Author's Note: This idea has been preying on my mind, and watching and rewatching "Stranger in a Strange World" and "Stranger and Stranger" helped a lot. The entire idea touched on a much, much darker world than they could actually portray in a children's show...they could only hint. I've tried to keep the comedy, but I've also tried to delve into what created Iolaus II and the strange, special connection he inevitably shared with Hercules II. So, please enjoy, and review if you don't mind! FEED THE MUSE. Or my ego...both of which are starving. :)

All the World's A Stage

It was hard to say exactly what unnerved Iolaus the most about being here, at Cheiron's Academy of Black Arts but not really the Academy of Black Arts. Pretty much everything managed to unnerve him, from the burning glares of students he'd never even met before who looked like they wanted to cut him into thin slices, to the varied array of sharp, shiny weapons lying in every nook and cranny which they could use to do it. The masked assassins in black who'd nearly killed them on the way here also helped a lot to threaten his sense of security.

Not to mention the terrifyingly large group of toddlers who'd spent the morning gleefully and systematically destroying him. His scalp still stung from the countless times a chubby fist had grabbed a handful of his golden curls and yanked it every which way known to man. His eyes were red and sore from tomato juice. His backside ached from falling onto it so often after some of the mischievous little devils spirited away his chair.

But he'd made progress, thanks to Hercules reminding him of one special fact: he was bigger than they were. He might be short, but the toddlers were shorter. It hadn't diminished their horrible power at all, but thinking of them as smaller, more helpless creatures reminded Iolaus of the one thing other kids wanted, something they'd been starved for ever since their arrived at the Academy: kindness.

So when a little boy named Terepton…he knew all their names on his first day…slid down from where he'd been perched on Iolaus' abused shoulder like a massive boulder pulling him down into Hades, Iolaus grabbed one of his little hands, gently.

He pulled up the red cotton sleeve. Writhing its way up Terepton's arm like a cloud of smoke, a blackened bruise marred the smooth, unbroken skin.

Iolaus' bright blue eyes, now alerted, flew from child to child. He saw a puffy lip, an eye suspiciously sticky and shut, a girl's bangs messily rearranged to hide a corner of her forehead, a boy that sat down too often during the games and favored his left leg.

He knew exactly what had happened. He remembered being slumped miserably over an urn all night, retching, silk Jester's cloth swishing over a torso covered with blue and gold bruises after the Sovereign had played a little too roughly after dinner.

He remembered the one comfort he could find then, imprisoned in a mad house, a torture-palace of death and lust and insanity. Forget. Never dwell on what happened. Find something else to think about. The silver glint on the prison keys, the smooth, cool feeling of the floor beneath his cheek, the satisfaction of bouncing a ball off the flagstones and catching it perfectly a hundred times in a row. Just forget. Lose yourself in the moment.

No words. He just flashed Terepton a brilliant, toothy smile and swept him back onto his shoulders. Properly balanced, this time. "Okay, kids!" his voice pitched, "We're going outside to watch the grass dance in the wind and the clouds race across the sky. Everyone has to find three shapes in the clouds at least before we go back inside, understand?"

Little feet nudged against his as they thronged around him before rushing out the door in a sea of giggles. Little hands faltered and paused to touch his jacket for reassurance before they continued on through the training grounds, trying not to feel the glares from the older students. Iolaus caught sight of Hercules' yellow shirt as the demigod argued with a teenager who'd apparently broken his opponent's leg during training.

Once they were safely outside, Iolaus let Terepton slide down his back into the grass with a thump. He pinched noses and poked round little bellies, breathless at his own daring, the fact that he was actually touching these little monsters. "Now, if any of you even dare to think about anything besides having fun, I'll be furious!"

Titters and squeals greeted him. Iolaus did his best to squint angrily at them, thrusting his face forward and grimacing. At the same time, his blue eyes darted down toward his knee in a mute but urgent signal.

Several children realized what he meant and rushed forward eagerly. A little girl with bright red hair and a spray of freckles on her cheeks got there first. With a strength Hercules himself would have been proud of, she punched Iolaus square in the kneecap, her face wreathed in smiles.

Ignoring the pain, Iolaus squatted down and then straightened like a jackknife, leaping into the air and spinning backwards in a gracefully executed tumble. There was a collective gasp of appreciation.

He ended the trick by falling flat on his back, the idea being that Jesters never do anything right. He heard the children clapping and giggling and thumping into the dirt as they tried and failed to imitate him. A solid, warm weight pressed into his stomach and he looked up into the face of the little girl who'd almost crippled him for life.

Despite having a joyful light about her that Iolaus couldn't remember seeing before, the girl's face was quiet and thoughtful, her green eyes big with solemn curiosity. "Master Iolaus, how'd you get so quick and…and cool?"

Flattered, Iolaus gave her a lop-sided grin. "I started early."

"Erythia? Zeus blast it, where are you, woman?"

The man lying on the pallet before the fireplace had huge, rough looking hands. His face had once been handsome, with burning eyes under thick brows and a bold mouth, but now it was covered in scars, disfigured from shields and clubs crashing into it. His right knee was swathed in dirty white linen and thick planks of wood. It had been shattered by a barbarian's war-club. Now, he was a crippled veteran of war, bound to hearth and home for the rest of his life. "ERYTHIA!"

The door slammed open, propelled by a woman's foot. Erythia sidestepped into the house, holding a bundle of laundry under one arm and, under the other, a little boy with curly blonde hair. He couldn't have been more than five and, except for his breeches, was completely naked. Although he struggled violently, not a single sound passed his lips. His blue eyes were wide with fear.

"I'm here, Skourus!" the woman snapped. She wasn't old, but worry-lines already marred her face and hair shot with grey framed it. She was a tall, strong woman, but her soul was sensitive, her feelings fragile. Or at least, they had been until she'd had six children with Skourus and spent the past year caring for him after he'd been crippled.

She dropped the laundry on the floor by the wall but kept a firm grip on the toddler. "Iolaus just had his bath when you started shouting like a siren. I barely had time to pull his breeches on before he ran off on me. Took a good ten minutes to catch him."

She lowered Iolaus to the ground and then turned her attention to the laundry. The boy scurried off under the kitchen table and stared at his father from the shadows.

