Oh, yes, hello. Remember me? I'm not dead. I was just busy with school and getting grounded and going to Florida and church camp and a young writer's workshop. We had a character development class and created a one-armed, blue-haired penguin farmer named Chuck. I think Felix would like him.

Anyway…no, Uncle Rick, I'm not stealing your characters. I'm only borrowing them. I'll put them back in the box when I'm done playing. Promise.

O-o-O

If there was one thing Walt respected about Carter, it was that little shit could fight his way out of just about anything. Which was why he was standing in complete shock with no clue as to how he could possibly be seeing his mentor, dead on the ground after a lightning strike.

It wasn't like Carter hadn't been hit with worse things than lightning. He'd been in the presence of the Lord of Chaos and been just fine. He'd cast impossible spells and defeated unbeatable gods.

Granted, a lightning strike straight to the heart was taxing, but even regular mortals had survived those. So what the fuck did Carter think he was doing, dying like that?

Sadie gave a horrible, strangled moan, dropping her knees and pressing her ear to her brother's chest, right over the spot where his heartbeat should have been. Walt crouched down, rubbing her back and praying to whichever gods would listen to please, please do something.

Nothing happened, except for a damp patch appearing on Carter's shirt from Sadie crying. His eyes didn't move from their blank stare into the sky. His lips stayed pale and bloodless. Walt reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Sadie's face and accidentally bumped Carter's unmoving chest. His skin was still warm.

He heard shouts from the crowd, and Zia pushed her way through. She looked awful. She was limping, her ankle twisted, and there was blood running into her eyes from a gash on her forehead. Zia wasn't crying. Zia was pissed. "C'est des connenes!" she snapped, which was when Walt knew to stay out of her way. She didn't swear much, and never in English—she'd had too many years of yelling at Desjardins for that.

Zia pushed Sadie back as she crouched over Carter, cupping his chin like she was going to try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, which was not at all what she did. Instead, she yelled, "CARTER KANE, YOU WAKE UP RIGHT NOW!" and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

Walt had learned to expect the unexpected when dealing with those two, but he was still floored when Carter yelped and opened his eyes, gasping for air as color returned to his face. Sadie almost fainted in Walt's arms. Zia muttered, "That's what I thought," then proceeded to sit back on her heels, bury her face in her hands, and cry.

"Wh-what?" Carter stammered. "Was I just—" he looked down at the damp patch Sadie's crying had left on his chest. "Who snotted all over my shirt?" Then he pointed at Zia, saying, "And you—did you—" Finally, seemingly unable to form a coherent thought, he pressed his hand to his cheek and muttered, "Ow."

Sadie wiped the tears from her cheeks and tackle-hugged him, muttering, "You are so whipped."

"Am not," he protested, squeezing her back.

Seemingly reassured that her brother was really alive, Sadie detached herself from him so that he could sit up.

Carter reached out to pull one of Zia's hands away from her face, murmuring, "Hey, I'm fine." He frowned and said, "You're bleeding."

"T'es vraiment trop con," she sniffed.

"That's just rude," he said, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her.

She buried her face in his neck and muttered, "Jem'en fous."

Whatever she'd said, Carter seemed to find it funny.

As it turned out, Zia's ankle prevented her from walking far enough to get to a portal, so Julian tried helping her limp along but ended up carrying her, since he was several inches taller than her. Carter was in only marginally better shape, being recently dead and all. Still, at least they both managed to make it through the portal and stagger to a couch before they passed out.

Jaz fixed Zia's ankle and got her head to stop bleeding, and eventually decided there wasn't anything to do for Carter except let him sleep.

Walt stayed downstairs for most of the night, partially because Jaz had asked him to keep an eye on Carter and Zia in case they woke up, partially because he really didn't feel like dragging himself upstairs to lie awake in his bed when he was already fairly comfortable in his chair.

Two-thirty a.m. rolled around, and his bed was starting to sound more inviting, or maybe it was just the idea of a pillow. Besides, it looked like Zia really was out for the night and Carter didn't seem to be in immediate danger of dying again, so he just decided to go upstairs and sleep.

*#*#*

Carter woke up with a splitting headache and no clue what time it was.

The time thing wasn't too hard to figure out; his watch told him that it was just after four in the morning. As for the headache, he hoped it would just go away.

Zia was passed out next to him—or rather, halfway on top of him, since it was a small couch. Her head was resting on his shoulder, both of her arms wound around his torso. Her breath tickled his neck a little.

He tried to sit up, but Zia stirred a little, her arms tightening around him and her eyebrows furrowing. Her grip relaxed as her eyes fluttered open, accompanied by a soft sigh.

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Zia stared out the windows. Carter stared at Zia. Finally he said, "Thanks for bringing me back."

She sat up, saying, "Don't make me do it again. I didn't particularly enjoy hitting you."

"No worries, I don't have plans to die again anytime soon," he promised her.

"Not funny, Carter." Her eyes were wet. "Not funny at all. I thought—I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you, okay?"

He reached up and cupped her chin. "I'm here now, Zia. I'm fine. You're not losing me." He sat up and kissed her.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around his neck and sliding into his lap. He rested one of his hands on her hip, tracing down her spine with the other.

"Carter," she murmured, breaking free of his grasp, "no. I am not going to be responsible for giving you another heart attack."

She had a valid point; his pulse was thudding wildly in his ears. Zia stretched out on the couch again, resting her warm hand over his thudding heart, and as he played with her hair he decided that if he died (again) this very moment, he would be perfectly content.

O-o-O

For those of you who don't speak French:

C'est des connenes: This is bullshit

T'es vraiment trop con: You're a fucking idiot

Jem'en fous: I don't give a fuck

What can I say, Zia was not a Hapi camper.