Title: Light at the End
Author: Kelandris the Mad 
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general 
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob/Mercy (no sex, some smarm)
Rating: PG-13 for language, maybe a tad higher for emotional intensity
Status: New 
Archive: You must send an email to me and let me know where you 
intend to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't 
intend to publish. Behave. 
Email address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequel: I guess part of the Mercy files? Actually, this is a 
sequel to Ren's "Tunnel Vision", something I'm cringing at doing.
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View 
Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at 
least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and 
buy all the DVDs at once. 
Notes: I am such a heel, I made Bob cry. Jay torture. Bob torture. 
Hair torture (sorry, Alex!). Perversion of what was a normal bad 
trip (sorry, Ren!). Eek, but it ends well. I hope.
Summary: Jay has a *very* bad trip, and Bob calls Mercy in to help.

"Light at the End" 
by Kelandris 


The woman with the incredible eyes and the man with the sandy hair 
sat in the large, book-lined room. Weak English sunshine poured 
through the diamond-shaped panes of leaded glass in the tall library 
windows. Motes of dust glittered in the still air. It was quiet in 
the library, save for the gentle airs of the Canon in D playing 
softly on the stereo. Mercy Wallis, Special Investigator for the 
Vatican, was enjoying a rare morning free from any particular 
pressure to save civilization as she'd grown accustomed to knowing it.

She was curled up in a wing chair, long legs dangling over one of the 
chair arms, reading Shakespeare and barely smiling. Her long, glossy 
hair was braided and hung down over one shoulder. Denny Montrose, 
her personal assistant, sat at the computer reading last night's 
returns, occasionally hitting a key or two or clicking the mouse.

Suddenly there was a ping from the computer.

"Batman to the rescue," murmured Mercy.

"Oh, very funny," Denny said. He clicked open a new window on the 
computer screen, peering intently.

"Ethros demon seen in a subway in Los Angeles."

Mercy didn't look up from her book. "Harmless," she said.

Denny clicked another button. "Someone named�Durian Boone attacked 
and killed two tourists in Prague�the report says he was seen to bite 
them and drain them of blood." He looked over at her. She casually 
turned a page.

"Durian is not a name, it's a linoleum product. Besides, that's what 
Slayers are for, remember? Let them take care of Mr. Floor Covering."

Another click. "How about this? Ng Velanger broke into the Museum 
of Modern Art last week. Left his usual calling card."

Mercy kicked a leg, stretching the toe forward into a sunbeam. "Not 
interested. Wait. What did he take?"

Denny hit a few more keys, leaning back in his black chair. 

"Looks like a small collection of lucite blocks in various colors."

The purple-eyed woman tapped the cover of the Shakespeare 
compilation, thinking. 

"Was it a human heart he left?"

Denny hit a key, now staring at the police photo, 
grimacing. "Doesn't look like it," he finally said.

"Now I'm interested. Drop him an email asking why."

"Just asking why?" Denny asked. He turned, sweeping his bangs back 
with a head toss.

"Just asking why," she confirmed. "It will nag at him, wondering why 
I want to know, until he'll set up a meet. I'll go, propose a trade, 
retrieve the blocks, and return them to the museum. Problem solved."

"What on earth�oh, no, you wouldn't." He turned again to grimace at 
her. She smiled coyly, revealing even, white teeth, the canines the 
only two sharply pointed, and in line with the other teeth.

"And what use have I save nostalgia for a mummified dog's heart? Ng 
will love it. I might even be able to persuade him not to hit 
museums for a while."

"We're in a sick business," Denny muttered.

"Dealing with sick people. The which you well know. What else?"

The phone rang, startling them both. Denny picked it up, eyes 
unfocusing slightly. "Wallis Investig--" He sharply inhaled, 
turning to give the handset to Mercy. She leaned forward, taking it, 
setting the book aside.

"Tell me," she said.

A choked young voice on the other end spoke over a low, broken 
keening in the background. "It's Jay," said Silent Bob, sounding 
scared, heartbroken and completely alone. "Please come."

Mercy turned to Denny, gesturing towards the second phone on the 
computer desk.

