It will happen in an instant. There will be no pain.

One of the last conscious thoughts Desmond had before everything went dark was ''no pain' my ass'. The instant he touched the pedestal, it felt like every inch of him was on fire, like an electrical current was surging through his body, sapping away his energy and leaving nothing but pain behind. He couldn't ever scream, the agony was too great.
He felt his grip on the pedestal slipping, and he shakily grabbed onto his right arm, forcing it to stay still. There was no turning back now. He had to see this through.
It may have only lasted an instant, but it felt like an eternity, and as Desmond collapsed, for a brief second, he saw an intricate pattern of lines glow bright blue on his ruined arm before fading away, and he thought he heard a voice echoing through his mind as he started to black out.

'Saving your ass one last time, huh, Desmond…'

Then the darkness overcame him, and Desmond knew nothing at all.

Desmond awoke to darkness and the smell of charred flesh. As his mind slowly caught up to his body, regaining awareness of his surroundings, he realized: He was alive. He was alive.

That wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be dead! Any joy that he might have felt at his miraculous survival was overwhelmed the panic bubbling inside him. He was alive…did he somehow screw this up? Had he somehow managed to release Juno AND let the world burn?

Oh, God…his father…Shaun, Rebecca…he'd told them to go, he thought that they'd be safe outside the Temple when this all ended…had he just doomed them to die faster?

He couldn't breathe. Oh, god, he couldn't breathe, and as he tried to sit up, the world started to spin as his body was wracked with pain. He had to get out of the Temple. He had to see exactly how horribly wrong things had gone.

The world tilted as he tried to stand up, and Desmond stumbled back as he finally made it to his feet. He could barely stand, everything hurt, and he used what little energy he had to stumble past the pedestal and dry heave in a corner, breathing heavily. As he tried to calm himself down, tried to get his breath back and stop the racing of his heart, he moved to lean against a nearby wall for support, briefly glancing over at his right arm. It was a charred, ruined mess, and—

Wait. When he had touched the pedestal, there had been lines glowing on his arm. It had only been there for a second, near the very end, but they had been there all the same. And they hadn't been unfamiliar, either…he'd seen them before.

When he came out of his coma. After Animus Island. After Clay. For a brief moment, his arm had a glowing pattern on it, mirroring the lines on the surface of the Apple. Then it had faded away, and he'd forgotten about it, chalked it up to more First Civ weirdness that couldn't be explained in a way a normal person could understand.

But if that had been all it was, why had it shown up again? Desmond frowned, looking at his arm once more. There were no signs of the glowing lines there now. There was nothing but the badly burned remains of what had once been his arm. His frown deepened. He knew that his right hand had been the one touching the pedestal, but he'd felt that searing pain everywhere. Why was the damage mostly concentrated to that one spot?

Before he'd blacked out, he thought he'd heard a voice. It couldn't have been Juno, though…the voice was in his head, male, and it had sounded familiar…

His eyes widened, and it all came together. The lines. The voice. His survival.

'What if I went with you? It could work. Just for a while. Until I found a way out. Another body, maybe. Or…I don't know. I just…I don't want to be here anymore.'

'I'm saving you, idiot! Go! GO!'

Desmond blinked, running his left hand through his hair as he laughed weakly, the panic he had been feeling previously slowly ebbing away. Of course. That hug, near the very end, on Animus Island…Clay could've just pushed him, said nothing to him, but instead he'd held him for almost a moment too long as reality fractured around them. And his choice of last words…it all came down to how he'd heard them.

'I'm saving, you idiot! Go!'

Desmond just smiled sadly and shook his head, wiping his eyes (when had he started crying?) with his one good arm as he pushed himself away from the wall.

"Oh, Clay…you unbelievable bastard. You said there was no such thing as guardian angels…"

So. He was alive, and now he knew why, which meant that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't screwed this up. Maybe the world didn't end after all. There was only one way to find out, though.

Desmond walked shakily past the pedestal, ignoring the pain that surged through his body with every step. His bag had fallen off his shoulder at some point, the shattered remains of his hidden blade and the Apple of Eden spilling out across the floor. There was a part of him that was surprised his father hadn't asked him to take it out of the Temple before he sent them away, but maybe there just hadn't been enough time for him to ask. It didn't really matter now, though.

Uncertain of what fate awaited him outside, Desmond left the Temple behind him.

The first thing he noticed as he finally made it out of the Temple, after noting that getting out was more difficult than getting in (especially with one working arm), was that the ground had shifted. Trees that had been standing only hours (Days? Weeks? How long had he been out for?) before had fallen over, there were roots sticking out everywhere, and that there were large cracks in multiple parts of the earth.

