jimmyhkim21 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jimmyhkim21) wrote2009-12-14 09:15 pm
jimmyhkim21) wrote2009-12-14 09:15 pm
Entry tags:
Apocalypse Reboot
Title: Apocalypse Reboot, Part III
Genre: gen, case-fic, crossover
Pairing: none
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Crossover with characters from Good Omens.
Summary: The Winchesters discover the plural term for the Apocalypse. They are not amused. Neither are Crowley and Aziraphale who must help them stop all of God's creation from becoming undone.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
Bruce smiled wanly as his new friend, Jason Kipling, hailed a cab for the group. Initially, he was glad that his new neighbors were coming with him. In fact, Bruce was elated that people whose good opinion he desired thought that Sudoku was cool enough for them to attend the conference with him, and take on the mundane tasks of helping him run his little corner of the world.
But the truth was after living with one or all three hanging out in his little condo for the last month, Bruce actually missed his solitary lifestyle. He possessed a fastidious nature so he was used to dealing with people who were sloppier, not caring if they made mistakes since they fully expected Bruce to clean up their messes.
But Jason, his brother Kevin, and Kevin’s girlfriend – Ash were grade A anal-retentive personalities who had predilections towards not only organizing their lives but now Bruce’s. At first he enjoyed hanging out with people like him, but it didn't take long for the 'new and shiny' mentality wore off. So, the Sudoku aficionado was actually looking forward to having some quality time with his net friends.
A minivan-cab pulled up to the curb and they piled in. The driver looked at the rearview mirror, openly studying his fare. And Bruce couldn’t blame him for his curiosity. While he looked non-descript at best, Kevin could rate in the GQ scale along with his brother while Ash would definitely be considered a professional model with her large, expressive doe eyes and slim but athletic build.
And they were dressed accordingly, too. Bruce was wearing his finest and he got his clothes at Macy’s sales while the rest of the group looked like they got theirs from Neiman Marcus and definitely not on sale. Once again, Bruce wondered why Jason found him so … what was the word? ‘Refreshing’. And his posh British accent made the word sound so seductive, Bruce blushed the first time he’d heard his neighbor say it.
When the cab pulled up to the hotel, Bruce felt a spasm of relief that the building and the lobby didn’t look too shabby. He suspected his friends were used to sleek, shiny things with discreet charm.
The front desk people looked up at him and gave their plastic smiles. But once their eyes traveled to his entourage, their faces suddenly turned rosy red with interest.
“Good afternoon,” a pretty girl said. “I’m Amy. Can I check you in?”
“Yes, my name is Bruce Lee.”
There were the usual responses: titters of barely-hidden laughter, some wide-eyed glances, and the usual looks of pity.
“Yes, here you are, Mr. Lee.” Amy looked at the people behind Bruce and added, “Sir, I think reservations might have made a mistake. We have a single room reserved for you.”
Kevin glided right next to Bruce and said, “Hello, name’s Kevin Kipling. I made reservations under my name for myself, my girlfriend, and my brother, Jason. The reservation should be for a suite.”
Amy’s blush deepened as she scanned the screen. “Yes, glad to see you, Mr. Kipling.”
And right there Bruce knew he was dismissed. He gave a mental sigh and stepped aside, quietly accepting his keycard when Amy handed them out. However, his mood brightened a little when he noticed his friends were on the top floor while he was on the fifth.
“Fancy a drink after?” Ash asked, yawning and making it somehow look obscene. “I can do with a proper whisky after that flight.”
“Sounds good,” Jason chimed in. “When should we swing by Bruce?”
Bruce wondered if he actually said yes. “Um, three?”
“That sounds fantastic,” Kevin said. “We’ll come by.”
Bruce gave a wan smile and exited the elevator with a sigh of relief. He trundled to the room, dragging the recalcitrant carry-on behind him. The creaky whining of the wheels finally got to his nerves and Bruce opened the door with more force than necessary. He then kicked the bag and enjoyed the sound of it crashing against the hallway closet.
“Thank you, Lord,” Bruce announced loudly as he studied the small, clean, private room with unabashed gratitude.
He unpacked everything, proud to have taken up only one drawer space, and took a quick shower before snuggling deeply into the comfortable bed. He checked his cell and noted five messages from Miles. Quite a few of them mentioned a pretty girl he’d met who claimed she knew Bruce from her on-line forays.
Bruce smiled. Miles was a good guy, a bit of a spaz but a trustworthy soul who always pulled through when needed. Bruce also knew he had an ally in Miles when things go south (and they were bound to in a con), especially where a Deathmatch was concerned.
Speaking of Deathmatches, who are the unfortunate sacrificial lambs this year?
He studied the printout, recognized few names, and once more felt a twinge of shame to note only three women on the list.
We’re gonna get reamed again, Bruce thought, massaging his temples to hold back a headache.
To further his aggravation, there was a knock on the door. Bruce grimaced and pressed deeper into his bed. He didn’t want to join Jason and go down to the bar only to be gawked at by the servers, all silently wondering how in hell he managed to fall in with such a fashionable crowd.
Ash’s lovely voice drifted in. “Are you in there, Bruce?”
The weary man kept quiet, willing his friends to leave him in peace. There was another stream of gentle knocks but nothing else followed. However, Bruce remained tense for few more minutes before finally relaxing. He was tempted to turn on the television but refrained. Though Bruce was pretty sure Jason and his gang went downstairs, something in the back of his head told him his new buddies weren’t that far away. Like maybe down the hall? Few doors away even?
But what would they be doing? Bruce wondered. Why would they be waiting for me? They’re not my bodyguards, for Pete’s sake.
But that thought would not leave him: that his new friends were, in truth, well-dressed guard dogs. Feeling a slight chill tickle his spine, Bruce forced his mind to turn to mundane things like the Deathmatch. He wondered who would make it, and wouldn’t it be something if the winner was someone he knew?
Bruce had no idea how tense he was until the room phone crashed through his thoughts. He let out a tight, little scream of shock before realizing what the sound was. He fumbled for the receiver and barked out a greeting.
“Oh, there you are,” Jason’s voice drifted in. “Ash told me you weren’t in your room.”
Bruce closed his eyes and wondered what would happen if he just hung up. Instead, he gave a weak excuse. “My head was killing me so I took a nap.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Jason said. “Why don’t I let you have a rest, then? Call me when you feel better.”
“Sure,” Bruce said. “Thanks.”
He hung up, wanting to give a sigh of relief but refrained. He also wanted to check the hallway but was afraid of what he’d find. So, he stayed in his bed, not moving while berating himself for his cowardice.
Dean chugged down the coffee, then woefully looked at the bottom of the cup.