Skourus' hands clenched into the chair as he stared in quivering fury at his wife's back. "That boy runs wild as a deer…you really needed to take the time and catch him and bring him back here when he'll be gone again in minutes? It was just an excuse, wasn't it! An excuse not to come anywhere near me for a while longer!"

"Maybe," Erythia replied shortly. Her teeth were clenched as she folded another shirt.

For a moment, it looked as if Skourus would rise out of his chair in rage. Instead, his smoldering eyes targeted Iolaus where he crouched. Skourus snatched up one of his boots, a heavy article made of iron and leather. "You! Boy! Out of here!"

The boot crashed to the ground where Iolaus had been scant seconds before. "Go on!" Skourus snarled, swinging the other one at the tousled head of his child. He threw too hard, however, and the boot crashed towards Iolaus' legs. The boy, still mute, did a clumsy leap. The toes of his left foot caught the iron edge of the boot and stung but he landed safely away from the projectile and raced towards the door.

A rusty old helmet cracked against the wood as he slammed it shut behind him.

"What's this?" A smooth, easy voice, full of friendly laughter, cast a cold chill over Iolaus and the children. "You think this is Elysium?"

Carefully pushing the girl off his stomach and letting her slide into the grass, Iolaus struggled to a stand. He fought against the stutter, against the fear he felt rising in his belly. "Uh…no. Recess."

Zylon, the black haired teenager whom Iolaus' gut constantly screamed was untrustworthy, stood before them with several of his cronies. Dressed in black leather, their admittedly muscular arms bare and crossed over their chests, the teenagers appeared very formidable. "Recess? Sitting on top of each other counting clouds? This is a school for heroes, not toddlers."

Iolaus screwed on a smile. Smile! Okay, have you heard this one? "Then why don't you leave it and find the school that's right for you?"

Zylon's eyes darkened. Iolaus felt his heart turn to ice and then plummet to the bottom of his stomach. No jokes today. He hadn't seen a look like that on a face like that for a very long time. It was scary how much Zylon resembled a teenage Sovereign…different hair, maybe, but the same attitude, the same cold cruelty simmering in icy eyes, melted only by the bitter fire of feeling yourself wronged by the entire world.

Out of nowhere, Zylon whipped out a knife as long as his arm. Iolaus barely had time to whimper before he felt the sharp, stinging line of a blade edge against his neck. It felt so tight that Iolaus was terrified to swallow for fear of severing his Adam's apple.

"How do you like my draw, Sir?" Zylon sneered mockingly, their faces inches apart. Iolaus closed his eyes, trying to find his happy place where he could forget the present terror but also the horrible black storm of memories it was reviving.

"P-perfect," Iolaus whispered, "A-pl-plus at least."

An unpleasant look glimmered in Zylon's face as if he suspected the Jester of being sarcastic. After a moment, however, Iolaus suddenly felt the blade disappear. An involuntary sigh of relief wheezed from his throat and he opened his eyes slowly.

Zylon smiled, his face kind, cheery and respectful, like a student's should be. "Thank you sir. We'll just go find some training dummies to cut to ribbons…maybe I can bump that A-plus up."

His cronies laughed, slapping each other on the back as they strode off towards the Academy training grounds. A few glanced back; chortling and elbowing each other at the stricken, miserable look on the Jester's face.

Knives, pain, humiliation, laughter…story of Iolaus' life. He should be used to it by now, but still…

The children had seen it all. He'd been trying so hard to help them forget, but now he'd shown them that no one was safe from the bullying, not even him. He crumpled to his knees; hands limp on his legs, his head bowed down as if under a great weight. He'd failed, failed as the other Iolaus never would have. The other Iolaus would have been brave, strong. He wouldn't have been bullied by a couple teenagers. These kids…they needed that guy, that Iolaus. The hero.

A little pair of arms suddenly encircled his neck. A small, soft pair of lips pushed through the curls and kissed the back of his head clumsily. Now the tears almost came. Instead, Iolaus sniffed violently and turned to pull the child…the red haired girl again…into his lap.

The other children gathered around him, leaning on his legs, back to back with him, curling up with each other until they were all one big cluster. It was an unspoken bond, a sort of instinctive gesture of protection. They sheltered Iolaus as one of their own…a friend. A fellow victim. A wonderful, funny little person who'd made them happy for a while. So what if he was afraid of Zylon? Who wouldn't be?

Unspeakably grateful, Iolaus launched into a story, telling himself and them that nothing at all had happened and that they were all heroes having a bad dream. They'd wake up in the morning and have some Hydra-steaks for breakfast before going out to ride Nemean Lions over glass hills. The children giggled and laughed again and forgot.

But Iolaus couldn't forget. He still couldn't shake the cold feeling whenever Zylon's eyes…someone else's eyes…met his.

Iolaus had to make a lot of decisions in his short life. The decision to leave home, for instance, before his father became a screaming, red eyed paralytic with white hair and his mother degenerated into a hateful crone who drove everyone away from her with sharp remarks and digging insults. Iolaus' sisters had all been married off…there really wasn't any room in the house for a male teenager and two angry old people. So Iolaus left, saying goodbye to his mother and dodging a farewell bowl of soup from Skourus.

That was, looking back, a pretty good decision.

Joining Cheiron's Academy of Black Arts, thinking he would learn to defend himself, was not.

It was the burning, radiating ache that spread through his face, into his skull, and through the other side of his brain that drove this realization home. Over and over and over again, boyish fists that were smooth skinned yet terrible in their honed strength pounded into his face. He'd already heard his nose crack. It seemed to swell larger and grow hotter with every jarring blow.

They didn't even need to hold him down, really. He was so small they were just sort of batting him from person to person like one of the training dummies. They were so effective at maneuvering him into the next kick or punch or elbow chop, in fact, that Iolaus didn't have to walk at all. He just had to flail his arms and pretend he was defending himself and try not to lose his teeth as he flew across the floor. That, and wait for them to just stop so he could crawl under a bed and perhaps die, like wild animals always did. He'd heard of other students who'd come here before him doing that. Until now, he hadn't believed it.

"What are you guys doing?" A new voice echoed through the stone hall. It wasn't outraged, like any decent person's would be. It wasn't grimly approving either, like Cheiron's deep, throaty voice suggesting Iolaus survive while urging the other boys to murder him. It was disgust, carefully hidden under a layer of languid curiosity. "You could just rip out his hamstrings or break his back…might make it easier."

