I'll Hear Your Voice (Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, Ritual)

[insaneladybug]

Title: I'll Hear Your Voice
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Claim: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego (General Series)
Table: Do-It-Yourself
Prompt: Ritual
Rating: T/PG-13
Summary: The swan song of the Dying Informant.
Warnings: Angst for a generally hilarious show?
Notes: Will be cross-posted to 31_days and ladybug_tales

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
I'll Hear Your Voice
By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters and songs are not mine and the story is! It was inspired largely by the prompts Ritual at 10 Hurt Comfort and Conversations with dead people at 31 Days. Any resemblance to the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie is deliberate. And I only write about Rockapella's fictional counterparts from the show, the counterparts who once formed a punk rock band with Greg and later joined ACME Crimenet with him. I do not write about the real-life people, and I never plan to start, either. Hence, certain things such as the authorship of the show's theme song have been re-adapted for the fictional verse. Thanks to Kaze and Crystal Rose of Pollux for plot help!

Elliott's legs began to give out as he stared at the sight before him. He hardly felt the cold stone floor striking his kneecaps as he went down. His heart was racing, his brain demanding to be told that this was not true. It could not be true!

His best friend was laying on the floor next to him, gasping his last as he stared up with blank eyes. His right palm was cut, the ancient coin laying atop the wound. Its golden hue was swiftly being bathed in the crimson-the seal of the ritual that was ending his life.

A wave of helpless anger washed over the brunet. All he could do was watch this happen. He and Sean and Barry were powerless to do anything now that the ritual had been performed.

He reached out, gripping the dying man's trenchcoat. "What do you think you're doing?!" he cried. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

Scott gave a weak nod. "Saving the rest of you," he rasped. "It had to be one of us. . . . We already knew that."

Elliott gripped tighter at the black coat. "I would've paid the price," he said.

". . . Any of us would have," Sean said, his voice quiet and numb. "I would have. . . ."

Barry nodded, stunned and horrified as well. The curse had been placed on all of them. Without shattering it, all of them would have died before leaving the ancient temple. And the only known way to release them from the dark power was for one of the cursed to give up his existence. But Barry had still hoped to find a way to break the curse without sacrificing a life.

"It's better this way," Scott said after a silence. "I'm the Dying Informant. I should be the one to go." By now his own voice was fading fast. He gasped again, his fingers curling around the coin from the pain.

"No, you shouldn't be!" Elliott burst out. "Don't you get that? You shouldn't be . . ." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping in his helplessness. He looked down, his dark curls falling in his face. It was an act of resignation and despair.

"El . . ." With a shaking hand Scott reached up, curling his fingers around Elliott's wrist. Elliott stiffened.

"I don't want the last thing I see to be you and Sean and Barry upset over this," Scott choked out.

"Even I can't crack a joke about this," Sean said, clenching a fist.

Weakly Scott shook his head. "That's not what I mean," he said. "But maybe . . . since this is the end . . . just one last song?" He looked at them with pleading eyes. "I'll try to hang on that long."

Elliott let go of the dark cloth, swallowing hard. A storm was raging in his heart, but he would have to push it away. He had to honor Scott's final request.

"One last song," he agreed, his voice taut. "What should it be?"

". . . Let's make it ACME's unofficial theme," Scott said. "Carmen Sandiego. . . ."

Sean nodded. "Okay then," he said. "Carmen Sandiego it is. One, two, three . . ." He held up his hand, cuing the others as they began the intro. He could barely force the scat lyrics into his throat. From the others' tight voices, they felt the same. Scott could barely sing at all, but still he struggled to join in with them.

Sean leaned back, his mind in a complete turmoil as Barry concluded the introduction. "'Well, she sneaks around the world from Kiev to Carolina . . .'" he began. They had performed this so many times, entertaining the Gumshoes and the other agents-in-training at the end of every case. Sean had written it one night as a partial joke after one of Carmen's particularly frustrating escapes. Greg and everyone else had liked it, and it had stuck.

Somehow they managed to get through the first verse and the chorus. But then it was Scott's turn to take the lead.

"'Steal their Seoul in South Korea, make Antarctica cry Uncle . . .'"

On the high note his voice broke. He turned his head to the side, coughing as blood came to his lips.

"Sorry, guys," he whispered, slowly turning back to face them, "I don't think I can make it through this after all." Again pleading, he looked to each in turn. "Just . . . don't stop being a group because I'm gone," he choked out.

That was too much to even think about. Elliott was losing one friend. He was not going to lose the other two.

"We won't ever get another high tenor," he vowed.

"We'll be a trio," Sean agreed, but even as he said it, he had to wonder if any of them would feel like singing after this. They would of course remain friends, but as far as Rockapella was concerned, it might very well be ending.

A weak smile played on Scott's lips. "Just as long as you . . . stick . . . together," he said. The last words were scarcely audible. His eyes closed, his head turning to the side as he went limp.

Elliott's head dropped, the curls again falling forward and half-concealing his face. "No," he whispered.

Sean's heart tightened. "Scott . . ." he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barry remove his hat.

Sean took off his own, reaching to lay Scott's left wrist on his chest. He drew a deep, pained breath. "Rest in peace."
****
It had started as a routine assignment earlier that day. Sarah Nade had purloined some ancient treasure in Central America and the Chief had sent Rockapella there to gather any clues to her latest whereabouts. They had trailed her from one country to another and eventually had ended up in South America, pushing their way through the dense rainforests of the Amazon.

"The natives said Sarah was heading in this direction," Scott said, swiping the overgrowth out of his way with a knife.

"Well, if she was hoping to hide in here, she's got a good chance of not being found," Elliott grumbled, parting the brush on either side of him and pushing his way through it. Another branch smacked him in the face.

Sean swatted at the air. "And we've got a good chance of not even getting where we want to go," he exclaimed. "The bugs might eat us alive first!" In frustration he pulled his safari hat over his eyes. "I think this bug repellant is actually sending out a 'Welcome to an all-you-can-eat buffet!' message!"

Barry grunted, following behind the others and not seeming bothered for the most part. But then again, not much seemed to bother him. He could adapt to the strangest situations with ease.

"Maybe you didn't use enough," Scott said to Sean. In the decreasing light, it looked like a clearing just ahead. Maybe the old temple that was their destination would be there. And hopefully Sarah would still be there as well. She would have a hard time getting out of this area very fast. But then again, that was what Carmen's henchpeople always seemed to be able to do, no matter where they were.