“Cheap bastards,” he muttered. “I swear, with the charges they’re shoving down our throats you’d think they could at least give us a decent cup of coffee.”
Sam wanted to tell Dean to shut up but he had to agree with his brother’s assessment. His hand completely dwarfed the cup and it had taken only five sips for him to empty it.
“D-boys at five o’clock,” Dean whispered.
Sam looked at the reflection on the ceiling-to-floor mirrors to his left and immediately noticed three people who did not fit the rest of the convention goers. Two men dressed to kill accompanying a woman who would be welcomed in any man’s bed with just a single smile. Just the predatory way they walked rang every claxon in Sam’s head.
“Wow, she’s a looker,” Dean said. “Pretty damn interesting.”
“Why’s that?” Sam asked softly.
“You’d think they’d try to blend in like us, but they might as well be screaming ‘demons!’ with the getup they got going.”
Sam looked at his brother, marveling at Dean’s unparalleled sense as a hunter. No matter how many times Dean beat himself up regarding his lack of formal education, when it came to their chosen careers, Dean had no equal; not even their father was so attuned.
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked, not wanting to jar Dean from his current train of thought.
“I’m thinking those three don’t care because they never did,” Dean said. “Heavyweights, probably. You know – Meg type.”
Sam winced when he heard the name. “They’ve got preferences and they’re too proud to change them.”
“Something like that,” Dean said. “What are the odds those three are Bruce’s newest and bestest friends?”
Sam gave a crooked smile. “No betting there.”
“Gotta wonder where Bruce is if the three musketeers are down here, getting a drink.”
“You want to find out?” Sam offered. “We might get lucky.”
“Sure, let’s do it.”
They took the elevator to the fifth floor and found two women loitering about the hallway. One was in a hotel uniform and the other was sporting a con t-shirt.
Dean made a point of stepping out the elevator and then saying, “This isn’t our floor, sis.”
Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing. Instead, he pressed the door button closed. “Guard dogs?”
“Definitely,” Dean answered. “Ugly little things, too.”
“You can see them as demons? When did that happen?”
“Right before Detroit,” Dean confessed. “I thought I was having a breakdown or something.”
Sam didn’t say a word. He understood what Dean meant. “So, low-level?”
Dean nodded. “Definitely. Which means the three downstairs can order other demons about.”
Sam couldn’t find a hole with that assumption. “Want to meet with our otherworldly allies?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They found Aziraphale and Bobby drowning in books and scrolls while Crowley was fiddling with a piece of equipment no bigger than Sam’s cell. The demon attached it to a docking station linked to a slim laptop neither Sam nor Dean recognized.
Suddenly, a voice flooded the room. Crowley mouthed ‘Bruce’ as a way of explanation.
“That sounds great. Good to know it all worked out.” There was a notable length of silence before Bruce laughed softly. “Oh yeah? So, how cute is she? By the way, is she even legal? From the pics I got last night she looks like she’s still in high school.”
Sam blushed furiously when he realized the conversation was probably about him. Dean noticed it too and grinned unrepentently.
“That cute? Okay, definitely got to meet her then. Not every day you find a babe in a con.”
Sam haphazardly grabbed a book off the table and began flipping. To go undercover for the sake of a hunt was one thing, but listening to men get off on how he looked was another. Dean seemed to be sharing the same opinion also. In spite of his initial glee, Dean was now frowning as Bruce continued to talk about the pretty girl his friend met earlier.
“Dude’s definitely not getting any,” Dean grumbled out. “Why are we listening to this shit anyway?”
“Because we must,” Crowley replied primly. “We can’t afford to miss anything.”
Aziraphale peeked out from a tome the size of Madagascar and piped out, “But surely this isn’t necessary.”
“If it bothers you so much,” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. He snapped his fingers and the volume died down noticeably. Sam gave a sigh of relief then turned his attention to the book in front of him. It was only then he realized he was reading what was equivalent to ancient pornography barely disguised as ‘ecstasies of saints’.
He closed the book, shuffled it to the bottom of the stack, and picked the one that spoke of dooms and prophecies regarding the end of times. That he could deal with, at least.
Dean ambled next to him and picked up a scroll. He unrolled it and read first two passages. “Why is this familiar?”
Sam took it. “It’s because we read it before in Detroit.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s that stupid poem.”
“Hmm, well … wait a minute,” Sam frowned and peered closer. “I remember reading something and thinking it was strange.”
“Strange as in ha-ha strange or strange as in our strange.”
“Strange as in out of place,” Sam answered. “Here’s the line that jarred me: Lest the Beginning and the End is entwined as thus, the cursed man shall live as one untouched by … the closest word is love.”
“That’s weird, all right,” Bobby tuned in. “Not something that goes in the way of Armageddon.”
“No, and I ignored it back then, but the poem stuck with me.” Sam forced himself to re-read the line. Then, he paid the same attention to the rest of the scroll. “I think it’s a prophecy about Armageddon, jut not the one we stopped in Detroit.”
“You’re thinking it’s about this one, then?” Bobby asked, his interest perked noticeably. Even Crowley was now paying attention.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I think this one’s about what’s happening now.”
“So, a prophecy about one of multiple Apocalypse ... s,” Dean stated. “Wow, that’s one big fucking mess.”
“Welcome to my world,” Crowley deadpanned. “This is just a regular day for us.”
Aziraphale gave a nod of agreement and added, “Though it looks contrived to you, it isn’t to us for we have been around for centuries. So, the unfolding events are the fruitions of centuries of involvement and … and…”
“Interfering with humanity,” Crowley added. “Putting our fingers where they don’t belong and generally mucking up things.”
“For the greater good,” Aziraphale corrected quickly.
“Of course,” Crowley agreed. “But it stands that this is … what shall I say? Natural course of things.”
Dean made a rude noise but didn’t say a word. Instead, he leaned closer and read Sam’s notes as he furiously laid out his ideas. “I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Dean said. “I know miracles happen but not even Lucifer can pull a second sun out of his fucking ass.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he looked at Crowley. He shook his head frantically even as the demon chewed on his lower lip, eyes narrowing into snake-like slits; his tongue slithering in and out only enforced the serpentine look.
Dean tipped his head and said, “Wait a minute. What if sun is spelled wrong?”
“You mean son?” Sam asked. He looked at the scroll and said, “So not two suns but two sons. That really does shift things. And you might just be right. English spelling wasn’t uniform until well into the nineteenth century.”
“So, you have to read the entire thing like it’s been spellchecked by a drunken frat boy,” Dean said. He clapped Sam on his shoulders. “Good times ahead, egghead.”
