Timothy sat on the hospital wing of the Heroes’ Headquarters in his small room, sitting on a plain white bed. He had a book about spells opening in his hands, his eyes reading diligently, but his mind wandered to the event that took place. His mind played over and over again of him being thrown to the wall, his bones shaking through him as he felt some of them break. He remembered letting his magic course through him in time to not be permanently damaged, although Michael could've probably healed anything.

He recalled magic, strange, but beautiful electrifying magic through the air in a wonderful, but awful feel. Magic rippled through Timothy's bones and soul as he surged his magic to try to heal and get himself up to get to Pitch.

The sun seemed duller than yesterday and the sky was dark as if a storm was coming. Dark heavy clouds overcast the usual bright blue sky and made the early morning seem long.

The young warlock had presents laid out on a table across from him, a television hooked above the table. News flashed quickly throughout the small world of what happened, and many magical people sent him presents for the kind bravery he gave and was alive at the hands of Pitch. He didn’t feel much like a hero sitting gloomily on his bed.

Bouquet of flowers held tiny cards of his name and opened gifts filled with chocolate and candy, and spell books of gratitude...of which he wasn’t sure why people were praising him not stopping Pitch. He knew they were happy he was alive, but the cards and gifts seemed too much as if they had only heard the news he stood against Pitch, but didn’t catch him.

Timothy put his spell book on his lap, which someone gifted him, as he heard rain lightly tap against the window. Thunder roared in the distance.

There was a soft knock and Timothy was hoping it was a nurse telling him he could go. Not only the reason he was in this small white room because Michael told him he needed to be rested and tended to, but he suspected as much that Michael wanted him to be watched for a while—granted, Timothy was the last person to have seen Pitch before he made that hellish escape.

He hoped that Michael had already watched the video that the camera in the prison room told them.

It wasn’t a nurse or an angel, but Sara poked her head in, her wavy hair spilling across her face, “Can I come in?”

Timothy shrugged, “I see why not.” As she walked with black leather pants fitting nicely on her feminine curves and a white blouse, the warlock was surprised to see some color on her skin, a stunning glow of a rosy beige. “You look nice today.” He noted she was walking barefooted. He guessed since she lived here she was comfortable enough to do so and knew every inch of this place.

Sara did a shy smile and said, “You doing okay, Timothy?” She went over to his bed, gazing at his presents.

“Yep,” said Timothy, “Just...still can’t believe all of this,” he answered with a dreaded sigh. “You can have some of my chocolate or candy, people gave me so much to feed all the warlocks in the world.”

Sara cocked her head at that idea, “I think my father would like that idea.” She grabbed a heresy's bar, unwrapping it as she came next to Timothy, “I’m glad you are doing good.”

Timothy scooted over, looking uglier by the second, seeing her clean self, as he looked like he hadn’t showered in a decade. He wore a blue buttoned-up shirt and his black trench coat was hung over a chair. His black pants needed desperate ironing as it looked like a thousand-year-old mortal, “Hey, do you know if I can go yet? This room is getting me claustrophobia.”

Sara giggled, “Don’t worry, I’ve been here for about five hours.”

Timothy stared at her in wonder, “Why?”

Sara muttered, sitting down and taking a snap of the chocolate bar between her pearls-like teeth, “Because Michael wanted to give me some blood. Took damn forever, and him making phone calls to the Seers and everyone on earth, it was tiring and long.”

“Why did you blood?” asked Timothy, although he wasn’t surprised much, she did look like she needed it.

Sara cast her eyes away and lowered her head, it was transparent she didn’t want to answer this question. She hugged herself, “Just have bad blood counts I guess,” she chuckled lightly, taking another bite into the chocolate bar, “Thanks for the heresy's bar.” Her eyes flickered up as she asked, “Why do people always use different terms for witches, wizards, and warlocks? I never understood that.”

Timothy knew this was a complete change of subject on purpose, but her question seemed genuine, “Witches, are girls, and wizards are boys. Warlocks are the people who are more powerful than witches and wizards and can be used for a woman or man. What makes warlocks more powerful than wizards and witches you may be asking?” he grinned, “It’s stupid, and not really how powerful a warlock can be, but if they have unique eyes, like cat eyes, different colors of eyes, rainbow eyes, lavender eyes, or my eyes, different and special, they are called a warlock. It’s some weird genetic trait that comes only in warlocks. That’s really the difference between those three words. It’s silly if you ask me.”

“Oh,” Sara said in interest, “That is strange.”

“May I ask a personal question?”

Sara had already eaten half the bar and nodded, “Sure.” She was squeezing her arms around her as if she was cold.

