Work Text:
The first time Brett and Eddy set foot in Bang Why G’s office, he isn’t there. They shouldn’t be here, either, but thanks to someone who slacked in maths tutorial miscalculating how much milk to add to their time-travel bubble tea, they are now in the correct When, but not a good Where. Brett chews his lip, eyes darting around the room looking for security cameras. He doesn’t see any. That makes sense. Bang certainly doesn’t want there to be any record of whatever sketchy sausages get made in here. Brett’s pretty sure there are lots of cameras outside, though, and probably a bunch of them are pointed at this door.
They can't get out the way they came in, because, although the time machine's brewer is intact, they don’t have any more teatime leaves, so, no time-travel tea. The whole device is sitting idle in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows which surround three sides of Bang’s office. Only three because it takes up only half the top floor of the headquarters of Universal Pony Beats Entertainment Group. Brett doesn’t want to try to say that three times fast. He looks out the window beside the time machine. There’s a glorious view of the Tokyo Skytree, which glows Einsteinium blue in the hazy night. It would be very nice to admire the view if they could leave after. But without the time travel tea, they're as likely to escape this place as a classical violist was to win America's Got Talent back when there was still classical music. This makes the Skytree way less pretty.
Eddy is standing about twenty meters away, next to a large conference table ringed by ugly, postmodern plastic chairs. Their color is mottled by the mishmash of rainbow neon lights shining out of a million street signs. But Brett can tell that by daylight, the chair closest to Eddy would be a sacrilegious shade of orange. All the chairs appear to be orange or white, arranged in alternating colors around the table.
Eddy runs his hand along the back of the closest chair. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?”
Bang Why G is going to show up in a few hours, at which point he will probably summon some refrigerator-sized minions to break their fingers–and that’s really the best case scenario; he could just as easily put some teatime leaves in the time machine and brew enough bubble tea to send them billions of years into the future, by which time the sun will have exploded, and they will too in the vacuum of space–and all Eddy can do is pet the chairs and say they’re interesting?
Eddy shrugs.
“Interesting.” Whatever, bro. Not like there's anything more important to look at here.
Except–Eddy isn’t looking at the chairs. He's looking at the clock above this conference, well, not exactly room, more like area inside the ginormous office. It’s a forty hour clock, like all the clocks in this timeline. The hands are currently at 14:10. Wow. They really did arrive really close to the exact time in this universe that matches the date Eddy destroyed classical music in their own. But it doesn’t matter how close they are to the right time. The place they are supposed to be right now is Hilary's living room. And Brett doesn’t see any comfy couches or cages full of snuffling guinea pigs.
Instead, they're in the worst place they could possibly be. Actually, Brett can think of a couple places that would be worse: Fifty thousand meters above the Pacific Ocean. Inside an active volcano. On stage at the Sydney Opera House without having practiced.
He walks over to Bang’s desk, which is an enormous pane of glass shaped like The Bean sculpture in Chicago, except (duh) flat. A teddy bear plushie sits next to an ultra-widescreen, curved monitor. It has brown fur, beady eyes, and is wearing a black bandana. Brett freezes. That's not exactly what he expected to find.
He reaches out to touch it–and the bear leaps at him, giggling maniacally, mouth opening to reveal denture-like teeth. On instinct, Brett thrusts out his hardened palm and spikes the bear into the ground like he's Kerri fucking Walsh and it’s a volleyball. Teddy yelps like a kicked puppy, rolls along the floor, then struggles to its feet and totters towards the time machine.
Eddy stares after it. “Interesting.”
Not the word Brett would have used.
Teddy hides behind the vat that holds the extra boba. Brett is pretty sure the bear–automaton?–can't operate the time machine. It doesn’t have thumbs. Still, he decides to keep at least one eye on the thing.
Brett examines the remaining objects on the desk much more carefully. To one side of the monitor is a sleek, arched mouse. No mouse pad. To the other side is a black and silver plaque that reads “Chief Executive Officer Bang Why G.” He scoffs. There’s nothing else on the desk's shiny surface. Not even fingerprints. It's not the desk of a person who works. Still, there is a stainless steel computer tower underneath.
Brett stares at it, and then–because what else is there that he can do?–presses the power button. The computer's fans whir to life and the monitor flashes red. A klaxon blares from some unseen speaker, and a yellow, frowny emoji appears smack in the center of the screen.
Shit. Brett kind of knew that was going to happen. But there wasn't much else to interact with in this sterile, ostentatious office–unless you count Teddy the psycho bear. Brett pulls at his hair, because now they really are going to die–unless Bang Why G can think of something worse to do to them. Probably he can. Eddy, damn him, has walked up beside him and is leaning on the desk with one hand and rubbing his chin with the other like he’s Sherlock fucking Holmes.
“Interesting.”
Brett could punch him. Instead, he looks into the lens of the webcam on top of the monitor, and gives Bang Why G the finger.
