[ONE WEEK AFTER]

The dull pain that had defined his life for the past few months had vanished almost completely, leaving Jonah in a haze of warmth. It was only when he tried to open his eyes that a sharp burn ran from his eyes to his skull. He groaned and lifted his arm to rub his face -- only to be stopped by a pressure around his wrist.

His pulse spiked and his eyes shot open all the way. He was in a building. An actual building with a cottage cheese ceiling and segmented sunshine through windows. He blinked and looked down. He was strapped to a hospital bed. An ache stretched across his skin whenever he moved.

Jonah swallowed -- surprisingly not painfully -- and craned his neck to see the rest of the room. It was definitely a hospital. The lights were down, of course, but it was sunny enough that it didn't really make a difference.

"Hello?" He croaked out, wincing. 

A thud sounded out from just outside the room, swiftly followed by the squeak of boots against tile. 

Adam appeared at the doorway, his hair sticking up at odd angles and dark bags under his eyes. He looked thinner than Jonah remembered, his dark clothes hanging from his formerly muscular frame. He had one hand on his rifle and the other on the doorframe. Adam stared, panting for several seconds.

"Jo?"

Jonah blinked. He'd never heard Adam so uncertain. He nodded slowly, putting his head back against the pillow. "Yeah. Uh -- what happened?"

Adam looked over his shoulder, then stepped into the room before stopping several feet away from the bed. "Are you -- do you remember me? Do you remember who I am?"

"Yeah."

"My full name. And who I am." Jonah's eyes shot down to Adam's rifle. The muzzle was angled towards the foot of his bed, and Adam had both hands on it now. Jonah hesitated for a moment.

"Adam Jing. You're my best friend," Jonah licked his lips, "have been for years."

"How many years?"

"I don't know -- since first grade? Uh -- twenty years? Ish?"

Adam pursed his lips, eyes darting back toward the hall. He nodded. He kept nodding to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Jesus Adam, what's going on? Why am I tied down?"

He stared at Jonah with wide eyes. Then he slid the safety of his rifle back on -- why had it been off? -- and rushed over. He fumbled with the straps for a few moments before releasing Jonah's chest, moving on to his wrists. "They're going to kill you."

"What?" Jonah couldn't bring himself to be shocked. The information just thudded softly into his chest.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut again, hands shaking as he unbuckled Jonah's ankle. "The witches. They've convinced everyone that Abby broke some sort of rule -- some magic rule -- and that they need to kill you to make it right."

Panic rising, Jonah sat up. His head felt like it was full of water, brain liquefied and sloshing back and forth. He groaned and put his head into his hand. That was a mistake. As soon as his elbow bent, his entire arm erupted into flames. He gasped and his sleeve dropped slightly, a sliver of something silver flashing on his skin.

"Don't look." Adam shoved Jonah's face into the crook of his neck, forcing him away from his own hands. He picked Jonah up like a baby and started walking.

His breath warmed Jonah's ear uncomfortably. "Be quiet."

Jonah could hardly see anything in the hall, especially over Adam's shoulder. Adam's hummingbird heartbeat sent his own mind into overdrive. Questions bubbled up behind his teeth, wondering what had happened, what was going to happen, where Abby was, why everything hurt so much. Every time they came close to any voices, Adam darted into a room, crouching in shadows.

"If everyone wants to kill me," Jonah whispered, "why aren't you?"

Adam squeezed him, triggering another wave of pain. "Ride or die, remember? Also getting my brain eaten by my best friend isn't the worst way to go."

Neither of them dared to say anything else. Adam's arms shook around Jonah, occasionally having to set him down on the icy tiles. Though he tried, Jonah couldn't quite bring himself to walk. His skin tightened and burned like it was one open wound -- but only when he moved. The little jostles were more than he could take, cringing each time. By the time they made it down the stairs and out of the building, Jonah was panting through his teeth.

"J!" Abby's voice sent a flood of warmth through him. He forced his eyes open against the sunlight to spy her familiar golden hair.

Her, Donovan, and three of their former classmates -- from a humanities class a thousand years gone -- were all crammed into a minivan. Abby sat in the empty backseat, arms outstretched for him.

Adam set Jonah into his sister's arms. Magic flowed around him, lifting him without putting pressure on his skin and depositing him gently onto the seats. He stared at it. Abby's fingers twitched through the air, controlling gossamer threads of magic like a puppeteer. How had he never seen it before? He reached out to touch one of the threads. 

It lurched away from him like he'd stung it.