Timothy asked carefully, “Are you a magical creature, Sara?”

Sara’s eyes widened for a second and snapped her gaze down. Magical creature meant if she was one of those supernatural beings: werewolf, witch, shapeshifter, vampire, wendigo, and so forth. Demons and angels counted as spiritual beings, “I’m a human.”

Timothy raised an eyebrow, his emerald eyes shining. He highly doubted that was true from waiting long four seconds to hear that answer, “Just a human?”

Sara exasperated, “I can’t tell you, I’m sorry.” She rose up unexpectedly, her shoulders tensing up, "Glad you feel better..”

Timothy grasped her hand, “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you like that. I was joking.”

Sara turned at him and smiled weakly, “It’s fine. I’m surprised father didn’t tell you.” She cleared her throat as if to clear away the question he asked, “Are you going to stay here and help us with Pitch?”

“If Michael wants me to, I will,” said Timothy.

Sara grabbed gummy bears from his stack and sat back down, “What some?” She opened the box eagerly, “These use to be my favorite. When me and Dad would go on the trip to France to see the Seers, he would buy me some at gas stations we went to.” She smiled at the memory, popping a red gummy bear in her mouth, “I miss those times. Dad would take a week off so we could spend some time together.”

Timothy wanted to ask why they stopped from the look she gave him.

Fortunately, she went on, “On my twelfth birthday, Dad surprised me on a mission we were going on together. We were on a lookout for a loose hellhound and capture it, study it, and then decide what to do with it.” She frowned, “I don’t know why I’m ranting.”

Timothy replied, “I’m here. You can talk to me about it.”

Sara continued. The rain had subsided a little and peaks of light were coming from the sky somewhere, “We went to get some gas, and I went off to get something and when I came back, Michael was in a hurry. He had gotten me gummy bears, and some other things. He shoved me in the car and drove off. We never went on a mission again.” She sniffed, “I thought I did something, but he told me I didn’t...but I don’t know.” She sighed and she put her face on her raised knees, hugging them as she looked at Timothy, “I just don’t know.”

Timothy responded, “It probably wasn’t your fault. It seemed he was frightened about something.”

Sara nodded, “Yeah, but the strangest thing when he drove off, was that he gave me such a strange look. Like he was going to lose me or something. I had given up asking him what happened.”

Timothy put his legs over the bed, “Sara, it’s okay. Whatever happened that day, I’m sure whatever Michael had on his mind, he wanted to protect you.” He gave out a confused look for a second and then asked in wonder, “Isn’t it today your birthday?”

Sara glanced up at him, “Yeah.” She hugged herself again.

Timothy grinned, “You should’ve told me! Happy birthday, Sara.”

Sara blushed, “You are too nice, Mr. Watt.” The rays of the sun beamed down at her hair, making it look like she was having a deformed halo over her head, but nevertheless gorgeous. Then the ray moved out from the window, nearly blinding Timothy’s eyes, although making his eyes look like precious emerald gems. He left his bed and retrieved his trench coat, slipping it on. “I’m getting out of here and taking a shower.” He glanced at his presents, “I don’t know what to do with all this.”

Sara giggled as she saw the mountain of gifts laid out for him, “You must be a hero.”

Timothy pouted, “I didn’t stop Pitch though.”

“You survived him and you are safe, that’s all it matters,” answered Sara, “I’ll get some angels to bring the stuff in your room.”

“Thanks,” Timothy walked over to the door and opened the door, “My lady.”

Sara giggled lightly again, “So kind, sir.” She stepped out of the corridor of the empty hallway, “I swear this place could be in a horror movie sometimes. It’s so empty.”

Timothy raised his eyes at her, “I love horror movies.” He asked although it wasn’t really a horror movie at all. “Ever watched Rocky Horror Picture Show?” They moved down the silent hallway, his black laced-up boots clumping softly on the floor.

Sara shook her head, “I don’t think so. Is it a good horror movie?”

Timothy scoffed and gave a disbelief look, “You never watched that movie?” He gasped in a dramatic way, “Don’t tell me your father makes you watch clean movies?”

Sara burst into laughter, “Oh no, I watch rated R movies all the time.”

“Then, as my present to you, Sara, I am going to show you Rocky Horror Picture Show. I think you would love it.”

Sara thought if she had time to watch a movie with him, but she let her anxiety aside of excising and training, “Take a shower. I’ll get the angels to move your stuff in your room, get some snacks, and we can be off watching it!” Her eyes danced in delight to get her mind off of Pitch and her worried father. And someone to spend time with someone for the first time in a while.