Sam moaned a little before dropping his head in despair. “Fuck me.”
“Why don’t you give me that,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been around that time, so I should have no problem reading it.”
Sam had little problem unloading the scroll onto the angel. Crowley smirked but said nothing until his device got his attention once more. “Our little apocalypse-prone friend has guests.”
A woman’s voice floated out. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, I definitely needed the nap,” Bruce replied. “Jason isn’t too pissed that I couldn’t make it, is he?”
“No, of course not,” the woman’s voice lazily coiled around the vowels, making Dean shudder out of arousal and fear. He looked at Sam and mouthed, ‘Demon’. “He’s worried that you’re ill because of the flight.”
“Just a little jet lag,” Bruce said. There was a strain in his tone that everyone listening picked up. Sam realized that even though Bruce wasn’t aware of his friends' true nature, his primal instincts have awoken and noted they were a threat: a big one.
“How about joining us for a bite? It’s time for dinner.”
Bruce’s agreement distinctly lacked enthusiasm, making Sam feel badly for the man. Dean gave a low whistle, signaling to Sam he was thinking the same thing.
There was some rustling noise then a click, indicating they had left the room. Dean dusted down his jeans and said, “That cup of coffee just made me hungrier. I’m going downstairs to have a bite to eat. Want to join?”
Sam stood up. “Yeah, time to meet our Bruce Lee.”
Dean slurped down the last of his juice. “Call me underwhelmed.”
Sam nodded in agreement but kept his focus on the salmon in front of him. Dean leaned back in his seat and looked around the restaurant. It was filled with con goers, talking to each other excitedly about their daily activities. In spite of what he considered dorky activities, Dean knew they genuinely enjoyed chatting about numbers and where they go, and why they put them there.
Dean startled in his chair when Sam kicked him under the table.
“What?” he barked out.
“The table just got bigger,” Sam whispered.
Dean took a glance at the table and noted two brutes sitting down with the four already eating their desserts. Understandably, the only human in the group didn’t look too happy with the new addition. Dean’s pity for the poor bastard grew as he watched Bruce shrink into his seat.
Dude, why are you sticking around? It can’t be because of the girl. Sure, she’s a looker, but you know she’s bad news. So why are you still sitting there like a bucket of chum?
Dean watched Bruce give a furtive look at his companions before pulling something out of his messenger bag: a misshapen book.
The demons surrounding Bruce stopped speaking and looked at the tattered object in unison. Dean noticed Bruce giving alarmed looks at his dinner companions, all who smiled before returning to their conversations. But their gazes kept sliding over to examine the newest addition to their table.
“No, Dean,” Sam hissed between his lips.
Dean slouched into his chair. Leave it to Sam to take the fun out of a hunt as big as this one. “I wasn’t going to do anything stupid. I just wanted to see what the goddamn thing looks like.”
“You can study it from here. I don’t want anything to freak out Lee’s psychotic friends.”
“The thing’s smaller than I expected,” Dean muttered. “I was thinking it’d be the size of a regular bible or something. It looks like a prayer book, actually.”
“Considering Elliot stitched the thing, it couldn’t have been that big.”
“Still, something that could end the world should be respectably sized, don’t you think?”
Sam couldn’t stop from smiling. Dean’s logic, though not very profound, was solid. “Yeah, agree with you on that.”
“There they go.”
Sam turned the water glass and saw in its reflection the entire table leaving with Bruce leading the pack, though hardly alpha material. Sam heard Dean’s chair scrape and turned to watch his brother approach the empty table. Dean neatly pocketed the woman’s wine glass into his jacket pocket.
With a sigh, Sam stood up and followed his brother. But not before pocketing a drinking glass of his own. They returned to Bobby’s room to find the rest of the team had ordered room service, and from the looks of the food, much better than what the hotel restaurant had given them.
"A demon used this to drink wine. Maybe one of you geniuses could hex her or something," Dean said as he put down the stolen glass on the coffee table. Then he added casually, "We also saw the book."
“What?” Bobby looked up from his coffee mug.
“Or what we think is the book,” Sam hurriedly corrected Dean before plonking down his stolen stemware. “But I think Dean's right about his assumptions. Lee’s demon escorts were mesmerized by it.”
“Did they touch it?” Crowley asked eagerly. “Did they try to take it from Bruce?”
“No, they didn’t,” Dean answered. “They were hypnotized by it, but no touching, no moving near the book. In fact, they stayed away.”
“That’s out of respect,” Crowley said. “And fear of influencing Lee in a negative manner.”
“Or positive,” Aziraphale added smugly.
“Neither in our case,” Crowley said. “There are enough on both sides who want Lee to succeed. And would go to any length to make sure he does.”
“What would happen if we just grab the fucking thing?” Dean asked.
“The demons will bring down the entire city out of petulance,” Crowley said with lot less enthusiasm. “And that’s the good news. The bad news would be they have enough power left to take out the entire western part of your country.”
“But with Lilith and Azazel gone … could they even do it?" Sam looked stunned by his own question.
“No, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try,” Crowley said. “You must understand, after Detroit, a lot of plans went awry and not just His. A lot of demons banked on the fact they were going to be freed from Hell and allowed to roam about, doing what pleased them.”
Dean shook his head. “And I honestly thought we were done with all this. Man, do I feel stupid.”
Aziraphale looked sympathetically at Dean and Sam who had had paled considerably while Crowley spoke. “I am sorry to say, after you folks had succeeded, things didn’t calm down. It’s gotten hotter, sort to speak.”
“Especially for you lot,” Crowley added.
Sam sank back into his chair, his dejection plain on his face. “I knew we were never going to be normal, but I thought it would be less fucked up than it used to be when Lucifer was free.”
Dean’s stony face didn’t reveal his disappointment, but the accusing silence told the angel and the demon how upset the oldest Winchester was.
Bobby blew a deep sigh and said, “Well, shit still stinks the same, good to know. Let’s see if we can find a way to fuck them up without having California come down around our ears.”
Bruce waved wildly at Miles who looked surprised by the vehemence in his greeting. But Bruce didn’t care: Miles meant he could get away from Jason and company. The desperate man knew he should be feeling bad that he was ditching a group of people who followed him to San Francisco at his urgings, but Bruce needed air to breathe: to feel normal.
Jason looked at Miles and gave a deprecating smile. “Is that your friend? The one who’s organizing the festivities?”
Bruce couldn’t take it any more. He turned to Jason and snapped, “Okay, maybe he’s not GQ cool like you but he’s a good guy, and he’s brilliant.”
Ash slithered her arm around Bruce’s waist and said, “Don’t mind Jason. He’s always twitchy after flying. We’ll leave now and make sure Jason’s in better mood tomorrow.”
