Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ram closed his eyes and pretended to be unconscious as he was dragged to the empty cell next to the policemans. He stayed limp even as they dumped him on the ground, holding back a wince at the treatment.

“Hey! Hey, why are you bringing him here?” the cop protested. “Hey, he’s just an old man, do you kill old men now? Hey!”

So the grey hair dye was a success. He’d told Bheem that was all he really needed. That and a pair of glasses.

The rowdies dumped him on the floor and left, locking the door behind him.

Ram gave it two minutes, then groaned, pretending to regain consciousness.

“Hey, hey take it easy Babai.” said the policeman, coming closer to the bars so he could talk to him. “Are you all right?”

“I think so…” Ram leaned up against his own bars, squinting about as if confused. “...Where is this?”

“Oh, just the place where we’re going to die.” said the other man lightly. He was about Ram’s height, wearing a blue linen shirt, jeans, and a black hoodie. He was holding his ribs and trying not to wince.

Ram nodded at his hand. “Are you hurt betta?”

The man shrugged, then cursed. “Broken collarbone, some cracked ribs, and I...think my right arms dislocated. Nothing that’ll kill me, no that’ll be the bullets of whoever it is that’s kidnapped me...”

“What’s your name?”

The man grinned. “What, you don’t recognize this face?” He turned this way and that. “I do think my left side is my best, what do you think?”

Ram hmmed non-comentally.

“Well I’m SI Daya, police.”

“Oh? Am I supposed to have heard of you?” he answered, raising an eyebrow.

Daya looked at him in shock and a little hurt. “I’m the one who got those rapists on death row! Saved that family from a burning building? Single handedly brought down Boss Joe and his rowdies?”

Ram shrugged. “Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I can’t believe this.” the younger man muttered.

There was silence for a moment as Daya paced back and forth. “I’m sorry they brought you here babi. They had no right to do so.”

He looked at him, frowning. “Why did they take you anyway?”

“I ask too many questions apparently.” said Ram with a shrug. It was true. After they had done reconnaissance on the old prison, Ram had walked up to the guards and said ‘So, is this where the policeman is being held?’ That had done the trick.

Daya sighed sadly. “You don’t deserve any of this sir. If I could get you out of here, I would.”

Ram shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.” the cop protested.

“There’s no need to take on any responsibility for my fate.” said Ram. “I’m the only one responsible for my being here.”

“If my arm wasn’t dislocated, or I had my lockpicks...I might be able to get us both out.” Daya grabbed one of the bars to the door, pulling on it, before falling back, frustrated.

“Careful, you’ll only exacerbate your injuries.” Ram cautioned. Daya huffed. “That doesn’t matter now! If we don’t get out, we’re going to die.”

“You know,” said Ram “...This reminds me of a story I once heard...would you like to hear it?”

Daya laughed, then rolled his eyes. “A story? Of course, go ahead babai.”

“I heard this from an American, so I’ll tell it in English.” Ram sat up and cleared his throat.

“A man is walking along a road when he falls into a hole. It’s very deep, and the sides are sheer. He can’t climb out of it. After a while, a priest walks by. ‘Father, please help me!’ says the man. The priest writes a prayer on a piece of paper, throws it into the hole and keeps walking. After a while, a doctor walks by. ‘Sir! Sir, please help me!’ The doctor writes him a prescription, throws it down the hole, and walks on. Then the man sees a friend of his. ‘Anna, can you help me out of here?’ To his surprise, his friend jumps down into the hole. The man looked at him astonished. ‘Why did you do that, now we’re both down here!’ His friend smiles. ‘Yes, but I’ve been here before and I know the way out.’ ”

“Very touching story,” Daya said sarcastically. “Something to warm myself with when-” he broke off.

“Hey...hey Babai??...where did you go??”

Ram wasn’t in his cell anymore. He’d picked the lock five seconds ago, and was just finishing up picking the lock on Daya’s cell. Ram nodded to him with a smile.

“You see, I’ve been here before. And I know the way out.”

Daya was staring at him, and while Ram relishes having made the talkative young man speechless, he needs for them to move. Of course, before that-

“We need to fix that arm.” he said, pointing to the dislocated arm.

“Well unless you have any experience in-” Daya let out a choked off scream as Ram firmly sized his arm, and popped it back into the socket.

“Shit...I guess you do.” he said, panting.

Ram nodded to him, patting him comfortingly on his good shoulder. “Come on, the exit is this way.”

“You didn’t get here by accident, did you?” said Daya, holding onto his still sore arm.

He looked back at him, then shook his head. “No...I was looking for you.”

“Why?” the man protested. “I’m just a piece of shit who’s made too many mistakes in life.”

Ram turned to him. “You’re making up for them now. And a friend of mine is worried about your well-being.”

“Oh? Some long lost relative?” Daya snarked.

“Something like that.” said Ram vaguely.

It was at that moment that they rounded a corner and saw one of the hired guns at the same time he saw them. Without any hesitation, the man lifted his gun to fire, but Ram quickly put himself between the bullet and Daya, just as the gun went off. He was hit squarely in the chest, and bit back a cry as he fell to the ground.

“No!” Daya dropped to his knees, ripping off his hoodie and putting it over the wound.

“...You don’t have to do that.” Ram said, coughing up blood.

“Just...just stay still, you’re going to be fine!” Daya said. Ram winced, pushing him away as he started to stand, feeling the familiar, unnatural sensation of the bullet being pushed out by his healing body. He started walking towards the shooter, slow and steady. Wide eyed, the man fired again. The first bullet had taken him by surprise, this time, Ram winced, and kept walking towards him. The man fired, hitting him in the heart this time. Ram grunted and went to one knee briefly, then got back up, grabbing the gun away from the man. “Thanks.” he said with a smile, before turning it around and firing it. The shooters dead body hit the floor, still looking surprised.

He looked back over his shoulder at Daya, who was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Come on.”

“...I can’t believe I ruined my hoodie for nothing!” Daya muttered as he passed by the body.

“So...You can’t die?” said Daya after a while.

Ram shrugged, making a face as drying blood made his shirt stick to him unpleasantly. “I can, I just don’t know when. Until I do die, I can’t die. Do you understand?”

Daya shook his head. “That is...far too complex for me!”

Ram sighed. “Fine. I’m immortal.”

Daya grinned wide, all boyish wonder for a moment. “Wow! Like ‘Highlander’, right? Do you have a sword? Have you chopped many heads off?”

Ram put a hand over his face. “This is why I don’t tell people.” he muttered to himself, only half joking.

“So, have you ever drowned?”

He paused. A woman, drowning. Her hands and feet hammering at her iron coffin...“...No. I know someone who has though.”

“How about lava, have you ever tried walking on lava?”

Ram frowned at him, puzzled. “What? Why would I do that??”

“Because you can?” said Daya, smiling with a shrug.

Ram sighed. “Look, kid-”

“Kid??” said Daya, looking insulted. Ram waved away his concerns.

“Hush. Consider this. The ghost pepper is the hottest pepper known to humanity. It has the Scoville rating of 1,041, 427. But just because it’s possible to eat it, does that mean everyone does?”

Daya thought about it, frowning. “….That’s true.” he said slowly.

“Just because something isn’t going to kill you doesn’t mean you’re in a hurry to experience it.” said Ram. “For example, I’ve never been boiled in acid.”

Daya shuddered at the mental image, and then they kept moving.

“I am sorry about your family, I’m an orphan myself.” said Ram eventually. They were nearly at the entrance to the jail.