The natives had acted so concerned when telling Scott and the others of Sarah's probable location, too. They had mentioned something about a curse and said that they would not go anywhere near the temple. They had implored Rockapella to not attempt such a journey, but the singer detectives had been determined to proceed with their mission. They had to catch Sarah Nade, after all. And any curse was probably just a rumor. The natives had not even been able to tell them the details of the supposed curse, which especially made Sean scoff at the truth of it.

"Enough?!" Sean retorted, bringing Scott out of his reverie. "I used more than it even suggested on the bottle!"

Scott shrugged. At last he was breaking through to the clearing. He stepped onto the long grass, squinting into the darkness ahead. The foliage was so thick in the forest that it had been difficult to really tell what time of day it was. Now, in the clearing, it was obvious that night had fallen. The large structure ahead was only vaguely visible against the moonless sky.

"I guess that's it," he announced, training his flashlight on the quadrilateral, flat-topped pyramid.

"What's it called again?" Sean asked, batting away another hungry bug as he stepped past Elliott and into the clearing. "The Temple of the Ancients?"

Scott shook his head. "That's another temple around here," he said. "It mysteriously fell down almost a year ago."

"Another curse?" Elliott muttered.

"No one knows what happened to it," Scott said, beginning to move forward. "The natives said there was an earthquake that only affected the temple."

"That's bizarre," Sean objected. "Do you really believe that?"

"Who knows," Scott said. "There's a lot of unexplained things in this world. But anyway, that isn't something we need to worry about. We just have to focus on this temple, and on catching Sarah Nade."

"And hope this thing won't come down on our heads," Sean put in.

"Thank you for that ray of sunshine on a dark night," Scott said.

"I do my best," Sean said.

The quartet ascended the stone steps, the sound echoing much louder since there was no one else around. Intricately carved statues of local animals were both along the way up and at the landing, most of them of wild cats baring their sharp teeth. Elliott looked at them with unease, staying as close to the middle of the stairs as he could.

"Is there some god we're supposed to tick off by going inside?" he wondered, looking to the dark entrance as they arrived at the top. It definitely did not look inviting.

"I don't know," Scott frowned. "That's possible, but . . . it seemed like the natives were a lot more afraid of whatever it was than they would be about a god."

"A demon, then," Sean suggested, shining his flashlight into the space. Cobwebs adorned the ceiling and the walls, particularly in the corners. The culprits were not visible, which was just as well, but then again they could appear at any given time. Hopefully they were not poisonous, at least.

"That's possible," Scott agreed. He stepped over the threshold, beaming his flashlight around the area. Beyond the doorway, the space divided into many rooms, both on the main floor and up and down various staircases.

"I hope it's not a Balrog," Sean said.

Elliott glanced around the numerous assorted paths. "We'd be able to cover more ground if we split up," he said, "but when we don't know anything about this place it wouldn't be wise." He looked to the ceiling high above them, backing up to take in more of it.

Scott grabbed his arm. "Hey, El, watch out for booby traps," he cautioned.

Elliott froze. What an idiotic thing he had started doing. What if he had backed into an invisible wire that would have triggered flying arrows or boulders? He would have to be more careful. All of them would.

Barry had wandered ahead, his eyes narrowed in his concentration. "There's some kind of noise in this direction," he announced, pointing ahead.

The others fell silent, listening as well.

"It sounds like Sarah Nade's music," Elliott determined after a moment.

"That's why I said it was noise," Barry said.

"Let's go!" Sean declared, hurrying ahead. Without even looking, he leaped over something in his path.

"What was that?" Elliott asked as they followed.

"Wire," Sean called back.

Elliott shook his head, turning to Scott with a "How did he know that?" look. Scott could only shrug in reply with a "Never underestimate Sean" look.
****
Sarah Nade was, indeed, in a chamber deep in the pyramid. Believing herself to be alone, she had turned up her favorite CD in celebration of finding a good hiding place-and bypassing all the booby traps. She was not planning to stay in the pyramid long, as it was far too dark and creepy for her tastes, but for now it was a good escape.

"I knew my bladin' tricks would get me out of a fix someday," she grinned, leaning on her backpack. "I'll get the treasure to Carmen and no one'll be the wiser!"

"I guess you weren't counting on guests," a new voice commented.

With a start the girl with the multi-colored hair looked up, staring towards the doorway. ACME's house band had appeared, with the blond in the front greeting her. He was wearing the black trenchcoat typical of the Informant, and was in the process of replacing a safari hat with a dark fedora. The others were doing likewise.

"Hey, yo," she said. "Why don't you guys all chillax for a twix?"

She received four blank stares.

"We speak English," the blond said. "I know Japanese, and I've studied some other languages, but I've never been able to figure out what tongue you use."

Sarah leaped up. Even in here, she was wearing rollerblades. "You'll never take me alive, coppers!" she exclaimed, grabbing her pack. She had investigated this room and discovered that it held its share of surprises. She would be able to elude her pursuers easily, leading them on a wild goose chase.

"It can't be that hard to catch one girl in a room with only one exit," Elliott objected. He lunged for her, only to snatch thin air as she rolled away. Sean grabbed for her as well, catching hold of her backpack.

Sarah made a face. "Aww, nuts!" she exclaimed, shrugging out of the straps as she wheeled forward.

Scott only paused briefly to glance at Sean's perplexed expression before hurrying after the escaping crook. Sarah was pushing on the wall with her hands. At the same moment Scott reached her, a heavy panel creaked to the side. Both he and Sarah fell through.

"Scott!" Elliott cried, running over to the opening. Holding out his hands to make sure that the panel would not suddenly slide back, he leaped into the space. A surprised yelp tore from his lips as he plunged into nothing.

By now Sean and Barry had hurried over too, Sean still lugging the backpack. "Elliott!" he gasped, shining his flashlight into the secret tunnel. All that was beyond was a trapdoor that sloped downward. Elliott, Scott, and Sarah could still be heard crashing down the thing.

Sean shook his head. "That's why you should always look before you leap," he said, but there was concern in his eyes. What would they find at the bottom? Sarah likely did not know. She had probably just opened the panel hoping it would be an escape. But if the passageway was actually a booby trap . . . Sean did not want to think about it. Still . . . was there even another way to get down to where they were going?

He glanced to Barry. "What should we do?" he asked.

Barry was already feeling along the wall. "There might be a staircase leading down there," he said. "Let's check for one before we follow Elliott's example."

Sean nodded, slinging one of the backpack's straps over his shoulder as he moved to the other side of the open panel. Hopefully the stolen treasure was in this thing. If it was not . . . well, then, he had probably just treated them to Sarah Nade's music collection. It felt heavy enough to be holding either thing.