To Bruce's dismay Kevin shook his head and said, “You know what? I’ll stay. Besides, Miles could update me with what’s happening. That way we could hit the ground running tomorrow.”
And his disappointment grew: Miles didn’t react well to Kevin’s presence as Bruce had hoped he would. The general manager for the con’s more popular activities remained stiff and terse as he discussed Kevin's duties, such as registration and handing out information packets to the people attending the rooms assigned to him. Kevin agreed to take on the responsibilities with little fuss, but Bruce suspected barely-held contempt on Kevin’s part. Miles must have felt the same because the conversation went downhill even quicker than before.
After few minutes of stilted exchange of pleasantries, Kevin excused himself. Miles watched him saunter away and rumbled, “Bit of a prick, isn’t he?”
“He’s not, really,” Bruce countered weakly. “His brother Jason is pretty cool.”
"If you say so,” Miles said. “I hope he and his brother will be bit more reasonable tomorrow. Their attitude needs some adjusting, if you get my meaning.”
“They’ll be fine,” Bruce said, all the while knowing it wouldn’t be.
Why in hell did I bring them? Bruce thought as he and Miles talked about mundane things. What possessed them to think I’m their buddy? Are they playing some fucked up version of a dogfight?
“Shit, there she is,” Miles hissed at him.
Bruce looked up and asked, “Who?”
“Sam,” Miles whispered while discreetly pointing at a girl getting out of an elevator. When Bruce spotted her skinny escort he had to quell back a laugh. The beanpole of a boy was walking like a sailor but his strut was completely ruined by the oversized motorcycle boots and bow-legged gait. All of which conspired to make him look like he had a long pole stuck up his ass.
“Is that her brother?”
“Yeah, the poor kid,” Miles said. “Got a bad kidney problem; has to take some serious meds for it. They must be making his life hell ‘cause he goes to bed at ten, sharp.”
Bruce felt genuine pity for the stranger. “He looks like he’s sixteen.”
“Nineteen, I think, or at least that’s what his file says,” Miles explained. “Oh, he won the lottery for the Deathmatch so you’ll be seeing him around a lot more.”
Bruce took another look at the two and felt a twinge of envy. For reasons he couldn’t explain he was jealous of Miles’ friendship with two normal semi-hot geeks with mundane, human problems.
Miles made a weak hand motion and caught the attention of the two. “Make me look good, okay?"
Bruce grinned. “Sorry, can’t work miracles here.”
“Hey, how are you?” Miles asked, standing up from the table. “This is an old friend of mine and someone you know, Bruce Lee.”
The Asian girl blinked and looked at Bruce with a disconcertingly calculating look. “Oh, you’re Bruce. We met on-line few months ago.”
“Really?” Bruce was intrigued.
“Yep, I went by the name of … Cas. But my real name’s Sam.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bruce said and shook her hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm, masculine even.
The girl turned on a high-wattage smile at Miles. Little wonder his friend was a bit dazzled by her. “Thanks for the notes you dropped off earlier. They were very helpful.”
“Yeah,” the brother said. “I was going to pull out of the Deathmatch until Sam told me what it was all about.”
Bruce smiled and said, “Glad to hear you’re going to participate. It’s a real hoot.”
“Cool,” the boy said, rather unconvincingly.
“See you two around,” Sam said with a farewell wave.
“Interesting pair,” Bruce said. “By the way, what’s the brother’s name? He never said.”
“Dean,” Miles answered. “In spite of his attitude, he’s not a bad kid.”
“I can see what you mean by him being sick,” Bruce admitted. “He looked uncomfortable in his own skin.”
“You noticed. By the way, don’t feel like you have to help him with the Deathmatch. I don’t want others to cry out favoritism later and have the shit hit the fan.”
“No problem. And, for your information, I wasn’t planning to do anything like that.”
“Good to hear,” Miles said.
Bruce returned to his room soon thereafter. He looked at the various emails sent to him while he was out and smiled. His good mood, which had rotted away, returned full force as he read the missives with their ho-hum but humorous statements. After a full hour he returned to his favorite hobby: decoding the book he had purchased while touring England.
He flipped through the various pages and noted how detailed the work was. Bruce had very little information on the Elliot woman but he could see she was indeed very gifted with the needle. He was examining the edge of a page when he spotted a slight change in the color of the threads. He stopped and looked closer with a magnifying glass.
A pattern all but jumped out of the page of silk cloth. He stopped and recounted the stitching. Then, with extreme care, he started counting the stitches around some of the more interesting figures on the page. Two hours later, Bruce had more than a pattern. He had an entire sentence.
He sat back and shook his head in awe. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Bruce then studied the following pages and realized there were more patterns: all different but now that he had deciphered one set, he was able to see others clearly.
Bruce took a deep breath and read out loud the passage. “Darky harky, set all malarkey.”
Well, that was fucking weird, even from those times. Exactly how much was she tossing back when she did this?!
Still wondering what the passage meant, Bruce put the book into the room's safe and got ready for bed, not at all suspecting what he had set in motion.
Grand Canyon, Arizona
Arthur Becker loved mountains in spite of living within driving distance of the Alps. It was kind of a requisite for an Austrian. And yet, his long-time lover, Daniel Hoffman who had grown up in the same town as Arthur, had a completely different view of rocky white peaks. He loathed anything above the seaboard. However, even he had to agree with Arthur that the Grand Canyon was definitely worth the plane ride and the various hassles of trans-Atlantic travel.
The two parked at the designated lot and dutifully made sure they had all the necessary equipment to take pictures of the spectacular sunrise at the Grand Canyon.
After managing to elbow in a respectable space at the viewing ledge, they hunkered down. Arthur handed over a thermos of dark bitter coffee that Daniel liked so much. And the two waited in companionable silence.
The first color of pink breathed into life as the sun began to rise. There were gasps of wonder and whispers of respect and awe as the pink turned bloodier.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Arthur asked his lover who gave a miserable sniffle and snuggled deeper into his down jacket. “Don’t be such a child! It’s…”
A loud noise reverberated all around the group, as if someone coughed from the bottom of the Canyon and the sound resonated all the way up. Arthur frowned and peered into his camera to get a better look. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of white and Arthur cried in shock before closing his eyes. When he opened them, the Grand Canyon was no more.
There was a smooth, flat surface where one of the world’s greatest wonders used to be. Arthur slowly leaned over the rails and looked down to see an ant spinning about, confused as the humans above him.
“Oh my God,” Arthur whispered.