“How did you know that about me sir?” said Daya, frowning at him.

Ram shrugged. “I do my research.”

They moved further towards the front of the old jail.

“I’m sorry about your parents sir.” said Daya after a while.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’. Ram is just fine. And thank you.”

“Ram?”

Ram cursed. Oh how Bheem would laugh if he was here now. The great, secretive Ram

telling all to a virtual stranger.

“That’s what my friends call me anyway.” he amended.

“And your enemies?”

“The dead don’t give people names.” he said with a shrug.

Daya scoffed. “Pretty conceited ra.”

Ram stopped, and turned to look at the other man, scowling. “Don’t talk like that!” he snapped. “You sound like some teenager trying to impress someone.”

“Um...sorry sir.” said Daya, looking away.

“Ram.” Ram emphasised.

“..Sorry Ram. I raised myself, so my manners aren’t...very good.” Daya was still not looking at him, and Ram felt a pang of regret. In so many ways, this man was still just a lonely boy looking for approval, he had been too quick to snap at him.

Ram gently put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey...don’t look down kid, I’m not any better than you.” Daya looked back up, meeting his eyes, giving him a small smile. Ram smiled, nodding. “That’s more like it.”

Daya smirked. “You’re a strange one old man.”

Ram shrugged. “That’s probably true of most old men. I’m sorry for snapping at you, I’m far too quick to judge others. An old, bad habit of mine.”

“So you’re-”

They had turned another bend in the seemingly unending warren that was the old jail...and come upon a virtual firing squad blocking the entrance. Fully armed with automatic rifles.

Ram sighed. This was going to hurt.

He turned and grabbed Daya, throwing him to the ground and covering as much of his body with his as possible before the gang opened fire.

He felt his head explode from a bullet, his lung deflate, his ribs broken and limbs shattered from the force of the firepower. He wondered, with what was left of him, if this was it?

Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Slowly, flesh closed over wounds, tissue and bones grew back.

Which is when they started firing again.

Ram was in an extended state of pain and renewal, suspended in the horrible sunless moment just before death, a wire stretched to the breaking point but never snapping...

The warrior. The crusaders. The drowned. The soldier. Blue eyes, brown eyes, looking for him, trying to find him...

Briefly, he was aware of someone leaning on him, a gun going off again and again. Slowly, the firing stopped, and he came back to himself.

“Hey, hey, you still here old man?”

Ram nodded slowly. “...I am.” He rolled onto his back and shut his eyes against the pain. “I’m just going to...catch my breath for a moment.”

He could hear the cop getting closer, and felt him gently lift his head, cushioning it with something soft. “Don’t worry anna, take your time.”

He nodded slowly, closing his eyes again. “Thanks…”

After a few more minutes, his wounds had healed enough that he could sit up, and then stand.

He did so, groaning, then looked the bodies of the dead shooters approvingly. Each one had been killed with a single shot. “Well...I’m glad to see you know the value of a bullet.” he smiled at Daya. The policeman just looked at him, frowning. “That’s interesting…” he said slowly.

“What is?”

“Your hair was grey, but now it’s black."

Ah. So his natural hair colour had returned. That must have happened when his skull grew back.

"And without your glasses...” Daya paused. “I’m sorry if you’ve been told this before,” he said slowly. “But, do you know you look a lot like Alluri Ramma Raju?”

Ram, who was coming up on his 126^th birthday, smiled knowingly. “You don’t say.”

Daya’s eyes widened. “Are you..?”

Ram shrugged, then winked. “Maybe?”

He looked down at the blood on the floor. There were patterns, absences that were easy to read. “These bloodstains..it seems like…” He looked at the other man. “Did you use me as cover?”

Daya brought his hand up to salute, winced as the forgotten broken collarbone made its presence known, and sheepishly lowered it. “Ah...yes sir, Ram, I did.”

Ram nodded in approval, giving him a slight smile. “Good idea.”

There were sounds from outside, shouts and car doors being slammed. “That’ll be your men. I called your station in Vizag before I showed up.”

Daya looked stunned. “Sir….why did you save me?”

Ram smiled softly at him, then took him gently by the shoulders. “Daya…you may not think your life is worth much. But trust me koduku...it matters a great deal to some.”

He turned to go.

“Mr. Alluri, sir!”

He looked back at Daya, who swallowed. “I never knew my family...but..” He paused, then continued. “But...I’d like to.”

Ram smiled slowly, nodding. “You’re a very perceptive young man Daya...I’ll pass that along.”

Ram quickly left by a side door, getting into the car that was concealed there. “Drive please!” he said when he got in. Bheem nodded to him with a wink, smiling. “As you say anna!”

They took off, slowly at first, and then gaining speed once they were away. Bheem looked over at him. “Daya, is he well?”

Ram nodded. “He is. Some broken ribs and a collar bone, but he’ll be all-right.”

Then winced. “I had to take several bullets though...and he saw me healing up.”

Bheem hummed noncommittally. Ram looked at him and sighed. “Go ahead.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.” said Bheem, all innocence.

“Are you really going to pretend that you’re not holding back from saying ‘I told you so?’ I said I’d be able to extract him with a minimum of fuss and confusion, and almost immediately I got shot, exposing nearly everything.”

“I would have been a bit more straight forwards, yes.” said Bheem. “I would have told him from the start.”

“But the fact that you look nearly identical to your great-grandson, that wouldn’t have caused any problems at all? He wouldn’t have had any questions?” Ram said pointedly.

Bheem sighed. “No, you’re right. Especially since he’s an orphan.” He frowned sadly. “I had no idea he was still alive….if I’d known twenty five years ago-”

“But you didn’t Bheem. It wasn’t your fault.” said Ram gently. Bheem nodded, his eyes suddenly overflowing with tears.

They drove in silence for a moment. “He knew about you.” said Ram suddenly as they were driving up a cliff near the highway. Bheem nearly turned off the road in his surprise, and Ram had to grab at the wheel to keep them from falling to their (temporary but painful) deaths.

“Sorry, sorry!” said Bheem. Then. “He knew?? How??”

Ram smiled wryly. “Our friendship is part of historical record, not a surprise that if Alluri Rama Raju is alive, then so is the fabled Komaram Bheem.”

Bheem nodded slowly.

“He said...he wanted to know his family.”

Bheem smiled wide. “Well! That can be arranged!”

Ram sighed. “Bheem…”

“Oh enough with your ‘it can’t be done’ nonsense, it can and it will! So hush Rama, I’m planing the dinner I’m going to make in honour of my great-grandson.” said Bheem.

“I suppose I can’t stop you can I?” said Ram, smiling as he shook his head. Bheem winked, and smiled back. “You truly can’t.”

Chapter Text

“Bheem…” Ram folded his arms as he leaned up against the wall, smiling fondly as his friend bustled around their kitchen. Bheem was working on three pots on the stove at once, the steam from the food causing sweat to pour down his face as he busied himself. Ram had tried to help, only for Bheem to snarl, snarl! at him when he did so.

“What? I have to get the shrimp just right, so that they’re cooked, but don’t turn rubbery. You know how hard that is Rama!”

“Bheema, your great-grandson will love whatever you cook for him.” Ram assured him.

Bheem huffed. “But I want it to be special! He deserves special, I want to show him the love he never got as a child.”

“If you’re making it for him, it’s special.” said Ram. This seemed to calm his friend, who sighed, throwing a dishcloth over his shoulder.

“All right...why don’t you wash the rice and put it on then, instead of just standing there.” Bheem huffed.

