I woke up in a bed, clothed in scrubs, in a ward of a hospital I didn't recognise. The headache I had felt like it would split my skull in two. Not to mention the throbbing pain in my neck and back. I raised a hand to my face and felt it bump into the familiar sculpted plastic of a neck brace. 

With a weary sigh, I slumped back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. As I collected my thoughts, I sifted through the events of earlier. Our arrival at the apartment. Hearing our killer attempting to escape. The chase. Subduing him, or at least we'd thought.

Then Evelyn being thrown through the air like an empty soda can and me getting swatted like a fly. By a brute that grew from a scrawny Indian man pinned to the floor.

As my mind cleared, I remembered something I should've told Evelyn about. Something I should've remembered myself. How could I have forgotten? That little snippet of information I'd gotten from Connie.

Rakshasa could shapeshift. That's what Benjamin had been doing underneath us. How he had the strength to break free and throw both of us around like rag dolls.

Fuck.

My fists clenched in anger, bunching up the blanket that covered my chest. Many thoughts ran through my head, regrets and "what if"s. The anger then swiftly changed to worry: what happened to Evelyn? Is she alright? Where is she now? Questions I couldn't answer because I was stuck in a fucking hospital bed with a brace around my neck. Thankfully, someone came to stop my disastrous train of thought before it derailed. I was brought back to reality when Dylan came through my door. But what I saw written on his face wasn't concern.

I knew Dylan well enough to know when he was pissed; normally people froth at the mouth, go red-faced and veiny and shout a lot when they're furious. But Dylan was one of that rare breed who went absolutely calm and quiet when he was seething. And the moment he walked in, I knew he was irate. 

He pulled a chair up and sat next to my bed, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. An awkward, tense silence followed, before I opened my dumb mouth to defend myself.

"Dylan, look I-"

He raised a hand to cut me off and I shut up.

"I don't want to hear it, Daniel. No need for an excuse. What I want to hear is the reason you and Evelyn went to our suspect's apartment, knowing he was dangerous, and didn't call for backup."

I bit my tongue and held back some smarmy retort. He was right, after all. We'd gone in there without extra hands and, as a result, got our assets handed to us in short order. Dylan took my silence as a failure to come up with some reasonable excuse and continued talking.

"Daniel, you know full well that when a suspect's considered armed and dangerous, you heed the warning. You wear your vest, you get your sidearm and you call for backup. That's what I expect you to do. Not charge in there like some knight in shining armour and get your ass kicked. You know better than this, Dan. I've seen the way you've worked our mundane cases. What's gotten into you?"

"In my defense, LT, I didn't know he was going to be that dangerous. He literally grew into a giant underneath us! How are we supposed to predict that?!"

"Damn it Daniel! You missed the point! I don't care how strong or how fast he was. I care about how you knew this and yet you didn't call for help! Even worse, Evelyn went along with you! Both of you got hurt and there was no one there to make sure our killer couldn't get away!"

A sullen silence replaced our argument. It hung over our heads like a storm cloud that threatened to erupt into lightning and thunder at any moment. I don't know how long passed between us, but I broke the silence with a question, one that had been on my mind ever since I'd woken up.

"How's Evelyn?"

I watched Dylan straighten in his chair for a moment, then he slumped as he recalled some details the doctors must have told him. I knew it was serious just from his body language alone. When he spoke, it had none of the anger from earlier. His words were softer, tinged with an almost familial concern.

"A lot of internal bleeding. Several broken ribs. She hit the edge of the dumpster and folded around it like a ragdoll. Her internal organs took most of the brunt but the bleeding was bad enough that she had to be operated on immediately."

I deflated. We'd worked together and been in love for two years and the worst I'd seen her being hurt was getting shoved over into some trash by a drunk. But this... It was devastating. Tears pooled in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks unbidden, knowing that she was lying in a bed, like me, all torn up on the inside, unconscious and hurting. The guilt hurt.

And it was my fault.

