A Nudge in the Right Direction
Title: I Had It All Figured Out Until You Came Along - Chapter Three
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Generation Kill”/“Band of Brothers”/”Good Omens”
Pairing: past Colbert/Caroline, eventual Colbert/Fick, vaguely hinted Crowley/Aziraphale if you squint your eyes and tilt your head just slightly to the left
Word Count: 1,551 for Chapter Three
Rating: R
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This takes place in the world of the Big Damn Modern Day Crossover AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. Credit goes to melliyna for being a huge influence on this, all of this.
~x~x~
Brad Colbert’s face became an expressionless mask but his eyes were intense as ever under the dim glow of the bar lamps. He went perfectly still, a cobra coiled and ready to strike. He’d been drinking solidly for at least three or four hours now but he hadn’t felt sick until that very moment. “What?”
“I know her,” the bartender repeated, propping his sunglasses back up and turning to the one other person in the bar. “Hey Angel,” he called to the tow-headed man with the god-awful sweater vest who had been silently sitting at the other end of the bar counter the whole time. The picture of Brad’s ex-girlfriend got passed along. “That’s Carrie, isn’t it?”
The man with the yellow hair now known as Angel took the photo and nodded, grinning softly. “It is, indeed,” he said in what might have been a British accent or could have just been very good diction. “She’s about five years younger and her hair is longer in this picture but there’s no mistaking it: that’s Carrie.”
The bartender gave a satisfied nod. “I thought so.”
“She’s here?” Brad asked, sounding hoarser and less composed than he’d meant to. “She’s here, in Boston?”
He returned the photo to Brad and explained, “Carrie used to waitress at a restaurant around the corner, closing shift. She and a troupe of her co-workers used to end up in here like clockwork once they punched out.”
“She was a lovely woman,” Angel commented, rising from his falling-apart stool at the end of the bar and trading it in for a falling-apart stool closer to Brad and Ray. “Excellent conversationalist.”
“Does she still work there?” Brad inquired.
Ray Person, meanwhile, grumbled a colorful variety of curses to himself. This was not going anywhere good, he could feel it. It was bad enough that Brad was getting all pansy-ass emotional over his treacherous slut ex-girlfriend. Why did the fucking peanut gallery have to be encouraging him?
“No, if I recall correctly, she moved out of state few months ago,” Angel told Brad. He gave a glance to the bartender. “Was it Vermont that she moved to?”
“No, it was New Hampshire,” the bartender clarified. “Hanover, New Hampshire.”
Brad frowned, a question on his face.
“Her husband was going to open up a bakery or a restaurant of some sort there,” Angel stated by means of explanation. “Lovely spot, really - right near the Dartmouth University campus from what she said.”
“I never pegged Frank as the entrepreneurial type,” Brad murmured.
“Fuck, do we have to keep talking about this?” Ray spat, having had enough. “I mean, seriously, the bitch fucking broke Brad’s heart. Why is everyone sighing and going, ‘oh what a marvelous person she is.’ Because she’s not. She’s a lying, cheating cunt and her husband’s just as bad because he used to be Brad’s best friend - and that’s just messed up. I mean, seriously, bros before hos, dude.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ray,” Brad snarled.
“You know I’m right,” Ray countered.
“Even good people make mistakes sometimes,” Angel offered.
“Shove it, donkey dick,” Ray snapped, heavily irritated that at that moment everyone else in the room seemed to think they knew what was best for Brad despite having next to no knowledge of him or his unique circumstances. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about so just back the fuck off.”
“I think you’re cut off now,” the bartender announced in a tone that was both casual and brooked no further discussion on the matter. He slid the pitcher away and removed the half-empty glasses from Brad and Ray’s coasters. “No more drinking for you boys tonight.”
Person said, “fuck you,” at the same time that Colbert muttered, “okay.”
Ray’s dark caterpillar-like eyebrows scrunched up in confusion and he turned to his friend. It wasn’t every day that Brad Colbert - alpha male badass motherfucker of the highest degree - let some faggy-looking drinkslinger with grease in his hair and a sunglass fetish tell him what to do, drunk or not. It was a weird Invasion of the Body Snatchers moment and Ray considered asking Brad if he’d just been replaced by a pod.