“I offered to help, but someone nearly cut me with a potato peeler.” Ram teased, smiling. He got the rice out, putting it in a bowl to rinse.

Between the two of them, the food was almost done when the doorbell rang. Bheem looked up, eyes wide, a grin on his face.

“I’ve got it.” said Ram, only for Bheem to scowl at him, swatting at him with the dishcloth. “Don’t you dare! Let me answer it.”

Ram puts his hands up in surrender, laughing. “Bheem, my friend...relax.”

Bheem took in a deep breath and then let it out again. “All right...all right now…”

He walked to the front door and opened it. Daya was standing on the other side, looking away, and then turned back as the door opened. The officer froze when he saw his great-grandfather.

Ram had to admit, the likeness was uncanny. Though of course Bheem looked slightly older than the other man... few more wrinkles, few more laugh lines.

“I...ah…” Daya stammered, then thrust out his hand to shake. “Daya...nice to meet you sir.”

Bheem tsked, and pulled the other man into an embrace, folding him into his arms with a happy smile. Daya froze, then slowly relaxed into it. Ram smiled to himself. Ah yes. No-one can resist the power of a Bheem hug.

“Grandson! It’s so good to finally meet you….” Bheem pulled back, holding Daya’s face in his hands, tsking, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. “You have your mothers eyes...so sweet and kind.”

Daya blinked, taken aback. “I’ve been called many things sir, ah, Bheem...but never ‘sweet’ nor ‘kind’.”

“Oh that’s because you try hard not to let others see it, don’t you?” said Bheem, in that careless, but keenly observant way of his. He pulled on his arm. “Come! I’m about to serve up, you sit at the table, Ram will bring the tea.”

“Ah, wait, my shoes!” said Daya, stopping at the doorway. He quickly pulls them off, leaving them lined by the welcome mat. “So well mannered!” Bheem gushed, proud as anything.

The officer walked into their home like a man in a dream. He sat down nervously at the table and Ram sat down next to him, handing him a glass of tea. Daya smiled down at it, ducking his head. “I...I feel like any moment that...all this will disappear...that it’s one of my dreams.”

“Did you often dream about this?” Ram asked. He was curious to know more about his ‘nephew’.

Daya laughed briefly. “Ah, in a way sir, ah, Ram. When I was a child, I’d dream about a family. A safe place to come home. People who would cook for me, welcome me...That it’s really happening…” He smiled, shaking his head. Then wiped a hand over his face, tears in his eyes. “I...ah...this is good. Very good.”

He took a sip of his tea, and Bheem rushed in with a large bowl of soup, the savoury, rich smell of it filling the room. “Creamy coconut soup with shrimp!” he announced, then looked dismayed. “Oh! I forgot the ladle!”

He rushed back into the kitchen as Daya looked on, bemused. Ram smiled. “Hard to believe he’s a seasoned freedom fighter, isn’t it?”

“I….yes sir.” Daya nodded. Then leaned forwards. “Is it true, that he attacked the Buxton Mansion with two tigers?”

Ram shook his head. “No.”

Then leaned forwards himself, grinning. “It was four tigers, five leopards, two deer, at least two bears-”

“Hush Ram!” Bheem scolded as he returned to the table with the ladel and a bowl of aloo masala. “We’re not going to talk about violence today, today is for celebration.”

He took one of the soup bowls and ladled out some for Daya, smiling. “There, I hope you like it.”

Daya picked up his bowl and sipped, then grinned. “Delicious thathayya!”

Bheem laughed in surprise and delight at the honorific. “I’m so glad you like it kanna,” he said, pinching his cheek. “And that’s just the first course!”

Daya looked at Ram, eyes wide as Bheem disappeared once again in the kitchen. “...First course?”

“Bheem has been cooking all day for you, wanted to make this a special occasion.” said Ram, smiling. “He’s been looking up everything about you on the internet, quizzing me and telling me all your grandest exploits.”

Daya bit his lip. “I…I’ve done things I’m not very proud of Ram. I never thought….I never thought I’d have people I cared about looking at my career.”

Ram nodded in sympathy, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Abbayi...who better than I to understand about regrets? Please hear me when I say we forgave you your sins before we ever met you.”

“But...why?

“Even if you weren’t family, which you are…you need that. Forgiveness.”

“Maybe I don’t deserve it.” Daya muttered, looking down at his soup. Ram shook his head. “Bheem taught me the value of it long ago.”

“Parathas!” Bheem called out, bringing a plate of them to the table, steam rising from them. “Rama, don’t eat all of them.” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “I want there to be at least two left for me when I’m finished in the kitchen.”

“I promise that I’ll guard them for you thathayya.” said Daya, winking. Bheem laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “That’s my boy!”

He hurried back into the kitchen, leaving Daya at the table, blinking in mild shock.

“Bheem can be a bit overwhelming sometimes,” Ram said. Daya nodded slowly. “Is he always like that?”

Ram nodded back, grabbing a fresh paratha, dipping it into some chutney on his plate. “He gives his heart freely, especially to those he believes are worthy.”

Daya took a paratha for himself, eating it slowly between sips of the soup.

“It’s always been his way,” Ram continued. “Despite his appearance, he does not easily trust, which makes him a good judge of character. He saw what was best in me, when all I could see was rotten waste.”

“Did you truly? Feel that way sir, ah, Ram?”

Ram looked at Daya and sighed. “I imagine that it sounds very thrilling in the history books.” He gave him a wry smile. “Alluri Rama Raju, going undercover for years to take his calculated revenge...but it doesn’t speak to the wear and tear of it…cutting off bits of your soul day after day, year after year...sacrificing yourself until there’s almost nothing left.”

He felt his smile soften. “When Bheem first met me...he said he was glad he’d found a friend who was such a good man. Someone who was brave and kind and loyal, at a time when I felt like I was none of those things.”

He looked at Daya, his face solemn and serious. “If I hadn’t met Bheem, I would be dead. That’s no exaggeration. He saved me from myself.”

“And last of all, mango lemonade!” said Bheem, interrupting the conversation. He looked at their faces and smiled gently. “Ah I see...Rama is being serious again, isn’t he?”

He grinned, sitting down with a shake of his head. “Always worrying this one, always so intense!”

Bheem glowered, doing an obvious impression of Ram. “If it wasn’t for Bheem, I would be dead.” Then smiled at Daya. “Like that?”

Daya smiled back, nodding. “Yes...pretty much.”

“Well it’s the same for me! Without Ram, I would be dead now.” said Bheem. He picked up a paratha and started eating it, pointing at Ram. “There have been times when I was too ready to jump into a fight, blinded by my emotions. Ram would advise me to take the slower path. Annoyingly, he would be right!”

“Most of the time.” said Ram, ducking his head with slight embarrassment, but smiling.

“But the reverse was also true...that I would tell you to be cautious when we should take action.”

“We’re good for each other.” said Bheem with a wide grin, nudging Ram with his elbow.

“So...are there any more of you?” said Daya, after they'd eaten for a bit. (Ram had to say, Bheem had really outdone himself this time. It was a feast fit for a king.)

“Any more…freedom fighters?” said Bheem.

“Immortals.” Daya clarified. Bheem and Ram exchanged a look

“..Yes..but-” said Bheem, shaking his head. “But we don’t speak to them. In fact, we’ve never met.”

“Really? Why?” Daya said.

Ram shrugged. “Two of them came to India shortly after the Scott mansion was...obliterated. The Warrior and the French Soldier. They asked a lot of questions, in a way that made us unsure of their intentions. We have not engaged with them.”

“Why? Are they evil?” Daya asked.