"Aww, lay off, Herc!" a thin girl held tightly onto Iolaus' hair. Her hands were terrifyingly strong and her fingernails bit into his scalp as she kicked him in the gut once before letting him drop. "The more wastrels and weaklings come in, the less food and bedding there is. You know that. We're just culling the newcomers."

"Really?"

Iolaus pulled himself weakly to his knees and blinked his puffy eyes to see the speaker. The boy was tall, with fair blonde hair and blue eyes and arms that were strangely wiry and well formed for his age. He was a good-looking kid with a mouth that could have made a heartwarming smile. Unfortunately, it was pulled into a twisted smirk. Without even looking at Iolaus 'Herc' continued, "It takes the four of you ten minutes to cull a runt like this?"

The anger seemed to zap through the children, who were more like thugs and monsters, really. The hairs on Iolaus' neck rose up and he shifted closer to the wall, away from his tormentors. A powerful, thick looking boy with an eye slant caused by a well-aimed staff blow reached back and snatched Iolaus' torn shirt. Tugging him forward, the bully's fist clenched aggressively.

"He won't…" the other fist broke through Iolaus' mouth, spattering the cobblestones with blood, "stay…down," a punch bolted into his stomach and brought bile up in his mouth. Wheezing, he crashed to his knees again. Pulling air in and out of his bruised lungs through a bloody mouth, Iolaus' breathing sounded more like sobbing. But he wasn't crying. For all the pain and terror in his face, his blue eyes were clear and bright with indomitable energy.

The newcomer glanced once at Iolaus. It was less than a second, but something in that dark, penetrating gaze seemed to electrify him. He felt as if a look of ice and fire and immeasurable power had passed him by…the look of a god.

Those eyes turned back to the others, who either didn't feel it or didn't want to. The kid with the tree trunk legs smirked at the speaker's silence, stupidly mocking him. With a snapping blink, Herc's eyes suddenly filled with blue fire, the hottest flame of all. "That didn't stop you last year, Boskos."

Boskos' damaged eye flinched. His hands tightened into fists. The other children stepped sideways, spreading out like a flock of war eagles, all of them focusing on one prey. Then an invisible signal seemed to rush through their bodies and they charged.

It was pretty much a massacre. Herc met Boskos head on. And by head on, he grabbed him by the ears, twisted hard, and snapped his neck. The wet cracking sound was one Iolaus had never heard before, one he knew he'd never forget.

But the rest of them sort of piled on top of Herc, pinning down those powerful arms, slicing his cheeks open with their training weapons as they tried to find one sharp enough to make it through his vital organs.

Ignoring all his instincts, Iolaus stood up on shaky knees from his hidden corner by the wall. This…Herc, or whoever he was, had just defended his life and safety, for whatever reasons of his own. Iolaus had never had a friend. This might be his only chance at friendship in the Academy. This might be his only friend.

And he had to help him.

He didn't have a clue what he was doing. He just snatched up a stool and brought it down on the closest head he could find. Pain ran in dancing little waves up his arm and he grit his teeth as he made impact. The chair seemed to fall to pieces, spitting woodchips and dust everywhere as a hollow thwack rang through the skull of his enemy. The boy's eyes rolled up to the top of his head until you could see the whites. With a soundless moan, he collapsed and lay still.

Iolaus stared at the pitiful wooden leg in his hand, the only remains of the stool. Too bad. He could have used that again. With nothing else to lose, he decided to try using his fist. He tapped another kid on the shoulder and blindly struck out as he turned. His clumsy blow hissed through the air, hitting nothing. His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Something crashed into his belly so hard it seemed to meet his backbone. Iolaus could only moan in agony as everything, words, screams, oxygen…everything was forced out of him. He stumbled back as his new attacker centered in on him with a furious snarl and a wooden dagger that was certainly going to hurt.

Then, something happened. Almost out of the corner of his eye, Iolaus saw the dagger coming, like a brown streak of lightning. He remembered big black boots and pots and pans flying through the air towards various parts of his body…he remembered how to move. He swayed back with a cry, his belly tightening to avoid the dagger as it tickled his skin before passing harmlessly to the left. Breathless with terror and the absorption of what he was trying to do, he danced from one foot to the other, too scared to remain in one place, too worried about letting the much bigger, stronger kid get a firm hold on him.

"Stay still, freak!" his opponent snarled. His arms spread out wide as he rushed forward, intent on getting the smaller boy in a death grip. Somehow, through a pounding headache, Iolaus' instincts told him what was happening and what to do about it. His hands shot out, blindly deflecting the older, stronger boy's wild blows for a few precious seconds. Gritting his teeth, Iolaus kicked straight, and up, and hard.

The other boy crumpled to the ground with something like a screech. Iolaus had no time to dwell on his victory, however. Something grabbed him by the belt and swung him into a wall. Just managing to avoid re-breaking his broken nose by landing on his palms, Iolaus didn't stop to confront his next foe. He ran madly, skittering along the wall until he was able to leap bodily on the pile swarming over Herc, somehow hoping his slight weight would tip the balance one way or another.

Two people stumbled and fell, one underneath, one on top of him. Iolaus felt hard hands shove him aside and, next moment, he was kicking and swinging blindly, leaping up and away, dancing aside as huge fists managed to land glancing blows on him.

Not one part of his body didn't hurt.

Finally, a rush of wind seemed to pass through the room. One massive, hair trigger button seemed to push into the bullies' nerves. Flight. Limping, cursing, dragging themselves through the doorways, they raced off to find shelter, somewhere to nurse their wounds. They were easy prey to anyone who hated them now, and they knew it.

Iolaus' knees felt like jelly. He was shaking like a leaf now that the fighting was over. He stared over the carnage. Blood smeared here and there across the tiles, along with shreds of material, several teeth, and what looked sickeningly like a fingernail.

And then there was Boskos' body, lying twisted like a broken marionette. Iolaus promptly turned towards the wall and heaved, emptying his already empty stomach. Once he'd gotten a hold on himself, he slowly turned, his eyes studiously avoiding the mess on the floor. He looked for Herc.

