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Inspired by the Herc episode, Yes Virginia...Please read and review!

Chapter Three

Henry watched, helpless, as the dagger flew past him toward the dais. His eyes widened in fear, not for himself, but for the intended target. "Nebula!" He shouted, trying to warn the victim, but he was too late. The woman from the altar had spun around, eyes wide in fear. The blonde man next to her screamed in denial, pushed her aside and jumped in front of her.

Fear turned to horror as Henry watched the dagger slam itself into the chest of his best friend, the force sending him flying onto the dais. Then horror turned to cold, absolute rage and fury. He spun around, facing the demon that had used its powers to fling the dagger at its victim. His anger grew when he saw the demon's arrogant smirk. He unleashed that fury onto his opponent. He held back nothing; he embraced the darkness and the madness within him, used it to power him. The demon shrieked with unholy fury as Henry kicked it back into the flames, extinguishing them along with the demon. The flames died away and the sun returned, though he would find no comfort in its warm rays as they flooded the temple with light.

Time slowed as he ran to the dais. His soul shrieked in terror at the sight of his best friend with a dagger in his chest. He gently cradled the blonde in his arms, praying to any deity that was listening that this was only some cruel, sick hallucination. "Hang in there buddy."

"Can't" The single word was taking a great strain on his friend's body.

But Henry was in denial. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. His best friend, his brother, was not dying in his arms! "Sure you can. Come on." But he was fooling himself. The dagger had pierced his heart, cleaving it in two. No one could help him now.

The blonde in his arms stared at Henry, his eyes not full of fear or despair, but of love for the larger man holding him and a weary acceptance his friend did not possess. Then, to Henry's shock the face of the blonde began to change. It shifted and became more defined until the face of Ian stared back at him. Henry's soul felt as though it was being torn to tiny shreds. "Hercules." The word reflected the emotions in the blonde's eyes. It was like a sharp stab to Henry's heart. Then the eyes dimmed and the blonde slumped in Henry's arms.

Henry stared at the limp body in disbelief. This was not happening. This. Was. Not. Happening. He gave the body a slight shake. "Come on, don't you give up on me." Ian's body was unresponsive. In his desperation he shook harder, almost violently. "COME ON, DON'T YOU GIVE UP ON ME!"

But it was no use. Ian was dead.

"NO!"

Henry shot straight up in bed, sweating profusely and shaking. His skin was a deathly pale and he clutched his sheets like a drowning man clutched a life raft. Tears flowed down his face and he was close to hyperventilating. He was shaking badly, trying desperately to control his breathing. With effort, he unclenched his hands from the sheets and wiped his face of sweat and tears. But he found that he could not stop shaking. He could not stop images of the nightmare from replaying over and over in his mind.

He flew the covers of the hotel bed aside and stalked to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face. He looked up at the mirror. He had definitely seen better days. That was absolutely the worst nightmare he had ever had. His eyes were red rimmed and he looked exhausted.

Try as he might to push the nightmare out of his mind, it kept flashing over and over again. He closed his eyes tightly to fight back the tears that threatened to fall once again. The temple, the demon, Ian dying in his arms, all of it threatened to send him over the edge again. With a groan, he looked at his reflection again. He looked as bad as Ian did all those nights ago back in the karaoke bar. He tried to concentrate on that night, anything to stop the images of the nightmare.

Then Henry straightened as details from the memory entered his mind. Ian was looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. Henry remembered that from the late study nights during college, when the blonde only got by on snatches of sleep and lots of coffee. That night after they had gotten to the hotel Ian had practically collapsed on the bed. But Henry had noticed something in Ian's eyes. It was almost as if he had been afraid to go to sleep.

Henry shook his head. He was reading way too much into this. The nightmare had him spooked and he was not thinking clearly. But the image of Ian dying in Henry's arms would not go away. It replayed over and over again, torturing Henry. To see those bight eyes, so full of love and life, dim was an abomination. To see that boundless energy fade away was felt so wrong. The limp form he had held should have been bouncing off the walls and the cheerful voice should have been babbling until Henry's ears threatened to fall off.

Henry walked back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, eying it dubiously. After that nightmare, he sure wasn't tired anymore and in no hurry to go back to sleep. Again, the memory of the karaoke bar and the motel afterwards flashed in Henry's mind. As Henry contemplated the possible reasons for Ian's reluctance, he felt a chill pass through him. No, this was impossible. It couldn't be. But seeing Ian in his dreams…

Suddenly Henry straightened as a revelation occurred to him. The man from the nightmare had been the companion from his other dreams, the ones where he was a monster-fighting hero. Ian had been the blonde man in the nightmare, the one who died in his arms.

For as long as Henry could remember, he had odd, fantasy dreams. They had started when he was younger, when he had dreams of being a hero, fighting monsters out of storybooks. They were normal dreams for a child. But as Henry grew older, the dreams became more detailed and emotional. He was a hero, fighting monsters and bandits, and warlords. He faced beings that looked like ordinary people and then threw fireballs at him! The creatures he encountered were frightening, like something out of his mythology textbooks. But he fought them regardless.