"I can't find anything," he said, just as a loud crash resounded from downstairs. Both he and Barry winced.

Sean turned back to the opening. "Are you guys okay?" he called.

". . . We're okay!" Scott called back after a moment. "We've got Sarah."

Sean nodded, satisfied. "We're coming down," he said. With that he jumped into the space. "It'll be like a slippery slide," he told Barry.

Barry frowned, not sure he believed that. But he followed suit. As long as there was not a bed of spikes or something else unpleasant at the bottom, this would be the best-and possibly the only-way to get down to the others.
****
Strangely enough, Scott, Elliott, and Sarah had landed on a large stash of what looked like gold coins. Sarah had immediately given them a greedy stare, and when she had reached for a handful, Scott had pulled her hands behind her back. Elliott had then snapped on a pair of ACME handcuffs. As she complained and yelled, Scott and Elliott surveyed their surroundings.

"Weird," Elliott commented.

"No kidding," Scott agreed. "But I guess we have to be grateful. These coins broke our fall." He studied the mounds of gold with narrowed eyes. Why had they been placed down here? Was the slippery slide actually a chute that the builders of the temple had used to send the money into this chamber? Or had it been used for another purpose to begin with, and later other people had been the ones to store the coins here?

Elliott shined his flashlight over the surrounding area. ". . . How close to the coast are we?" he asked.

Scott shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "We're not really close, but we're not as deep into the rainforest as we could be. Why?"

In reply Elliott beamed the light over a symbol etched into the stones-a skull and crossbones.

Scott stared at it. "Pirates?!" he exclaimed. "Is this pirate treasure?" He looked down at the coins again.

"I didn't think they'd come too far inland to hide their stuff," Elliott frowned.

Scott shook his head. "Maybe that's exactly why some of them came here," he said. "They figured they wouldn't be caught."

"Maybe," Elliott agreed. But then his mouth dropped open in disbelief at a new sight.

"What is it?" Scott blinked, following his gaze. He stared as well.

Slumped against the opposite wall were two old and rotting skeletons. In each one's right hand, a gold coin was still being held. A dark brownish substance adorned the money pieces, nearly disguising their true color.

". . . What happened here?" Elliott breathed, taking a step closer. Now he could see that there were others, all over the room. And in each case it was the same-a coin was held in the remnants of the dead men's right hands.

"Something ain't right," Sarah gasped. "I wasn't counting on these haunted digs when I blew the joint!" She struggled against the handcuffs. "Let me go!"

"Nothing doing," Scott said, glancing over his shoulder at her. "It would be safer for you to stay with us, anyway. Who knows what else is down here."

At that moment Sean and Barry flew through the mouth of the chute, landing on the piles of coins. Sarah started.

"Well, now the gang's all here," she said. "How about we do some splittin'?"

Sean surveyed the scene in shock. "What is this place-a tomb?!" he exclaimed, sliding off the mountain of gold coins to the hard floor. Barry got down too, picking up one of the coins for a better look.

"We don't know what it is," Scott told Sean.

"We just want to get out of here as soon as possible," Elliott added. "Like right now!"

"Now you're speakin' my language, boyos!" Sarah declared, struggling to her knees without the use of her hands. "Let's make tracks!" But then she leaned forward, hanging her head. ". . . On second thought, maybe we'd better give it a few mo' minutes," she moaned. "I'm not feelin' my normal chipster self. . . ."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You were just fine a few minutes ago," he said.

"That was then, this is now!" Sarah answered, sinking back to the pile of coins.

Sean raised a hand to his forehead. Actually, when he thought about it, he was not feeling that great, either. His head was pounding. Maybe it was just because of the long trip down the slide. He had certainly been knocked around quite a bit.

He glanced to Barry. The older man seemed just fine in spite of the ride. Maybe it was just Sarah suddenly being under the weather that had given Sean the power of suggestion about the headache.

"Let's try to find a way out of here," he said. "That chute can't be the only exit." Yet on the other hand, why were there all these skeletons? Maybe there was not any other escape. That did not explain why each bunch of bones had a gold coin, however. That was too bizarre. It was always the right hand and always one coin. There had to be some reason for it.

"Spread out and start looking," Scott directed.

It seemed ages that they tapped on the walls and pulled on bricks, but that could have been because their present company made them highly nervous. Elliott sidestepped the skeletons whenever possible, but the more he thought about them being there, the closer he came to accidentally bumping into one. Sean, by contrast, moved around them with ease, but gave them suspicious glares anyway. Barry was not visibly bothered, as usual, and Scott swallowed his discomfort as he searched for the opening.

At last Elliott leaned on the wall in frustration. "Nothing," he reported. "Zero, zip, zilch." He gave an annoyed gesture with his hands.

". . . So we're stuck to boogie-woogie with the bones?" Sarah gasped, daring to look up.

"We are not staying in here," Sean frowned. "We'll have to climb up the slide if all else fails. And it looks like it's failing."

At the same moment, the wall began to give way behind Elliott. He cried out in surprise, leaping aside before he could fall again.

The skeleton at the bottom of the panel was not so lucky. As the opening grew larger, the deceased fell backwards, pieces flying in all directions as they hit the cold stones. Elliott stared at the sight. At least, he decided, he had not been directly responsible for breaking the thing.

He watched as a bony finger spun across the stones before coming to a halt near some markings. Funny, he had not noticed before how it looked like something was etched into the bricks. In fact, it almost resembled . . .

"There's something written here!" he exclaimed, bending down for a closer look.

"There is?!" Scott hurried over as well, peering over Elliott's shoulder. Sean and Barry followed suit.

Elliott trained his flashlight on the engravings. ". . . It's in English," he reported. "There's not much. 'Curse . . . death . . . being killed for . . .'" He squinted, leaning in closer. "'The others' traitorous necks.'"

"Well, that's about as clear as a tax form," Sean complained. "He must have scrawled it right as he was dying."

"It must have taken a lot of strength to etch just that much," Scott said, straightening and looking to the panel. "We need to get out of here."

Barry gave a grim nod. Quickly he walked back to the gold pile, taking hold of Sarah and helping her down from the coins. Now she was looking visibly ill, her eyes sunken and her skin chalk white. Barry frowned, reaching behind her to take her pulse. She did not resist, allowing him to take hold of one of her imprisoned hands. It did not take Barry long to discover the truth-her pulse was slower than it should be.