Ram shook his head. “Bheem would say they are not...I have yet to make up my mind.”

Bheem tsked. “If you look at the work that they do, they have done many good great things!”

“Perhaps...or perhaps not. Depends on the century.”

“We know how many there are...though we only know four of their names.” Bheem started to tick off his fingers. “Andromeda, she’s the eldest one, the Warriror. Then the Crusaders, Nicolo and Yusuf. The Frenchman, Booker. And…” he paused. “There’s another one...a woman...we don’t know her name, or what happened but…” Ram frowned. “Immortals can sometimes see..visions of each other. Glimpses of each others lives.”

Bheem nodded, his face serious. “She's in an iron box...drowning, over and over...then coming back to life again. Only to drown once more."

“That sounds like hell.” said Daya, looking serious, and Ram nodded. “It does...and she feels it. Every time.”

“Where?” Ram and Bheem shook their heads simultaneously.

“No way of knowing. There’s no landmarks, no sense of time or space. Just endless water and an iron box.”

Daya shuddered. There was silence for a moment.

“So!” said Bheem, changing the subject. “How did you decide to become a police officer?”

Daya looked startled. “Oh! I ah..” He scratched the back of his neck. “When I was growing up...I wanted a family. Love. But then I decided,” he shrugged. “That that wasn’t what I needed.”

“Oh?” said Ram. He poured him a glass of lemonade, pushing it towards the younger man. Daya took a sip without thinking, then looked at the glass approvingly. “That’s..”

“Good isn’t it.” Ram said with a smile. “Bheem loves food, and that love shows in his work.”

Bheem ducked his head shyly, and Daya smiled at them both before continuing.

“What I really wanted, were the things that a family could give you.” He held out his hand and raised one finger. “Protection.” He raised another. “And money. But I learned the third thing was much better than all of those..”

“Which was?”

Daya smiled grimly. “Power. If you had power, you had everything. Who were the most powerful people? The police. Everyones afraid of them, everyone gives them what they want. So that’s what I wanted to be…”

His smile faded. “Or it was….I made...a terrible mistake. One I’ll never be able to atone for. I got everything I wanted...at the cost of my soul.” He rubbed his neck, self-conscious, giving them a half-smile. “Sounds melodramatic, I know.”

“It sounds like you know what you did was wrong.” said Ram, helping himself to some more of the flatbread.

“Yes sir, ah, Ram.” Daya said, nodding. “I’m trying to be a better person now.”

“If you’re making bad people annoyed with you, you must be doing something right!” said Bheem, clapping him on the back.

Daya shrugged with one shoulder. “I suppose so…”

Bheem looked at him, considering. “Do you want to know about your parents?”

The cop looked at him, something like hope and heartbreak in his eyes. “Yes thathayya...I’d very much like that.”

Bheem lead Daya down a hallway, and pointed at a large picture, smiling softly. “Here they are.”

Bheem remembered the day the picture was taken. His granddaughter had just told them all that she was expecting, and the family had gathered together in celebration. Jenny and he had fussed over her, taking more than a dozen pictures. It was one of the last times they’d all been together. Before Jenny had-

He banished the thought. His beloved had died at peace, without pain. Best to let her spirit rest.

The picture in front of them was wreathed with marigolds. His granddaughter and her husband, captured in black and white, their faces open and friendly. They look...looked very happy. His son in law’s (there wasn’t a name for your grand son in law, was there?) mustache was a little lopsided, endearingly so, and there were laugh lines around his eyes and smile. His granddaughter Mithris hair was long and wavy, framing kind eyes, and a smile that was gently, but with a little wicked dimple at the end. As she had just told you a joke, and was waiting for your laughter. She always looked like that when she was happy. She had a hand on a barely visible bump on her stomach.

Daya stared at them, his eyes filling with tears. Bheem watched him, smiling softly. “My granddaughter Mithi and our Tarin. A love match. They tried for years for a child, they were so happy when they were finally expecting!”

He felt himself grow whistful. “Your hair is a lot like hers….and your smile…”

He took in a deep breath. “As long as you’re alive, her memory lives in you.”

Daya sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “I thought...I’d-”

“Recognise them? Feel a connection?” Bheem smiled sympathetically. “They say ‘a picture is worth a thousand words.’ But not so with family, eh? How can one feel love for someone they’ve never met.”

He patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all right...it’s all right. I’ll tell you all about them.”

How their love had burned brighter than a thousand candles. How much joy and laughter they’d brought into this house. How fiercely they’d loved Daya, before he was born even.

Daya shook his head. “I think...later. If that’s okay. The bathroom is…?”

“Down the hall to the right.”

Daya nodded, making his way down the hall.

“Tammmudu, I’m worried about him.” Ram muttered at his side. Bheem looked over to see him nervously touching the end of his moustache.

“I feel the same anna….” Bheem answered, nodding. “Something is shifting inside of him..like tectonic plates.”

“Like sheets of ice,” Ram corrected. “…It could melt...or it could fracture.” He looked at him. “Let’s set a watch. I’ll stay up first, and then I’ll fetch you.”

“Rama-” Bheem protested, but Ram shook his head. “You’ve been cooking all day, you’re tired. Let me do this.”

Bheem nodded. “Very well Rama...I hope our worries are for nothing.”

It was late. Daya and Ram were drinking palm wine together, staring out across the balcony of the bungalow into the night.

"What were they like...my parents?" Daya finally said. Ram looked over at him. "You don't want to ask your grandfather?"

The other man shrugged. "Why stir up sad memories?"

"He likes talking about them. Though the pain is bittersweet, it doesn't bother him."

Daya breathed out a sigh. "Can you...tell me a little? Just a little?"

Ram hummed. "Your father....he was a tailor. Your mother was an engineer."

"And engineer?" Daya said in wonder, leaning on his hand.

Ram smiled, nodding. "Yes! The first woman in her family to go to university too! The topper of her class, Bheem was so proud! He always said that she could accomplish whatever she set her mind to."

"How did she and my father meet?"

"He was operating a small shop, sewing and repairing clothes. He made the graduation gown for your mother, well, and other students. But he said, that when he saw her...it was like she was surrounded by a shaft of sunlight."

"And what did everyone think of them? Did Bheem, ah, great-grandfather approve?"

"Oh Bheem was all for it! He believes in love, the old romantic. And your great grandmother Jenny, she was still alive back then, she thought so too. They were the ones who convinced your grandparents, Vaagdevi and Maahir, to give them their blessing." He tsked, shaking his head. "But Tarin’s mother, Yahavi...she was against it. She thought your mother wasn't good enough for her little boy. A university girl? ‘You'll end up in the poorhouse!’ she said, so I heard. ‘Schooling just gives women stupid ideas!’ Oh they argued for weeks!" Ram shook his head, chuckling. “Mithi would storm home after one of their arguments, ranting and raving. Gave us all headaches.”

He leaned forwards, grinning. "So they eloped."

"Did they?" Daya was enraptured, smiling in awe.

"Mm hm." Ram nodded. "Your mothers idea. Not just smart, she was a fighter too." He chuckled. "I always liked her." He felt his smile fade.

Daya looked at him soberly. "What happened to them?"

Ram shook his head, pouring them both some more wine. "....Car accident. A truck went through an intersection, hit the drivers side full on. You were in the back seat, unharmed."

Ram shook his head. "Bheem and I were away at the time. When we heard about it, we rushed home but…"

He looked at him. "...You were gone. Vanished."

"How?"