His savior slouched against a wall, busily ripping his shirt hem and wrapping it around the gouged wound in his stomach. It was a messy job, flesh and muscle sharply scooped out by a wooden blade. The skin was angry and red, full of splinters.

But the kid barely blinked. Once, his blue eyes traveled over to Boskos and a triumphant snarl pulled at his lips. Otherwise, he was pretty focused. When he'd finished, he turned finally to meet Iolaus' stare. This time, it was more than a glance. This time, he gazed at him, his brain filing away every minute detail. His eyebrows pulled down thoughtfully. "What," he said slowly, "was that Hermes' Spit you just pulled?"

Iolaus blanched at the blasphemy. Then, he wasn't quite sure why, he just laughed nervously. "Oh, I dunno…just tried to, to keep moving, you know?"

"You looked like a clown," Herc deadpanned.

Iolaus grinned, too grateful to be insulted. He chuckled, finally daring to unclench his white fists as he fingered the shreds of what used to be a pretty serviceable shirt. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

Herc gave him a look that spoke volumes. "Yeah." His mouth curled up wryly. It wasn't quite inviting, but it certainly wasn't hostile.

"Well…I gotta thank you…it was getting pretty rough back there."

"Was it?" Herc repeated. Iolaus could have sworn he saw something close to amusement flare in the kid's eyes. "Why are you here? You wanna be a necromancer?"

"N-no…" Iolaus hesitated. The past few minutes hadn't really been good for his credentials. He stepped awkwardly around the messy spots on the ground until he stood face to face with Herc. "I want to be a warrior, you know…a hero."

Something, a dull flicker in Herc's eyes. A twitch at his mouth. Then, suddenly, without warning, he threw his head back and laughed. His teeth were bright and white and perfectly straight. His body relaxed and he slapped a hand on Iolaus' shoulder, eliciting a yelp of pain.

As his mirth died away, Herc straightened his head and looked around the bunks that lined the wall. He saw the only unmade bed with a bag on it and strode forward suddenly, snatching it up.

"H-hey, hey!" Iolaus was after him like a flash. He'd been the victim of enough thieves already since he left home. "That's mine!" He grabbed at it.

Herc easily shouldered him away. "Relax, curly. You can take the bunk below mine. I can show you the ropes…sides, runts like you are safer in the senior barracks."

"Oh…thanks," Iolaus replied, a little stunned. Suddenly, as if pin pricked, he snapped, "and my name's not curly! It's Iolaus."

Herc just smiled patronizingly as he strode down the corridors. "Okay. And mine's Hercules." He threw a massive arm around Iolaus' shoulders and leaned towards his ear, whispering enigmatically, "son of Zeus."

Iolaus was so busy being stupefied he didn't really watch where he was going. His boot caught on the corner of a pillar and he felt himself hurtle forward, his body hitting the floor with a hollow thump. Hercules just threw his head back again and laughed.

As comfortable and sweet and safe as their little puppy pile was, it couldn't last forever. The sunshine and sweet smelling grass and bright clouds scudding across the blue sky wouldn't allow it. Before long, the kids were pinching and poking each other, pulling braids and sticking sharp bits into Iolaus' skin.

Before you could count to three, he was up and doing handstands, walking on his palms across the hilltop. The boys and girls shrieked with laughter, babbling animatedly to each other. Ripping up plant life and tossing it at laughing faces, they fluttered around Iolaus' upturned boots that swung their way across the sky. More than once they tipped him over for sheer experimental reasons.

Tired of getting grass smeared into his face, Iolaus quickly initiated a game of leapfrog. The biggest danger was leaping the wrong way and performing a head-on collision with your opponent. They were less than halfway through the line, however, when a woman's voice interrupted them.

The voice was confident and strong, like someone used to giving orders as well as taking them. Squinting against the heavy sunlight, Iolaus saw that blonde Amazon woman, the one who'd arrived that morning and hung around Jason all day.

"Hey kids, Iolaus, time for lunch!" She clapped her hands firmly, unable to help a small smile as the children obediently flooded down the hill around her. They were ravenous after a day of fun and exercise outside.

Iolaus was the last one to make his way down. He smiled, determined to be friendly and outgoing, like Herc was always reminding him to. Pulling his hands out of the clinging grasp of several toddlers, he clasped them together and pointed with both fingers at her. "Uh, you know my name, but I'm not familiar with yours…"

He hoped she wasn't offended. That sounded a little cold, didn't it? And short. Unwelcoming. Didn't Amazons eat men for breakfast?

She instantly reassured him with a brilliant smile. "Lilith," she replied, "I've known Hercules a long time…he and Jason told me all about you."

"Oh," there went his chances of being respectable, "Great."

She giggled. The sound made her suddenly look like a woman, full of life and warmth and gentle feelings. But the bare, wiry arm she threw over his shoulders reminded him just how much focused, unbridled power she could unleash. "Relax, curly. You mind if I call you curly?"

"Uh…no." Yes.

Some acute, Amazonian instinct in her must have noticed the faintest tone in his voice. Her forehead wrinkled up adorably, her eyes darkening with concern. The wiry arm shook him gently. "No, really, Iolaus, do you mind?"

Well, that was certainly a change. Lilith actually seemed to care what he thought and, more than that, seemed willing to dig deeper than what he wanted her to think he thought. Which was a little confusing. But it touched a grateful spot in his soul. He smiled. "Nah, I don't." And he meant it.

Reluctantly, Lilith pulled her arm away. Iolaus felt her fingers go through his curls briefly. He realized how hard it must be for her to walk and talk with an ignorant facsimile of her deceased childhood friend.

"You know," he watched her boots plant themselves into a perfect path down the hillside, graceful and light. His own boots crashed clumsily down, crushing plants and mud and sticks with a racket that would have made Earth Spirits proud. "Iolaus was always my favorite sparring partner…especially in wrestling."

Not noticing the mischievous look she sent his way, Iolaus' eyebrows rose to his hairline. His voice went squeaky again. "That's not…um...that's not very…like…proper…well, I mean…not like a…what you'd call a gentleman…you know? Sorry, but…"

"Yeah, I get what you mean. But Iolaus was never a gentleman." She was swinging her arms as she spoke. For a split second, she halted. "No, spoke to soon. What I mean is…well, for me he wasn't." A fond, warm smile stretched its way across her face.