The frowny emoji changes to an angry emoji, which glows ominously orange against the red background. Brett finds the angle of its impotent eyebrows satisfying. Bang’s refrigerator minions can’t hurt him. At least not until they get their arses over here. The small act of defiance feels good, even if it’s temporary.
Eddy puts a hand on his shoulder. Brett tenses. There was a time when that would have been reassuring. And a time when he would have wanted Eddy to pull him all the way in, until they were chest to chest, and kiss him. But that was before Eddy betrayed him–betrayed the whole world–by destroying classical music. And sure, he said he was sorry. And he's trying to make it right, but it still hurts when Eddy touches him, and it's not because they're probably going to die. Maybe it's because Brett still hasn't entirely forgiven him. Maybe it's because he wishes it were Pyotr’s hand, and if they succeed in undoing what Eddy did and return all of B2TSM’s members to their original timelines, Pyotr will go back to being Tchaikovsky, and Brett will never see him again.
Sensing his unease, Eddy pulls away, and crosses the expanse of glass to the left side of the desk. Beneath it is a stack of orange and white powder coated metal drawers. Eddy begins opening them one by one and rummaging through them. They probably should have looked inside those drawers before touching the computer. Okay, he should have looked inside those drawers before touching the computer. But it's too late now.
Eddy stops, staring into the third drawer down.
Brett cants his head to one side. “Interesting?”
Eddy nods. He holds up what appears to be a pistol, but it’s like no pistol Brett’s ever seen–not that he's ever seen one that wasn't in a movie. It's large, and appears to be made entirely out of chrome. It’s all rounded curves, no edges. Like some kind of space Super Soaker. Eddy holds it in a two handed grip and looks down its sights–Brett’s pretty sure it doesn’t even have sights--like he's John fucking Wick.
Eddy turns around and aims it at one of the chairs.
Brett thinks about protesting, but doesn’t. Because what else is there that they can do?
Eddy fires. A faint pop-hiss sound cuts through the air, like he struck a match. A transparent shape, round and concave like a satellite dish, launches from the barrel and towards the chair, then wraps around it. It wiggles like a soap bubble for a second before solidifying into an iridescent sphere.
Brett approaches it slowly. A faint hum and a soft light emanate from within. Eddy watches, chewing his lip as Brett reaches out and touches it–because what else is there that he can do?
Brett half-expects the sphere to shock him. It doesn’t. It’s slick and cool, and he can press against it without breaking the surface tension, like it's a giant raindrop. Unlike water, he can't break that meniscus. He pushes, first with his finger, then his whole palm. The harder he presses, the more solid it gets. He grimaces. It is way, way too much like touching the wrong side of the mirror that separated him from Eddy when he was stuck in Fantasia. His palm sweats, and he pulls it away from the sphere.
“Interesting,” says Eddy.
This time, that is the word Brett would have used.
Eddy takes aim again, this time at the clock above the conference table, and yeah, that's a good idea, too. A second match ignites, another glistening net is cast, and another transparent–dome? He can’t see behind the clock–appears. Brett moves closer to it and squints. And waits. And squints. And waits. Until he’s sure. Time inside the sphere has stopped. He steps even closer, squints again, and sees that actually, the second hand might be moving. He wipes his glasses. Squints again. Yeah. It's crawling along. Time hasn't actually stopped in there. But it's moving much, much slower. He turns to Eddy, who has moved to stand beside him, and who has better eyesight. Eddy nods.
It is at this point that the lift doors to Bang Why G's office blast open, revealing Bang himself, flanked by refrigerator minions one and two, all holding weapons like Eddy's. Bang’s is aimed straight ahead and the minions’ are each pointed to either side of him like they're Charlie's fucking Angels.
Eddy levels the gun in bullet time, like he's Max fucking Payne, and shoots at Bang Why G. The firecracker pop-hisses, and the shimmering soap saucer hurtles towards Bang. It's not fast enough. There's no way Eddy can fire again before one or both the minions do.
Brett–because what else is there that he can do?–grabs one of the white chairs, and hurls it, not at all like he’s The fucking Hulk (much more like he’s himself covered in green paint), across the room. The chair definitely won’t be fast enough, but watching it flip through the air is every bit as satisfying as flipping off Bang Why G.
The shimmering bowl flares out like a jellyfish mantle, and–either because Bang Why G and his minions are close enough together, or because Ling Ling has finally blessed them–encloses all three of them.
The chair glances off the resulting sphere, ricochets off the top of the lift door, and flies back at him. Brett jumps to the side and narrowly avoids it. It crashes into several other chairs, which scatter like bowling pins. Behind them, Teddy wails.
Brett’s pulse is jumping around in his throat like a banger having a seizure inside a triangle. Force of habit brings his fingers to his neck below his right ear. 130 bpm. Give or take five. He’s good with tempos. Allegro. His blood cells are rushing. The triangle is thrashing its way through the finale of Can Can. He would laugh, but there’s no air in his lungs.