Ram sighed, remembering Bheems anger and despair. His helplessness. "...Bheem hadn’t kept up with his paperwork. Jenny and I always had to remind him how important that was, but when she died...” He shook his head sadly. “He stayed too long with his grief. He got careless. It took some time to prove he was a blood relation, but but the time he did." Ram clenched his glass. "You'd been swallowed up by the foster care system. They didn't even put you in there with your last name."

"Komaram?”

"No...too obvious." Ram put his hand on Daya’s cheek. "Priyamania."
Beloved.

Daya swallowed. "I...I'm afraid I'm rather tired Babi." He stood up, then sat down back down, blinking heavily.

"Easy there son..." Ram peered at him, seeing circles under his eyes for the first time. "When was the last time you slept?"

The younger man shook his head slowly. "Not for some time...I get insomnia, can't sleep."

"Sorry to hear that." Ram stood up. "Listen, I'll-"

He turned back. Daya was sound asleep, his head pillowed on an outstretched arm. Ram smiled, shaking his head at the younger man. Seems his worries were for nothing. He grabbed a shawl from the sofa and covered him with it before heading to bed himself.

In the middle of the night, something startled him awake. Ram frowned, sitting up in his bed, straining his ears. What was it he'd heard?
Footsteps...on the roof?

Carefully, he opened the drawer on his nightstand, grabbing a knife and tucking it into the waistband of his sleep pants. He opened his window and, slowly and quietly, climbed up onto the roof, using the techniques that Bheem had taught him.
Crouching, Ram saw a figure there, weaving back and forth in the moonlight. Confusion and relief flooded him, and he straightened, frowning. "Daya?"

Daya turned around, grinning. "Hi Babi!" He was holding the now nearly empty bottle of palm wine in his hand. "Good to see you!"

"What are you doing, kanna?"

"Oh...just having a little drink,” he gestured expansively. “Enjoying the stars! Maybe I'll light a stick of incense for my parents!" The thought made him giggle.

Ram frowned. "You're drunk."

"Sir! Sir sir sir, I am very very drunk sir!" said Daya, pointing at him with a grin. "My parents are dead. Nothing to be done! Nothing to avenge! Just a...stupid accident. And me...the stupid child accident."

"Abbayi-"

"No! No, it's true! They were good people, and what am I?" He put a hand on his chest. "A loafer, a ditcher...a scoundrel and a rascal...good for nothing!"

"That's not so." Ram protested.

Daya snorted, taking a step back. "It is! It is so!" He was on the edge of the roof now, grinning wide. "But I'll improve things...I'll make it better!"

"Daya...what are you doing?" said Ram urgently.

Daya grinned and saluted. "Sir! Jump starting my immortality sir!”

And then he stepped off the roof.

"No!" Ram lunged forwards, straining out his arm. He caught Daya's hand, but was pulled to the edge of the roof by his weight. He felt something pull wrongly, and shouted in pain. "You...bloody...idiot!” he said, glaring down at the cops face. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“I think you dislocated my arm again!” Daya hissed. “Also, why not?”

“It’s not hereditary! If it was, your...your mother would have survived.”

Daya blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes ‘oh’. Now let me pull you up, idiot.”

Daya slowly nodded, and Ram pulled him up, painfully.

“Why did you take so long old man? I nearly fell to my death!” Daya said, massaging his shoulder as he got back on the roof.

“You would have anyways if I hadn’t been here...idiot.” Ram said. “I dislocated my own arm preventing it!”

He sighed, rubbing at his throbbing shoulder. “I’m going to fix my arm, then I’m going to fix yours. And then...we’re talking to your grandfather.” Ram had already pushed his arm back in it’s socket, the pain searing, but passing quickly.

Daya's eyes grew wide. “Ah...is that necessary?”

“Yes.” Ram bit out. Then without warning, grabbed his arm and wrenched it back in place, ignoring Dayas scream as he did so.

“Daya.”
Daya was sitting at the dinning room table, a glass of water in his hand, still rubbing his sore shoulder. Bheem was across from him. Ram was standing against the wall, looking grim.

“Look at me kanna.”

Daya flinched, and didn’t.

“Why did you do this?”

Daya tapped the glass. “…Jump starting my immortality.” he muttered.

Bheem leaned forwards. “And why did you really do this?”

“...I wanted...I…” Daya huffed out a breath. “I’m...they were good people.”

Bheem nodded. “They were, yes.”

“I’m not good.”

“Why do you say that son?”

“I’m not your son!” Daya shouted suddenly. He glared at Bheem. “You weren’t there! I grew up on scraps, eating garbage, living in garbage, and you weren’t there!”

He stood. “I didn’t even know right from wrong because I had no-one to teach me! I had to learn for myself! Nobody stopped me when I-” He wiped a hand over his face. “..It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” Bheem said firmly.

“I became...everything you fought against.” He looked away. “How could you ever love an orphan rascal like me?”

Bheem stood up and walked over to him.

“Daya-ji. Bujji. Can I hug you?”

Daya looked at him, tears in his eyes. “I…”

“Please?”

Daya nodded wordlessly, and Bheem folded him into his arms. The man shook, shuddered. Then wept, surrendering himself to grief. The tears and the sobs seemed to go on forever, but Bheem patiently waited it out, holding him as tenderly as he would a child.

After a long time, Daya finally stopped. Bheem drew back, smiling softly at him.

“You think I don’t know? What it is to fear yourself? To become what you hate? Daya..." He shook his head. "I am just a man, like any other. Flawed and failing.”

Bheem smiled softly at him. “You are my great-grandson. My family. You see all your flaws, but I see more. Your kind heart, your compassion. You desire to do what’s right.”

Daya looked pained. “I’ve never done anything right.”

“Not so, not so.” Bheem said. “You avenged that girls death. You crippled Valter Vasaus organisation. You care for those around you, protect and help them.”

“No-”

“The mangrove, you returned it to Venkatrao, didn’t you? You didn’t have to do that?”

“After I kidnapped his granddaughter-”

Bheem put up a stern hand. “Enough.” Daya stopped. “Yes, your past is full of regret and mistakes. But you have changed in the present. This is what matters now. Listen to me.”

He took Daya by the shoulders. “I am proud of you. I will always be proud of you. And I will always love you. Understood?”

Daya slowly nodded.

“Good.” Bheem smiled. “Now! Let’s get you some painkiller and water, and send you back to bed.” He lightly tapped his grandson on the cheek. “You need your rest.”

He and Ram exchanged glances over Daya’s head, and nodded to each other.
He would be all right.
In time.

Chapter Text

“I’m bored.” Nile said from where she was sitting, chin in her hands. Joe and Nicky exchanged amused glances in the lightening morning. “Oh, are you?”

She puffed out her cheeks and let the air out, swinging her arms back and forth as she paced the parking lot. “Why are we here again?”

Nicky shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. “To see the sunrise.”

“So what? It’s just a sunrise.”

“Shh child, you want to see something beautiful or not?” Joe scolded gently. She sighed, still pacing.

“You didn’t have to come you know.” said Nicky.

Nile shrugged. “I’ve never been to India.” She made a face. “I thought we’d be doing something more interesting than waiting on a sunrise.”

Joe smiled. “It really is too bad that-”

“If you say ‘kids these days’, I’m shooting you in the head.” Nile threatened.

He laughed. “Promises promises.”

“I just don’t see what-”

Joe stood up and gently turned her around. Nile’s breath caught in her throat.

The marble building before them is old, nearly six centuries now. The morning sun glinted off of the reflecting pool, making it glow with gold and rose colours.