"Let's hurry," he said. "Something actually is wrong with her."

Scott looked back, his eyes widening in shock at Sarah's haggard appearance. "No kidding," he breathed. "Can you walk?" he asked her.

She blinked glassy eyes at him. "Huh?" But then the question seemed to register. "Y-yeah . . ." She took a shaking step forward, then another.

Sean looked away, moving to pass into the tunnel that had been opened. The headache he had been trying to ignore had never gone away. Now it was attacking his vision. He swayed as everything multiplied out of focus. A hand flew over his eyes.

"Sean!"

He recognized Scott's concerned voice. Cautiously he moved his fingers, peering out with one eye. "Yeah?" he said, forcing a light-hearted tone into his voice.

Scott frowned. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

His vision did not seem to be dividing now. He removed his hand from his face, giving Scott a casual grin. "I'm not too keen on dark, cold spaces," he quipped.

Scott crossed his arms, not impressed. "Come on, man, what's the truth?" he retorted.

Sean sighed. "It's just a little headache," he said. "Nothing serious." With that he walked past Scott, entering the passageway. "Time's a-wasting! Let's get out of here and stick Sarah Nade in the ACME prison hospital."

Scott watched him go. ". . . Yeah," he said slowly, his voice quiet, "but why are both you and Sarah having problems?" Actually, when he thought of it, his own stomach was not feeling that good. He had started feeling funny during the search for the panel, but he had pushed the sensation away. Now he was starting to feel as though he might lose his lunch.

"Scott . . ."

He turned. Elliott was giving him a worried look.

"You too?"

Scott blinked. "Too . . . ?"

Elliott nodded. "We're all getting sick," he said. "Why?" Again the worry flashed in his eyes. "That message in the stones said 'Curse . . . death.' And the natives were too afraid to come here. What if there's really a curse?" He started to say something else, but immediately shut his mouth. He did not want to give voice to his other thought. He did not want to say, "What if all of us will die?"

Scott could read what Elliott did not say. He shook his head. "If there's really a curse, we'll break it," he said. Seeing Elliott's hesitation, he reached out, gripping the other's shoulder. "That's a promise."

The brunet gave a slow nod. Scott believed what he was saying. And Elliott had to believe it was true. They had come through treacherous plights before. The incident with Sean and the scorpion medallion was a prime example. For a while it had looked as though their enemy had won. But Sean had triumphed, with his friends to give him strength. And they would all band together to solve this problem too. Maybe there was a description of the curse somewhere in the pyramid. And maybe it would also tell how to break it. They had to believe that.

"We'll break it," Elliott echoed at last.

He gave Scott a serious look. "I'm not feeling that good myself," he confessed.

Scott swallowed hard. He had expected it, but it was still difficult to hear. They had to find a way to solve whatever was causing this, but . . . what if they could not? What if they would start dying, one by one?

. . . What was the significance of the rest of the dead man's message? "Being killed for the others' traitorous necks." What could that mean? It almost sounded like those others had killed him because they had known it would save themselves. But how could that be?

Scott's heart twisted. It was beginning to make sense.

Maybe there had to be a sacrifice to break the curse.

"How bad is it?" he spoke now.

Elliott shook his head. "Not bad," he said. "Maybe it'll get worse later. I don't know. But we've spent enough time here as it is. Let's go."

Scott nodded, turning to look at Barry before they headed into the tunnel. He had been listening to their conversation, and from his grim eyes, he was starting to believe that there was something to it. Sarah Nade had grown even weaker just in the past five minutes. Now she really did not look as though she could walk. And Barry did not think so, either. Without a word he lifted the teenage criminal into his arms, moving towards the passage entrance.

Scott turned around, placing a hand on Elliott's back as they entered the tunnel.
****
It could have been hours that they wandered the dark corridors of the pyramid. It certainly felt like hours, but as they grew more ill any real sense of time faded. Sarah Nade had long ago lapsed into unconsciousness. Sean could barely stand. Scott felt as though he had come down with the worst case of influenza in existence-the kind that took so many lives. Elliott had grown increasingly dizzy, mostly having to grip the wall to stay upright at all. His heart was racing with unnatural speed. Even Barry had begun to feel the effects of whatever the curse was; he was moving much slower than he had been at first, and he looked as though he could barely keep carrying Sarah.

As Sean pushed open the panel to the next chamber he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance. Everything was going out of focus again. In desperation he flailed, finally catching hold of the wall to his right. He drew a shaking breath, shutting his eyes as he struggled to get his equilibrium under control. They could not keep going on like this. If this was the curse, and it surely had to be, then there had to be a way to break it. The message left by that dead guy must have some clue in it. Sean, like Scott, had determined that there had to be a sacrifice. But was that the only stipulation? Or was there more to it? Did those affected by the curse have to pick someone to be their scapegoat? If that was the case, then they would never be able to break the curse. They could not do that to anyone, not even their prisoner. They would have to all die in here.

Scott staggered into the room as well, blinking as he tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness. "There's a trunk in here," he noted as he shined his flashlight in that direction. His stomach turned as he also saw a skeleton draped beside it, one bony arm stretched across the top of the trunk.

"Let's see if there's anything in it," Elliott said, coming into the room after Scott. He paused by the wall, a hand gripped over his heart as he gasped for breath.

Barry came in last, giving Elliott and Sean concerned looks before laying Sarah down on a stone bench protruding from the wall. She moaned, stirring and mumbling something unintelligible.

Scott stumbled to the trunk, crashing to his knees in front of it as he brushed aside the skeletal arm. An old coin clattered to the floor as the hand moved, startling Scott and Elliott but not affecting the others. Scott gritted his teeth, taking hold of the lid and easing it up. He could tell his skin was flushed. It honestly felt like it was on fire. And now that he was on his knees, would he even be able to get up again? He had pushed himself to keep going when ordinarily the wise thing to do would be to lay down and rest. But in this situation, laying down to rest likely meant never rising, which was why he had forced himself to keep moving.

"Is there anything in there?" Sean asked, finally managing to speak.

"Yeah . . ." Scott reached down, his hands trembling, and drew out a worn journal. "I guess this was preserved because it was in the trunk. . . ." His vision blurred just looking at the cover. Struggling to ignore it, he flipped it open to the first page. Handwriting was scrawled across the parchment, the ink of the pen faded but still intact. But just looking at it made his eyes hurt. He looked away. "I don't know if I can read it. . . ." he choked out.