I hung my head, as much as I could in the neck brace, and tried to dry my eyes with my sleeve. Then I felt Dylan press a piece of tissue paper into my hand and looked up. He wasn't seated anymore, but standing beside my bed. 

Gone was the silent anger I'd seen earlier in his face. All I saw now was concern, a look that reminded me of when he'd first defended me from my bullies in middle school, all those years ago. The kid that had scared off the assholes that had beaten me to a bloody pulp and taken me to the school nurse. When he spoke, the more he reminded me of that point in time.

"C'mon Danny boy, it's not the end of the world. I can't stay angry at you forever. What's done is done, we can't change that. But we can change the future. We have the knowledge now, of what this guy can do. We're prepared. Next time, I'll handle him."

"Wait, what?"

I dried my eyes with the tissue as he sat on the edge of my bed. He looked at me as he put a hand into his suit jacket.

"You want to know why all those times I fought with your bullies, they could never scratch me?"

"Uh... You told me you had a black belt in some martial art."

"Not just that, Dan. Watch."

Dylan pulled a small black object from his jacket and flicked it open to reveal it was a small switchblade. Then he rolled up one of his sleeves. Before I could say anything, he plunged the blade into his exposed forearm. My breath caught in my throat and I was about to scream for a doctor until I noticed something.

The blade had stopped. Completely. It was pressed onto his flesh but I saw no cut or blood pouring from it. Then he dragged the blade up and down his forearm like he was some sort of suicidal maniac! It took all I had not to shout and grab for the knife. But again, there was no blood. Not even so much as a mark. Dylan raised the blade, took another sheet of tissue paper, and cut into it to show me that the knife was sharp. Very sharp.

I was dumbfounded and confused. He caught the look on my face and laughed as he kept the knife in his jacket pocket.

"I'm a Nemean lion, Dan. Remember? Hendrix told you about what I am at the White Rabbit. Haven't you ever read about Hercules? His great feats?"

"Uh... Not really, no."

Dylan sighed and shook his head. In a flash of white fire, he was in his leonine form again. A great big lion in a suit and tie sat on the edge of my bed.

"The Nemean lion, in Greek myth, was only killed when Hercules broke its jaw and strangled it to death. Why? Because our hide is impenetrable. Nothing gets past it. Neither blades nor bullets can wound me. I basically have armoured skin."

Suddenly it all made sense. No wonder he'd always gotten out of fights without a bruise or scratch. He was invincible! That's why the switchblade had done nothing.

"But if the Nemean lion was killed by Hercules, how are you one?"

He laughed again.

"Whoever said there was only one lion? My ancestors were Greek but my granddad moved here after World War Two. Started a family and here I am."

Made sense. To be fair, I hadn't really asked Dylan a lot about his family when we were growing up together. Never really crossed my mind. Wasn't too surprising. Then again, considering I was, what, a week or two into all this crazy shit like my best friend being a lion? It felt like a drop in a stormy sea.

Speaking of which.

"Wait a minute. Why aren't you scared of someone seeing you like that? Aren't we in a public hospital?"

Dylan shook his head.

"Nope. Private. The nice thing about being a mythic in modern times is that we've got basic amenities like healthcare and stuff provided by mythics, for mythics. This place, for instance, is a mythic hospital. One of three on Manhattan Island."

He gestured out the door as a centaur in a lab coat trotted by my room.

Huh.

"You'll be fine here, Danny boy. Take your time, rest and recover and you'll be back on your feet in no time. But I do have some bad news."

Dylan rose and straightened out his suit jacket before affixing me with a stern look.

"I'm temporarily taking both you and Evelyn off the case for not waiting for backup during that confrontation. It'll last until you recover and are cleared by a doctor. That means no working while you're at home resting, alright?"

I nodded. It was only fair. My punishment was to sit here and twiddle my thumbs until it didn't hurt to look anywhere except ahead. Dylan patted my shoulder and left my room. The quiet hum of the ventilation system and the bustle from outside took over. Without much choice, I sank lower and sighed.

This was going to be boring.

Fuck.