“Oh my god...Oh my GOD..” Nile said, astonished.

She swung around to look at them, grinning with delight. “That’s...that’s the Taj Mahal!”
The lovers grinned at each other, then back at the former soldier.

“That’s the fucking Taj Mahal!” She paced back and forth in the parking lot, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Construction started in 1632, but it wasn’t finished until 1653 or so...commissioned by Shah Jahan in memory of his wife, Mumtaz Mahal." She turned to them, grinning ear to ear. "She was his favourite wife, you know.”

Joe slung an arm around her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her head, grinning back.
She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, her grin softening to a happy smile. “Shut up.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” he protested. Nicky stood up and put his arms around them both. “And this is why we came. Ready for the tour?”

“The tour?” Nile stared at him, delighted. He winked, producing three tickets with a flourish. “Private tour group. The full day tour, includes breakfast, lunch, and the inner sanctum.”

“What!” Nile squealed delightedly, throwing herself into his arms, making him laugh and spin them both around.

“Hey,” he said with a smile. “What’s the point in being your pretend uncle if I can’t spoil my pretend niece a little?”

“Enough talking and gawking!” Joe teased. “Let’s go before the day gets too hot!”

Twelve hours later.

Nile looked dreamily out the window of the train as the world sped by, smiling to herself as she hummed a tuneless melody.

“Did you have fun?” said Nicky, sitting down across from her. He handed her a water bottle, and then gave one to Joe.

Nile grinned. “You know that I did.”

“Practically shrieked so loud at one point that poor Armenian nun nearly had a heart attack!” Joe teased gently.

“It’s just so...you know how many years it took right? How many artisans?” she said

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell us.” said Joe, smiling.

“Twenty thousand! Twenty thousand people! Can you even imagine?”

“Maybe we don’t have to.” said Nicky, smiling at her.

Nile blinked at them from her seat, her jaw dropping in amazement. “Wait. Wait...don’t tell me…you??”

Nicky and Joe exchanged glances, then grinned at her.

“You were there??”
“Maybe.” said Joe with a casual shrug.
“Entirely possible.” said Nicky, winking at her. Nile rolled her eyes, smiling back at them. “You two, I swear to God.”

She shook her head, looking out the window at the dark landscape flashing by.

“Where are we going now?”

“New Dehli,” said Nicky.

“Why?”

Nicky shrugged, smiling wide. “Well, you’re aware of who the architect was for the Taj, right?”
“Rumored architect.” Nile corrected. “Yeah, Ustad Ahmad Lahouri.”
“Well he also built the Red Fort in Dehi...which is where we’re headed.”
“Shut UP!” Nile burst out, grinning from ear to ear. She leaned over to punch him in the arm, drawing some frowns from the other passengers. Ignoring them, Nile smiled at her two companions. “You did not!”
“Oh but we did!” said Joe, chuckling. “We booked the Taj Hotel, because, well, of course.”
“Of course.” echoed Nile.
“And we’ll be there the whole week. Just remember to, ah, knock before you come into our room?”
“If y’all put a sock on the door when you were-”
“Back in the day, it was polite to knock.” said Nicky, shaking his head as he smiled.
Nile nodded. “All right, all right, knocking, got it.”
She frowned slightly. “This is okay, right? Being tourists and shit?”
“Why not?” said Joe.
“What about your secret identities?”
Without looking, Joe and Nicky took each others hands.
“We’ll be fine.” said Nicky.
“There aren’t a lot of Merricks out there.” Joe agreed.
“We don’t know that.” said Nile, leaning forwards, serious now. “Maybe this is dangerous.”
“If you’re not living dangerously, you’re not really living.” said Nicky, giving her a cocky grin.
“Sometimes, you have to be two old men-” said Joe.
“Um, if you’re a millennia old, you’re ancient, not old.” Nile interrupted.

“Two ancient men,” Nicky agreed with a smile. “Who want a to have romantic gettaway.”
“A romantic gettaway? With me?”
“We took pity on our adopted niece and let her tag along.” said Joe, winking.

“I did not agree to being your niece.” Nile said, shaking her head with a small smile. Nicky smiled back. “You’re obviously from my side of the family, with your good looks and dry wit.”

“You always have to flatter yourself, don’t you.” said Joe, smiling into his eyes as he gently squeezed his lover’s hand, running a thumb softly over his knuckles.

“Someone has to.”

“Do you never stop talking?”

“You could make me.” said Joe, grinning. The two shared a kiss while Nile rolled her eyes fondly.

“You two are just, super cringe you know?”

“Cringe?”

“I think it means ‘cheesy’?” said Nicky. “Silly? Corny? Embarrassing?”

“Well we can’t have that!”

They kissed again, theatrically slobbering over each other while Nile covered her ears, laughing.

“You two are the worst uncles in the world, I swear to god.”

The two men pulled away from each other, chuckling. “It’s nice isn’t it...to be travelling somewhere without having some agenda? Or being shot at?” said Nile.

They nodded back. Nile’s smile faded. “Wish Andy was here though. And Booker.”
Joe and Nicky exchanged glances.

“Andy...needs some time.” Joe finally said. “It’s not everyday you just stop being immortal you know. As for Booker...well...actions have consequences.”
“Exile was fair. We could have voted to kill him.” said Nicky.
“I would have.” Joe muttered.

Nile nodded, her eyes tearing up as she smiled at them. “I just...I just miss her. I miss them.”

“We all do.” said Nicky.

None of them noticed the handsome, burly Indian man with curly hair who had quietly got up to move to another car.

The man frowned as he moved, looking for someone. He was in the third car when he sighed in exasperation. “Ram?” he said.

The man, napping under a copy of ‘The Palace of Illusions’ didn’t move.

“Rama! You’re breaking the book spine you know!” he said, speaking in Telugu.

Ram sighed loudly, pulling the book off his face. “Yes, but no-one bothers me when I do it. Except you Bheem.”

He caught the tense look on his brothers face. “What is it?”

Bheem looked over his shoulder, then back at Ram. “They’re here.”

“They?”

“You know. Them.”

Ram blinked, and partially stood up before sitting back down again. “All of them?” he said, frowning in concern.

“No.” Bheem shook his head. “The Crusaders and the new one, the American.”

“But not the French soldier or Andromeda?” said Ram, looking intent.

“If they were, I didn’t see them.” said Bheem with a shrug. He hesitated.

“What?”

“Ram...anna. Why don’t we talk to them?”

“No.”

“But-”

“No.” He glared at his friend. “We can’t trust them.”

“So you’ve said. Many times.” said Bheem with a frustrated sigh.

Ram frowned. “What, do you think I’m wrong?”

“Yes, of course I do!” Bheem lowered his voice as some of the other travellers looked over. “Anna...don’t you remember how they were captured four years ago?”

“Staying away was the right choice.” said Ram, sticking his chin out stubbornly. Bheem scowled at him. “ 'The right choice'? They were tortured, experimented on! If the other two hadn’t come for them-”

“-Not our problem, tammudu.” said Ram, holding up a stern hand. “We don’t know if we can trust them.”

“Trust them?! They are our family-”

“We had families Bheem!” said Ram, his voice a low growl. “All gone now.”

He pointedly turned back to his book. “We get off at the next stop. Make sure they don’t see you.”

Bheem sat down across from him, looking out the window. “...As you say anna.”

Chapter Text

It was Nicky who noticed it first. He sat up in his seat, frowning. “Did you feel that?”

Nile, who had been dozing, roused sleepily while Joe listened to something. “I do...and I hear it.”