"Concorde. Now. Notify Anders!"

***

**Well,** she thought, walking up by-now familiar stairs, **at least 
it's not me this time. Though that's no comfort�** Shaking her 
head, she knocked softly.

Bob answered the door. It was all she could do not to cry out. Limp 
tendrils of brown hair hung in his face, and he looked like he'd lost 
a good twenty pounds. He hadn't shaved long enough for his cheeks to 
partially fill in, and there were long scratches on his arms and 
neck. And he was crying, large, glistening tears pouring from pain-
reddened eyes.

Immediately she stepped inside, kicking the door closed with a booted 
foot and took him into her arms, pulling him close and stroking his 
unwashed hair. He clung to her, sobbing, while she held him.

"It's going to get better, Bob, I promise you," she said softly. "I 
promise you."

After a long moment, he pulled away, sniffling, and stared at her. 
His dark eyes were haunted and drained. But he merely tossed his 
head towards the back room and set off. Mercy trailed after him, 
more worried than words could express.

When he opened the door to his room, Mercy had to fight back another 
cry. If Bob looked bad, Jay looked worse. Healed and unhealed 
scratches, some gouges, were seen on his face, arms, legs and chest. 
Some were bandaged; most were not. He was wrapped in a pair of black 
shorts and a white sheet that had seen better days, covered now with 
pale brown circles of old blood. He tossed his head, again making 
that low, keening sound she'd heard on the phone.

"Dear gods," she said, blinking. "What did this?"

Bob shrugged. "We don't know. He took something. We don't even 
know where he was."

"Jesus wept," she quoted softly. Throwing her purse and her coat to 
one side, she sat down on the edge of the bed, gently lifting Jay's 
hands.

"Well, I can do one thing," she murmured, and began stroking the 
places of injury. Where her hands passed, the skin healed, on arms, 
hands, legs and chest. Then she placed both hands on his face, and 
when she lifted them, his skin was perfect once more. Dirty and 
still bloodstained, yes, but there were no longer such terrible 
wounds clawed from his eyes to his chin.

Bob sobbed once, a gasping sound, and she looked up.

"My very dear," she said soberly, "we aren't out of these woods yet. 
I need you to do two things for me."

He shook his head, shrugging at the same time. *Anything*, the 
motion said.

"First, get me a glass of water, if you would. Secondly, take a 
shower and eat something. You look�" **Haggard,** her mind 
screamed. **Drained, exhausted, half-mad with the strain�**

"Tired," she finished. She saw him gear up to protest and shook her 
head sharply.

"I mean this. You know I will call you, should there be any change. 
But you need to take care of yourself, poppet. You've been shredding 
yourself caring for your love, and I'm here now. I can watch him for 
the scant few minutes it will take you to cleanse and feed your body."

He opened his mouth and she rose from the bed, touching fingers to 
his lips.

"*Robert*," she said sternly. His eyes opened--wide and angry. 
Good, he was thinking about something else for once. "I will take 
care of him," she continued. "You will take care of yourself, or 
collapse from the strain. Which would you rather have happen?"

For a long moment, he glared up at her, then his shoulders slumped. 
He walked from the room, still sniffling slightly. She shook her 
head, a spasm of pity moving through her, then she dismissed it. 
**As if he needs pity from anyone. He's been here for at least a 
week caring for this poor lost soul, with no outside assistance. 
That's a strange sort of mad courage, isn't it? And strength.**

Siting on the edge of the bed again, she stroked a hand over Jay's 
brow, staring at the boy. He was clenched around something unseen, 
all his limbs trembling slightly. His hair was in the worst shape 
Mercy had ever seen it, hanging in dark, tangled, greasy strands. 
Now that his skin was healed, she could see how sallow he'd gotten, 
his chest barely lifting with each staggering breath. He'd lost 
weight as well, weight he could ill afford to lose. There were deep 
and shadowed hollows underneath his eyes.