All sorts of horrible images sputtered through Iolaus' brain, mind-burning visions that took shape from acts of unbelievable horror and lust in the palace of the Sovereign, committed in front of his frozen eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, meaningfully.

Lilith stared at him, confused. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh, no!" her shout made him jump a little. "No, I mean, that's what I needed! He wasn't a gentleman with me. You see, Iolaus could be anything for anybody. If you were a sweet little thing from the country or a timid waiter or just a shy wallflower, he was as gentle and smooth as olive oil…he made them feel safe. He protected them. But if you were a tomboy like me, he'd treat you just rough enough so you could feel like he accepted you, as a worthy opponent, a buddy, another friendly rival for the place of top cadet. He didn't treat you like super-skilled garbage trying to be what you weren't, like a lot of the other guys did."

Iolaus listened, unable to help being interested. But a gloomy, dark cloud settled behind his blue eyes and his footsteps grew heavier as they finally stepped out onto the dusty road that led to the Academy gates. "Boy, he sure sounds amazing. I can see why Herc was so close to him…why he wishes I could be that guy."

"Iolaus…"

"Look, can everyone stop pretending to be so nice?!" The Jester snapped at her, showing the first bit of real fire…an Iolaus-like fire. Lilith's mouth shut tight with surprise. "I can see it in his eyes, whenever he thinks I'm not looking…sometimes even when I am. You know it, Jason knows it…everyone who ever knew that other Iolaus knows it." His tone softened as if in apology and he shook his head miserably. "I mean, I don't blame him. Day doesn't go by I wish that other guy was still alive. If only to stop that big dumb dork from trying to hide his feelings from me!"

Lilith smirked at the irritable name-calling…sounded exactly like something Iolaus would have said. Which reminded her, "That's something the other Iolaus could do, too. He was always able to read that big dumb dork's famous 'stone-face', the one that makes us so angry all the time. Iolaus would worm out his worries, get him to open up about things he'd lost and missed. Get him to laugh once in a while, like you do."

"Pfft," Iolaus growled, determined not to be impressed, "not often enough."

"You know," Lilith waved at the look-out on the wall, "Iolaus always said that a former thief could read faces like scrolls. And you…you're no thief…" she turned and met his gaze, dead-serious, "So you must be special too…just like he was. And if that no-good, curly-haired scoundrel could become Hercules the Great's best friend…then by Hades, you can too."

Iolaus' mouth opened ever so slightly as he stared at her, than the air where her head had been. He remembered spending agonizing minutes scrutinizing a cold, merciless face for the barest hint of a smile, the barest chance to escape pain for himself and death for others. Then he remembered years and years before, when he got a lonely, damaged demigod to open up to him without even trying.

"So…what that guy said…um," his words stumbled over themselves. Hercules gave him an impatient side-glance as the two stood with crossed arms watching the combat floor. Iolaus stuttered an apology, "sorry…still trying to get used to the whole, Son of Zeus thing…pretty incredible and just…phew, a lot to take in, you know?" he breathed, full of wonder. Iolaus had always been super religious. In a world as destitute as this, it felt good to at least believe in a better afterlife. He pointed a cautious finger at Hercules' arm and gently poked the hard brown muscle. "I mean, are you even real?"

Hercules' mouth cracked into a reluctant smirk. Without answering, he turned back to watching the cadets lay into each other with iron poles. Undeterred, Iolaus continued, "Well, anyway, Boskos said…did people give you a hard time too, when you first came here?"

A faint snarl clawed its way up the other boy's face. "More like they were just pains in my butt at first. They were jealous, scared of me…hated me, didn't trust me as far as I could throw them. A mob of sniveling mortals clawing and snarling at me. I wasn't sure how to handle them until Cheiron encouraged me to break a few bones, maim a few of the more persistent idiots. He said that the ones that last until mid-term are always the strongest, the ones worth keeping. Said he didn't care how I culled the weakest ones."

Iolaus felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. "Is Boskos the first guy you…that you…"

"No."

"Ah. Um…"

Hercules looked at him. He was almost grinning in a feral sort of way, although his eyes were strangely lifeless. "You aren't gonna throw up again, are you?"

Iolaus took a deep, shaky breath. "Hope not…but then again, breakfast was so bad I guess it might be a good thing."

Hercules chuckled and threw an arm around his neck, crushing Iolaus' face to his chest as he rapidly ran his knuckles through Iolaus' hair. "Don't let the cook hear that…he might make you peel potatoes for a month…with your teeth."

Like most things his new friend said, Iolaus wasn't sure whether he was serious or joking. It was always safest to assume the former, however. "Uh…right. I'll keep that in mind. I like my teeth where they are."

Hercules chuckled again before abruptly releasing him and striding away towards the cadet quarters. Iolaus raced after him. "Do you bleed like we do?" Iolaus called, desperate to keep up a conversation and stay under Hercules' protection zone.

An arm collided with his Adam's apple and pushed up against his chin, lifting him up against the wall with a thud before he even had time to yelp. Choking and panicking, he stared down at the now wild, almost feral blue eyes of the demigod.

Hercules' other hand was clenched into a fist Iolaus was just waiting for him to use. "They said the same thing, very first day I came here. Is that what you're after, huh? You wanna find out if I can bleed or not? Got a dagger for the trick, waiting until I'm asleep?!"

"N-no…why would I…" Iolaus coughed. He felt that breakfast coming up again, his abused stomach well-used to losing control of itself by now. His hands scrabbled in vain against the limb of iron that sealed up his windpipe.

"Why?" Hercules began to laugh. But it was more of a hiccupping, sobbing laugh. "Why not? Who wouldn't give their last dinar to bring the head of Hercules, Son of Zeus, to Cheiron? Who wouldn't die for the fame of it? Who'd give a chance in Hades for my life if they had a chance to take it?!"

Iolaus felt a darkness roaring in his ears. He kicked forward, his booted foot once more hitting the exact right spot. Hercules gave a sudden groan of agony as he dropped Iolaus and stumbled back, doubled over.

Iolaus knew he had to act suddenly and quickly. He darted forward and, with quick, skilful hands, snatched Hercules' dagger out of his belt. He held it in a shaking fist, waiting until Hercules had composed himself.