Barry walked over to him without a word, holding out his hand to take it. Scott blinked, looking up at him with questions in his eyes. Barry was ill too, moreso than he would admit. But the older man nodded, reaching down to accept the journal. Scott let him take it, slumping against the trunk. There were more gold coins inside it, but other than those and the journal, there was nothing else of interest.

Barry briefly scanned the pages as he turned them. "It's the log of a pirate," he said. "He always tried to hide his plunders as far inland as possible, as he hoped that would make them less likely to be found by other pirates or by the British Navy."

"That's what I thought," Scott mumbled. "Does it say anything about the curse?"

"I'm looking." Barry flipped further into the book. It was only two-thirds full, and the last entry was written far more sloppy than any of the others. At the end it trailed off into nothing. Quickly he skimmed the contents. ". . . This is it," he announced.

"Tell us," Elliott said, sinking onto the edge of the bench where Sarah was laying. His heart was throbbing. Was he going to have a heart attack if he moved? That should not even be a worry for someone as young and as healthy as him. But all of them were being drawn to the brink of death in various ways.

". . . He says he never believed the rumors that this pyramid was cursed," Barry said. "Apparently a few other pirates had tried stashing their loot in here and had never been heard of again. Then this pirate came with his crew. They found other treasure here, as well as their own, and intended to take it all. But then they began getting sick, like those who had come before them." He paused, reading over the next page.

". . . Having heard that the curse could be broken with the sacrifice of one life, the crew mutinied and betrayed their captain, leaving him to die. Cutting the right palm and pressing one of the coins against the wound is the seal. It has something to do with the treasure, and greed, being what brought on the curse in the first place. Once the act is performed, it can't be reversed, even if the coin is thrown away." Barry frowned. "The captain writes here that the curse can be broken with a willing sacrifice as well as one that's unwilling, but no one was willing. All of them wanted to live, so much so that they killed for it."

"How did he know anything about the curse?" Sean frowned. "No one here did."

"Lost in the sands of time, I guess," Scott said, shutting his eyes as he leaned against the crate. "Maybe back then it was common knowledge."

Elliott was silent for a moment. ". . . So if one of us gives up his life, the rest will get better?" he said.

Barry nodded. "That's what it indicates here."

"There's no other way around it?" Elliott leaned to the side, resting his head on the wall.

"The captain didn't think so. But that doesn't mean it's true." Barry closed the journal. "We should keep looking for another way."

But as he looked around the room, he could tell that his friends would not be leaving this chamber. Elliott was obviously in great pain. He was breathing heavily, still clutching at his heart. Sean was standing, but looked as though his legs were about to give out. The wall was the only thing holding him upright. And Scott had buried his face against his arm, still kneeling in front of the trunk. Sarah Nade was fading in and out of awareness. Barry could not make any of them leave. And he himself had been desperately staving off a fever. Now that they had stopped, it was forcing its way to the forefront of his senses.

"There's no other way," Scott mumbled.

Sean drew a shaking breath. If there was going to be a sacrifice, then it should be him. He was the leader. He had a responsibility to the others. He had brought them together as a group, and he was willing to do what had to be done now to save them. It would be hard for them to see him die, but they were strong. They would keep going.

Elliott opened an eye, trying to focus on the scene. He should be the one to die. He had always tried to find the solutions to their problems, even though occasionally he ended up creating more. He would solve this last problem now, even though it would create another in the respect that the others would be grief-stricken. But they would be alive.

Barry narrowed his eyes. None of the others should perish. He had looked after them since he had first met Sean and Elliott. And then Scott had came. . . . He would give up his life now to save all of them. It would hurt them, but they would know it was necessary. They would know he had to do it. And eventually the emotional wounds would begin to scab.

Scott gritted his teeth, reaching into his pants pocket. He would not let any of his friends die. All of them were more than willing to sacrifice themselves to save the rest, but he would be the one to lay down his life. That was the way it should be. He was one of ACME's top informants, risking his safety almost every day. He would relinquish it altogether for Elliott, Sean, and Barry.

His fingers closed around the handle of his pocket knife. Drawing it out, he had the blade bared in an instant.

"Scott, what are you doing?! You can't!"

He looked up at Elliott's panic-stricken voice. In spite of the danger to himself, the brunet was leaping up to run to his friend. Sean and Barry, stunned speechless for a brief moment, moved to run to Scott as well.

Scott gave them a sad smile. "Sorry, guys," he whispered. Clutching the knife in his left hand, he dug the blade across his right palm. Not waiting for the crimson to appear, he threw the knife aside as he pulled one of the gold coins out of the trunk. He pressed it tightly against the fresh wound, wincing at the pain shooting into his hand. Red was leaking from the cut onto the coin. As he closed his fist around it, the pain stabbed tenfold into his heart. He fell backwards, collapsing onto the floor.

So, he thought to himself, staring blankly at the ceiling high above them, this is death-for real this time, no turning back. The swan song of the Dying Informant.

Elliott froze. It was as if a physical weight had been lifted from his body. He was well again. From the way Sean and Barry were stiffening, they were experiencing the same sensations.

But the price . . .

The price was too much to bear.

Elliott crashed to his knees, his heart shattering.
****
Only a few minutes had passed since Scott's breathing had ended. No one had spoken since Sean's final pronouncement. There was nothing to be said.

Sean had looked away after a moment, unable to bear seeing Scott so still. He was gazing off at the opposite wall, shaken. Scott should be getting up, or cracking a joke, or anything other than just laying on the cold floor.

Scott had a talent for getting people to laugh, as Sean had discovered after Scott's initial annoyance at being drawn into that first, random snowball fight. After being hit with snow from a tree, as well as too many snowballs, he had put on an overdramatic act of falling into the snow while clutching his chest and exclaiming, "Oh Mama!" When the others had approached, bewildered, Scott had sprung to life and pelted all of them with snowballs in quick succession. Several nearby children had gotten quite a kick out of the scene, and one of them had asked the quartet if they were brothers. Elliott had spoken up and said that they just acted like brothers. And then Scott had been unanimously invited to officially join them. For some reason, he had accepted-and he had not regretted it.

He had adapted to the swing of things very fast, the others having instantly accepted him as one of them-and Greg as well, when Scott had introduced them to him later. Greg had never become quite as close to the rest of them as he had been to Scott, whom he had known for some time before. He was going to be devastated when he heard the news. Sean dreaded telling him.

Barry was staring at the stone floor-or more precisely, at several drops of blood he had noticed had spilled from Scott's hand. But his mind was wandering far from the crimson stains.

