by Captain Sammitch
Grimm rode in the Hummer with Phil Smith as they ferried supplies to the team's temporary headquarters.
"You doing all right?" Phil asked.
"Been better," the biker said.
"We all got our asses kicked by this storm," Phil said. "At least we're all alive and relatively in one piece."
Grimm nodded. "Could be worse." He turned to Phil. "So what happened to this scared little candy-ass kid I met at the bar?"
"What are you talking about?"
Even though it was impossible for the obvious physiological reasons, Phil could swear Grimm was grinning, or doing some analogous thing after his own fashion. "You're different. I've never been able to understand you, but you're... different now. I dunno. The Phil I thought I knew hid under a table when Priest came barging in that night. But you -- well, you've been running all over this island, saving people, getting smashed around by everything from waves to vampires to giant hell-beasts, and basically defying any attempts to figure you out." Grimm looked away. "I just... don't know who you are."
"Well," Phil quipped, "I'd hate to think you knew something I didn't." That got a bit of a reaction out of the skull-faced man. "I suppose you're curious about my apparent change in character," Phil said after a long moment. "But you have to promise not to laugh at me."
"Since I'm so damn jolly and laugh at everything," Grimm said.
"Okay, I'll tell you," Phil said. "It happened after I rescued a little girl and got swept out to sea..."
In the water, several hours earlier:
That rock had hurt. Phil couldn't fight the inexorable currents that were pulling him out to sea. And now he was having trouble staying afloat. This couldn't go on much longer. Phil sent telepathic calls for help, but nobody came.
This really sucks, he thought. Phil stopped fighting and slipped beneath the waves.
Suddenly, the world around him flickered and changed. Phil could only remember that having happened twice before. But it couldn't be her.
The ocean was replaced with an empty white room. Phil found, to his amazement, that he was completely dry. "This can't be real," he said to himself.
"'Course it ain't real, kid," said an oddly familiar voice. Frank Sinatra walked into the room.
"I know I wasn't smoking anything," Phil said. "Am I dead or something?"
Sinatra laughed. "What do you think this is, a comic-book?" He chuckled to himself. "No, kid, you're not dead. We just thought we'd talk to ya for a sec."
"We?" Sinatra pointed to the ceiling. "Yeah. The Big Guy."
Phil's jaw dropped. "You mean... God brought me here to talk to me?"
"No, no, no," the singer said, shaking his head. "The Boss can talk to you anywhere. I can't."
"So why do you wanna talk to me?" Phil was confused.
"It's like this, kid." Frank sat down in a chair that had instantly materialized behind him. "Sometimes when we kick the bucket and come up here, we get asked to keep an eye on some of the folks that are still down there. So I got asked to watch you."
Phil chuckled. "Frank Sinatra is my guardian angel."
"Yeah, don't get all sentimental on me. The point is that the Big Guy noticed that you were in trouble, and He told me to try my hand at this heavenly advice thing. So I'm here."
Phil noticed a chair pop into existence behind him out of the corner of his eye. He sat down. "I'm listening."
"You've been going about this thing all wrong," Frank said. "You're scared of who you are and what you can do."
"In case you didn't notice," Phil said, "I found out exactly what I'm capable of in New York. That's why I'm scared of my powers."
"You're missing my point, kid," Sinatra said. "You got a gift, and you're scared to use it! You got power to do the right thing, and you won't use it!"
"I saved that little girl," Phil protested.
"Yeah, but there's gonna be a lot worse stuff comin' than those waves," the singer said. "And I wanna be sure you won't run away."
"But I'm just... me," Phil said. "I'm nobody's hero, and I have no intention of becoming so."
"What are you talkin' about?" Sinatra asked. "You saved all those kidnapped girls in New York. You stood up for what was right, and you gave the cops the slip for almost a month." He looked at Phil intently. "Where's that kind of confidence now?"
"I'm... I'm afraid," Phil murmured.
"I know," Frank said. "So cut it out. You're the Unidentified Man. You got no excuse to be runnin' around cryin' whenever trouble gets too close. Here. You wanna know something that'll help?" Sinatra leaned forward. "I probably shouldn't be tellin' ya this, kid, but I gotta do somethin'. You're not gonna die, Phil. At least not yet. The Big Guy has work for you to do, and those MBL Consultin' guys need you, too. So get out there and show me that Phil Smith toughness you had in the Big Apple."
Sinatra stood up as his chair vaporized. Phil wasn't so quick and landed on his butt on the floor. "What do I do now?" Phil asked. "You're not gonna drop me on shore?"
Frank laughed. "Whaddya think this is, kid? You ain't dead yet!"
He vanished, and Phil found himself back in the ocean as if nothing had happened.
Now:
"And that's it," Phil said.
Grimm shook his head. "You're kidding, right?"
"I'm serious," Phil said.
"You musta hit your head on something," the biker insisted.
"I did hit the rock pretty hard, but I don't think that brought it on," Phil said. "It doesn't matter, really. I think the new persona works better than the scared newbie one." Phil leaned back as he floored the gas. "And it's much more fun."
"You're all right, Phil," Grimm said. "You're all right."