They were fantastical, radical dreams, but also possessed a familiar quality. But it had always struck Henry as silly. Never could he see himself doing anything like he saw in his dreams. The only thing that came close, was the fact that in his dreams Henry helped people, making their lives better any way he could. It was why he had become a teacher, to use his experience to guide and help others.

But in these dreams, there was always someone with him. A smaller, blonde man who fought by Henry's side no matter the creature or obstacle. He had seemed so familiar to Henry, his identity just out of reach. But always Henry felt the feelings of friendship, loyalty, and love radiating from this man.

They were the same feelings Henry got from Ian.

As Henry recalled the dreams one by one, as they passed through his mind, the face of the blonde became clearer and more defined until Ian stared back at him in every dream. Henry's jaw had dropped. In each and every one of his dreams, Henry saw Ian by his side in leather, a purple patchwork vest and carrying a sword.

This was insane. Was Henry going crazy? No, this was something else. He could feel it. Ian was the companion in his dreams, the one who fought by his side as a fellow warrior and hero. Ian was also the one who died in his arms in the nightmare. Ian had looked like he had not slept for several days, and seemed afraid to go to sleep. Was it possible? Was Ian having the same nightmare? If that was so, then that would mean Ian had been having it for several days, something Henry did not want to think about. Having once was bad enough. To have it several times…it sent a violent shudder through Henry's very soul.

Ian was having this nightmare too. Henry was sure of it. He was a good judge of people, especially when it came to Ian. If Ian was having this nightmare, was he having the same dreams as Henry too? Henry had never discussed the dreams with anyone. He had wanted to write them down, but past experience taught him to keep such things to himself. His foster brothers were not the type to share this sort of thing with.

Further, he was sure this was connected to the pull they felt, the one that led them to take this road trip and that guided them in the right direction. He wasn't sure how he knew, or even how it was all connected. It was like having a bunch of puzzle pieces, only none of them fit together. Henry had too many questions and no answers. But if Ian was having the dreams, having this nightmare, then Henry had to know. It was a vital piece, one that would make some sense of the picture.

He had decided. He would ask Ian about the dreams and the nightmare. He wasn't sure how to do it without Ian clamming up and withdrawing from him like Henry knew he would. He would have to do it while they were on the road, so Ian couldn't run away from him. He had to know if Ian had the dreams. He had to know how the puzzle pieces fit together. Henry was not a man who believed in coincidences. This was all connected; he only had to figure out how.

Henry ran his hands though his grimy hair and stood. He gathered his duffle bag, which lay by his bed. He rifled through it and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. Then he went back into the bathroom and climbed into a shower. He sighed in relief as the hot water washed over him, relaxing his sore, tired muscles and cleaning the sweat and grime from his body. After rinsing he merely stood under the hot spray, letting the water relax him. When the water began to grow cold, he stepped out and dried himself off. He shoved on a pair of jeans and his favorite green sweater. Then he walked back into the main room, shoving his t-shirt and boxers that he had slept in into a plastic bag, then shoving that into hi duffle. Then he pulled out a worn paperback copy of The Vampire Lestat from one of the side pockets, and sat down in one of the plush armchairs that decorated the room, switching on the lamp at the adjoining table.

Anne Rice was his guilty pleasure, something he would never admit to Ian no matter how many times the blonde would goad him about it. Pushing all of the doubts, dreams and relating thoughts from his mind, he planted himself firmly in Anne Rice's world of vampires and Lestat's savage garden. He was unaware of anything else as he immersed himself in the dark, savage world of Lestat, until he was jolted back to awareness by a sharp knocking at the door.

"Henry!" Sang Ian's voice. "Henry! Time to get up! Come on! We got to go get some breakfast! Wakey, wakey Henry!"

Henry smiled, putting down the book and walking to the door. Ian was only knocking now at irregular, odd beats and intervals Henry surmised that was for his own amusement…or to annoy the hell out of Henry.

He opened the door, greeted with Ian's bright smile. His own duffle bag was by his feet, and he was dressed in jeans, his Hard Rock Café t-shirt and a pair of sneakers. The still damp hair told Henry that the man had just gotten out of the shower.

"Well, look who decided to join us in the land of the living! About time! Hurry up. We got to get breakfast. I'm starving!" With that, Ian picked up his duffle and trotted off down the hall. Henry smiled and shook his head. He put his book back into his duffle, shoved on his boots, picked up his bag and followed Ian down the hall. They ate in the car, as there was no diner to go to. Their conversation was light and easy, as if nothing weighed on their minds.

But Henry was tense and anxious. He had no idea how to broach the subject to Ian. He knew Ian better than he knew himself. Ian would withdraw into himself or change the subject if he was uncomfortable with the topic. As they drove along, Henry was contemplating how to bring up the subject without Ian running away. Meanwhile, he laughed at Ian's poor jokes and carried on the light conversation.

PleaseR&R. A big thanx to all my readers, no matter how few you may be. I'll try to update my other stories asap.