"You are so fucking awesome, man," Kurt said, inordinately pleased. Sharley was alive, none of them needed to worry about her dying on them again, and he was getting the stabby-stick. Life was good.
"We are so going to regret this," Jimmy muttered.
"Maybe we will, but that thing killed me and I want it, too, dammit." Though her scars had faded, they hadn't gone entirely, and Sharley knew the ones that thing had left on her chest were there for the rest of her eternal life. She had Issues with scars, and having that thing would, in some indefinable way, make that better.
Marty crawled up onto the table and curled up next to her mother, heedless of the remaining blood, and regarded Spocklar with her pale dead eyes. She'd realized, with the odd sharp comprehension of children, that in some weird-ass way she'd acquired a quasi-brother, and she was still trying to work that out in her head. Had she lived anywhere besides the Other, it would have taken her a lot longer than it did.
"I would speak with you, when you return," Azarael said, still watching Spocklar closely. He was extremely, extremely curious about this young man, and when one had lived as long as Azarael, true curiosity was a rarity indeed. "Meanwhile, I wish you good hunting."