The teenager finally looked up and the red-hot rage that blinded his eyes was enough to make Iolaus want to disappear. Instead, he made sure Hercules saw the dagger in his hands and then threw it away with a clatter. "I would," he said slowly, forcing his voice to go deep like his father's. "I'd give a chance in Hades. I don't need fame, or riches, or comfort. I just need a friend. A friend for life and you...you've got some serious anger issues, but you'll do." He paused, barely daring to breathe at the audacity of his last statement.

The red tinge slowly faded until Hercules stood before him, panting, drained, his blue eyes wide and staring with a vulnerable wonder that almost made him look his age. Iolaus still felt the heat of adrenalin pumping through his veins, the pride of choosing fight over flight. He waited.

"You…" Hercules shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the other cadet. "You're…impossible." He turned and quickly walked down the hallway, almost fast enough to run.

That wasn't what he expected. Iolaus ran after him. Hercules turned and, with a squawk, Iolaus collided with his chest. Borne over backwards, Hercules flung out a hand and used a pillar to straighten himself. With the other, he grabbed Iolaus by the throat. Iolaus could breathe this time though, so that was an improvement. The demigod's blue eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Iolaus' pointy features. "What are you?" he murmured, "You're like how I used to think people were…you're weird."

Iolaus swallowed thickly, trying to make another joke. "Is it that weird that someone wouldn't want to kill you?"

"My dad built me a labyrinth for the insane and never spoke to me again. My so called mother abandoned me on the streets as a baby and ran off with some human horse dung from Sparta. All my life, people said I was stupid, too big, a mutt, a mixed breed…I told them Zeus was my father, and they called me a liar!" he hissed.

Iolaus blinked against Hercules' moist breath. He cracked open his eyes. "Well, I didn't do any of that and I don't really plan to…can you let my throat go?"

Hercules' fingers opened wide. Iolaus stumbled and then rubbed at his neck, staring at his new friend. Hercules still looked as unstable as a Hydra in the rain, so Iolaus decided to talk some more. It was a pretty peaceful, non-aggressive way of saying, "we're breathing the same air right now and I know you're here and I am not attacking you in any way whatsoever". Note the emphasis on whatsoever.

"My dad…" he licked his dry lips, trying to formulate a part of his life he'd never explained to anybody, not even himself. "My dad wasn't the sweetest old cookie in the world either. Took up all the space by the fire, drank away the money, beat the dog, beat my mother, beat me. I left home to get away from him. And…I know how it feels to hate your father, never want to see him again…but still miss him, miss him like a fire burning in your chest."

Hercules seemed to stop breathing. He stared at Iolaus, massaging his chest with a fist as if he could feel the fire there and couldn't bear to stop moving or else he'd lose control completely "My dad's insane," he said finally, his fingers white as they clenched his shirt front, "he built me a labyrinth that drives people crazy…what kind of dad is that?"

Iolaus took an impulsive step forward, forgetting how keyed-up Hercules was. The other boy shifted back, his fist shooting forward into a defensive, threatening position. Iolaus swallowed. "I dunno…I dunno what a father is. They're never there for you. But whatever Zeus is…you owe him nothing. You don't owe anything to anybody. You don't have to impress the cadets or Cheiron or even me…you're a person and you deserve a good life and a good future. I want you to have that. Your happiness is somewhere…you just have to go find it."

Something strange fluttered in Hercules' eyes. His eyelids drooped as if to hide that strange fluttering and he smiled disbelievingly, shaking his head. "What are you doing here, Iolaus?" he asked, finally, "What are you doing in this gods-damned world?"

"Same thing my dad said, when they handed me to him," Iolaus chuckled, choking sadly on his own joke.

"Yeah," Hercules huffed with laughter. And for an unbelievable moment, he was a complete, simple, wonderful human being. A teenager. A person. His blue eyes glowed strangely at Iolaus, burning with a vulnerable fire of possibility and connection and belief.

And then a hand latched onto Iolaus' shoulder. Next moment, Iolaus found himself barely able to keep his feet as he ran after Hercules, clutching uselessly at his clothes, trying to slow him down. "Herc! What…?!"

They pelted through the hall, the demigod's powerful limbs nearly dragging him face first along the tiles. Through the hot, dusty courtyard, with its dull clack of weapons and murmuring chatter of students.

Then over the great wooden threshold, dark with bloodstains and marred by magic curses. Iolaus felt himself slung forward and he tumbled head over heels onto the white dust of the road leading to Cheiron's Academy.

His knees and elbows were bruised as he sat up, golden curls in his face and unspeakably furious as he whipped his hair back with a sharp jerk of his head. "Herc! What are you doing?!"

Hercules stood stiff and tall, holding onto a door with each hand. He glared down at Iolaus with a slow, contemptuous smirk. "You, a warrior," he scoffed, "you don't belong here, curly. You don't belong with cutthroats and murderers and dictators and mixed up bastards with plans of world domination. You said my happiness was out there…" he let go a moment and pointed at the horizon behind Iolaus' head, "I'm not ready to leave here yet. But you are…so follow your own advice. Go find yours."

Iolaus scrambled up and pelted forward, hoping to dive under Hercules' legs and make it back inside. He wasn't quite sure why he wanted to or what he'd do if he actually succeeded. He only knew he didn't want to leave Hercules. Not now. Not when they might actually have a chance at being friends, at healing. He wanted to help the kid.

But those warm feelings were quickly doused by a wicked kick to his stomach. He doubled over, coughing.

"Go find it, Iolaus!" he heard Hercules roar. And then, much lower and softer, "You'll live longer."

With a low rumble and then a muffle boom, the great doors swung to and shut Iolaus out, leaving him alone, kneeling in the dry dust outside.

Zylon had been safely expelled from the Academy by Hercules. He'd gone too far, drugging Jason's food and physically threatening several of the older kids. Finally, a tattoo on his chest revealed him to be one of the black-clad assassins who'd tried to kill Hercules, Jason, and Iolaus on their way to the Academy in the first place. With stern justice and the unbeatable power of his fists as an unspoken backup, the mighty Hercules had let off the monster and all his followers with a simple warning: Don't come back.

There was a literal party taking place in the great hall. Iolaus had liberated several baskets of sweets from the kitchen and all the toddlers were sitting on benches and stools and buckets, munching them. Iolaus sat cross-legged in the middle of a table, his cheeks full of pastry as he tried not to smile at the children's antics.