Daniel grunted and looked over the rails to see flat, dusty nothing. With a tired sigh and a thundering sniffle, he turned to his lover and asked, “Can we go back to the hotel now? Please?"
Part II * Part IV
Genre: gen, case-fic, crossover
Pairing: none
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Crossover with characters from Good Omens.
Summary: The Winchesters discover the plural term for the Apocalypse. They are not amused. Neither are Crowley and Aziraphale who must help them stop all of God's creation from becoming undone.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
Bruce smiled wanly as his new friend, Jason Kipling, hailed a cab for the group. Initially, he was glad that his new neighbors were coming with him. In fact, Bruce was elated that people whose good opinion he desired thought that Sudoku was cool enough for them to attend the conference with him, and take on the mundane tasks of helping him run his little corner of the world.
But the truth was after living with one or all three hanging out in his little condo for the last month, Bruce actually missed his solitary lifestyle. He possessed a fastidious nature so he was used to dealing with people who were sloppier, not caring if they made mistakes since they fully expected Bruce to clean up their messes.
But Jason, his brother Kevin, and Kevin’s girlfriend – Ash were grade A anal-retentive personalities who had predilections towards not only organizing their lives but now Bruce’s. At first he enjoyed hanging out with people like him, but it didn't take long for the 'new and shiny' mentality wore off. So, the Sudoku aficionado was actually looking forward to having some quality time with his net friends.
A minivan-cab pulled up to the curb and they piled in. The driver looked at the rearview mirror, openly studying his fare. And Bruce couldn’t blame him for his curiosity. While he looked non-descript at best, Kevin could rate in the GQ scale along with his brother while Ash would definitely be considered a professional model with her large, expressive doe eyes and slim but athletic build.
And they were dressed accordingly, too. Bruce was wearing his finest and he got his clothes at Macy’s sales while the rest of the group looked like they got theirs from Neiman Marcus and definitely not on sale. Once again, Bruce wondered why Jason found him so … what was the word? ‘Refreshing’. And his posh British accent made the word sound so seductive, Bruce blushed the first time he’d heard his neighbor say it.
When the cab pulled up to the hotel, Bruce felt a spasm of relief that the building and the lobby didn’t look too shabby. He suspected his friends were used to sleek, shiny things with discreet charm.
The front desk people looked up at him and gave their plastic smiles. But once their eyes traveled to his entourage, their faces suddenly turned rosy red with interest.
“Good afternoon,” a pretty girl said. “I’m Amy. Can I check you in?”
“Yes, my name is Bruce Lee.”
There were the usual responses: titters of barely-hidden laughter, some wide-eyed glances, and the usual looks of pity.
“Yes, here you are, Mr. Lee.” Amy looked at the people behind Bruce and added, “Sir, I think reservations might have made a mistake. We have a single room reserved for you.”
Kevin glided right next to Bruce and said, “Hello, name’s Kevin Kipling. I made reservations under my name for myself, my girlfriend, and my brother, Jason. The reservation should be for a suite.”
Amy’s blush deepened as she scanned the screen. “Yes, glad to see you, Mr. Kipling.”
And right there Bruce knew he was dismissed. He gave a mental sigh and stepped aside, quietly accepting his keycard when Amy handed them out. However, his mood brightened a little when he noticed his friends were on the top floor while he was on the fifth.
“Fancy a drink after?” Ash asked, yawning and making it somehow look obscene. “I can do with a proper whisky after that flight.”
“Sounds good,” Jason chimed in. “When should we swing by Bruce?”
Bruce wondered if he actually said yes. “Um, three?”
“That sounds fantastic,” Kevin said. “We’ll come by.”
Bruce gave a wan smile and exited the elevator with a sigh of relief. He trundled to the room, dragging the recalcitrant carry-on behind him. The creaky whining of the wheels finally got to his nerves and Bruce opened the door with more force than necessary. He then kicked the bag and enjoyed the sound of it crashing against the hallway closet.
“Thank you, Lord,” Bruce announced loudly as he studied the small, clean, private room with unabashed gratitude.
He unpacked everything, proud to have taken up only one drawer space, and took a quick shower before snuggling deeply into the comfortable bed. He checked his cell and noted five messages from Miles. Quite a few of them mentioned a pretty girl he’d met who claimed she knew Bruce from her on-line forays.
Bruce smiled. Miles was a good guy, a bit of a spaz but a trustworthy soul who always pulled through when needed. Bruce also knew he had an ally in Miles when things go south (and they were bound to in a con), especially where a Deathmatch was concerned.
Speaking of Deathmatches, who are the unfortunate sacrificial lambs this year?
He studied the printout, recognized few names, and once more felt a twinge of shame to note only three women on the list.
We’re gonna get reamed again, Bruce thought, massaging his temples to hold back a headache.
To further his aggravation, there was a knock on the door. Bruce grimaced and pressed deeper into his bed. He didn’t want to join Jason and go down to the bar only to be gawked at by the servers, all silently wondering how in hell he managed to fall in with such a fashionable crowd.
Ash’s lovely voice drifted in. “Are you in there, Bruce?”
The weary man kept quiet, willing his friends to leave him in peace. There was another stream of gentle knocks but nothing else followed. However, Bruce remained tense for few more minutes before finally relaxing. He was tempted to turn on the television but refrained. Though Bruce was pretty sure Jason and his gang went downstairs, something in the back of his head told him his new buddies weren’t that far away. Like maybe down the hall? Few doors away even?
But what would they be doing? Bruce wondered. Why would they be waiting for me? They’re not my bodyguards, for Pete’s sake.
But that thought would not leave him: that his new friends were, in truth, well-dressed guard dogs. Feeling a slight chill tickle his spine, Bruce forced his mind to turn to mundane things like the Deathmatch. He wondered who would make it, and wouldn’t it be something if the winner was someone he knew?
Bruce had no idea how tense he was until the room phone crashed through his thoughts. He let out a tight, little scream of shock before realizing what the sound was. He fumbled for the receiver and barked out a greeting.
“Oh, there you are,” Jason’s voice drifted in. “Ash told me you weren’t in your room.”
Bruce closed his eyes and wondered what would happen if he just hung up. Instead, he gave a weak excuse. “My head was killing me so I took a nap.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Jason said. “Why don’t I let you have a rest, then? Call me when you feel better.”
“Sure,” Bruce said. “Thanks.”
He hung up, wanting to give a sigh of relief but refrained. He also wanted to check the hallway but was afraid of what he’d find. So, he stayed in his bed, not moving while berating himself for his cowardice.
Dean chugged down the coffee, then woefully looked at the bottom of the cup.
“Cheap bastards,” he muttered. “I swear, with the charges they’re shoving down our throats you’d think they could at least give us a decent cup of coffee.”