“Hear what?” Nile said.

Nicky stood up. “The train is-

“-going to derail!” said Bheem, urgently.

Ram frowned at him. “Are you sure tammudu?”

“I’m sure. We have to get everyone to the middle of the car.”

Ram nodded, then stood up.

Joe stood up, clapping his hands. “Attention!” he said in Hindi. “There is an emergency, and the train is about to derail! All passengers, please move away from the windows into the middle seats!” He repeated himself in Telugu, then Tamil, Hindi, and English.

The passengers looked at each other, then back at him. "Well come on! Move it, move!" he shouted.

Now they looked a little frightened, and when he gestured again, they started to move, murmuring to each other.

“Train crashes are bad.” Nile said to Nicky in Italian, her voice low.

Nicky nodded grimly. “They are. Hopefully this won’t be-”

There was a screech of metal on metal.

The train started rocking violently back and forth before there was a

LOUD

SOUND

AND
THE
WORLD

and the world

ex

          plo

                    dED

EXPLODED into CHAOS the sound of METAL ON METAL like a giant SCRAPING two knives together until they BROKE people were SCREAMING in different languages WIND and the NIGHT and white hot SPARKS spitting into the air and Nile put her hands over her ears shutting her eyes and the WORLD TURNED OVER AND OVER AND OVER and there was ROARING that DEAFENED her and her body felt like it was SHAKING TO PIECES and she SCREAMED BUT COULDN’T HEAR HERSELF AND THE SOUND WENT ON AND ON

AND THEN it stopped

“Joe?”

....

“Joe!”

...............

“YUSEPH!”

“BHEEM!”

Ram was making his way through the ruin of a train car, frantically looking for his friend, searching as he pushed past people screaming and crying.

“Rama, I’m all-right!” his friend called. “I’m all right, help the passengers!”

“Are you sure!” Although he can hear his friend, he can’t see him.

“Yes, yes, help the passengers! I’m fine!”

With a firm nod, Ram turned to the other people in the train car.

“Madam, it doesn’t look that bad, just a broken arm. Here, lean on me. Kids, follow me, hold each other’s hands, now take my hand. Sir, this way, this way, you’ll be all-right.”

After getting all of the passengers to the nearest exit (a rent in the train car wall, large enough for two men to get through side by side) Ram turned back to the seats. “Bheem? Where are you? I still can’t see you anywhere??”

“Here Rama.” Bheem sounded strained, and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t get upset.” said his tammudu, his voice trying and failing to sound light and casual.
This, of course, made Ram very upset.

“Bheema!” he growled, pushing his way through the wreckage of the train. “What have you-”

He heaved himself over two tumbled chairs and stopped.
One of the poles from inside the train had broken off from the floor, and had been bent so that it was pointing straight out like an arrow. It must have happened when the train turned over. One end was still attached to the ceiling, the other had pierced the door of the next car, warping and twisting the metal.
Bheem was impaled on it.

“Bheem!”

Bheem smiled at his friend weakly, bracing himself against a still upright chair, sweat pouring down his face. Ram raced to his side, looking at the pole from all sides. He turned to scowl at his friend in concern.

“Bheem, why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Rama, the passengers needed your help-”

“You need my help too!”

He grabbed the pole and grunted, trying to move it. “It’s stuck!”

He pushed at it, tried to pull it free, but even with his not inconsiderable strength, it wouldn’t move. Sweat pooled under his arms and ran down his face as he tried again and again.

“Ram.”

“Don’t.” he snapped.

“Ram...Rama, look at me.” Bheems voice was gentle. He did so.

Bheem held his gaze. “It’s all-right." he said softly. "It’s all right. I’ll be fine, just go. I’m sure the firetrucks and paramedics are on their way.”

“Bheema, how will you explain how you survived?” he snapped. Bheem shrugged, then gasped in pain, gritting his teeth. “I’ll pretend I’m dead-”

“This isn’t the fourties!” Ram gritted out. “People have more sophisticated methods of taking temperature and heartrate! They’ll find out, and once they do-”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Rama-”

“No! I won’t ever leave you behind, never!”

He hugged as much of Bheem as he could, then pulled away. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yuseph!!” Nicky was kneeling over Joe, the other man unmoving on the floor, a large wound in his forehead, his torso crushed by a train seat. Whimpers and the sounds of crying children, men, women filled the air, the groans and creaks of metal on metal. Nicky ignored it all.

“Amato...please. Please-”
The other man was motionless, eyes closed, skin ashen.

“Please! Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori-”

Joe lurched up with a gasp, his hands clawing at the seat that pinned him, eyes shut against the pain. “Nicky?” he wheezed.

“I’m here, I'm here.” Nicky grabbed his hand, kissing it over and over. “I’m here my love, I’m here.”

“Nile?”

“She’s hurt, but she’s healing. Told me to make sure you were still-” Nicky bit off what he’d been about to say.

“...Help me with this.”

Together, the two men pushed at the object until Joe was completely free. The two men shared a passionate kiss, desperately clinging to each other. For a moment, the world fell away. There was only them.

Finally, Nicky broke away, looking around as he did so. “The other passengers-”

“I know. Let’s get them out.”

Joe grunted as he lurched to his feet, then turned to look for the newest immortal. “Nile?”

“Here Joe.” Nile was sitting on the floor, her arm around her stomach, blood soaking her shirt and jacket. She gave them a shaking smile as Nicky crouched down.

“She was disembowelled.” he said softly to Joe. “Give her a moment.”

“It hurts.” she whimpered, tears running down her face. The lovers both took her free hand.

“I know, I know mia bambina.” said Nicky soothingly.

“Breathe, breathe now habibi.” said Joe. “It will be over in a moment.”

She bit her lip as the wound slowly closed over, then sighed. “..It’s better now.”

“Rest bambina, rest mia bambina corraggiosa.” said Nicky. “Joe...help the others.”

Joe nodded, and Nicky pulled Nile to him, holding her close, rubbing her back as she shook. “You were so brave, so brave mia bambina. It will be well.”

“...How are the other passengers?”

“They’ll keep. Rest.”

Nile shook her head, standing on shaking legs. “No...we have to help them.”

“Bambina-”

“I’m not a kid!” Nile closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, then opened them, looking at him firmly. “What do you need.”

Nicky nodded slowly. “...Over here. Help me get these seats up.”

They had just freed all the people in their car, when someone burst through the door to the other car. He stared at them, panting.
An Indian man in his late thirties or early fourties. Piercing dark eyes looked out of a handsome face, framed by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His clothes were dirty, bloody and ripped, but he held himself like a soldier, like a general, someone with authority and used to command. Without further hesitation, he walked towards them as if he was striding across a battlefield.

“Who- “ Joe started, then blinked. “Alluri Rama Raju.”

“Yusulf al-Kaysani.” said Mr. Raju, nodding. “I need your help, all your help.”

“Who’s this?” said Nile, but Joe was already getting to his feet, nodding. “Of course, we’ll be right there. We just have to make sure these people are safe.”

Mr. Raju nodded. “I’ll help.”

Bheem was breathing through the pain, ignoring the sweat that was trickling down his face. He was bracing himself against one of the still remaining seats as he tried not to move, standing on trembling legs. His body had already ‘healed’ around the pole, and it was agony as he tried not to move at all, lest he open the wound again.
That of course was impossible.

“Bheema!”

Bheem’s head jerked up, and he smiled. “Rama!” It grew wider as he saw the others. “And our brothers and sister! Finally!”

“What?” said Nile, and Nicky shook his head. “Long story.”