Terepton suddenly scrambled onto the table beside him. Unconsciously shifting his leg to avoid jelly-hands, Iolaus watched the kid swallow with difficulty what looked like an entire pie. Terepton burped a little, setting off a sea of giggling as he raised a messy fist into the air. "Down with bullies!"

The kids answered in a roaring chorus of affirmation. At least, what little got through their pastry mouths sounded like Greek. Iolaus slapped Terepton's knee gently. "You know, this is a good thing. This is really good. But Hercules isn't the only guy who can fight bullies."

"Who else can?" the question floated towards him from several voices.

Iolaus dusted off his hands and pointed. "Who? I'll tell you who. You can."

"But…" a little girl looked up timidly, her face blank with old fear, "they'll hurt us."

Iolaus' mouth tightened. He wanted to get up and envelope her in his arms, protect her from it all; protect her from the struggle he knew so well. "Yeah," he said softly, "but you know what? If you do what they say, they'll hurt you anyway. If you just do everything they tell you and take the lickings without complaint…"

He stopped, realizing he wasn't talking to just the toddlers. A few of the older children were watching him, pretending not to because they didn't respect him at all…but watching, all the same. He swallowed, formulating his words more carefully. "You think it might ease off after a few days, after a few years…but it never stops. Never."

Hercules silently stepped up behind Iolaus. He casually leaned an arm against a pillar, but his sky-blue eyes were bright and piercing as he listened carefully to the Jester's words. Unaware, Iolaus continued, "Once they know that you'll knuckle under to avoid the pain, once they know you're under their thumb, they'll keep on pounding you for as long and as hard as they like it. And for bullies, that means forever."

"And if we fight back," a tall, wiry teenager asked suddenly, raising his voice a little to be heard from the other table, "and get killed?"

Iolaus tried to laugh, but it came out more like a choked whimper in his throat, an aborted attempt at a cough. "The-that's what separates the…the cowards," without even realizing he was doing it, his powdered hand gestured at his own chest, "from the heroes." He jabbed his thumb at Jason, Lilith, and where he assumed Hercules was, at the other side of the dining hall and out of earshot. He took a deep breath and then shrugged nonchalantly, seeming to wipe the trail of thought away, "They know which is more important to them…being safe, or being alive."

The kids went quiet. Hercules' forehead wrinkled sadly and his hand went out. It halted just above the Jester's shoulder, hesitated, and then moved away as the demigod slowly left.

Hellespoint Cave. Worst place in the known world to be if you have any common sense or any plans for the future. If you're a comedian with a healthy talent for acrobatics and you're okay with running for your life from a tough crowd once or twice a week, than it's actually a pretty good place to start out.

Just to start out, though. Don't stay longer than you have to.

And, Iolaus reflected as he stood in the center of the stage, breathing heavily to the music of a sullen, silent crowd of mercenaries, he just might have done exactly that.

A big, ugly brute with a ripped nose and a belt studded with spikes and axes slowly stood up, a snarl curling his lips. Iolaus swore he could see the guy's rancid mead-breath curling from between his stubbly lips like steam on a cold morning. "What the Hades was that?" the guy flipped a table to prove his point, "I've seen corpses with more life in them!"

"Ah, and did these corpses die from your conversation or from your breath?" Iolaus' blue eyes dart around; vainly hoping his daring jest has garnered sympathy from the crowd. Apart from a few timid chuckles, he could see that he hadn't. The customers were more excited about seeing him ripped limb from limb while they finished their dinners.

He bit his lip, bowing and grinning madly, all the while getting ready to run like Io and the Gadfly all the way to Egypt. The big guy, understandably furious, began forging his way towards the stage. Even the floorboards creaked in agony under him, while his meaty arms slowly pulled a huge axe from his belt and he shook it menacingly.

Suddenly, a hand latched onto the axe handle. Out of the thick darkness of the tavern, a figure stepped out, just as tall if not taller than the brute. It was a man dressed in black leather with a sharp brown beard and eyes like blue fire. He leaned into the other guy's face challengingly. "I think he's funny," he growled.

Next moment, the brute went sailing towards the wall and continued on through it, the sound of wood cracking into shards and the smell of blood and dirt rising into the dim air causing several of the sleepier patrons to look up for a moment.

No one else dared move. The newcomer crossed his arms and stared straight at Iolaus. The tip of his mouth curved upwards. "Hey, curly, remember me?"

Iolaus' Jester Doll went limp as he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. But those eyes were unmistakable…two pairs like them would never come in the same lifetime. "Hercules?" he gasped.

Hercules nodded approvingly. "Right. Come outside…we need to talk."

Iolaus lightly jumped down off the stage and threaded his way around the tables, following that giant form. He was a man himself now, but still shorter than most people. Hercules, by contrast, was now taller than most people, and twice as broad. His massive biceps absorbed most of Iolaus' attention as they passed outside…he couldn't believe they were the same arms that belonged to the same wiry kid he'd once known.

There was a complete squad of soldiers waiting for them. Their uniforms were the same black-leather-and-metal style as Hercules' clothes, and they all sat sullenly on their horses, glaring at him. Iolaus raised an eyebrow and gestured mildly. "Yours?"

Hercules glanced over his shoulder dismissively. "Yeah. I've been recruiting in this district for a month now."

"Recruiting? Guess you've graduated, then."

That was kind of a stupid comment, but Iolaus really didn't know what else to say. Hercules just threw his head back and laughed. It was a little bit like old times. Iolaus grinned. The mercenaries chuckled dutifully.

When he'd recovered himself, Hercules slapped a heavy hand on Iolaus' shoulder. "So, how'd you like a job?"

"A job?" Iolaus stammered, "I…well that's very generous of you, Herc, but we just…well, what kind of job?"

Hercules grinned and cuffed him. Both his shoulder and scalp were now stinging, but Iolaus just told himself, 'he doesn't know his own strength', and let it go. The demigod suddenly bustled him towards a riderless horse. "Knew you couldn't resist. Get on and I'll take you to see it…my castle."

"Your what?" Iolaus gasped as he felt himself boosted up into the air. By the time he'd steadied himself and gotten a hold of the saddle, the horse had already started off. Iolaus quieted down and decided to, literally, go along for the ride.

