Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and all related characters are the 
property of MCA. No copyright infringement is intended.

This takes place shortly after the HtLJ episode “Not Fade Away.” Major 
spoilers here people. 
________


Postscript



Hercules lay awake beneath the glistening stars, listening to the rustle of 
the wind in the trees, the occasional hiss and crackle of from the dying 
fire and the soft, sleepfilled breathing of his companion across the fire. 
It was a cool night but warm enough that the fire wasn’t really 
necessary, but Hercules appreciated the warmth and the light it offered. 
He’d never been one to fear the dark, but lately he had a desire to see 
anything that might be coming. He’d been blind to the future before, 
and look what had happened.

He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable enough to drop off to 
sleep, to chase the thoughts and memories from his mind at least long 
enough to rest, but the hard ground and his overactive memory seemed 
to be conspiring to keep him awake. Truth be told, it was more the 
memories than the ground.

With a heavy sigh Hercules gave up the battle for sleep. Instead he 
rolled on his side, propping his head up on one arm. He smiled slightly 
at the man across from him. If anyone deserved to be called loyal, brave 
or heroic it was this man. A friend since boyhood, Hercules now 
counted Iolaus amongst his family. Iolaus was more like a brother than a 
friend, and closer to Hercules than most of the demi-god’s true blood 
brothers. After all, he hadn’t seen Apollo or Hermes in years and didn’t 
plan to see them anytime soon, wheras it was the rare occasion when 
more than a couple of weeks went by without seeing Iolaus. And while 
Iphicles and Hercules had been rivals since each was old enough to 
realize the difference between mortal and demi-god, Iolaus had never 
begrudged Hercules the blood of gods that ran in his veins. To the 
contrary, Iolaus almost pitied him for it, constantly joking that with a 
family of gods and goddesses Hercules didn’t need mortal enemies. And 
while Iolaus may have once felt that he had been permanently relegated 
to Hercules’ shadow, they had worked through it and their friendship 
remained strong. When Iphicles had resented Hercules’ fame he’d shut 
his brother out. That had been bad enough. Hercules hoped that there 
would never be such a gulf between Iolaus and himself.

But maybe there should be.

It was a concept Hercules had struggled with for a long time.

Iolaus had been in danger before and he’d always managed to get 
himself out of it and on the rare instance when he couldn’t, Hercules 
had been there to watch his back. They’d stood against warlords, 
monsters, giants, and vengeful gods and goddesses and always they’d 
come away in one piece.

But one piece wasn’t really enough anymore.

Iolaus had died before. He’d been killed by the Amazons, only to be 
resurrected when time was rewound. He’d died when the she-demon had 
turned him to stone, and had been brought back to flesh when Hercules 
slew the demon. And how many times had he nearly died? How many 
times had he been injured?

Mortality was a delicate thing and so were mortals themselves. Iolaus 
had always overcome that though. It had been said that Iolaus fought 
like ten men and Hercules would be pressed to find a more accurate way 
of describing his friend. But being a great fighter couldn’t protect you 
from the gods. And that had never been more accurate than during the 
events of the past week.

The Enforcer.

He should have seen something coming. When Hera had set that fire in 
the village just as he and Iolaus arrived he should have realized that his 
hateful step-mother was planning something, that she was watching 
them, that there was no way it could have been a coincidence. He hadn’t 
seen it though and Hera’s Enforcer had come for him while he believed 
himself safe amongst his family and friends. And while he’d enjoyed the 
company of his mother and step-father, Iolaus had suffered Hera’s 
wrath.

There are good and bad ways to die and Hercules could think of few 
deaths more painful than being beaten to death. The fact that Iolaus 
would have been left alive if only he had told Hera’s Enforcer where to 
find Hercules only made his death that much harder to bear. Iolaus had 
died to protect Hercules and all Hercules had been able to do was try 
and undo what his step-mother had wrought.

By the last dancing flames of the fire Hercules could make out the 
tousled mop of golden curls resting atop the pack of supplies his mother 
had insisted they take with them. He remembered seeing that golden 
hair covered in blood and his breath caught in his throat. Iolaus hadn’t 
died quickly either. He’d fought back death and stayed alive long 
enough to warn Hercules of Hera’s plan, to warn him that the Enforcer 
was coming. 

