Title: Sunnydale Heroes: Parallels – Part 1 of 2
Author: Wicked Raygun
Summary: AU. Jonathan, the Time Master, visits a bleak future that isn't his, but very well could be. It's time for him to learn from his future mistakes. Sequel to "Sunnydale Heroes".
Disclaimer: Based on characters created by Joss Whedon. I am merely borrowing them to put on a puppet show. Watch them dance.
Notes: This is not a crossover with the show 'Heroes.' This is merely me borrowing a concept I find intriguing and adding it to characters I love.
You really should read Sunnydale Heroes before you read this, but I guess it works well enough as a stand alone.
Also, thanks go out to my beta reader, Grey Wizard.
Distribution: Ask and you shall receive. Just email me and I'll get back to you quickly using new-fangled technology. See, I get email on my phone now. Surely jet packs and flying cars are just around the corner.
Unknown Time and Universe
The dragon lowered its head to feed on the prey that it had caught. It briefly considered roasting the meat with its breath first, but decided against it. It had been such a long time since it had last tasted human flesh, and it wanted to feel the meat's innards and blood spill in its maw.
But, suddenly, it felt great pain.
"Yo, Barney! Over here!"
The superhero, known to the world as Nighthawk, hovered over a building. He wore a brown leather jacket, blue jeans, boots and a black motorcycle helmet. In his hands was a spear – the first having been thrown from a distance, and he was a good shot. Various other weapons were strapped to him, including a slim, vicious-looking axe on his back.
Nighthawk zipped right up to the dragon, thrusting his spear at him, but not hitting him. He needed to get it away from the victim on the ground, so he kept swerving in and out, left and right in incredibly fast bursts, all the while, thrusting with the spear when he was close enough.
The dragon meanwhile stared at the man in confusion. It followed its movements with a wary eye. It had never known humans to fly before. But when a stab from the spear got a little too close to its face, it roared and flapped its wings, taking to the air slowly.
Nighthawk, dove to one side, hoping to bring the dragon around before the inevitable flames came. When the dragon finally spat fire, he rocketed higher into the air, not even getting singed.
Enraged, the dragon followed him into the air.
Nighthawk smiled. The skies were his domain, and nothing could hurt him there.
He flew backwards, allowing the dragon to barely keep up, while he gracefully dodged any blasts of fire it unleashed.
Then Nighthawk reversed his momentum, and flew directly at the dragon at high speed. He dove under its belly, and drove the spear into its stomach, hoping he hit something vital.
The dragon roared, but this time in pain, and it fell from the sky.
It landed in a Sunnydale residential area, in the middle of a street. The dragon thrashed wildly, at first. But eventually it started going into shock, and began shaking. It was barely even conscious at this point.
There was a sudden burst of wind, and the dragon's head was severed cleanly. The body shook a few more times, and then stopped.
Nighthawk floated over his kill, his bloody axe in his hand. He waited.
Soon enough, the dragon's body glowed and then disappeared, supposedly, to return to its own dimension.
Nighthawk scowled. Dragons only meant one thing – portals.
He gripped his axe tighter. Someone was screwing around with dimensional magic in his territory. And they were going to pay dearly for it.
In retrospect, he should have expected this the second he noticed that the sun had been blotted out. After all, sunlight made it harder to cast dimensional magic. But then again, the dragon meant that they already opened a portal, and that kind of magic couldn't be kept up without a huge cost. So why keep the sun blotted out?
The answer, whatever it was, could not possibly be good.
His only hope was that it wasn't a full-blown apocalypse scenario. He was a little understaffed for that kind of thing. The best he could possibly do would be to get a message to somebody in Cleveland, in case he failed. Otherwise, he was it.
With no more conscious thought than the average human being would use to scratch his nose, Nighthawk flew off at high speed, leaving a shrieking trail of wind in his wake.
After a short flight, he was back where he first confronted the dragon. He hovered to the ground softly.