Timothy grinned at her, looking down at her. As they passed the doors leading out of the hospital wing, he swore by the glint of the light, he saw some golden color in her hair.

***

Thomas Pitch stepped proudly on the doorsteps of Lucifer’s castle in the red evening sky of Hell. He admired the sword as the door was opened by demonic guards stationed at their position on a daunting poster and wore silver armor.

Pitch took his first steps in the castle after so many years, breathing in the familiar scent of waxed candles flickering on the walls, greeting him with warmth and brilliancy. As he walked the vintage red carpet down the royal hallway, going up three flights of stairs, one level going into the ballroom, the next level the dining room and kitchen, and the third level was offices, a grand library, a spacious living room, and a bar room that connected to the living room. There were a total of thirteen levels in Lucifer’s comfortable castle, the outside standing with much glamorous stand to the kingdom of Hell.

Thomas Pitch went to the third level and headed to Lucifer’s office, his heart pouncing proudly as he strode down the corridors with demonic guards doing a slight bow of respect. He opened the office door and exclaimed, “I have the sword!”

Lucifer’s office didn’t change at all when Pitch left with a gloomy plea to Lucifer. There stood the desk, which had pink ivory wood as its complexion, the glossy wood making it look shiny and precious. Some people had claimed that specific pink ivory was rarer than diamonds. The desk had carvings of the symbol of pentagrams on the top and bottom, lined up; and on the front in the middle of the desk, spread out Lucifer Morning-Star in cursive.

And there sat Lucifer in his black and gold fabric lion chair. The head of the chair had in the middle that wonderful symbolic symbol of the satanic of the five-pointed star. The Devil looked up at Pitch, he seemed to be writing a letter with quill and ink. He grinned handsomely, putting aside his vintage paper, “Good work, Pitch.” He stood up, walking to Pitch in his formal outfit, nice black pants that were silky to the touch, and wore his usual white dress shirt, and black vest buttoned in silver with the pentagon symbol with a blood red necktie that had a golden clip. He wore black oxfords that were cleaned into a shiny gloss.

Lucifer grabbed the sword that had feather wings as the guard and angelic and demonic language was scripted on the sword. The blade glinted as he looked at it, his chocolate eyes glistering with a wicked promise. He gazed at Pitch, “You did it.” He narrowed his eyes with a beautiful smirk on his face, his black hair slicked back into its regular nature way, and Pitch was happy to see Lucifer in a better-looking state. He hadn’t seen his friend look so pretty and kingly for a while.”Now it’s time to get revenge. It will be game over for Michael.”

Pitch raised his head in the same smirk expression, “At your service, my king."

Lucifer swirled the sword in his hand, feeling the beautiful weight in his hand. He had longed to get this weapon in his head for many, many years, and now that dream had come true. He could finally kill his twin brother once and for all. He knew that killing Michael won’t heal his scars, but he knew for sure that he would be much happier—he hoped. He stroked the blade of the sword and felt the sharp tip of it, “I expect my idiotic of a brother will call me in the morning for my help.” He looked at his friend, “Remember our plan. We need to get all of Michael’s sidekicks in one place with him. My friends know the plan.” He grinned, “I am confident my plan will be executed.” He ran his finger against the edge, “We finished the hard part, now it’s time to play.”

Pitch smirked as he sat down on Lucifer’s desk. His heart fluttered as he gazed at his friend in wonder and love. He wondered what would happen if he leaned into Lucifer and kissed him. His heart pounded against that impossible thought. He had to be content with what he had now. And most importantly, Lucifer seemed to be in a better mood.

Pitch flickered his hands up, and little sparks of magic fly out of them in almost a celebration, “How about some wine?”

***

Kate connected her fists against the punch bag over and over again. She was upset that everything was going in the wrong direction. Sweat poured from her forehand, making her blink constantly to get the wetness out of her eyes. Her breaths were heavy but steady as she kept punching over and over again, grunting as she did so.

Even though she had said those heartening words to the people in the room and felt her spirits liven up a little, the thought of seeing Michael struggle was upsetting her.

She knew she couldn’t control how people felt and acted, her heart throbbed at Michael’s reaction and everything seemed to be falling apart before her eyes. I’m Michael’s personal sidekick and help him constantly, so why do I feel this way? Why do I feel I am a disappointment? I am not doing enough?

She threw another hard punch, feeling anger rush through her like a kick of caffeine. Her knuckles were getting sore, but she kept on until her limbs felt they couldn’t lift themselves anymore.

She threw her arms down, breathing in and out, looking at the beaten-up punchbag. She flexed her fingers and sucked in the hardcore muscles of her abs. She rolled her shoulders as she walked away. She saw heroes had been watching her with some reverence. She couldn’t help but grin slightly.