He got closer, frowning as he saw the damage. “Impaled...not pleasant.”

“Right through the liver.” said Bheem, wincing.

“We don’t have our swords.” said Joe, shaking his head as he looked at the pole.

“If we cut you out, it will take time.” said Nicky, looking at him. “Not to mention it will hurt, quite a lot.”

Bheem shook his head, breathing hard. “I can handle the pain...it’s the time that worries me. The longer we’re here, the greater our chances of being discovered.” He sighed, letting his head drop. “You should all go...you’re all putting yourselves in danger.”

“...You’re all putting yourselves in danger.” said the other man.
Mr. Raju’s friend. Bheem.
He had a kind face, good looking too. He didn’t have cheekbones that could cut glass, like his friend had. His face was more square, a little softer, with more laugh lines around the eyes and mouth. But his nose gave his face a classic beauty, and his eyes were large and expressive, nearly childlike in their sweetness. His smile, though pained, was bright and charming. Or it would be, under other circumstances.

“You go. Go, I’ll stay.”
“And I as well.” said Mr. Raju, gripping his hand tight, his face grim and heartbroken.
Nile gave out an exasperated sigh. These dramatic ass motherfuckers!
They may have given up, but Nile wasn’t about to.

“That’s some real defeatist bullshit there.” said Nile bluntly. She worked her way closer to the pole through the wreck of train seats, frowning as she got close enough to examine it. “Aluminum steel mix... We could melt through it, but it would take time and tools we don’t have…” She stood, squinting at the top of the bent pole. “The screws up there are all bent, means that we can’t just unscrew it…”

She turned around, hands on her hips. “Okay everyone...we’re going to pull it out of the ceiling.”
The four men exchanged glances.

“Risky..the change in weight could cause the train to over-balance...” said Nicky, looking at Joe.

“...But she may have a good point.” he said, nodding.

“Then everyone shut up and pull!” Mr. Raju snapped at them. The four immortals grabbed the pole.

“On three!” Nile called. “One two THREE!”

The group pulled together, and there was a sound of metal protesting. Nile grinned, feeling a surge of triumph even as the floor under her shifted. “It’s working! Come on, we can do this! One two THREE!”

This time, there was a sharp pinging sound as one of the screws broke and ricocheted off the floor.

“Almost there, come on! Everyone hold onto it and jump when you pull! One, two THREE!”

This time, everyone jumped, pulled with all their might, and with a mighty wrench, the pole was torn from the ceiling. Bheem collapsed onto it, gasping, shaking all over.
As did the train car.
The immortals all shouted in alarm as they felt the train slowly begin to tip.

“We don’t have time to do it slow.” said Nicky. He put a hand on Bheems shoulder, looking at him intently.
“This will hurt, I’m sorry.”

Ram turned to his friend, frowning with worry.

Bheem nodded exasperatedly, reaching his hand to touch the other mans, reassuring him. “Do what you must.” he said.

“Ram, you may want to hold his hand, he’s going to need some comfort.” said the other man.

Ram held out his hand for Bheem, who took with a grateful, weary nod

“Don’t worry Rama, I’ve had worse.” Bheem said, sweat beading on his face as he tried to give his friend a reassuring smile. Ram said nothing in return, just gripped the other man’s hand grimly, nodding to him in reassurance.

“Just because you’ve had worse, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” he said, speaking in Telugu.

“All right, on three again.” Nile said. “One, two, three!”

Nile, Joe, and Nicky pulled the pole out of Bheems body as quickly as they could, while the man squeezed his eyes shut from the pain, along with Rams hand. Ram didn’t watch, looking at his face instead. “It’s almost over Bheema, it’s almost done.”

Bheem trembled and shook, letting out muffled, pained sounds as the other three pulled. Ram gripped his hand tighter. His friend didn’t believe in suffering in silence...unless it was going to upset someone.

“You idiot.” he said again in Telgu. Bheem sighed, nodding at him and wincing.

Finally, it was out. A gush of blood followed, staining his shirt red. He sighed loudly, then his eyes closed and he went horribly limp.

“Bheem...Bheema?” said Mr. Raju.

The train car was silent, the only sound the creaking and groaning of metal as it slowly started to tilt.
Joe and Nicky exchanged looks. Nile bit anxiously at a nail.
Immortal, asterisk she thought. You’re immortal. But. only for a while. Each time you die...might be the last time. And you never knew when it would happen.

“Please God.” she muttered to herself as she watched the two men.

Mr. Raju held his friend in his arms, patting his face as he looked at him intently. “Tammudu...come back.”

The other man lay still, and Mr. Raju shook him again. “Tammudu...tammudu!...Bheem...Bheema…” His voice broke. “Don’t -”

Bheem gasped, a sharp intake of air, his head rolling on his shoulder. “...I’m here...I’m here Rama. I’m all-right.”

Mr. Raju and the others all sighed with relief. The train was now tilting alarmingly, almost standing on it’s side, the groan of metal on metal louder and sharper now.

“We need to carry him out, quickly, quick. Come on!” said Nicky. He put Bheems arm around his neck on one side, and Mr. Raju did so on the other side. Nile went ahead, making sure the way was clear, doing so as fast as she possibly could. The four of them rushed down the broken, crooked train aisle. Nile gritted her teeth as the train tilted more and more. It was like being on the tilt-a-whirl back home, except a lot more dangerous and a lot less fun. “Come ON!” she shouted. “Go go go!”
In a final burst of energy, they all reached the broken door
And jumped together.

The five hit the ground, rolling with the impact as the train finally stopped tilting and began to fall. Nicky grabbed Nile, shielding her with his body, and she tensed, bracing for the impact-
Which never came. With a deafening groan and screech of metal, the wreck rolled completely onto it’s back.
The group looked at it for a moment, exhausted, panting, covered with dirt and blood.

“Well thank god we weren’t in that.” said Nile finally. She turned to Mr. Raju, her teeth flashing in a bright smile. The man smiled back.

Ram smiled back at the girl. “No gods were necessary, since you were there.” He looked at the other two, his smile fading as he grew serious. “Thank you, all of you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and turned to see other survivors nearby struggling to walk away from the wreck of the train. Carefully, he laid his friend down, then took off his dress jacket to cover the healed wound.
Nicky frowned with concern at the wreck, then looked back at the former freedom fighter.

“It’s good to finally meet you brother. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have something I need to do.” He gave him a small smile and a nod, and started jogging back to the train.

“Nicky!” Nile tsked, hands on her hips. “Where is he going?”

Joe sighed. “To rescue more people of course...the big hearted idiot.”

He started to follow. “Wait, you’re helping him?” said Ram. “In front of...of so many people?”
What if one of them got injured? What if someone saw them heal? There were so many risks, unnecessary risks!

Joe turned around, shrugging with a smile. “Where my love goes, I follow.”

Nile was left standing there with Ram and the unconscious Bheem. She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “Well damn.”

She looked over at Ram. “Are you gonna be here when we get back Mr. Raju?”

Ram looked to the other survivors, then back at her. “...I have to stay here...with my friend.” he said, his voice low. Nile gave him a long look, then nodded and turned back to the train.

“You’d better be here when we get back Mr. Raju!” she called back over her shoulder, a playful smile on her face. “Don’t go anywhere, or I swear I’ll tell you what happens to Panchaali!”
Ram blinked as she jogged away, then realised his copy of ‘The Palace of Illusions’ was peeking out of his trouser pocket. He pulled it out to look at it, then smiled wryly. “Smart girl.”