Sam wanted to tell Dean to shut up but he had to agree with his brother’s assessment. His hand completely dwarfed the cup and it had taken only five sips for him to empty it.
“D-boys at five o’clock,” Dean whispered.
Sam looked at the reflection on the ceiling-to-floor mirrors to his left and immediately noticed three people who did not fit the rest of the convention goers. Two men dressed to kill accompanying a woman who would be welcomed in any man’s bed with just a single smile. Just the predatory way they walked rang every claxon in Sam’s head.
“Wow, she’s a looker,” Dean said. “Pretty damn interesting.”
“Why’s that?” Sam asked softly.
“You’d think they’d try to blend in like us, but they might as well be screaming ‘demons!’ with the getup they got going.”
Sam looked at his brother, marveling at Dean’s unparalleled sense as a hunter. No matter how many times Dean beat himself up regarding his lack of formal education, when it came to their chosen careers, Dean had no equal; not even their father was so attuned.
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked, not wanting to jar Dean from his current train of thought.
“I’m thinking those three don’t care because they never did,” Dean said. “Heavyweights, probably. You know – Meg type.”
Sam winced when he heard the name. “They’ve got preferences and they’re too proud to change them.”
“Something like that,” Dean said. “What are the odds those three are Bruce’s newest and bestest friends?”
Sam gave a crooked smile. “No betting there.”
“Gotta wonder where Bruce is if the three musketeers are down here, getting a drink.”
“You want to find out?” Sam offered. “We might get lucky.”
“Sure, let’s do it.”
They took the elevator to the fifth floor and found two women loitering about the hallway. One was in a hotel uniform and the other was sporting a con t-shirt.
Dean made a point of stepping out the elevator and then saying, “This isn’t our floor, sis.”
Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing. Instead, he pressed the door button closed. “Guard dogs?”
“Definitely,” Dean answered. “Ugly little things, too.”
“You can see them as demons? When did that happen?”
“Right before Detroit,” Dean confessed. “I thought I was having a breakdown or something.”
Sam didn’t say a word. He understood what Dean meant. “So, low-level?”
Dean nodded. “Definitely. Which means the three downstairs can order other demons about.”
Sam couldn’t find a hole with that assumption. “Want to meet with our otherworldly allies?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They found Aziraphale and Bobby drowning in books and scrolls while Crowley was fiddling with a piece of equipment no bigger than Sam’s cell. The demon attached it to a docking station linked to a slim laptop neither Sam nor Dean recognized.
Suddenly, a voice flooded the room. Crowley mouthed ‘Bruce’ as a way of explanation.
“That sounds great. Good to know it all worked out.” There was a notable length of silence before Bruce laughed softly. “Oh yeah? So, how cute is she? By the way, is she even legal? From the pics I got last night she looks like she’s still in high school.”
Sam blushed furiously when he realized the conversation was probably about him. Dean noticed it too and grinned unrepentently.
“That cute? Okay, definitely got to meet her then. Not every day you find a babe in a con.”
Sam haphazardly grabbed a book off the table and began flipping. To go undercover for the sake of a hunt was one thing, but listening to men get off on how he looked was another. Dean seemed to be sharing the same opinion also. In spite of his initial glee, Dean was now frowning as Bruce continued to talk about the pretty girl his friend met earlier.
“Dude’s definitely not getting any,” Dean grumbled out. “Why are we listening to this shit anyway?”
“Because we must,” Crowley replied primly. “We can’t afford to miss anything.”
Aziraphale peeked out from a tome the size of Madagascar and piped out, “But surely this isn’t necessary.”
“If it bothers you so much,” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. He snapped his fingers and the volume died down noticeably. Sam gave a sigh of relief then turned his attention to the book in front of him. It was only then he realized he was reading what was equivalent to ancient pornography barely disguised as ‘ecstasies of saints’.
He closed the book, shuffled it to the bottom of the stack, and picked the one that spoke of dooms and prophecies regarding the end of times. That he could deal with, at least.
Dean ambled next to him and picked up a scroll. He unrolled it and read first two passages. “Why is this familiar?”
Sam took it. “It’s because we read it before in Detroit.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s that stupid poem.”
“Hmm, well … wait a minute,” Sam frowned and peered closer. “I remember reading something and thinking it was strange.”
“Strange as in ha-ha strange or strange as in our strange.”
“Strange as in out of place,” Sam answered. “Here’s the line that jarred me: Lest the Beginning and the End is entwined as thus, the cursed man shall live as one untouched by … the closest word is love.”
“That’s weird, all right,” Bobby tuned in. “Not something that goes in the way of Armageddon.”
“No, and I ignored it back then, but the poem stuck with me.” Sam forced himself to re-read the line. Then, he paid the same attention to the rest of the scroll. “I think it’s a prophecy about Armageddon, jut not the one we stopped in Detroit.”
“You’re thinking it’s about this one, then?” Bobby asked, his interest perked noticeably. Even Crowley was now paying attention.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I think this one’s about what’s happening now.”
“So, a prophecy about one of multiple Apocalypse ... s,” Dean stated. “Wow, that’s one big fucking mess.”
“Welcome to my world,” Crowley deadpanned. “This is just a regular day for us.”
Aziraphale gave a nod of agreement and added, “Though it looks contrived to you, it isn’t to us for we have been around for centuries. So, the unfolding events are the fruitions of centuries of involvement and … and…”
“Interfering with humanity,” Crowley added. “Putting our fingers where they don’t belong and generally mucking up things.”
“For the greater good,” Aziraphale corrected quickly.
“Of course,” Crowley agreed. “But it stands that this is … what shall I say? Natural course of things.”
Dean made a rude noise but didn’t say a word. Instead, he leaned closer and read Sam’s notes as he furiously laid out his ideas. “I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Dean said. “I know miracles happen but not even Lucifer can pull a second sun out of his fucking ass.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he looked at Crowley. He shook his head frantically even as the demon chewed on his lower lip, eyes narrowing into snake-like slits; his tongue slithering in and out only enforced the serpentine look.
Dean tipped his head and said, “Wait a minute. What if sun is spelled wrong?”
“You mean son?” Sam asked. He looked at the scroll and said, “So not two suns but two sons. That really does shift things. And you might just be right. English spelling wasn’t uniform until well into the nineteenth century.”
“So, you have to read the entire thing like it’s been spellchecked by a drunken frat boy,” Dean said. He clapped Sam on his shoulders. “Good times ahead, egghead.”
Sam moaned a little before dropping his head in despair. “Fuck me.”
“Why don’t you give me that,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been around that time, so I should have no problem reading it.”