His stomach tightened. It wasn't much, but these were signs that there had been an earthquake not too long ago. He knew that when he had touched the pedestal, the end had already started…had he been too late anyway? Was his attempted sacrifice still not enough to save the world?

It wasn't enough to go on, but it worried him nonetheless. Desmond stood very still by the entrance to the Temple and listened for any sign of life in the area. Birds, people, animals, cars in the distance, anything.

He was met with silence, and his heart sank. It wasn't enough to go on, but it wasn't a good sign, and the fear he'd felt inside the Temple upon realizing he was alive started to come back. What if Clay's intervening on his behalf at the very end had screwed the whole process up somehow? Maybe the world hadn't burned, but the end had found another way to come?

He couldn't know that just by staying here. The entrance to the Temple wasn't exactly close to civilization, and it was nighttime…he had to keep going. He had to know for sure what had happened. If he'd failed.

So he kept going. One foot in front of the other, ignoring the pain that shot through him every time he moved, Desmond walked through the night, past freshly downed trees and torn up earth, heading (hopefully) back towards civilization.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking for when he finally made it back to one of the main roads that cut through the woods, but he couldn't keep going forever. He still didn't know how long he'd been under for, every movement hurt, he could barely stand…he couldn't quit, not until he found people, but the last of his energy reserves were running dry.

Desmond could have wept with joy at the sound of a car coming up the road, headlights illuminating the darkness.

Cars meant people. People meant that it had worked, that the world hadn't ended…he let out a short, weak laugh, sounding half mad as the approaching car got closer.

It had worked. The world was safe…Shaun, Rebecca, his father…they were all okay…

His last thoughts before he collapsed and the darkness reclaimed him once more were of relief.

Desmond awoke to bright lights and the sound of beeping machines. He groaned, moving to rub at his eyes as he tried to remember what had happened. He'd left the Temple...he'd been walking, there had been a car, and then nothing. What happened? He must've passed out, but he definitely wasn't in the woods now.

"Nnngh…where am I…"

He groaned again, trying to hoist himself up with his arms so he could get a better view of wherever he was now, only to yelp in surprise as he collapsed onto his right side. He blinked and moved to look at his right arm, remembering how badly it had been damaged by the pedestal. Maybe that was why he couldn't support himself on that side.

As he moved to examine his right side, he suddenly realized why he couldn't support himself, why he couldn't feel anything on his right arm.

His right arm was gone.

It had been cleanly severed several inches below the shoulder, all signs of the destroyed flesh gone. He just stared at the stump where his arm had been in silence. But…he'd had his arm with him when he'd left the Temple. He knew it was completely destroyed and useless, that it probably would've had to be amputated eventually, but he'd still had it. What had happened to him after he'd passed out?

Hesitantly, he tried to move the stump, a part of his mind still convinced he could feel his fingers. His entire body was still sore, but the pain he'd felt after leaving the Temple had mostly subsided, and he found that he was able to move his stump ('his stump'. That would take some getting used to) with little trouble or pain.

He still was having a hard time accepting that his arm was just gone, so he tried to focus on something else, looking around the bright room he'd woken up in. Judging from the beeping machines, the uncomfortable bed, the bright lights, and the smell, he was in a hospital.

Great. He wasn't exactly fond of hospitals. Desmond sighed, forcing himself to sit up as he heard somebody knock on the door, opening it without waiting for confirmation that he was awake. The nurse that entered the room seemed surprised to see him conscious, but she still gave him a small, reassuring smile. "You're finally awake, that's good. How do you feel?"

Desmond gave her a weak smile. "Like I got hit with 1.2 gigawatts at eighty-eight miles per hour."

The nurse just laughed at that, shaking her head as she moved to make a note on her clipboard. "Well, it's good to see you awake. You were brought in about four days ago by two men who found you passed out by the side of the road. How much do you remember before that?"

It was like he was sixteen years old again, running away and making up new life stories on the fly. He'd learned long ago that the most convincing lies had a grain of truth to them, so he hoped that he sounded convincing as he frowned as if in thought, shaking his head at her. "Not much…there was an earthquake, I think, and I got trapped in a cave…"

The nurses eyes widened in surprise. "Earthquake? That was at least two weeks ago! No wonder you were in such bad shape when they brought you in…"

He just nodded, making sure to sound apologetic as he continued. "I'm sorry I don't remember more…"

"It's okay. To be honest, it's a miracle you're alive at all. You were suffering from severe dehydration and malnourishment when you were brought in. You also appear to have suffered from a major electrical shock, though most of the damage from that was concentrated to your right arm. There wasn't much we could to do save it, I'm afraid, the nerves were completely destroyed." The nurse stopped to look down at her clipboard, making a few more notes.

