"

"They're sitting right in front of you." Came the pointed reply.

He gave the bowl of pickleberries a look of distaste and then turned to me. "Juicy, aren't they?"

I glared. "They exploded. In my mouth."

The man had the balls to grin. "Jaenelle had healed my wings from considerable damage a few years back, and, once they were healed, we went to build them up by wave-whomping. After that strenuous activity, we collapsed on the ground and helped ourselves to some refreshments. When I reached for these, I asked her what they were. She replied they were pickleberries, and that they were juicy. Juicy. Now, you see, I was thirsty, and thought, hey, something to quench my thirst. I took a handful, popped them in my mouth, and convinced the dragons in attendance I was performing some kind of mating challenge with the noises and the flapping around I was doing."

Dragons. Uh huh.

The cook snorted. "What I wouldn't have given to see you throwin' a tantrum like that." She said.

"Mrs. Beale, here, she found out about pickleberries a similar way. Except, when the High Lord heard her screaming and hollering down here, he found Jaenelle, asked her if she knew the cause, and when Jaenelle said 'no,' he replied 'I see,' bundled her up and plopped her in a carriage bound for the furthest part of the realm she could get."

"At least she told you what they were called." I accused, cutting a glare at Mrs. Beale. She chuckled.

"You see, child, Jaenelle knew Lucivar wouldn't pick up on the name, but I didn't figure you were that stupid."

Lucivar snarled.

Mrs. Beale plopped bread and a bowl in front of me, and a separate bowl and breadstick was shoved unceremoniously at Lucivar. I stared at the full-bodied stew, savory spices so strong my eyes started watering, filled to the brim with meaty chunks and vegetables. I looked up at the woman. "This isn't broth."

She scowled at me. "Of course it isn't broth. You aren't on your death bed."

"You're not even dead." Lucivar chimed in.

"You know, I keep getting that." I spun the unused spoon around my fingers until it was making the whooshing sound things make when they've got air flowing around it too quickly, and swiveled to meet the man's golden gaze. "It is impossible that I'm not dead. I took three bullets to the chest. I was expecting two, but knew when the first hit I was gonna die. Knew it was comin', too. I didn't think I would survive the war, and when I did, it sucked balls. Not only did three-quarters of the human population want us dead, but the one-fourth of friendly folks left were jumping for the chance to use the infamous Gundam Pilots. So, the first bullet punctured my lungs, and the second two shredded my heart. Three ribs cracked and probably added to the damage. Nothing short of magic could have brought me back from that, though I'm sure the guys tried anyway. I'm just glad I know they destroyed the bastards after I fell. And you know, that son of a bitch would have survived three shots to the back anyway. I don't know why I bother- after detonating himself twice you think I'd get the point: the fucker just can't die."

Batman raised a brow. "Friend of yours?"

"The best."

"How did you know about your injuries?"

I snorted. "That fuckin' Professor Mushroom head. I didn't get to pilot the Deathscythe until I passed all the 'tests.' And then there's the war. You don't come that close to death all those times without knowing when you've hit your limit." I took the first sip- bite of Mrs. Beale's stew, and fell in love. "This is wonderful!" I gushed, and started packing it away like there was no tomorrow.

As I ate, Lucivar and Mrs. Beale started up a playful banter, and, you know, once I got over the shock of those fuckin' pickleberries, these guys were alright. That woman would just be a blast to poke with a stick, kinda like Wufei. In fact, a few well placed explosives in that big oven of hers, and he could probably get her howlin' worse than the time with the berries.

Boom! Instinctively, I took a dive for the floor, and stayed there until Lucivar snatched me up by my waist and hauled me out of the room. I was about to protest, but just then Mrs. Beale started wailing about her kitchens, and the whole Night-Blessed litter of them trying to destroy it, and her meat cleaver was in her hand. I twisted out of his grasp and beat him to the door. He took the lead once we were out of the kitchen, and we bolted up the stairs, around the corner, through a door, careening into another corridor before coming to a grinding halt before a dark door. Lucivar laid a cursory knock on the door before opening it and shoving me inside.

Saetan SaDiablo, High Lord of Hell, Prince of the Darkness, Priest of the Hourglass, and, recently, Steward of the Dark Court of Ebon Avaski, glared over the top of his glasses at the laughing pair collapsed against his study door. He remembered a time when no one dared knock on it, let alone burst in without invitation. Things had changed, and it showed by the Eyrien Warlord Prince dragging his chortling body to the chairs in front of his desk and draping himself onto one. He took a sip of his blood wine, commonly known as Yabarbarah, and braced himself for what was coming.

"He's just like her." The man said, laughing.

Saetan felt a strong sense of foreboding at these words, knowing by 'her' Lucivar meant Jaenelle, and 'just like her' in similar situations meant things had gone horribly awry. At least for him. He gave a long suffering sigh. "What did you two do?"

"I did nothing." Lucivar grinned at the raised brows of his father. "The boyo blew up Mrs. Beale's stove."

Saetan choked, and kept choking. Lucivar had to pound his back, Saetan was sure he broke a couple of ribs in the process, before the situation was abated.

"He what?"

"I WHAT?" Saetan had forgotten the boy was there, standing as quietly as he had against the door. "Jesus Christ, you people don't even know me and you're blaming me for shit. What did I do to deserve this?"

"Boyo, no one else has the balls to set a toe wrong in Mrs. Beale's kitchen, let alone screw her kitchen seven ways to hell." Saetan said dryly. Everyone else has more sense than that, also. He thought to himself.

"Except for Jaenelle." Lucivar muttered.

"She was attempting to cook. That wasn't on purpose." Saetan grumbled.