Sam had little problem unloading the scroll onto the angel. Crowley smirked but said nothing until his device got his attention once more. “Our little apocalypse-prone friend has guests.”
A woman’s voice floated out. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, I definitely needed the nap,” Bruce replied. “Jason isn’t too pissed that I couldn’t make it, is he?”
“No, of course not,” the woman’s voice lazily coiled around the vowels, making Dean shudder out of arousal and fear. He looked at Sam and mouthed, ‘Demon’. “He’s worried that you’re ill because of the flight.”
“Just a little jet lag,” Bruce said. There was a strain in his tone that everyone listening picked up. Sam realized that even though Bruce wasn’t aware of his friends' true nature, his primal instincts have awoken and noted they were a threat: a big one.
“How about joining us for a bite? It’s time for dinner.”
Bruce’s agreement distinctly lacked enthusiasm, making Sam feel badly for the man. Dean gave a low whistle, signaling to Sam he was thinking the same thing.
There was some rustling noise then a click, indicating they had left the room. Dean dusted down his jeans and said, “That cup of coffee just made me hungrier. I’m going downstairs to have a bite to eat. Want to join?”
Sam stood up. “Yeah, time to meet our Bruce Lee.”
Dean slurped down the last of his juice. “Call me underwhelmed.”
Sam nodded in agreement but kept his focus on the salmon in front of him. Dean leaned back in his seat and looked around the restaurant. It was filled with con goers, talking to each other excitedly about their daily activities. In spite of what he considered dorky activities, Dean knew they genuinely enjoyed chatting about numbers and where they go, and why they put them there.
Dean startled in his chair when Sam kicked him under the table.
“What?” he barked out.
“The table just got bigger,” Sam whispered.
Dean took a glance at the table and noted two brutes sitting down with the four already eating their desserts. Understandably, the only human in the group didn’t look too happy with the new addition. Dean’s pity for the poor bastard grew as he watched Bruce shrink into his seat.
Dude, why are you sticking around? It can’t be because of the girl. Sure, she’s a looker, but you know she’s bad news. So why are you still sitting there like a bucket of chum?
Dean watched Bruce give a furtive look at his companions before pulling something out of his messenger bag: a misshapen book.
The demons surrounding Bruce stopped speaking and looked at the tattered object in unison. Dean noticed Bruce giving alarmed looks at his dinner companions, all who smiled before returning to their conversations. But their gazes kept sliding over to examine the newest addition to their table.
“No, Dean,” Sam hissed between his lips.
Dean slouched into his chair. Leave it to Sam to take the fun out of a hunt as big as this one. “I wasn’t going to do anything stupid. I just wanted to see what the goddamn thing looks like.”
“You can study it from here. I don’t want anything to freak out Lee’s psychotic friends.”
“The thing’s smaller than I expected,” Dean muttered. “I was thinking it’d be the size of a regular bible or something. It looks like a prayer book, actually.”
“Considering Elliot stitched the thing, it couldn’t have been that big.”
“Still, something that could end the world should be respectably sized, don’t you think?”
Sam couldn’t stop from smiling. Dean’s logic, though not very profound, was solid. “Yeah, agree with you on that.”
“There they go.”
Sam turned the water glass and saw in its reflection the entire table leaving with Bruce leading the pack, though hardly alpha material. Sam heard Dean’s chair scrape and turned to watch his brother approach the empty table. Dean neatly pocketed the woman’s wine glass into his jacket pocket.
With a sigh, Sam stood up and followed his brother. But not before pocketing a drinking glass of his own. They returned to Bobby’s room to find the rest of the team had ordered room service, and from the looks of the food, much better than what the hotel restaurant had given them.
"A demon used this to drink wine. Maybe one of you geniuses could hex her or something," Dean said as he put down the stolen glass on the coffee table. Then he added casually, "We also saw the book."
“What?” Bobby looked up from his coffee mug.
“Or what we think is the book,” Sam hurriedly corrected Dean before plonking down his stolen stemware. “But I think Dean's right about his assumptions. Lee’s demon escorts were mesmerized by it.”
“Did they touch it?” Crowley asked eagerly. “Did they try to take it from Bruce?”
“No, they didn’t,” Dean answered. “They were hypnotized by it, but no touching, no moving near the book. In fact, they stayed away.”
“That’s out of respect,” Crowley said. “And fear of influencing Lee in a negative manner.”
“Or positive,” Aziraphale added smugly.
“Neither in our case,” Crowley said. “There are enough on both sides who want Lee to succeed. And would go to any length to make sure he does.”
“What would happen if we just grab the fucking thing?” Dean asked.
“The demons will bring down the entire city out of petulance,” Crowley said with lot less enthusiasm. “And that’s the good news. The bad news would be they have enough power left to take out the entire western part of your country.”
“But with Lilith and Azazel gone … could they even do it?" Sam looked stunned by his own question.
“No, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try,” Crowley said. “You must understand, after Detroit, a lot of plans went awry and not just His. A lot of demons banked on the fact they were going to be freed from Hell and allowed to roam about, doing what pleased them.”
Dean shook his head. “And I honestly thought we were done with all this. Man, do I feel stupid.”
Aziraphale looked sympathetically at Dean and Sam who had had paled considerably while Crowley spoke. “I am sorry to say, after you folks had succeeded, things didn’t calm down. It’s gotten hotter, sort to speak.”
“Especially for you lot,” Crowley added.
Sam sank back into his chair, his dejection plain on his face. “I knew we were never going to be normal, but I thought it would be less fucked up than it used to be when Lucifer was free.”
Dean’s stony face didn’t reveal his disappointment, but the accusing silence told the angel and the demon how upset the oldest Winchester was.
Bobby blew a deep sigh and said, “Well, shit still stinks the same, good to know. Let’s see if we can find a way to fuck them up without having California come down around our ears.”
Bruce waved wildly at Miles who looked surprised by the vehemence in his greeting. But Bruce didn’t care: Miles meant he could get away from Jason and company. The desperate man knew he should be feeling bad that he was ditching a group of people who followed him to San Francisco at his urgings, but Bruce needed air to breathe: to feel normal.
Jason looked at Miles and gave a deprecating smile. “Is that your friend? The one who’s organizing the festivities?”
Bruce couldn’t take it any more. He turned to Jason and snapped, “Okay, maybe he’s not GQ cool like you but he’s a good guy, and he’s brilliant.”
Ash slithered her arm around Bruce’s waist and said, “Don’t mind Jason. He’s always twitchy after flying. We’ll leave now and make sure Jason’s in better mood tomorrow.”
