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These days it wasn't often Vanessa went anywhere without John Jr. She had moved out of her father's apartment because she'd required a degree of privacy, but still spent more time at his home than she did at her own- not only making sure that Mr. Rae had plenty of fresh vegetables to eat, and clean shirts to wear to work, but also that Syrtis wasn't off getting himself killed somewhere. Since discovering that her little brother was a fledgling knight Vanessa had taken it upon herself to oversee his training, and also divulged the secrets of their supernatural powers to their father. So that Mr. Rae understood that letting John Jr do as he pleased, whenever he pleased, really could mean the difference between his having a whole son, or only part of one.

John Jr was under strict orders to have his cellphone on him at all times, and to never power up without her. Vulcan patrolled alone tonight because John Jr had a paper to write. On the significance of power and corruption in Lord of the Flies. She'd tried to help him, and then been forced (regretfully) to admit that she didn't have the faintest idea how to structure an essay- and why didn't somebody just punch that stupid Jack kid in the nose?

Unsettled, first by her own uselessness in the battle against impromper grammar, and second by the tragedy of Piggy's death, Vanessa had set out to do what she did best- kick some a**.

Vulcan was drawn to the energy wafting off of Oberon and Valhalla, understanding that if one signature was lonely, and two were having fun, then three would make for a party. She arrived moments after Valhalla stumbled away from the swing of Oberon's branch, eyes shining with the anticipation of battle, hands curling into fists at her sides. Vanessa had never been good at things to do with books. Almost half a decade had passed since she'd taken up Super Van's mantle, and the battlefield had been her schoolyard ever since. As Sailor Vulcan, she had joined the ranks of the Blood Moon Court, and then stood by while her teammates commited horror after horror. Had even participated in some of their sins, and then paid for them with guilt. From that Vulcan had learned the importance of both asking questions and thinking for herself- but she was puzzled over whom to help, here.

She recognized Oberon as the chibi senshi who'd ferried her to the moon alongside Hvergelmir. The knight was a stranger to her. The problem of the youma was straightforward, but Vulcan could not tell whether Oberon was trying to help Valhalla or hit him with the branch he wielded like a baseball bat.

Because something about the knight seemed... off, Vulcan moved to stand between him, the youma and the branch. The youma crouched on it's hind legs, bulbous eyes whirling in it's toady head. It glowered at the three of them, throat swelling slowly, filling with a black bile that stretched its skin to a point of transparency. A low rumbling started up somewhere deep in its chest.

Vulcan assumed a defensive position, feet planted, fists raised. She looked from Oberon to the youma, indictated his branch with a tilt of her chin.

"I dare you to poke it."

Would it explode? She was curious, but before Oberon could do anything, the youma pursed its lips together and spit. A glob of black ooze congealed on the front of Vulcan's bodice. Melted through the fabric. Burned her skin. She hissed and swiped it off. The side of her hand glowed red with pain.

'I can take care of myself.'

The chibi senshi's words echoed in Vulcan's ears. Reminded her of the little brother that she'd left at home. The older John Jr got, the more determined he was to do things on his own. Since becoming Syrtis, his stubborn independence, insistence that he was strong enough to take on whatever the world threw at him, had only gotten worse. She was firm with him. He listened to her. Sometimes, though...

Her heart went out to Oberon, whom she wanted to protect as much as she wanted to commend him for his bravery. Chibi senshi were not known for their power, but it was not in Vulcan to suggest that Oberon step out of harm's way. As Super Van, she had wanted to be a hero. She had shown up for battle with youma in her mother's old dancing leotard, which was just a little bit too small and sometimes gave her wedgies. She had also wielded a crowbar, which was not unlike the stick that Oberon picked up again- and he was stronger today than she was then.

'My magic isn’t offensive. Do you have any suggestions?'

Vulcan tested the weight of Valhalla's cape, thought that it was both very sweet and inopportune for the Knight to be so concerned about tending to their injuries, when the youma was getting ready to spit on them all over again.

Was there something wrong with him?

Vulcan took Valhalla's cape so that it was stretched long between both of her hands, twisted it into a makeshift rope. The beast continued to rumble, throat expanding, fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"Get ready," she flashed Oberon one of her best smiled, vaulted into the air at the same moment the youma fired. A hunk of black ooze congealed on Vulcan's barefoot. She grit her teeth against the pain of the burn. Landed behind the youma with the grace and skill of a lioness.

The youma hucked globs of black bile at Oberon and then at Valhalla, spitting with all the accuracy and tenacity of a machine gun, torso twisting so that he could spit at Vulcan too- but she slammed her injured foot into its spine, listened for the crack of bone, experienced a rush of satisfaction when she felt them give in the wake of her power.

The youma squawked and flailed, vomited black ooze. The grass hissed where it fell.

"Stab it," Vulcan ordered, fit Valhalla's cape into the youma's mouth before it had a chance to refill. She yanked back with her arms, foot still lodged into the creature's back, forcing the youma's head up, exposing its throat.

When Oberon lunged, it filled Vulcan with a strange sense of pride. She hardly knew him, but his resemblance to John Jr -the enthusiasm, the determination, the innocence- moved her heart towards a degree of affection that roared with joy over the success of his attack. Underneath her foot the youma squirmed and croaked, but her legs were strong.

Vulcan was steady. The volcano did not tremble.

Once it was done and the youma had vanished in a cloud of smoke, her foot fell the rest of the distance to the ground. Landed in a pile of ash. She was beaming at Oberon, distracted from his injuries for the moment by the high of the victory that coursed through her veins.

'Are you okay? I'm sorry... I didn't realize I couldn't handle it'

Vulcan looked towards Valhalla, tilted her head to the side. Considered him thoughtfully. He certainly looked like a knight. All of the pieces were there- from the power signature to the armour to the cape, half-ruined by the youma's bile, that she still clutched in her hands.

The burns she'd earned for herself hurt.

Vulcan did not mind the pain. Not enough to admit to it, or to draw attention to herself when Oberon had gotten it much worse than she had.

"I'll be fine," she said, dismissing the subject of her injuries with a wave of her hand. It was the chibi senshi she had concern for. She returned Valhalla his cape, thanked him for it and then moved towards Oberon, hands outstretched. "Let me see your arms."

Brother.

The word was a loaded one for Vulcan, who regarded Valhalla in a different light after the news of his condition. He had no magic? Still, there was no mistaking his knighthood. Strange. Vanessa did not pretend ot understand anything about how their power came to be, but it interested her that Valhalla could power up and, yet, have no apparent concept of purpose. It suggested to her that Vulcan was as much a part of who she was as the rhythm of her heartbeat.

She examined Oberon's outstretched arms with a careful eye, taking his wrists with her fingers and turning them tenderly in order to get a more thorough look at his wounds.

"I think that these will heal. For a burn, it isn't... bad-- How could he forget you're brothers?"

Oberon had sustained injuries that called for tending. Her own foot throbbed where the youma's ooze had marked her skin. But Vanessa was stuck on this information, as concerned about Valhalla as she was curious about what had happened to him.

Why couldn't he remember?