And then his best friend had died in his arms.

Hercules closed his eyes against the memory. For the last week he’d 
tried to forget what it had felt like to feel the last breath fade from 
Iolaus’ body, to hold the limp form in his arms. But so far the 
experience was too fresh in his mind. It came back to him every time he 
looked at Iolaus, alive and exuberant as always, and it haunted his 
dreams during the rare moments when he could actually sleep.

And it was his fault.

It was true, no matter how loathe he was to admit it. If not for him, 
Iolaus would not have died once, let alone three times. The Amazons, 
the she-demon and the Enforcer; Iolaus had been involved with all of 
them because of Hercules. A hundred times over the years Iolaus had 
faced injury and death, had suffered wounds and pains and ninety-nine 
of them had been because of or on behalf of Hercules.

Hercules pushed himself to his feet and strode away from the fire. He 
paced quietly not wanting to disturb the still sleeping Iolaus.

Deianara had died because he loved her. His children had died because 
he loved them. Alcmena had nearly died because he loved her. His wife, 
his children, his mother. And now, this time, the man he loved like a 
brother had been harmed because of him. This time they were lucky, 
Hades had been in his debt and had been willing to make a deal; Iolaus 
for the Enforcer. When Hercules destroyed the Enforcer Hades had let 
Iolaus return to the living. But if it happened again? Hades was no 
longer in his debt, and while Iolaus had told him of Persephone’s 
kindness and sympathy, she wouldn’t violate her husband’s laws simply 
because she empathized with them. The next time Iolaus died it would 
be for good. And there was nothing Hercules could do about it.

Well, maybe not nothing.

He could make sure that Iolaus’ death wasn’t because of him. He could 
make sure that Hera and Ares and whatever other enemies he’d made 
over the years would no longer go after Iolaus to get to him. He could 
protect his friend that much. All he had to do was walk away, cut all ties 
with his friend of more than 20 years and never look back.

But the strongest man alive wasn’t strong enough to do that.

He’d faced life without his friend, albeit shortly. He’d felt what it was 
like to lose Iolaus’ constant friendship and support and he didn’t want 
to lose it again. Not even if it was his choice. And Iolaus...

He stopped his pacing and regarded the sleeping form back at the fire. 
He knew Iolaus better than he knew himself. To do what he would have 
to do, to cut all ties, to walk away, would hurt Iolaus even more than it 
would hurt him, because he wouldn’t be able to tell Iolaus why he was 
doing it. He could say nothing because at any moment a god or demon 
or Zeus-knows-what sent by Hera or whoever was mad at him that week 
could overhear and realize that he was leaving out of love, not hate. No, 
Iolaus would have to be left in the dark, to think Hercules simply didn’t 
care, to think his best friend had deserted him. Hercules had once been 
forced to believe he had lost Iolaus’ friendship; when Xena had turned 
them against each other; and the pain he’d felt at that moment had been 
like someone had taken a flame to his heart. No, he could never do that 
to Iolaus, not deliberately. And he knew, without even having to look 
deeply, that he just couldn’t do it at all. 

Hercules stood just inside the ring of firelight, leaning against a tree. He 
would stay, he knew he would even before he’d considered leaving. He 
would stay and he’d do as he had always done; watch his back and 
Iolaus’ and hope that it was enough. He’d die before allowing Iolaus to 
be harmed and he’d kill before allowing anyone to harm him - including 
himself. He’d try to shield him from Hera’s revenge or a warlord’s 
anger. 

Iolaus sat up slightly, propping himself up with his arms and blinked at 
him groggily. “Why’re you awake? S’dark still. Somethin’ wrong?”

Hercules shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just having some 
trouble sleeping. Go back to sleep.”

Iolaus grunted and within a minute his breathing had once again slowed 
and evened. Hercules smiled at him fondly. Maybe Hercules would 
regret his decision; maybe he’d regret allowing Iolaus to become 
embroiled in the constant fighting and destruction that seemed to follow 
Hercules wherever he went. But he would never regret the friendship. 
And he could only pray that when the day came that death did separate 
them, it would be decades away, soft and silent, a quick death in his 
sleep perhaps and that when that death came there would be no regrets 
between them.

For the first time in the week since Iolaus’ death, Hercules’ dreams held 
no nightmares.
________



End