“I’m going to Hanover, Ray,” Brad declared, drawing himself up to his full height on the barstool.
“WHAT?” Ray flailed his arms with such force that almost hit the floor again. His face was the picture of shock and incredulity. “Are you fucking nuts? Have you just gone ass-up retarded? Why?”
“I need to see Caroline one last time,” Brad said, struggling with the right words yet determined to take the course he’d chosen. “When I left…it was abrupt…we never…I need to…I just need some closure…with her and Frank. They just…I need to talk to them, both of them. I need to find out what happened between us all.”
Ray was shaking his head so much that one could almost hear the rattling noise of his brain being jolted back and forth. “What the fuck? No. What? No. You already know what happened. She stabbed you in the back and so did he. What else is there to know?”
“I want to find out why they did it.”
“Who the fuck cares why they fucking did it?”
“I do!” Brad’s blue eyes flashed with rage and anguish and he slammed one fist on the bar counter. He exhaled slowly afterwards, expertly reining his temper back in. “Like I said, I just need some closure.”
Ray folded his arms, frowning. “Brad, as your best friend I feel as though it is my sworn duty to inform you that this is a very fucking bad idea. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, in fact.”
But he just shook his head and stuck the photo back in his wallet. “No, Ray, my mind’s made up. I’m going to Hanover.”
“This is fucking crazy, you know that right?”
“I’m going, Ray.” He paused. “You don’t have to go with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I fucking do, Brad. God only knows what kind of bullshit you’ll get yourself sucked into without me around to watch your six.”
Brad snorted but it was with good-natured amusement.
“Besides, you and me: we’re a team. The adventures of Iceman and his buddy Ray-Ray, right? So shut the fuck up because I’m going with you on this pathetic fucking retarded gay-ass road trip to see your stupid piece of shit cuntrag ex-girlfriend and her husband, your limp-dick back-stabbing asshole ex-best friend, in Hanover, New fucking Hampshire. So there. End of fucking story.”
Brad smiled crookedly at the man next to him, moved by the show of loyalty. “I thought you said this was the worst idea I’d ever had?”
“It is,” Ray asserted. “But even your worst idea’s got nothing on one of my bad ideas, and you’ve always stuck by me through those. So I figure I owe you that much, you know? Besides, this is the kind of shit that friends are for. Iceman and Ray-Ray, to the bitter fucking end. So you’re fucking kidding me if you think I’m letting you go up there alone.”
A sigh, a shake of the head and Brad relented. Ray was just as determined as he was, after all. “Okay, if you say so.”
“All right, it’s settled then,” Ray stated. He took a deep breath and his demeanor pulled a total reversal. Suddenly very energetic about the whole thing, he exclaimed, “Road trip! I am going to get me some sweet Dartmouth college girl pussy.”
Brad laughed. “And there’s the ulterior motive.”
Ray shrugged. “What? I’m only human.”
“What about Jasmine?”
“Oh please, Brad, she’s a stripper; like she’s going to care.”
“I would like to point out that neither of you are in any sort of condition to be making the three hour drive from here to Hanover,” Angel remarked to Brad and Ray. He then turned his clear blue gaze to the bartender pointedly. “It would be irresponsible of you to allow them to make such a journey in this level of intoxication…Anthony.”
It became clear at that moment that the man called Angel and the bartender must’ve known each other for some length of time because the tone of voice the blond used was the kind reserved for mothers and nagging girlfriends. Having had his name revealed in such a way, Anthony the bartender gave Angel the most irritated glare that one could manage with sunglasses on. He also may or may not have hissed.
“Perish the thought that I do something of that nature,” Anthony eventually responded. “It’s bad business to send patrons off to their untimely ends when they have bigger, more important things ahead of them in life.”
Angel nodded and made sounds of agreement. He had moved at some point and was now standing directly behind Brad and Ray, which caught them off guard. When had Angel gotten off his barstool? How had he gotten from point A to point B so quickly? Were they really that drunk?
Brad and Ray blinked owlishly at Angel, exchanged glances, and then looked back to Anthony the bartender…who was leaning forward and giving them the kind of smile that flies saw before stepping into a spider’s parlor.