Placing one hand on his chest, over his heart, and curling the other 
against his temple, she closed her eyes, slowing her breathing and 
heart rate. She reached across the barrier between them, slipping 
with unusual difficulty into his mind. Something�there was something 
here�something moving, in the background, something�

**dark, it was dark, but the light at the end�there was light, it was 
not light, it was--*

**pain, and sound, breathing, staggering, each inhalation hurting 
more than the next, and pain, and dark things moving, moving--**

**and bright sparks that were chips of bone that were arcs of 
lightning that were sullen red embers glowing and burning and--**

Mercy lifted her head and her hands at the same time, filling her 
lungs with air in a great gasp. She blinked, her eyes glowing bright 
actinic yellow against the window's dark reflection. She heard 
movement behind her and whirled, startling Bob, who dropped the glass 
of water he held.

With the speed of thought she was beside him, catching the glass 
neatly. He flinched back and she walked by him out of the room, eyes 
still whirling and flashing gold.

She took several unsteady steps to the telephone, lifting the 
receiver and dialing. She rubbed at her eyes.

**sparks and pain and searching, searching--**

**where was the one bright thing--**

Her eyes snapped open, flaring violet. She concentrated for a long 
moment on her breath while the call went through.

"Wallis Investigations," came the chipper voice.

"Denny," she said softly.

"Mercy, how goes the fight?"

She paused, seeing no better way to say it. "Not well," she finally 
said, cursing Bob's presence behind her in the room. She heard him 
inhale, knowing Bob was thinking of Jay hurt, Jay injured, Jay dead.

**As if that's so much better than Jay comatose,** she thought 
bitterly. She shook it off, returning to Denny on the other end of 
the line.

"I need you to do something for me. If you could track down a 
grocer's here, and order a selection of goods? Meat, milk, eggs," 
she said, thinking for a moment. "Bread," she continued. "And 
broth. Cheese. Perhaps some fruit. The usual, I would suppose. 
And some herbal tea--something good for systemic support, not a 
specific ailment."

"Beer," said the hoarse voice behind her. She turned, frowning.

"Neither of you need beer right now."

"Oh, have a heart," Denny said. "This is the kind of situation that 
just screams for a pint all round, I have a feeling."

She sighed again, listening to the tinny voice on the handset 
speaker. "All right. Locate a liquor store as well. Have them send 
over some of their best; I'd prefer stouts and pilsner-weights over 
the usual American tripe. And--"

She broke off, casting a measuring look at Bob. "Also a fifth of 
good whiskey," she continued, "and a smaller bottle of good brandy, 
and a bottle or so of white wine. Something drinkable in all three 
categories, not for company--there's no need to spend more than $30 
per bottle."

Bob snorted behind her, and she ignored him.

"Account?" Denny asked.

She thought for a moment. "Pull it off the Lynd and Hallows funds," 
she said. "Use the business card."

"Done. It'll be there soon."

"Don't forget the broth, Den."

"I won't." The line clicked in her ear, dialtone following. She 
turned to face Bob.

"Shower," she said firmly. "Now!"

He grimaced, but walked off towards the bathroom. She didn't move 
until she heard the water turn on. Then she replaced the handset on 
its cradle, peered in at Jay--good, no new wounds--and came back out, 
picking up the glass of water and taking several careful sips.

Several minutes went by while she listened to the water spray in the 
bathroom and the fainter sounds of Silent Bob sobbing. She picked up 
the phone again, dialing the same number.

"Wallis In--"

"Denny, there's a problem."

"I thought as much. What's happening?"

"I need you to research the magical poisons for me. Look for 
something that leaves a dark sensory trail and causes comatose states 
in humans. I think it's a synovetic derivative, but I'm not sure."

"Dear God," Denny said. His voice was hushed. She could hear the 
ticking of the parlor clock in the background. "That boy you're 
there to help--" 

"Yes. The one you haven't met," she said dryly.

"On it. Various bits of kibble and booze are on their way, as well."

"Good. Call me soon, Denny." And she was listening to dialtone 
again. She walked back to check on Jay. He was still knotted up on 
the bed, twisted around the sheet. She unfurled his limbs, unfisted 
his hands, pulling the sheet over him, and dropped her hand to his 
shoulder, listening as his breathing slowed from even her touch.