Scott was the youngest of the four of them, and unlike the rest, he had not grown up in New York City. He had once told Barry that the worst things he had dealt with as a kid were a few annoying, but not downright dangerous, bullies. Even so, he had gotten used to the bustling metropolis before too long-though there were still some things he did not like at all, such as the general lack of grass and open spaces. But New York had become home to him anyway, more because of the people than any other reason. He had said that he was grateful that Greg's family had invited him out that one winter. Because of that, he had found the others.

Barry was grateful for that as well.

But would it have been better if they had never met? Scott would still be alive then. He had died because he had wanted to save his friends. He would not want Barry to focus on this current thought process, but Barry could not help the idea entering his mind.

Still . . . if it had not been Scott giving up his life, it would have been one of the rest of them. Did that mean none of them should have met? Or did it just mean that this was a pointless and foolish train of thought? One could not isolate oneself from everyone else just to keep them from ever getting hurt.

Elliott was hunched over, staring with blank eyes at the lifeless form. All of them were grief-stricken beyond measure, but they all knew that Elliott had been the closest to Scott.

Since they had first met in the wintertime, that of course meant that Sean had been pranking the others with snowballs any chance he got. Scott had successfully avoided being a victim-but then he had walked under a tree in Central Park that was heavy with snow. And it had chosen to let go of its load right on his head. The expression on his face had been too much. Elliott had completely cracked up, but not in a mean or unkind way. Scott had responded by hitting him with a snowball. And that had broken the ice. They had been best friends ever since.

Once they had joined ACME they had carried on with their strange and ridiculous antics, from silly attempts at pretending to fly to dancing together at the end of a case. It was so wrong, to see his best friend laying so still and so quiet. . . . And that coin was still in his hand. . . .

In a fury Elliott pulled back Scott's fingers, grabbing the coin and throwing it across the room. It clattered against the wall before landing on the floor, where it spun several times before coming to a halt. Elliott looked back to Scott's injured palm. Under normal circumstances, such a cut would not have impaired him much at all. But because of the curse, it had killed him. With shaking hands he reached out, taking Scott's hand in his own.

Barry looked up at the sound of the coin hitting the stone. Taking in what had happened, he laid his hand on Elliott's shoulder. Grimly, Sean placed his own hand on Barry's shoulder. Each of them wished that he had acted before Scott had performed the ritual on himself. But even if one of them had succeeded, the ones still living would have been brought to this end. They would mourn no matter which one perished.

Even Sarah Nade had been stunned into silence. When she had regained consciousness, fully restored to health, she had seen the house band gathered around their fallen comrade, struggling to sing their song but not being able to get very far. And now the blond was dead. It made no sense to her how it had happened, but when she had tried to ask, no one had answered her. They were all grieving. And for once she had decided to leave them alone. She did have some decency.

"We shouldn't have chased Sarah in here," Elliott said at last, bitterness in his voice.

"We couldn't just let her get away," Sean said. But he wished with all his heart that they had.

"And we should have paid more attention to the rumors," Elliott added. "Scott's dead because of that stupid curse!"

"Hey . . . it's okay, El."

All of them started as a soft glow began to fill the room. Scott's ghost was standing in the middle of it, regarding his friends with kindness and compassion. Sarah let out a gasp at the sight of the spectre.

Elliott turned pale. "Scott . . ." Slowly he stood, coming to eye level with the phantom. Sean and Barry rose as well, equally stunned.

"This was something I had to do," Scott said. He was wearing the clothes he had last worn in life, down to the trenchcoat and dark fedora, but the hat was not casting a shadow over his face. He gave a sad smile. "I'm okay . . . really, I am."

Sean swallowed hard. "Is this a final goodbye?" he asked. It was more difficult to say the words than he had even imagined.

Scott gave a slow nod. "I think so," he said. "I can't stay . . . but I wanted to . . ." His voice broke. ". . . To talk to you guys one last time. . . ."

Elliott stared at him. ". . . How are we going to get along without you?" he managed to say.

"You'll manage," Scott told him. "You have to. I'll be watching, you know." He gave a weak grin. "And I won't be happy if I see everything falling apart down here."

Sean tried to smirk. "Try to raise Cain up there once in a while," he said. "They probably need something to liven it up." Then he looked chagrined, realizing what he had said. "I didn't mean it that way . . ."

But Scott just saluted. "Message received, sir."

Barry watched, profound sadness washing over him. Death had not changed Scott. That was something for which to be thankful. But what could he say? He had never dealt with a situation such as this before, and words were failing him. Nothing seemed good enough.

"Don't act up all the time," he said at last, "or they might kick you out."

Scott gave him an angelic look. "Who, me?"

"Yeah, you," Elliott said, his smirk shaky.

Scott stiffened. Now there was a tugging sensation on his spirit, as if he was going to be pulled into the afterlife. And now that the time was here, he was not sure he could go through with it. But he did not have a choice.

"Guys . . ." He looked to his friends, sorrow in his eyes. "It looks like this is it. . . ."

Sean took a deep breath. "Okay then," he said. ". . . Hey, be sure to drop in if they ever let you have days off."

"Right," Scott nodded, trying to smile.

"Scott . . ." Elliott clenched a fist. There was so much he wanted to say, but there was no time for any of it. How could he properly say goodbye to a dear friend?

"Wait a minute."

Everyone froze, staring up at the ceiling.

"You guys have a really bad habit of dying before your time," the Voice sighed.

"It couldn't be helped," Scott said.

"Well, maybe not, but be that as it may, you are the first person to willingly give up your life in here. And not only that, but each of the rest of you would have done the same."

"What's your point?" Elliott frowned, crossing his arms. This was hard enough as it was without the Voice's input.

"The point is, Scott has broken the curse for good. And since he sacrificed himself unselfishly, the curse can't hold him."

Sean blinked, his eyes widening. "You can't mean . . ."

"Look!" Elliott exclaimed. He was staring down at Scott's limp hand. The wound was closing.

Sean and Barry stared as well. As the last of the open flesh knit together, the fingers gave a weak twitch.

Elliott fell to his knees again, this time scarcely daring to believe that this could be true. "Scott?!" he exclaimed, pulling on the lapels of the trenchcoat and jerking the upper part of the limp body off the floor. The hat fell, the blond curls bouncing free.

Sean and Barry also dropped to the stones. The spectre Scott had vanished. And since his fingers had moved, didn't that have to mean . . .

His eyes fluttered open. Scott blinked, his vision clearing as he looked up at his friends. "Hey . . ." he said, awe in his voice, "I'm back. . . ." He straightened, joyously laughing as he glomped Elliott. "I'm alive!"