A warm palm settles in the middle of his back. The triangle is still convulsing, but air escapes Brett’s nose. The palm stays between his shoulder blades until his breaths are uneven but occurring regularly, and his fingers tell him his pulse has slowed to moderato.
The arm attached to the palm slides across his back and wraps its way around his chest. Brett looks down at Eddy’s familiar fingers. Only then does he notice they’re trembling.
Brett and Eddy stay in this position, fear hanging over them like a fermata. Time is even slower for the two of them than it is for the three stooges in the sphere. Then Eddy shakes him. Some of the air is jostled out of him, and Brett realizes he has no idea for how long he’s been holding his breath. His chest burns.
He doesn’t want to turn and look at Eddy, and he doesn’t want to examine why. It doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s no time. He sprints to the time machine. He doesn’t want to think about what he has to do to it, either, because if he does, he won’t be able to. He steps inside, rips out the brewer, and flings it to the polished concrete floor. It bounces and rolls, dented and warped. The vat is next. Teddy flees when Brett snatches it up and flings it to the floor. It shatters, spilling boba pearls like black caviar. Watch cogs and springs, a violin tailpiece and strings, a victrola bell, and a host of other components splatter onto the floor. Eddy’s trainers thud across the polished concrete and then squeak to a stop beside him.
Brett doesn’t need to tell Eddy why he did that. He’s sure it doesn’t make it hurt less. Eddy’s the one who built it to replace the original, destroyed Bang, who didn't want anyone sending his cash cow composer idols back to where they belonged. The one Eddy built was more sophisticated, containing all the machinery needed for them to brew the time travel tea themselves, so they wouldn’t have to ration drinks–as long as they had teatime leaves. Eddy steps across the spewed boba. Pearls squelch beneath his shoes. He bends down and plucks out a violin scroll attached to a broken neck. He stares at it for a few seconds, then drops it. Brett thought all the time travel tea's power was in the tea, not the pearls. Now he knows that he was wrong, and that Eddy sacrificed something as precious to him as the Ling Ling stone was to the world. That’s gone, too. Brett destroyed it to escape Fantasia. If he could have done anything but that, he would have. Well. Except die. Except he died anyway. Maybe. Maybe he only dreamed of dying.
Teddy the psycho bear starts doing snow angels in the boba caviar and giggling.
Eddy grabs the dented brewer and flings it at the creature, hitting it square in the chest before it rolls away. The bear laughs harder. Eddy moves to… stomp on it, probably, but Brett grabs his arm and tugs. They have no idea how long the spheres will last. The ones around the chair and the clock are still there, but that doesn’t tell them much. Eddy staggers a bit but lets Brett pull him along. The gun slips from his hand and clatters to the floor. Brett drops both Eddy’s hand and to his knees to snatch it, turning it over in his hands. It’s intact. Ling Ling apparently still exists and is smiling on them, shattered stone or no. Brett stashes the gun in the waistband of his pants like an American gangster, then grabs Eddy’s arm again, just above the elbow.
They’re almost at the lift doors when Eddy stops in front of the sphere. Bang Why G and his minions have identical Surprised Pikachu expressions. Eddy touches the bubble with his index finger like he’s E fucking T. An indentation forms where he presses. He pulls away, and the force field snaps back into place.
Eddy looks at his finger, then at their rubber chicken mouths. “InTeReStInG!”
Brett can hear little Alma Deutscher turning a B natural into a B flat. He laughs. He can’t help it. He tries to stop, but as soon as he does, he giggles. Then Eddy laughs. That makes Brett laugh again. They guffaw until their sides ache, and the rift between the two halves of the tectonic plate they were both standing on until the earthquake of Eddy’s betrayal split it narrows.
Brett wipes tears from his eyes, smudging his glasses.
Eddy does the same, then starts outright crying.
Brett stops laughing.
He wraps his arms tightly around Eddy and squeezes. Eddy shivers a bit. Brett holds him fast. After a moment, Eddy hugs him back. After another, he pulls away.
Brett doesn't need Eddy to tell him why he did that. They’re wasting precious time. Then again, they can slow time down. The time freeze gun is the one valuable thing they have. They don’t have credit cards, or phones, or passports, and they somehow have to get to Hilary without any of those. But–if the spheres dissipate after a reasonable time and don’t hurt the people in them, they might be able to use the gun to get some of those. They might even be able to use it on themselves–being inside an impenetrable sphere with an ATM for a very long time might be a very useful thing to be able to do. But even if they can’t do those things, they’ll come up with something. They always do.
Brett grabs Eddy’s hand and leads him into the lift. As the doors close, Eddy lets go so he can flip off the security camera. Brett points the space Super Soaker at the seam between the closed doors, cupping the grip from beneath like he's James fucking Bond. Eddy presses the button for the ground floor, and they ride the lift down to face anything that might be waiting for them together.