Desmond nodded again, mentally thanking Clay once more, well aware of how much worse it could have been. The nurse looked up and gave him another reassuring smile.

"I know you've been through a lot, but I just need to ask you a few more questions. You had no identification on you when you were brought in, so we've been treating you as a John Doe. I needed to ask you some questions about your identity, see what you remember…it's all standard procedure."

Desmond gave the nurse a smile and nodded, lying smoothly as he broke out one of his many false identities from his years on the road (Trevor Owens, from Pennsylvania, age twenty-five). The nurse seemed to buy his story, and said he would be released in a few days when they were sure his condition was more stable, but Desmond was only half listening to her.

He knew where he needed to go, and the sooner he could get home, the better.

They let him out of the hospital about two days after he woke up, and it took him another week to finally get back home. He was surprised that the Farm hadn't changed a great deal in the years since he'd run away, not to mention how easy it was for him to slip past security and get inside. The only trouble he'd had came from a few guard dogs, but he remembered how his father had trained them. Two sharp whistled and they'd backed off.

Getting in had been the easy part. Figuring out what to say to his father…that was more difficult. He'd been standing on the front steps of his childhood home for ten minutes, trying to figure out exactly what he was going to do when he saw his father again.

Despite the fact that he and his father had reconciled some of their differences before the end, Desmond couldn't help but wonder how much of that had to do with the fact that the world was going to end. They'd only really talked about their problems a few times, and while things had gotten better, they'd only really scratched the surface.

What do you say to your father when you come back from the dead, anyway?

Desmond sighed, unconsciously clenching his fists (fist. Still getting used to that). There was, of course, always a chance his father didn't believe he was who he said he was and just killed him on sight, calling him a poorly planned Templar trick. Honestly, he couldn't blame him. He didn't exactly look like the Desmond that had told his father to run as he went to meet his end.

"Well…no turning back now…"

Taking a deep breath, Desmond closed his eyes and knocked on the door, ready to face the worst.

He wasn't ready to face the kid that opened the door a few minutes later. Out of all the things he was expecting…this wasn't it.

The boy who opened the door looked a great deal like his mom (and oh, god, what was he going to say to her when he saw her again?), with softer facial features and light grey eyes. He remembered that his mom was from a big family, relatively close knit, and one of her older brothers had a baby not too long before he'd run away. Maybe she was babysitting.

Huh. He'd never actually met one of his cousins before.

Desmond stared at the boy, who stared right back up at him, for what felt like forever, before the kid finally spoke up. "Can I help you?"

Right. He was here to see his father, not his weirdly familiar looking cousin. "Bill home?"

"No, he's out right now with Shaun."

Desmond let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, smiling. His dad wasn't home. He had some time to think about what to say to him. He suddenly felt very tired, shaking his head and walking past the kid who'd opened the door, ignoring his protests. "Great, not home. I need to sit down."

Without waiting for a response from the kid, he flopped down onto the old living room couch (still as squishy as it was nine years ago), falling asleep.

Duncan stared at the strange man who'd just passed out on the family couch, one question on his mind: Who was this guy?

Technically, he shouldn't have even opened the door when he heard somebody knocking. One of his dad's new house rules was that, while he was gone, nobody came in unless they'd been cleared by William beforehand. So far, that included Shaun, Rebecca, and Harlan, who'd gotten back from Vienna last week.

The list of approved guests did NOT included weird looking one armed guys with old, tired eyes. How old was this guy, anyway? He looked like he was in his mid-twenties or something, but his eyes…his eyes were tired, and looked even older than Dad's.

…actually, Duncan thought to himself as he stared at the man sleeping on the couch, this guy looked a lot like Dad. He knew that Mom had a whole bunch of brothers, maybe his dad had one that he'd never mentioned before. His dad was the master of keeping secrets (according to Shaun anyway,).

Well, until either his dad came home or the weird guy woke up, there was no way for Duncan to know for sure. There wasn't much he could do now.

Duncan just sighed, shaking his head as he headed upstairs to grab his homework. He might as well do it downstairs, so he could keep an eye on the weird guy until he woke up.