**So alone in there,** she thought, her other hand clenching at her 
side.

**How do we get him out?**

Mercy turned, watching Bob walk into the room, reminded again that 
her thoughts weren't as private around him as around others. He was 
nude save for a towel girdling his hips, and she turned away, 
smiling. Her eyes landed once more on Jay and the smile slipped 
away, replaced by faint worry. She swallowed, hearing Bob rustling 
through clothes behind her.

"I don't know yet, poppet." She turned to face him again. He 
finished pulling a grey t-shirt over his head, sweeping his hair back 
behind his ears. He looked very young and very scared, cut adrift by 
the damage to his friend. She walked slowly to his side, taking his 
shoulders in her hands.

"I promise you, though, I will find out. And when I find out, we'll 
fix him. We'll bring him back. Do you believe me?"

He nodded, but his face crumpled anyway, bright fat tears rolling 
down his cheeks. Impulsively she folded him into her arms again, 
levering them both into seats on the floor before he realized they'd 
moved. He clung to her, sobbing, his thoughts chaotic. She just 
held him, rocking back and forth, murmuring words of assurance in a 
low voice. It didn't matter what they were--she started in English, 
transited through Italian and Russian, back through Turkish and 
Aramaic to Egyptian. It didn't matter--it was the sound that lulled 
him, the sound that soothed him, the sound that coated frayed nerves, 
healed the strain and worry, patched the ravages of the past week. 

Finally, Bob cried himself out, and the gentle caress of her fingers 
through his soft, dark hair sent him to sleep. Silent now, she 
picked him up, laying him beside Jay. Brushing hair off his brow, 
she stared at him for a worried moment, then her hand dropped to 
brush healing energy across his neck, down his arms. Soon, his skin 
was as unmarked as Jay's. Turning, she left the room, closing the 
door but for a crack and moving the phone onto the couch.

Picking up some magazine on a side table, she leafed through it, 
waiting. About the time the phone rang, she realized she'd gone 
through the entire thing and couldn't remember one word of what she'd 
read. She picked up the phone, steeling herself for what she might 
hear.

"Denny?"

"It's not good," he said.

"Tell me."

"If it is a synovetic�" He sighed. "There are three possibilities. 
The first is the worst, the Theriac of Light--a more misnamed poison 
I never�anyway. It acts as a catalyst for nightmares, shredding the 
soul and the mind before liquifying the body. If you haven't seen 
initial signs, it's probably not that one."

She shook her head violently, banishing the image that rose like a 
movie monster in her mind. "Not that one," she said firmly.

"All right. That brings us to the synovetic Esarcaine--and this 
one's not so bad in itself, just in getting it out. It causes the 
creation of a small fear demon, that stays within the body fostering 
fears and guilts, and can survive for years just feeding on the 
trapped soul. Unfortunately, to clear the body, the heart must be 
removed and stuffed with basil."

"How does that help the person affected?!?"

"Well, the fear demon leaves and can then be killed," he said 
thoughtfully. "Though I grant you it's not ideal."

"What else?" She was beginning to worry more.

"The last one I found is called Dailenth. It's harsh--it can be 
bound in any carrier, heroin, cocaine, acid, pot, hashish--
practically any natural or synthetic drug. It takes over the outer 
senses, trapping the victim in a repeating loop, searching for what 
he's lost. And that's usually the most powerful positive influence 
in his life."

"Silent Bob, in other words."

"Exactly."

"And how, exactly, do I rid his system of Dailenth? If we're on the 
right track at all!"

"You have to bring them together."

She blinked for a moment, staring off into space.

"You must be kidding," she finally said. "Jay's dead to the world. 
And I don't believe his companion is fond of necrophilia."

Denny sounded frustrated. "All it says is you have to bring them 
together. I don't know what it means, you know these old magical 
texts."

"Too well." She thought for a moment. "All right, but tonight I let 
the boys sleep as much as possible. Bob's a rag of worry and fear, 
and I want him to have at least a few hours uninterrupted to rebuild."

The doorbell rang.