Elliott laughed too, meeting Scott's enthusiastic hug head-on. Once again there were no words he could think to say. But they did not need words right now. Their joy was enough.

"Group hug!" Sean exclaimed as he and Barry joined the celebration.

"That's more like it," the Voice said, after observing for a moment. "Now will you please leave this pyramid before anything else goes wrong?"

"Gladly!" Scott declared, looking up from where he and his friends were embracing. "I don't suppose you'd tell us how we do that."

"Go down the hall, take the first right, then the second left, then the third right, followed by the first left and the second right," was the reply. "Did you get all of that?"

"Maybe we'd better write it down," Scott said, pulling out a small notepad and pencil.

Suddenly realizing Sarah Nade had been unusually quiet, he looked over to her. She was staring back at him as if she had seen a ghost. Well . . . actually, she had.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"You . . . !" she cried. "What sort of voodoo who-do are you trying to pull?! You're all glowy and see-through, and then there's this ceiling cat and you're flesh and bones again!"

"'Ceiling cat'?" Elliott repeated, giving her a blank stare.

"Never mind," Sean said, starting to pull himself upright. "Let's just follow the Voice's advice and get out of here."

Scott nodded as he finished writing down the directions to the exit. He would be all too happy to never see this place again. And hopefully none of them ever would.
****
Sarah was actually quite cooperative as they traveled out of the structure and back to the clearing. By now the night was almost spent, the first rays of the pre-dawn light visible in the distance. And none of them felt like making the long trek back through the forest to find their plane. Sean signaled to their pilot using technology from ACME Two-Way Radionet, requesting him to fly over the clearing with a rope ladder for them to climb. The message was received and the pilot said he would be out as soon as he could.

"Ya know, I'm gonna havta be free of the metal bling-bling to shimmy up to the bird," Sarah said.

"Only for that," Scott said. "Remember, you're our prisoner."

She made a face. "There's not much I could do to cause trouble on the ride back," she said.

"Maybe not, but it's still regulation," Scott told her.

She grumbled in reply.

But once they were all safe inside the plane a few moments later, she did not resist when Scott snapped the handcuffs back around her wrists. This time he kept her hands in front of her so that she would be able to sit properly in the seat.

At some point Sean had finally remembered to look in her backpack, where he had discovered both the stolen statues and a sizable collection of CDs. He had then removed the statues, placing them in a padded crate in the cargo hold. Once they were back to ACME, other agents would return the relics. None of Rockapella felt like making the detour right now.

Scott sighed to himself as he crossed to a vacant seat and sank into it. He was exhausted. The others no doubt were as well. This had been one of the longest nights he could remember experiencing.

He looked down at his right hand. There was no sign now of the self-inflicted wound, not even the slightest scar or sensation of pain. Now that the pyramid was behind them, what had taken place inside it almost felt like a dream.

But it was not. He had really sacrificed himself for the others. He had died and, for the first time that he could recall, he had left his body. He had remained in the chamber with his friends, even though they had not been able to see him at first. He was still not sure how he had come to be able to communicate with them later. Maybe simply the strength of his will when he had believed he would be leaving had allowed him to become visible.

How had they ended up living these dangerous lives anyway? Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if Greg had never delivered a Best of the BeeGees album to the Chief's office. It was not likely that their punk rock band would have lasted very long; they did not like performing punk music much themselves, and for Greg it had been more of a rebellion or an experiment than an actual interest. Even so, there was no telling where it would have led them if it had continued for even a short while. Some of the crowds they had started hanging around had been wild, leading to them becoming involved in activities they probably would not have tried otherwise-such as car-racing through the neighborhoods, running stop signs and red lights in their attempts to stay in first place.

Scott allowed a vague smirk. The people Greg had met at ACME Crimenet would never recognize that the pierced punk with the fake accent was the same friendly person training the new recruits. Sometimes it was hard for Scott to picture the Greg of the past himself. And as for Scott and the others, well . . . they had worn leather jackets and tried to look tough, even applying a bit of the punk makeup themselves. That was strange to remember.

It had been interesting while it had lasted, but to tell the truth they had been growing bored of the reckless lifestyle. Greg had put on a show of still being just as enthusiastic as before, but even he had been tiring. The only real reason they had kept on with the band had been because they had not known what else to do. But with a lack of gigs, they had taken to performing a capella songs on street corners or outside of diners-and people had seemed to appreciate that much more than anyone had liked their punk songs.

Scott had been stunned when Greg had returned to the pad they shared and announced that he had a new job working for a detective agency. But he had been even more surprised when Greg had also said that the Chief was interested in the idea of the others' a capella singing and wanted to talk to them. She had been highly impressed with their impromptu performance of Zombie Jamboree the following day and had hired all of them.

Then they had gone through a rigorous training program. Even though they would be the house band, the Chief had felt that all employees of ACME Crimenet should know the basics of detective work and how to catch criminals. Since then they had undergone many assignments, both together and separately, such as Scott's undercover missions as the Informant. He preferred working with the others as a group, but he hated it when something went wrong and someone got hurt.

Still, if they left ACME, where would they go? There was really no place for them, unless they wanted to try making a career out of their a capella singing-which they could probably do, Scott thought. But on the other hand, he did feel quite a large sense of loyalty towards ACME-and especially the Chief, after she had taken them in. She thought very highly of and was fond of all of them. He would not feel right about deserting her.

But what if someday one of their assignments did not end well? What if one or more of them would die? That was the price they had to pay for working as detectives, but that did not mean it was something he could take lightly.

"Scott . . ."

He looked up as Elliott sat down in the seat beside him. Elliott regarded him with a concerned look, but Scott could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Hey, El," he greeted. "You look beat."

Elliott gave a half-hearted shrug. "Can you blame me, after the night we've had?" He peered at his friend. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," Scott answered. "Really."

Elliott nodded. "I hope so." He hesitated.

". . . I know we've come through a lot of crazy experiences," he said, "and your adventures as the Dying Informant have nearly killed you more than once. But . . ." He clenched a fist. "I think this is the closest we've come to really losing you for good."

Scott looked at him. "You know why I felt like I had to do it, don't you?" he asked.

"Sure. All of us felt that way about sacrificing ourselves." Elliott shook his head. "But that doesn't make it any easier."

"No," Scott agreed. "I would have felt upset if it'd been you or Sean or Barry."

Elliott sighed, leaning back against the seat as he stared at the ceiling. "Sometimes I just wonder if it's worth it," he said. "Working for ACME, I mean."