“Leave everything to me, boys.”
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Generation Kill”/“Band of Brothers”/”Good Omens”
Pairing: past Colbert/Caroline, eventual Colbert/Fick, vaguely hinted Crowley/Aziraphale if you squint your eyes and tilt your head just slightly to the left
Word Count: 1,551 for Chapter Three
Rating: R
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This takes place in the world of the Big Damn Modern Day Crossover AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. Credit goes to melliyna for being a huge influence on this, all of this.
~x~x~
Brad Colbert’s face became an expressionless mask but his eyes were intense as ever under the dim glow of the bar lamps. He went perfectly still, a cobra coiled and ready to strike. He’d been drinking solidly for at least three or four hours now but he hadn’t felt sick until that very moment. “What?”
“I know her,” the bartender repeated, propping his sunglasses back up and turning to the one other person in the bar. “Hey Angel,” he called to the tow-headed man with the god-awful sweater vest who had been silently sitting at the other end of the bar counter the whole time. The picture of Brad’s ex-girlfriend got passed along. “That’s Carrie, isn’t it?”
The man with the yellow hair now known as Angel took the photo and nodded, grinning softly. “It is, indeed,” he said in what might have been a British accent or could have just been very good diction. “She’s about five years younger and her hair is longer in this picture but there’s no mistaking it: that’s Carrie.”
The bartender gave a satisfied nod. “I thought so.”
“She’s here?” Brad asked, sounding hoarser and less composed than he’d meant to. “She’s here, in Boston?”
He returned the photo to Brad and explained, “Carrie used to waitress at a restaurant around the corner, closing shift. She and a troupe of her co-workers used to end up in here like clockwork once they punched out.”
“She was a lovely woman,” Angel commented, rising from his falling-apart stool at the end of the bar and trading it in for a falling-apart stool closer to Brad and Ray. “Excellent conversationalist.”
“Does she still work there?” Brad inquired.
Ray Person, meanwhile, grumbled a colorful variety of curses to himself. This was not going anywhere good, he could feel it. It was bad enough that Brad was getting all pansy-ass emotional over his treacherous slut ex-girlfriend. Why did the fucking peanut gallery have to be encouraging him?
“No, if I recall correctly, she moved out of state few months ago,” Angel told Brad. He gave a glance to the bartender. “Was it Vermont that she moved to?”
“No, it was New Hampshire,” the bartender clarified. “Hanover, New Hampshire.”
Brad frowned, a question on his face.
“Her husband was going to open up a bakery or a restaurant of some sort there,” Angel stated by means of explanation. “Lovely spot, really - right near the Dartmouth University campus from what she said.”
“I never pegged Frank as the entrepreneurial type,” Brad murmured.
“Fuck, do we have to keep talking about this?” Ray spat, having had enough. “I mean, seriously, the bitch fucking broke Brad’s heart. Why is everyone sighing and going, ‘oh what a marvelous person she is.’ Because she’s not. She’s a lying, cheating cunt and her husband’s just as bad because he used to be Brad’s best friend - and that’s just messed up. I mean, seriously, bros before hos, dude.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ray,” Brad snarled.
“You know I’m right,” Ray countered.
“Even good people make mistakes sometimes,” Angel offered.
“Shove it, donkey dick,” Ray snapped, heavily irritated that at that moment everyone else in the room seemed to think they knew what was best for Brad despite having next to no knowledge of him or his unique circumstances. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about so just back the fuck off.”
“I think you’re cut off now,” the bartender announced in a tone that was both casual and brooked no further discussion on the matter. He slid the pitcher away and removed the half-empty glasses from Brad and Ray’s coasters. “No more drinking for you boys tonight.”
Person said, “fuck you,” at the same time that Colbert muttered, “okay.”
Ray’s dark caterpillar-like eyebrows scrunched up in confusion and he turned to his friend. It wasn’t every day that Brad Colbert - alpha male badass motherfucker of the highest degree - let some faggy-looking drinkslinger with grease in his hair and a sunglass fetish tell him what to do, drunk or not. It was a weird Invasion of the Body Snatchers moment and Ray considered asking Brad if he’d just been replaced by a pod.