"Den, I have to go, the groceries are here. Call me if you find out 
anything else."

"Your wish is my command, Your Terror. I merely await your word."

"Shut up." She hung up the phone and walked to the door, opening 
it. A thin young man with red hair peered at her mistrustfully.

"Says these boxes go to this address?" he said, tapping the large 
box he held.

"Yes, please, bring them in." She stepped aside and he walked in, 
staring around, setting the box down in the kitchen. She went 
outside, grabbing another box that clinked pleasantly and carried 
that in while he went out for the rest. She walked over to where 
she'd dropped her bag when he turned from the last one and pulled out 
a twenty.

"Thank you, very much."

His eyes opened wide. He peered at her, then shrugged. "Sure, call 
us any time." And he walked out of the house, closing the door 
behind him.

**Polite young man,** she thought, turning to the task of putting 
food away. It ended up being a task of cleaning the refrigerator of 
several fuzzy items, and sluicing the interior down with a wash of 
bleach she'd found in a bottle underneath the sink. Denny had 
ordered several boxes and cans of broth, and she rummaged around for 
the can opener, opening a can of beef broth and drinking it cold. 
After which, she put cold items in cold storage, put a few of the 
bread loaves and meat products in the freezer, and set the alcohol--
all but the beer--on the back counter by the sink.

Popping the cork out of a bottle of Riesling, she poured a mugful and 
recorked the wine, walking back to the couch. She listened for a 
moment to the sound of Bob's even breathing and Jay's staggered 
hitching in and out of breath. Mercy shook her head, sipping at the 
wine. Then Jay screamed.

Instantly she put down the wine and raced into the bedroom. Bob was 
sitting up in bed, blinking, and Jay cuffed him, his hands curling 
into claws. He was keening again, the sound growing louder, and 
Mercy sprang to Jay's side of the bed, wrapping her arms around those 
straining limbs and holding him fast.

"I had intended," she said through gritted teeth, "to give you more 
time to sleep."

Bob gave her a long-suffering look and she shrugged, staring 
resentfully at Jay. "Damn it, child," she whispered, "I do *not* 
want to hurt you�"

Finally he quieted, still keening in that upsetting tone. She looked 
at Bob, watched the worry and tension and anxiety steal over his 
face again.

**Nothing for it, old girl,** she thought. "All right," she said 
aloud. "We think we've figured out what he was given. But I'll need 
your help to bring him back."

He nodded, never looking away from Jay.

"It's going to tax you."

"I don't care if it kills me," Bob said softly.

"Oh, believe me, it would be easier were it only to kill you." 
Laying Jay down, watching him promptly curl around Bob's legs where 
he knelt in the tangle of sheets and blankets, she shook her head.

"All right," she said again. She reached down with one hand, curling 
Jay's unresponsive fingers around her own. The other she held out to 
Bob. He reached out, took it, pulling it down to his lap, and 
reached out to hold Jay's other hand.

"Good enough," she said. "Now you have to follow." And she closed 
her eyes, breathing deeply. What had Denny said�*you have to bring 
them together*. Well, short of something extremely unpleasant, this 
was the only way she knew how.

Drifting down into a trance state, she reached for both young minds. 
Bob's came readily, surprise radiating from him but following her 
with the ease of long practice. Jay, again, was difficult and hard 
to find, but she carried both of them into Jay. And the fight began 
to find him.

**glass splinters gouged at his/her throat, and burned like acid, 
like whisky, sliding into him/her--**

Bob cried out, and Mercy held his hand tighter, reminding him there 
was a world outside, a world where Jay still was, if only they could 
find him.