And on his own hand -- a flat spike of silver moved. It burned under his skin. A tattoo. He watched it move and curl like a sluggish snake beneath his flesh.

The panic came and passed through in less than a heartbeat. 

This wasn't something to be afraid of. he didn't know much -- but of this he was certain.

The minivan had long since lurched into motion. Dried up forests passed in a blur as Donovan sped down empty highways. 

"He okay?" Donovan shot a look over his shoulder.

Abby had her arm over Jonah's middle, and Adam leaned forward on his left. 

"I'm fine," Jonah said before either of them could speak up.

The three classmates watched him like hawks. Tracy Mathers. Lois Tran. Ian Grace. He knew them well enough. 

But Ian had a sniper rifle across his lap, and Lois had her pistol out and the muzzle dangerously close to Jonah. 

"He's good," Adam said, "I checked."

"Are you sure?" Lois asked.

"Yes," Adam tightened his grip on his gun. "I am."

Donovan hissed. "Guys, cool it. Just because those girls say he's an abomination doesn't mean we're supposed to kill him. Critical thinking, remember?"

Abomination. That was new. Jonah hadn't even known it was on the table. "You brought me back from the dead, right? I was dead."

The minivan went silent. Abby clutched at his sleeve, her breaths quiet. 

"Thanks," he said.

Abby's chin trembled. "Yeah."

[FOUR WEEKS AFTER]

The smell of burning rubber filled the air as Jonah leaned into the car. It was a four-door sedan -- not even close in size to the eighteen-wheeler he'd shoved off the freeway last week. The doors dented inward, his tattoos rushing with heat and digging into his muscles. The sedan's tires streaked black on the road. It finally passed the tipping point and flipped down into the ditch, glass shattering on impact.

Jonah rocked back on his heels, the burn dimming almost immediately. "Last one!"

The rest of the group sat in the shade by their parked minivan. Adam gave a thumbs up, grinning. 

Coming back from the dead had its perks. Super strength, super healing, super everything. It was like being human but dialed all the way up. He couldn't use magic, though. Abby lorded that over him when she wasn't floored by pregnancy pains.

Jonah rubbed his hands together as he examined an empty hybrid. It had been stripped by other survivors long ago, but what he really wanted to know was whether the ugly pale green was what the car had come with or if the sun had damaged the color too much. He dug his fingers into the coated metal, feeling the layers give under his strength.

He smiled when he got another idea. He crouched low to the ground and grasped the undercarriage of the car. He flipped it with all his strength.

The little hybrid lifted off, spinning violently before crashing halfway up a tree.

"Holy shit!" Adam's shout rang out through the street.

Jonah cringed and covered his mouth, wide-eyed as the car's frame caught in a pine and stopped falling several meters before the ground. 

"Sorry," he wasn't sure who he was apologizing to. Abby whooped and clapped, prompting the others to join in.

[TWO MONTHS AFTER]

Even though they wanted him dead, Jonah desperately wished for the witches. Abby nursed a bottle of flat soda -- her lips peeling and eyes so dark they almost looked bruised. 

The others were asleep. Tracy -- so quiet he barely remembered the sound of her voice -- was curled up around a NY Times Bestseller. She'd been bemoaning the author's death for the past few days, desperate to know what happened in the final installment of the series. As far as any of them could tell, the last book was forever lost.

Abby had borne the brunt of the other girl's ranting, which Jonah desperately wished she hadn't. His sister was many things, but an extrovert she was not. Abby's exhaustion took a heavy toll on her and the baby.

She hadn't slept well since bringing Jonah back from the dead either. 

She hadn't slept well since her fiancé died.

Jonah would be better off saying that she hadn't gotten more than eight hours since the deadwater thing started, whether it was her pregnancy, the trauma, or her magic.

"Abby?"

"Yep?"

"You're an ass." Jonah leaned against her, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah. Wait -- why?"

Jonah snickered. "You brought me back to life just so you wouldn't have to be preggers alone, right?"

She smiled, taking a swig of the soda. "Yes, J. I did the most unnatural and difficult magical act I could think of and lost my only friends just because I needed to inconvenience my little brother. Your powers of analysis are staggering."

"You have Adam."

Abby cast him a sidelong glare. "He's a dick."

"Donovan?"

"Too much of a dad."

"Isn't that why 'daddy' is a term of endearment?"

Abby's face flushed red beneath her sunburn. "Oh, fuck off. He's your teacher."

At Jonah's exaggerated eyebrow waggle, she groaned and turned around, burrowing herself into her sleeping bag. Hopefully she'd stay asleep this time.