The victim looked like he was still out. That was assuming, of course, that he was a victim in the first place, and not the idiot who opened a portal to a hell dimension and put out the sun. He was in Sunnydale, which, right off the bat, didn't win him any good guy points because the town had been abandoned since right before the Hellmouth had been destroyed.
Nighthawk was the only human who lived in Sunnydale anymore – well, metahuman. It was his turf. The only living things there, other than himself, were a few peaceful demons attracted by the residual energies of the old Hellmouth. He left them alone, so long as they kept an eye out for any troublemakers and gave him a heads up.
But people did not live in Sunnydale. Period.
He approached the victim, slowly, a wooden stake in his hand. With the sun blotted out, the victim could have been a vampire. Suddenly he felt foolish for leaving his holy water at home – a dumb, careless mistake.
"Why is it, that whenever some jackass opens up a portal to hell, a freaking dragon pops out?" he asked rhetorically.
"I mean, it's just so cliché. Seriously, do they have nothing better to do in Hell than sit around and wait for dimensional rifts to open up so they can squeeze through?"
When Nighthawk approached the victim, he nudged the body onto its back with his foot. He got a good look at him, and grunted in annoyance.
"Damn it. Not again."
Jonathan drifted into consciousness. His first coherent thought was, Bacon?
He opened his eyes, and took another deep whiff. He really did smell bacon. Or, at least, something akin to bacon. And, man, was he ever starving.
He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. It seemed to be in a very big room, and was decorated mostly in sixties style furniture. Different shades of orange, green and brown were mixed together in a way that baffled the mind and displeased the eye.
The couch he had been sleeping on was a particular nauseating shade of light green. It had also been covered in plastic. Thankfully a thick comforter had been thrown over it; otherwise, he would have died from dehydration. Plastic-covered furniture made him sweat a lot.
The hideous couch made a lot of squeaking noises, when he sat up, and soon he heard a voice coming from behind him.
"Hey, are you awake, yet?"
When Jonathan looked behind him, he made eye contact with a tall man, who was drying his hands with a dish towel.
"You hungry? The bacon-flavored Spam's done, and the eggs will just take a minute. Do you like them scrambled, or scrambled? Or, if you want, I could make them scrambled."
"Uh, scrambled's fine."
"Good. It's not that I can't make them any other way, but I'm kind of pressed for time. Hell, the only reason I'm cooking at all is because I'm waiting on a lead."
Jonathan squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow. The man looked familiar.
"Have we met, before?"
"That is a really loaded question."
The man looked at him, really looked at him. It was the kind of stare that made him think he was looking right through him.
"So you don't know anything, huh? Well, that complicates things a little. I guess it doesn't matter much, though. You'll snap back soon enough."
"Snap back – it means you'll – man, how can I explain this? Okay, this is not your future, or your past, for that matter. You're in a parallel universe, or timeline, or whatever. I'm not really sure which. Long story short, you don't belong here. And you're tethered to your, uh, timeline. So sooner or later, you'll 'snap back' to where you came from. Kind of like a rubber band."
Jonathan stared at him, wide-eyed.
"I'm in a parallel universe? Like Sliders? That's – that's awesome!"
Xander said nothing for a long moment. And then said, quietly, "I'm gonna start the eggs."
"Eggs? Forget the eggs! Dude, there's so much you have to tell me!"
"There are some plates in that cupboard over there. Can you grab them?"
"Are you kidding me? How could you possibly think about food when—"
"I'm not going to tell you anything."
"What? Why not?"
"Because I asked him not to."
Jonathan turned around and saw himself. Only it wasn't himself. It was a much older version of himself. He had to be at least forty, what with the gray hair and the beard. And, dear God! He was going bald!
Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but no sounds came out.
His double smiled sadly.
"The words you're looking for are, 'Great Scott'."
"Oh, boy," Jonathan said, in a squeaky voice.
"That works, too."
End of Part 1