Kneels next to bed and presses forehead into the knuckles of folded hands, scrunching his eyes tightly. A firm hand suddenly finds his shoulder, and he jerks his head to meet the omnipotent eyes of Le'Veon, clothed in a flowing white robe with black and gold trim, a silver halo above his head encircling the familiar accents of red, yellow, and blue. And He spoke

"My son, you have not betrayed me, but I can see your faith in me has flickered. You are so tired."

"My... my.. Lord. I can't carry on anymore, without you. My strength is failing me, as week after week I have had to trade 2 touchdowns and 120 all-purpose yards, for 3rd tier at best, and.. it's.. I can't-"

"And yet you have, my son." His voice boomed around the room, although he spoke softly "I can see you have been tempted, while the heathens around you have sold me so cheaply, and even worse - denied me to the waiver. But you have not forgotten me, and for that you shall be rewarded."

"But my Lord.." He cried in earnest, the tears traversing the length of his cheeks almost as quickly as Bell did the length a field "My record, I fear it's too late, I.."

"Do you trust in me?" It was a question, but it snapped like a command, yanking him from the tears. Their eyes met again

"Always."

"I am not returning now, but hear this: in the darkest fantasy hour, there I shall be for you."

"But what of The Conner?"

"Conner, Shmonner, my son. Just worry about what I say to you."

And he was gone. But not in the way that he was gone before, as he had left behind a renewed presence, that just behind the curtain, he awaited