“I’m going to Hanover, Ray,” Brad declared, drawing himself up to his full height on the barstool.
“WHAT?” Ray flailed his arms with such force that almost hit the floor again. His face was the picture of shock and incredulity. “Are you fucking nuts? Have you just gone ass-up retarded? Why?”
“I need to see Caroline one last time,” Brad said, struggling with the right words yet determined to take the course he’d chosen. “When I left…it was abrupt…we never…I need to…I just need some closure…with her and Frank. They just…I need to talk to them, both of them. I need to find out what happened between us all.”
Ray was shaking his head so much that one could almost hear the rattling noise of his brain being jolted back and forth. “What the fuck? No. What? No. You already know what happened. She stabbed you in the back and so did he. What else is there to know?”
“I want to find out why they did it.”
“Who the fuck cares why they fucking did it?”
“I do!” Brad’s blue eyes flashed with rage and anguish and he slammed one fist on the bar counter. He exhaled slowly afterwards, expertly reining his temper back in. “Like I said, I just need some closure.”
Ray folded his arms, frowning. “Brad, as your best friend I feel as though it is my sworn duty to inform you that this is a very fucking bad idea. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, in fact.”
But he just shook his head and stuck the photo back in his wallet. “No, Ray, my mind’s made up. I’m going to Hanover.”
“This is fucking crazy, you know that right?”
“I’m going, Ray.” He paused. “You don’t have to go with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I fucking do, Brad. God only knows what kind of bullshit you’ll get yourself sucked into without me around to watch your six.”
Brad snorted but it was with good-natured amusement.
“Besides, you and me: we’re a team. The adventures of Iceman and his buddy Ray-Ray, right? So shut the fuck up because I’m going with you on this pathetic fucking retarded gay-ass road trip to see your stupid piece of shit cuntrag ex-girlfriend and her husband, your limp-dick back-stabbing asshole ex-best friend, in Hanover, New fucking Hampshire. So there. End of fucking story.”
Brad smiled crookedly at the man next to him, moved by the show of loyalty. “I thought you said this was the worst idea I’d ever had?”
“It is,” Ray asserted. “But even your worst idea’s got nothing on one of my bad ideas, and you’ve always stuck by me through those. So I figure I owe you that much, you know? Besides, this is the kind of shit that friends are for. Iceman and Ray-Ray, to the bitter fucking end. So you’re fucking kidding me if you think I’m letting you go up there alone.”
A sigh, a shake of the head and Brad relented. Ray was just as determined as he was, after all. “Okay, if you say so.”
“All right, it’s settled then,” Ray stated. He took a deep breath and his demeanor pulled a total reversal. Suddenly very energetic about the whole thing, he exclaimed, “Road trip! I am going to get me some sweet Dartmouth college girl pussy.”
Brad laughed. “And there’s the ulterior motive.”
Ray shrugged. “What? I’m only human.”
“What about Jasmine?”
“Oh please, Brad, she’s a stripper; like she’s going to care.”
“I would like to point out that neither of you are in any sort of condition to be making the three hour drive from here to Hanover,” Angel remarked to Brad and Ray. He then turned his clear blue gaze to the bartender pointedly. “It would be irresponsible of you to allow them to make such a journey in this level of intoxication…Anthony.”
It became clear at that moment that the man called Angel and the bartender must’ve known each other for some length of time because the tone of voice the blond used was the kind reserved for mothers and nagging girlfriends. Having had his name revealed in such a way, Anthony the bartender gave Angel the most irritated glare that one could manage with sunglasses on. He also may or may not have hissed.
“Perish the thought that I do something of that nature,” Anthony eventually responded. “It’s bad business to send patrons off to their untimely ends when they have bigger, more important things ahead of them in life.”
Angel nodded and made sounds of agreement. He had moved at some point and was now standing directly behind Brad and Ray, which caught them off guard. When had Angel gotten off his barstool? How had he gotten from point A to point B so quickly? Were they really that drunk?
Brad and Ray blinked owlishly at Angel, exchanged glances, and then looked back to Anthony the bartender…who was leaning forward and giving them the kind of smile that flies saw before stepping into a spider’s parlor.
“Leave everything to me, boys.”