She saw her boyfriend leaning against the wall in the same room, nodding to her, “Good job. Looks like you needed that.” He chuckled, “I’m glad I wasn’t that punching bag. No one would’ve survived that.”

Kate blushed as Andrew put an arm around her back as they walked out of the room. They went to the cafeteria and Kate got a bottle of water and breakfast. She swallowed the water in three big gulps, letting out a huge burp. “Excuse me,” she said, digging into her bandit eggs.

Andrew had gotten biscuits and gravy and the couple enjoyed their breakfast in silence. They put their empty plates back into the kitchen and Kate tossed the water bottle away. “What’s today?”

Andrew said, “September fifteenth I think.”

Kate stopped her walking and went white, “Oh shit.”

“What?” asked Andrew, concern written over his face.

“Today is Sara’s birthday,” she groaned, “I didn’t get anything for her.” She wiped her sweaty brow.

Andrew whispered as they began up the stairs back to their rooms, “You don’t Michael forgot?”’

Kate sucked in a breath, “I think he had. But Pitch and all this shit, I’m not surprised. Ah, shit, I have to get something for her.” It wasn’t that Kate didn’t care, she did, but Sara wasn’t very easy when it came to presents, “Sixteen birthday…” her eyes lightened up, “I got it.”

Just as she was about to run up the stairs in excitement, she smacked Nathan.

“Ow!” Nathan cried out in surprise, looking up at her, “Oh hey Kate.”

“Oh hi,” Kate said, “Sorry, I didn’t watch where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” answered Nathan, “Actually, I was coming down to get you, Sara, and Timothy. Michael wants all his sidekicks to meet him in his office.”

Kate gave a worried look, “Why?”

Nathan shrugged, “I don’t know, he just texted me about to round up you guys.” He raised his phone with a shrug. “I was going to the hospital because I heard that’s where Timothy and Sara were.”

Kate swallowed down her anxiety in wondering why Michael would want to talk to all of them in his office. She wondered if they did something wrong when they came to him in the basement. He probably just wants to have a meeting to discuss the next move, Kate. “Okay, let’s find the others.” She grabbed Andrew’s hand as they followed Nathan. She did wonder why Michael all of a sudden was trusting Nathan, for The Archangel had suspicions about the boy, but she thought that Michael could use all the help he could.

Ashley chewed on her lips as she drummed her fingers, watching the video on what happened last night. Demetrius was standing next to her, shaking his head, “How?” He quickly glanced at Ashley’s beautiful distressed face as she concentrated hard to find anything that would give any hints to how Pitch escaped.

“It is literally impossible to escape from that glass wall. Any magic towards destroying that wall would’ve made him go to sleep,” explained Ashley, twirling a strand of her tangerine lock around her finger. “Just doesn’t make a damn sense.”

Demetrius licked his dry lips as he went backward watching what happened before the falling glass and then watched in slow motion as the glass fell down, “God, poor Timothy. You heard anything that him?”

“Resting as far as I knew,” responded Ashley. She rubbed her eyes, “This is so tiring.”

Demetrius was about to comment on how she looked tired, but Ricky flung open the door in a grand way and stomped in, “So, what did the devil do this time?”

“Well, Pitch actually,” sighed Demetrius, frowning at his brother.

Ricky shrugged, “Different people, same thing.” He leaned over the computer and hit restart.

“Hey,” Demetrius exclaimed, “We weren’t done yet.”

“Oops,” said Ricky, although not sounding apologetic at all. He nodded as the scene replayed, “You know, not sure if somehow the glass had a crack on the outside...maybe Pitch cracked the wall before he went in, like a very small sliver?”

Ashley and Demetrius blinked at him, and Demetrius stated, “Someone would’ve realized and there would’ve been warning signs if by chance Pitch did a small sliver of a crack in the glass wall.”

Ricky put on his thinking face, trying to calculate all the moves Pitch did before that happened, “You know if Timothy wasn’t in the way when Pitch broke the glass in front of him, we could’ve seen what Pitch was doing with his hands.”

Ashley concluded, “He might’ve stood in front of Timothy so the cameras would’ve blocked his movements.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Ricky. His phone chimed and he pulled it out to see that Michael had texted him. “Oh, Michael wants all of us to meet him at his office.

“Oh no,” Demetrius said in perturbation.

“Maybe it’s nothing bad,” said Ashley, but her sweet honey tone stated otherwise. “Guess we should head up there now.” She looked back at the video and stood up, closing the computer. She frowned at the fact they weren't much help to Michael, “We can tell him what we know so far, which is basically nothing.”