To Bruce's dismay Kevin shook his head and said, “You know what? I’ll stay. Besides, Miles could update me with what’s happening. That way we could hit the ground running tomorrow.”
And his disappointment grew: Miles didn’t react well to Kevin’s presence as Bruce had hoped he would. The general manager for the con’s more popular activities remained stiff and terse as he discussed Kevin's duties, such as registration and handing out information packets to the people attending the rooms assigned to him. Kevin agreed to take on the responsibilities with little fuss, but Bruce suspected barely-held contempt on Kevin’s part. Miles must have felt the same because the conversation went downhill even quicker than before.
After few minutes of stilted exchange of pleasantries, Kevin excused himself. Miles watched him saunter away and rumbled, “Bit of a prick, isn’t he?”
“He’s not, really,” Bruce countered weakly. “His brother Jason is pretty cool.”
"If you say so,” Miles said. “I hope he and his brother will be bit more reasonable tomorrow. Their attitude needs some adjusting, if you get my meaning.”
“They’ll be fine,” Bruce said, all the while knowing it wouldn’t be.
Why in hell did I bring them? Bruce thought as he and Miles talked about mundane things. What possessed them to think I’m their buddy? Are they playing some fucked up version of a dogfight?
“Shit, there she is,” Miles hissed at him.
Bruce looked up and asked, “Who?”
“Sam,” Miles whispered while discreetly pointing at a girl getting out of an elevator. When Bruce spotted her skinny escort he had to quell back a laugh. The beanpole of a boy was walking like a sailor but his strut was completely ruined by the oversized motorcycle boots and bow-legged gait. All of which conspired to make him look like he had a long pole stuck up his ass.
“Is that her brother?”
“Yeah, the poor kid,” Miles said. “Got a bad kidney problem; has to take some serious meds for it. They must be making his life hell ‘cause he goes to bed at ten, sharp.”
Bruce felt genuine pity for the stranger. “He looks like he’s sixteen.”
“Nineteen, I think, or at least that’s what his file says,” Miles explained. “Oh, he won the lottery for the Deathmatch so you’ll be seeing him around a lot more.”
Bruce took another look at the two and felt a twinge of envy. For reasons he couldn’t explain he was jealous of Miles’ friendship with two normal semi-hot geeks with mundane, human problems.
Miles made a weak hand motion and caught the attention of the two. “Make me look good, okay?"
Bruce grinned. “Sorry, can’t work miracles here.”
“Hey, how are you?” Miles asked, standing up from the table. “This is an old friend of mine and someone you know, Bruce Lee.”
The Asian girl blinked and looked at Bruce with a disconcertingly calculating look. “Oh, you’re Bruce. We met on-line few months ago.”
“Really?” Bruce was intrigued.
“Yep, I went by the name of … Cas. But my real name’s Sam.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bruce said and shook her hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm, masculine even.
The girl turned on a high-wattage smile at Miles. Little wonder his friend was a bit dazzled by her. “Thanks for the notes you dropped off earlier. They were very helpful.”
“Yeah,” the brother said. “I was going to pull out of the Deathmatch until Sam told me what it was all about.”
Bruce smiled and said, “Glad to hear you’re going to participate. It’s a real hoot.”
“Cool,” the boy said, rather unconvincingly.
“See you two around,” Sam said with a farewell wave.
“Interesting pair,” Bruce said. “By the way, what’s the brother’s name? He never said.”
“Dean,” Miles answered. “In spite of his attitude, he’s not a bad kid.”
“I can see what you mean by him being sick,” Bruce admitted. “He looked uncomfortable in his own skin.”
“You noticed. By the way, don’t feel like you have to help him with the Deathmatch. I don’t want others to cry out favoritism later and have the shit hit the fan.”
“No problem. And, for your information, I wasn’t planning to do anything like that.”
“Good to hear,” Miles said.
Bruce returned to his room soon thereafter. He looked at the various emails sent to him while he was out and smiled. His good mood, which had rotted away, returned full force as he read the missives with their ho-hum but humorous statements. After a full hour he returned to his favorite hobby: decoding the book he had purchased while touring England.
He flipped through the various pages and noted how detailed the work was. Bruce had very little information on the Elliot woman but he could see she was indeed very gifted with the needle. He was examining the edge of a page when he spotted a slight change in the color of the threads. He stopped and looked closer with a magnifying glass.
A pattern all but jumped out of the page of silk cloth. He stopped and recounted the stitching. Then, with extreme care, he started counting the stitches around some of the more interesting figures on the page. Two hours later, Bruce had more than a pattern. He had an entire sentence.
He sat back and shook his head in awe. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Bruce then studied the following pages and realized there were more patterns: all different but now that he had deciphered one set, he was able to see others clearly.
Bruce took a deep breath and read out loud the passage. “Darky harky, set all malarkey.”
Well, that was fucking weird, even from those times. Exactly how much was she tossing back when she did this?!
Still wondering what the passage meant, Bruce put the book into the room's safe and got ready for bed, not at all suspecting what he had set in motion.
Grand Canyon, Arizona
Arthur Becker loved mountains in spite of living within driving distance of the Alps. It was kind of a requisite for an Austrian. And yet, his long-time lover, Daniel Hoffman who had grown up in the same town as Arthur, had a completely different view of rocky white peaks. He loathed anything above the seaboard. However, even he had to agree with Arthur that the Grand Canyon was definitely worth the plane ride and the various hassles of trans-Atlantic travel.
The two parked at the designated lot and dutifully made sure they had all the necessary equipment to take pictures of the spectacular sunrise at the Grand Canyon.
After managing to elbow in a respectable space at the viewing ledge, they hunkered down. Arthur handed over a thermos of dark bitter coffee that Daniel liked so much. And the two waited in companionable silence.
The first color of pink breathed into life as the sun began to rise. There were gasps of wonder and whispers of respect and awe as the pink turned bloodier.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Arthur asked his lover who gave a miserable sniffle and snuggled deeper into his down jacket. “Don’t be such a child! It’s…”
A loud noise reverberated all around the group, as if someone coughed from the bottom of the Canyon and the sound resonated all the way up. Arthur frowned and peered into his camera to get a better look. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of white and Arthur cried in shock before closing his eyes. When he opened them, the Grand Canyon was no more.
There was a smooth, flat surface where one of the world’s greatest wonders used to be. Arthur slowly leaned over the rails and looked down to see an ant spinning about, confused as the humans above him.
“Oh my God,” Arthur whispered.
Daniel grunted and looked over the rails to see flat, dusty nothing. With a tired sigh and a thundering sniffle, he turned to his lover and asked, “Can we go back to the hotel now? Please?"
Part II * Part IV