It was several hours before Desmond woke up, feeling well rested mentally, if not a bit uncomfortable physically (that couch had never been too comfortable). He yawned loudly, stretching out on the cough before sitting up. It was strange, being back home after all these years. The place hadn't changed much, and it was as if Desmond never left. He blinked sleepily, rubbing at his eyes and smiling to himself. In a weird way, it was good to be home. Maybe he'd get to see his mom again, like his father had promised.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a small cough, and Desmond realized that the kid from earlier was still there, watching him. He gave the kid a smile as he stood up, stretching out again. "So, anything to eat in this place?"

The kid looked surprised, like that was the last thing he was expecting to hear out of Desmond, and he shook his head. "We've just got leftovers at the moment. I was gonna go and heat up some soup in a little bit…"

Desmond just snorted, shaking his head as he headed into the kitchen, the kid following behind him. "Balls to that. Let's get some real food in here. Does Bill still keep those frozen chickens in the freezer?"

"Uh…yeah, he does."

"Damn right!"

Oh, crap. Probably shouldn't swear in front of the kid. He couldn't be older than eight, maybe nine. Ten at the most. And from the look he was shooting Desmond, he knew that Desmond has slipped up. He just shrugged and smiled sheepishly at the kid (he should probably get his name. Can't just keep calling his cousin 'the kid'…) "Heh. Whoops, sorry about that, little man. What's your name, anyway?"

"I'm Duncan."

"Nice to meet'cha, Duncan. So! How 'bout some chicken?"

The kid (Duncan, he mentally reminded himself), just shrugged and nodded, pushing back Desmond into the kitchen to sit at the table. "Sure, chicken sounds fine. The soup is probably a little too old by this point to be good, anyway."

"Any beer in here?"

"No."

Desmond mentally swore. Damn. There goes his plan to show off his amazing culinary prowess to his little cousin and make drunk chicken. "Da—well, that sucks. Ah well, I guess the chicken doesn't need to be drunk to be good."

Duncan just stared at him like he'd grown another head. "The chicken's dead, it can't be drunk."

Desmond looked at the kid, smiling and shaking his head. "Kid, you need to lighten up." Seriously, he couldn't be more than ten years old, he had no right to look this sullen and serious. "Now, are you just gonna sit there and stare, or are you gonna come on up and help me cook this bird?"

Duncan didn't say anything for a minute, like he was considering the offer, before he nodded, pushing away from the kitchen table. Desmond grinned. He was gonna get this kid to smile by the end of the evening, he knew it. "That's what I thought. Now, we're gonna need a few things before we get started. Go grab me some flour and breadcrumbs and a big bowl."

"I don't think we have any breadcrumbs…"

"Well, then grab some Corn Flakes. We'll just improvise."

It had been a long time since Duncan had been a helper in the kitchen. Actually, that wasn't really true. He'd been helping his dad with the food ever since Mom left, but that…that wasn't fun. He loved his dad, but he made cooking seem like work. Mom had always made it fun.

This guy…it was like cooking with Mom again. He made cooking fun again.

He still didn't know exactly who the weird guy was. There was a part of Duncan that just wanted to come out and ask him, but he had a funny feeling this guy wouldn't give him a straight answer. He looked so much like Dad, though, that he was probably Duncan's uncle or something like that.

Right now, they were both sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for the chicken to finish cooling. It smelled delicious…a lot better than reheated tomato soup, that was for sure. Neither Duncan or the weird guy (he knew he really shouldn't call him weird, but…well, he was weird) were saying anything, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was comfortable, and nice, and Duncan didn't feel like he needed to say anything.

The weird guy gave him a smile as he got up to check on the cooling bird, and Duncan just watched him, still very curious about who he was. Dad should be home soon, though. Maybe he'd get some answers then.

"Ah ha! I think it's cool enough to serve now. Go grab some plates for me, little man!"

Duncan smiled and shook his head as he got up to go grab plates. "Don't call me little man, I'm not little!"

The weird guy just laughed, ignoring the pouting look that Duncan gave him as he moved to hand him the plates.

They ended up eating in relative silence, with the weird guy asking him questions every so often. They were the standard older relative questions (what do you do for fun, what're you classes in school like, are you in training, etc), and Duncan was glad to talk about his training with somebody other than his father.

It was just when they were both really getting into dinner when they heard the door open.

"Duncan?"

Duncan grinned. His dad was home. He shot up from the chair, rushing over to the door to greet his dad. "Welcome home, sir!"

His father gave him a tired smile. He always looked so tired lately…"Duncan, I've told you that you don't have to call me sir…"

"I know, I just want to. Hey, Dad, how come you didn't tell me that I had an uncle that knows how to cook?"