"I did not blow up that lady's kitchen. I don't even have my lock picks on me, let alone any explosives!" He sighed. "Honestly, I'd expect it from Wufei- he blames everything on me; granted, he's usually right. I just love to yank that guy's chain. The others just assume its me and threaten to beat the tar out of me- well, Trowa does. Quatre just gives me that wide-eyed look of innocence that just screams 'I'm going to get you back, count on it,' and Heero just glares. That's enough, trust me. I didn't detonate her kitchen."

"Detonate?" Lucivar asked, cocking his head.

"Word meaning to explode." Duo eyed Saetan speculatively, weighing the cool look he got in return. "You look like some top gun, someone near the head of this place, so maybe I can get some answers from you-" He didn't get any further, as the door had crashed open again. The lady from this morning stormed into the room, pointing furiously the way she came.

"If that cock-sure, grubby-minded prick infers that I don't know my way around any kind of knife one more time I am going to rip him apart with my bare hands."

"That would show him you knew your way around a knife." Lucivar said wryly. Duo looked between the two, biting back a smirk as the woman whirled around to face him, finding a new target.

"Does he think I'm going to keel over in a dead faint at the sight of blood? Do I need to get Kaelas to behead someone again so I can shock and amaze you high-headed males by plopping the damn thing in another bucket? I'm one of the best damned assassins in the realms!" She snapped, beginning to pace. "I was the best damned whore, too. What happened to that?"

Duo turned in his chair, crossing his arms on the top of it and resting his chin on them, and remaining very quiet.

Lucivar was smirking, apparently finding it all very amusing. "Sweetheart, you're missing the point here. He doesn't want you to handle that knife because he's very afraid of what you might do to him if he give you a chance."

"Yes, that's just the Eyrien brass glossed over him pissing his pants, very similar to someone I know." Saetan murmured, eyeing his son out of the corner of his eye.

"Another one who's scared of me?" Surreal asked, wide-eyed in disbelief. "Hell's fire, I thought this was the Shadow Realm. Aren't males supposed to be made of sterner stuff?"

Lucivar just looked at her. She turned to Saetan, and found a similar look leveled at her, and threw up her hands. She pivoted on her heel and stormed out of the room.

"Well, that was interesting. Who is she?" Duo asked nonchalantly.

"That was Surreal." Lucivar said with a smirk. "I love it when she acts human."

"She's going to knife you in the gut one of these days." Saetan warned him, then shrugged. "It might prove to be a very interesting day, at that."

Duo looked between the two and shrugged. "So, um, about those answers?"

Saetan looked at him, then looked at Lucivar, who was steadily making his way towards the door. "Hold, Lucivar." He said.

"No, old man. You get to do this one on your own." With that Lucivar fled.

Saetan turned back to Duo, an unreadable look in his eye. "I'm sure you have questions?"

"Yes. First off, 'High Lord' of what?"

"I am the High Lord of Hell."

"You're Satan." Duo said skeptically.

Saetan narrowed his eyes. "Saetan SaDiablo."

"So, I'm in Hell."

"No, you're in Kaeleer, the Shadow Realm. Hell is the Dark Realm, and there's the Light Realm."

"Why am I here?"

Saetan stared at him for a long time before sighing and leaning back in his chair. "You are here because you came very close to dying, and Jaenelle had a spell set on you to let her know if that ever happened."

"Who is Jaenelle?"

"Jaenelle is… She's the Queen of Kaeleer, my daughter, and your mother."

Duo blinked. And blinked again. "I don't find this very amusing." He said quietly.

"I don't suppose you would. At five, you were taken from us, and sent away- to where, we didn't know. We scoured the Realms, and scoured them again. All the time we wondered how. How anyone could steal you away from us. You had Kaelas as a constant companion. Ladvarian was practically your nursemaid. The family doted on you, but you had this unfortunate habit of wandering off. Kaelas had gone to visit his family in Arcia the day you disappeared. They must have been waiting a very long time, in a very personal way, to know when it would be safest to take you. We couldn't find you. Not until you took the metal stones into your heart and lungs, and came close enough to dying that Jaenelle's protection spell activated, despite the length of time and distance from the Realms."

"No. That can't have happened. At five I-" Satean watched the boy as he broke off, face going from defiant to extremely concentrated. He looked up, vibrant purple eyes that Satean remembered so well peering at him from a child's face. "I've been an orphan all my life." The boy said, and then shook his head. "With the Solo, and Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, an orphan. I spent my life thinking my parents were claimed by the war, like Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, or by the sickness, like Solo and the gang. How can I not…"

"I am sorry for what you had to go through, without your family, or knowledge of your family. If we could take it away, if we could change anything-"

"Don't." Satean blinked at him in surprise. "Ah, man, its' really not all that bad. Yeah, I went through shit, didn't have the best of childhoods, but, hell, who hasn't? I don't regret this, I mean, I'm sure I would have had a wonderful life here, you know the parents who had the 2.5 children and the white picket fence, and all that, but I got to meet four of the best guys in the galaxy. Hell, I helped save the world. I can't regret that."

Satean smiled wryly. "You're telling me not to feel sorry for you."

"Yep." Duo said, and grinned. "So, you're my grandfather. Jesus, that's strange. Do I get to meet my parents, or anything?"

Saetan leaned back in his chair, sizing the boy up. "We need to get you out of here until Mrs. Beale calms down, and they're visiting the Unicorns in Sceval as it is. Do you feel up to it?"

Duo blinked. Now? Unicorns? "Does this mean I won't be havin' that in depth conversation with the lady's meat cleaver?"

The man claiming to be his grandfather snorted. "That is what we are trying to avoid."

"I suppose I'm up to it, then."

Saetan summoned a spare coat and his own, handed the first to the boy, and held the door open for him. We're coming.