"Yeah. . . . I've wondered that too," Scott admitted.

"And?"

"I don't really have an answer." Scott shook his head. "Here we are, risking our lives every day to stop Carmen and her gang, nearly getting our necks broken to drag them back alive. And they get out again and steal again and it's just a vicious cycle over and over and over . . ." He propped himself up on an elbow. "I kind of wonder if the Chief is hoping they'll change someday," he said.

"Really? I've been thinking that about the Chief, too." Elliott studied the younger man. "What do you think about the gang ever changing?"

"All of them seem pretty into what they do," Scott said. "Even Patty. . . ." He frowned, glancing to Sarah Nade across the aisle. Her punk lifestyle was familiar to him in some ways, but her love of thievery was not. Still, he had heard about many criminals who had eventually been able to turn their lives around. Even the V.I.L.E. criminals could, if they really wanted to.

"I don't like to say I don't think they'll ever stop being crooks," he continued. "Maybe someday they'll get tired of it. But in any case, some of them don't seem as hardcore as others. Sarah and Patty both seem like good kids who wandered down the wrong path." He stared down at the floor. ". . . Like what could have happened to us," he said.

". . . If the Chief hadn't taken us in," Elliott finished.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. . . ." He looked up again. "And I don't plan on leaving ACME. So I guess . . . as long as V.I.L.E.'s out there, we'll be out there too."

"I guess so." Elliott sighed, still looking tired. To fight V.I.L.E. was a neverending battle. Agnes Acme had begun the fight over a century ago when she had founded ACME Crimenet to capture Carmen Sandiego's ancestor. And now, so many decades later, the conclusion was nowhere in sight. As Scott had said, it was a vicious cycle. Sometimes it just felt fruitless, even though the stolen goods were always retrieved and Carmen was often caught. Perhaps he would feel better after they had been home for a while. At the moment he was just burned out.

"El . . ." Scott laid his hand on the other's shoulder. Back in the dark chamber he had said that things would be okay. Part of him wanted to say that now. But something told him that it was not the right time. Elliott was not in the mood to hear optimism, and Scott was not sure he was in the mood to give it. So instead he opted to not say anything else. Elliott seemed alright with that. For a moment they sat in silence.

"Hey!"

Both of them started as someone else clapped his hands on their shoulders. They looked upward at Sean, who was leaning over the tops of their seats.

"There's too much gloom here," Sean declared. "Why so serious? We're all alive, we're all going home. That's something to celebrate!" He straightened up, placing his hands on his hips.

Scott opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again. Maybe Sean was right. The future would bring what it would. But they were in the present now. And maybe they were not thinking enough about the present.

Elliott half-turned to look up more at Sean. "What do you suggest?" he asked.

Sean leaned forward, draping his arms over the tops of the seats. "For starters, pizza and hot dogs!" he said. "And some cake."

"And we can't forget music," Scott said.

"Well, we'll unfortunately have to wait until we get back for the food," Sean said, "but we can have the music now."

Barry nodded in agreement as he came over to them.

"You should pick it," Elliott said to Scott. He would push his feelings away for now. There was much to be grateful for, and he did not want it to look like he was not thinking about that at all.

Scott nodded. "I was thinking about a song we used as a parody once," he said. "We used to sing it a lot on street corners when we were still in the punk band. I'm not sure why it came to me now, but . . ." He shrugged. "It's Stand By Me."

Sean gave a low whistle. "It's been a long time since we've sung that," he said. He grinned. "Let's go for it."

Sarah made a groaning sound from where she was sitting. She was still not a fan of any music genre that was not loud and pounding. But she would just have to deal with it.

Scott and Elliott got up, walking into the aisle with Sean and Barry. As they got into position and Barry began the bass introduction, Scott prepared to sing lead. It was impossible to not think of their failed attempt to sing Carmen Sandiego when they had believed it would be their last song together. But it had not been. They would have many more chances to sing it, and other songs.

The introduction was ending. Scott began to sing, with the others on backup.

When the night is come, and the land is dark,
And the moon is the only light we'll see,
Oh, I won't be afraid, no, I won't be afraid-
Just as long as you stand, stand by me.

If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall,
Or the mountain should crumble to the sea,
I won't cry (I won't cry), I won't cry (I won't cry),
No, I won't (no, I won't) shed a tear (shed a tear)
Just as long as you stand, stand by me.

He could not keep from smiling more as he began the chorus. This was the way it was supposed to be-all of them together, harmonizing on a song. For now, while things were relatively peaceful, they would make the most of it.

So darlin', darlin', stand (stand by me) by me
(Stand by me)
Hey, stand (stand by me) by me
(Stand by me)
Won't you stand, stand by me?
(Stand by me, stand by me)

When the night is come, and the land is dark,
And the moon is the only light we'll see,
I won't (no, I won't) be afraid (be afraid),
No, I won't (no, I won't) be afraid (be afraid)-
Just as long as you stand by me.
(Stand by me)

So darlin', darlin', stand (stand by me) by me
(Stand by me)
Hey, stand (stand by me) by me
(Stand by me)
Won't you stand by me?
(Stand by me, stand by me)

Whenever you're in trouble, you just stand by me
Won't you stand, stand by me?

Stand by me
Stand by me

The plane gave a sudden lurch as they brought the song to a close. Not being prepared for it at all, startled yelps echoed from the group as they pitched backwards onto the floor.

Sean, who had somehow landed on the bottom, looked up dazedly at the others. "Is everyone okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Elliott said, "except your wrist is caught around my tie."

"And my tie's caught around your suspenders," Scott said to Barry.

"And your hand's caught in my hair!" Sean exclaimed.

"And you guys are really weird," Sarah said, peering at them over the back of her seat.

"What can we say?" Scott said, untangling his fingers from Sean's braids as carefully as he could. The others worked to untwist themselves as well, finally managing to unwind ties, wrists, and suspenders from each other.

"The world would be a lot more dull without us," Sean said as he sat up. "All of us," he added, looking to Scott.

The other three nodded in agreement.

"Well, maybe," Sarah conceded. "But I still don't like your brand of jammin'."

"Suit yourself," Elliott said. "I think we sounded pretty good."

"We did," Sean grinned.

Barry looked to Scott. Their youngest member was laughing as he sat on the floor, reaching to brush his blond curls out of his face. It had not been that long ago that they had believed Scott would not be with them again. But now he was alive and well.

And Barry had his earlier question answered-of course they should have met. Elliott had been right those years ago-they did act like brothers. They were a family.