His dad just looked at him, his expression a strange mixture of concern and confusion. "Duncan, I don't have a brother…"

He didn't have a brother? So…this weird guy wasn't Duncan's uncle? So, then…who was he?

They both looked up as they heard footsteps come from the kitchen, the weird guy giving them both a tired smile, waving weakly at Duncan's dad. "…hi, Dad."

His father just stared at the other man, stunned. "…Desmond…?"

…wait.

This was Desmond? This was his screw-up of an older brother, who was supposed to be a dead martyr who saved the world?

What was going on here?

For a minute, the room was silent. Desmond just stared at his father, not sure what to say.

It was like time had stopped, just for a second, and suddenly everything was moving fast once more, his father grabbing Duncan and pushing him behind him, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Desmond's head. Desmond's eyes widened in surprise (though, really, he should've expected this sort of reaction), and he put his hand in the air, biting his lip nervously.

It was Duncan who ultimately spoke first, his voice slightly muffled from his spot behind William. Despite that, the accusatory tone in his voice was very clear. "I thought you said Desmond was dead."

William nodded, not looking away from Desmond, gun still pointed at his temple. "I did, and he is."

Desmond just snorted and rolled his eyes. "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."

William just stared at him for a moment, before slowly lowering the gun, walking till he was right in front of Desmond, staring him in the face, before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "…Don't you misquote Twain at me, you smartass."

Desmond laughed weakly, hugging his father back as best as he could with his one arm. "Well forgive me for not remembering exactly what he said, it's not like I had a normal education, remember?"

"What did I tell you about getting smart with me? And what the hell happened to your arm?"

"Well, it sort of burned off."

William finally pulled away from Desmond, looking him over like he was making sure he was real, before he sighed, shaking his head, lips twitching as he tried not to smile at the absurdity that was his son. "What do you mean it burned off?"

"Well, see, when you touch evil space wizard death balls, sometimes bad things tend to happen. In my case, my arm got fried."

"How are you even alive?"

"Good question. You've got Clay to thank for that."

Before William could ask him exactly what Clay had done to save Desmond's life, he was interrupted by a loud coughing noise. Oh, crap. Desmond had almost forgotten that Duncan was there. He gave the kid a weak smile and a wave.

Duncan didn't smile back. In fact, since William got back, the kid had…well, it was like he'd stiffened up, like he was viewing Desmond as a completely different person.

He'd have to ask his father about that later. Now, though…"Hey, that reminds me. You know you don't have any beer in the house, right?"

His father stared at him like he'd grown another head (huh. Duncan had the same expression earlier. Weird.). "You come back from the dead and your first question is 'where's the beer'? Really, Desmond? And why would I keep beer around where my nine-year old could get at it?"

…Wait. What…what had his dad just said?

HIS nine-year old?

"…did you just say he was YOUR nine-year old? The squirt belongs to YOU? What'd you do, buy him from somebody on the side of the road or something?" He laughed, nervous, because there's no way what his father just said could be true. There was no way that Duncan was his…his…no. That was impossible.

William ignored Duncan' squawk of protest at being called a 'squirt', sighing as he gently pushed the kid out from behind him. "Desmond…this is Duncan. Your brother."

…brother? He…he had a brother?

Duncan didn't bother to look at him, choosing instead to stare sullenly at the ground, but he didn't care. He just looked at the kid, stunned. That explained why he looked so much like Mom, but with lighter eyes. That explained why this kid was here in the first place. He had a brother. He…he was a big brother.

Holy shit.

"I don't like you."

He was brought out of his thoughts by Duncan, who was now staring at him with a disapproving face that mirrored the one he'd seen on his father too many times. Up until William got home, they'd been getting along just fine…what the hell had happened? "Well, you seemed to like making chicken with me. We were getting along just fine, I thought we were buds!"

"That was before I found out you were Desmond."

And with that, Duncan pushed past him into the kitchen, grabbing his plate of chicken before going upstairs, slamming his door behind him.

William and Desmond were left alone in the living room now, the atmosphere tense and awkward. Why the hell had his brother (Holy SHIT he had a little brother he still couldn't get over that) reacted like that? He'd just met the kid!

What the hell had his dad been telling Duncan about him?

Desmond gave his father a look. "…Well. I see he's got your shining personality…"

"Desmond, don't. What are you even doing here?"

He sighed. He had too many questions. Why had his father never told him about Duncan? Why did the kid suddenly dislike him so much? Where was Mom?

His father had some explaining to do.

"Right now? Well, let's see. I died and came back to life; I think I'm doing whatever I want at the moment. And right now, I want a drink and some answers."