**and fire, and pain, and despair, where was the bright thing, where 
was the only thing, pain and fear and grief commingling--**

Another sound torn from Silent Bob's throat, and all his muscles 
tensing, digging the round curves of his nails into his palms, into 
Jay's limp fingers, Mercy sparing a fragment of attention to 
disengage the clenching in Bob's limbs�

**dark redshot agonymad dancing, dancing until the bones leapt out of 
her/him, dancing until the pavement shattered, the sky above roiling 
with strange colors that made the screams--**

**down--**

Bob breathing haggardly, Mercy whispering words in an unknown tongue�

**down--**

Jay gasping, Jay twitching in their grasp, Jay crying out against the 
pain inside�

**down--**

"No more," Silent Bob saying, "no, please, no more," but there had to 
be more, and Mercy hardened her heart, not letting either of them go�

**contact**

Mercy nearly felt them land as a physical thing. She stood, looking 
around. Sky, overhead, looking as if it had been cut whole from 
bleeding, twitching flesh. Landscape, beneath and around them, 
carved of cold cinders. She looked further. Bob was there, weaving 
on his pins but there. And Jay�

Jay was curved into a small ball, all gangly youth and angles, his 
long arms wrapped around his head. And what crouched over him�

Bob gasped, turning away, shaking his head. Whatever it was, Mercy 
thought grimly, it perfectly fit the sky. She stepped forward.

"You have something of ours," she said pleasantly. Her words chimed 
with the sound of bells here, and the thing by Jay twitched. It 
shook what passed for a head, however, grinning largely and blinking 
its wet eyes.

"Not of yours," it said, the sound like heated iron in the screaming 
air. It turned to where Bob stood, pointing with a nub of a finger.

"His," it said, flexing all eight fingers at once. Mercy turned to 
look at Bob. Bob turned around, shaking, but his face was set.

"Mine," he said firmly.

"Mm, and what will he do to get his thing back?" it said, standing. 
Standing, it wasn't much taller than it had been crouching, but the 
long ropes of its rugose substance had been mercifully hidden. 
Shaking, Mercy stepped forward, stepping between the ill thing and 
Jay. Bob took the opportunity to kneel at Jay's side, picking him 
up. The thing howled, reaching around Mercy for the boy, but Mercy 
stood her ground.

"Does there need to be more?" she asked pleasantly.

"No," the thing said, its lipless mouth curling. "Letter of Dailenth 
satisfied. But not spirit--"

And it pointed at her, the nub of the finger shooting forward so fast 
she couldn't react in time. It buried itself half an inch in her 
throat, and she pulled off, gasping, falling to the splintered ground.

"Someone must suffer," it said, leaning down. "You will do." And it 
evaporated in great, wet sections, the landscape and the sky and the 
cracked, dark earth going with it, until they hung in darkness, two 
bright sparks surrounding a dimmer one, and Mercy blinked, rushing 
out of Jay's mind.

She looked around the room, eyes stinging, and couldn't for a moment 
track why she was there. Bob stared around, eyes wide, then looked 
down at Jay. Jay blinked, a shudder traveling through him, and then 
opened his eyes.

"Hey," he said weakly. "Bob. My boy Bob�bad trip, huh?" His hand 
reached up for Bob's face, and Jay paused, seeing it still grasped 
tightly in Bob's hands. He chuckled weakly.

"What, I worried you and shit? That's kinda sweet, Lunchbox, I gotta 
remember to do that again. I can dig the sympathy gig."

Mercy shook her head. "Not like that," she said--or started to; all 
that emerged was a wet croaking sound. Jay turned towards her.

"Fuck," he said, eyes wide. `You're bleeding, Mercy-lady!"

She shot a hand up to her throat, felt the rim of a small hole 
punched through her larynx. She grimaced, swallowing, using up what 
little energy she had left to heal the ragged hole in her throat. 
She tried again, but all that emerged was a cracked whisper.

"It's worse than it is," she said, forcing the wounded voice from her.

Bob grimaced, shaking his head. He pursed his lips, looking at her. 
She shrugged, pointing at Jay. He nodded, and Jay groaned.

"Don't tell me I get *two* of you silent fucks to deal with! What 
the hell is there to eat in this house? I'm starving!"

And he walked off into the living room.

**Good thing I went shopping,** Mercy thought hysterically.

**And wait until he sees what's happened to his hair,** Silent Bob 
thought back. They paused for a moment, looking at each other, then 
collapsed into each other's arms, bodies shaking with laughter that 
was completely, utterly, silent.

"Hey," came the voice from the kitchen. "We got whisky!"

END
****************