"You weren't actually talking about Zylon, were you."

The question, simple and straightforward, startled Iolaus out of his wits. He nearly dropped the armful of scrolls he was carrying to the preschool room. "What?" he asked quickly, turning towards what he knew would be Hercules.

"Earlier, your spirited advice on bullying," Hercules uncrossed his arms and came to stand just beyond arm's length. It was a tactic he'd developed long ago, trying not to tower over a short friend. His face had that gentle, solemn look on it, the one Iolaus had never seen before on another person. "You were talking about me…the Sovereign."

The Sovereign.

Why did all the scrolls choose that moment to come unraveled and roll out of his arms? Both men seemed relieved by the interruption, smiling and apologizing meaninglessly as they bent down and snatched them all up again. Standing, they began slowly walking towards the schoolroom. There was silence.

"I never fought him," Iolaus said finally, staring straight ahead, "your Iolaus did that."

"Doesn't mean you're a coward…and it certainly doesn't mean you have to keep blaming yourself for it."

"No, I should just pretend it never happened," Iolaus said bitterly.

"You don't have to 'pretend' anything!" Hercules scolded him, his voice getting sharp, "As long as you wallow in your cowardice, you'll always be a coward. You could be a hero…you are a hero!" He added, turning Iolaus around roughly by the shoulder in frustration. He was desperate to stop a decent man from destroying himself.

"Yeah? To who?" Iolaus shouted angrily, yanking away.

"To those kids!" Hercules yelled, pointed at the door.

At the sound of his rage, so like another man's, Iolaus flinched briefly. But then, inexplicably, he retorted, "Yeah, kids I knew were being abused by Zylon…and I didn't say a word. I didn't even help them."

Hercules quieted down, watching the Jester's face carefully. "You gave them hope," he replied, "and right now you're giving me as much lip as my Iolaus ever did. You're as stubborn and bullheaded as he is. I have the face and voice of the Sovereign…and you're fighting me."

Iolaus looked stunned. Pleased with himself, Hercules dumped his load of scrolls into the Jester's arms. "Go on. Those kids are waiting for their hero."

Iolaus turned to go inside. Then, he halted and looked up at the demigod. His blue eyes were bright with pain and memory, long years burning in every scar on his body. "The Sovereign wasn't always the Sovereign, you know."

Knowing what he was trying to say, Hercules nodded sadly, hurt at what he might have become, hurt at what he might have done to his best friend.

Iolaus bit his lip. "I called him Herc once, a lifetime ago."

Silence. Iolaus noiselessly footed the door open and went inside. Hercules remained outside, almost standing guard as he wondered at the strange friend who was not his friend and yet so completely was his friend.

Iolaus' face was bright red, his voice hoarse from screaming as he watched an old woman's head roll off the block, bloody and twisted by fear. He fell onto his hands and knees as someone picked it up and tossed it into a growing pile.

The Sovereign merely laughed, reaching down to haul Iolaus off the floor by his shirt. "You're not gonna be sick, are you?" He scanned Iolaus' face briefly before grinning like a wolf. "Some things never change, do they, old buddy?"

He turned and began dragging Iolaus after him. Unspeakably grateful to leave the carnage, Iolaus nevertheless had the presence of mind to try and reach the Sovereign. "Please, please Herc…"

"Sovereign," a hand yanked his collar tight, choking off his voice for a moment, "call me Sovereign from now on."

"Sovereign…" Iolaus gasped, "Please…I wanna quit. Hades, I don't even want to sign up…just let me go. You don't have to pay me anything…"

"Pay?" the Sovereign interrupted him, "Who said anything about pay?" Several of the guards laughed in unison with their leader. "Let me show you your, eh…quarters. Designed em myself."

"I'm not a slave!" Iolaus grated out.

The Sovereign sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Does no one read all the proclamations I put out?! And you wonder why everyone's surprised when I have them executed!" He bent his head at Iolaus mockingly; mad blue eyes less than inches away. "Or enslaved. Speaking of which…"

Iolaus felt himself shoved forward roughly. He spun against a wall, his skull colliding with marble. By the time he'd cleared his vision, the ringing in his ears was disturbed by the dull clang of a heavy door being shut and locked.

Iolaus raced forward, grabbing the bars and yanking them fiercely. In the cold corridor beyond, there was no one to be seen. "WHY ME?!" He roared at the emptiness, suddenly white hot with rage, "WHY?!"

The Sovereign's face suddenly shifted into view. For the first time since the madness began, his eyes and his voice were calm and quiet, almost eerily so. He looked over Iolaus, taking in the wide, horrified eyes, the disheveled hair, the heavy breathing, but most of all the anger burning feebly in his face. His mouth pulled into a faint, reluctant smile. "Cause you're the only friend I've ever had."

Stunned, Iolaus could only stand there helplessly and watch him walk away.

"Hey!" Iolaus cried, shaking his frying pan until the bacon screeched in boiling-oil agony, "Wake up, Herc, and enjoy your last decent breakfast before we go."

Hercules slowly sat up, blinking at him. Trying to hide his surprise at Iolaus' sudden good mood, he said, "I will never…not be surprised at what a morning person you are."

Iolaus rolled his eyes. "And the other guy wasn't. I know. But he didn't cook as well as I did, right?"

"Are you kidding?" Hercules took a sniff and quickly threw the blankets off as Iolaus began taking all that good food back to the dining hall of the Academy. "He didn't cook at all, or I wouldn't be here today."

"Yeah, well if you don't get up, the kids are gonna get it first."

"Don't you dare…hey! Hey that's my breakfast!" Hercules cried, pointing a warning finger after him as he stumbled over the blankets.

Iolaus threw back a daring grin, "Try and catch it then, big guy! I'm an acrobat from Hellespoint, remember? I can be a hero some days, but I can run faster than any coward alive!"

"Best of both worlds?" Hercules finally managed to get free and lunged after him.

Iolaus easily twisted away and took off down the halls, narrowly dodging Jason and Lilith. He laughed aloud, finally feeling free to forgive his old self and accept his new self, to forgive the old Hercules and accept the new one. To go out and find his happiness, wherever it was waiting. "The best of everything!" he called back, before performing a perfect mid-air tumble into the dining hall, to the applause of everyone.

FINIS