Infinite DC
Chapter Eight: Roots

Atlanta, Georgia

Kristin had no other choice.

Steven’s doctor had to be reached the second he took the fall from their backyard peach tree.

He loved plucking the peaches on whatever sunny afternoon he could bring himself out in, but she hated to see him climb up twenty feet by ladder to do it.

And the day she feared came.

The fall that her husband took was devastating, rupturing his ancient spine in five places. It took much effort on her part to bring him back into the farmhouse.

Dr. Westen, his personal doctor, was contacted to make a house call – although Kristin might as well have called for him to say goodbye more less attempt to save Steven’s life.

Truthfully, there was only one “doctor” for this job: the one that their daughter Candace went back to Gallifrey with.

Heaven only knew where he was that moment.

She waited in the den adjacent to their bedroom while Westen conducted his examination on Steven. It was nearly an hour before he showed near her with a perplexed register.

“I’ve been treating that man for fifty years,” he said, dabbing his pale, balding head with a white handkerchief, “but how on earth could I not have noticed the irregularity in his heartbeat?”

Kristin tried not to smirk. “What irregularity did you notice?”

Westen shrugged. “Well, for starters, he has two of them.”

She wanted to laugh right in front of him but also did not want to confuse the old doctor any further, especially not with the sight of Steven lying on his deathbed.

“Whatever it is that’s going on inside him, it’s only moments now before he departs,” said Westen, realizing afterward how unfazed she was from the news. “Your husband is going to die, Kristin – presumably any second now.”

Kristin nodded, expressionless. “I understand, Doc. Thank you for coming.”

Westen followed his cue, but not without firing a few baffled gazes in Kristen’s general direction. The black-and-white-suited doctor departed, leaving Kristen to join her husband at his bedside.

“I think I scared the crap out of him,” Steven joked, albeit weakly.

Kristin grimaced. “Out of him?! Seeing you fall from that dang peach tree back there scared me, Steven! You’re an old fool, you know that?”

“The peaches were ripe for the season. I couldn’t let them just sit up in that tree.”

His joking did nothing to ease her concerns for him and the circumstance she knew to come soon from a being like him.

“Will it hurt?” She questioned with a heavy sigh.

“Only for the quick few seconds that it happens,” he assured. “After then, I’ll just be thankful if I still have an Adam’s apple.”

She would rather not think of that possibility.

“I don’t want you to change, Steven,” she tearfully implored.

Steven smiled, taking his wife’s hand. “I knew this moment to be inevitable, honey. I…”

Suddenly, his body turned rigid.

Kristin felt his grip on her hand tighten.

“What’s wrong?! Is this it?!”

Steven nodded, his face scrunched by agony. “Step back!”

She did as instructed and, not too soon after, a golden mist of energy erupted from her husband’s body, engulfing his head and hands – the only two parts exposed from the blue, pinstriped pajamas he wore.

During this process of regeneration, Kristin could only make out faint details of his familiar features; however, they soon gave way to something more diverse. Gone were his long silvery hair and pale, wrinkled skin, quickly replaced by a clean-shaven scalp and a darker complexion. Within seconds, Steven transformed from an elderly white male to a middle-aged black one.

Astoria, Oregon – Several Years and Dimensions Later

Skeeta only took the photograph out at times when he needed to remember.

His previous life, captured in a withered polaroid from 1974 featuring Steven, his wife Kristin, and their teenage daughter Candace, all sitting upon the front porch of their Georgia farmhouse.

One happy, loving family now torn apart from secrets and guilt.

Skeeta’s concentration settled on it the entire time he sat on the cellar floor, his back rested against the wall. Sanders’s Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S. situated beside the shackled Lotney “Sloth” Fratelli, a heavily deformed man with minimal intelligence but substantial strength. He and Gen, who both seemed to get along instantly, were attentive to the television set, laughing at nearly everything.

Their entertainment was soon disrupted by the deep clanging of the cellar door as it unexpectedly opened. This prompted Skeeta to pocket his treasured photograph into his jacket while two new occupants for the cellar were forcibly entered. He was amazed to see one of them was in fact Neas, an old comrade of World War II. Their eyes met briefly on his way in, both astonished of the other’s presence out of time.

The Fratelli brothers walked in after Neas and the young boy accompanying him, their handguns trained on the two.

“Sanders!” Jake called towards the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Heeding the call, Sanders moved out of her T.A.R.D.I.S. with her stilettos clicking in her wake. “What is it now with you tw—” She stopped as soon as she caught sight of the two new guests. “Oh. Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

“I’m thinkin’ on wastin’ the big one,” Jake threateningly insisted, pressing the barrel of his gun against Neas’s forehead. “Yeah, one right through the skull should do nicely.”

“NO!” Sanders urgently commanded. “Jake and Francis, you boys go back upstairs, get your mother, and round up the friends of these two snoopers. We’ve got some perpetrators in our midst, and I intend to deal with a couple of them personally.”

Jake paused and considered these new orders from the sexually alluring woman. After some time, he moved his gun from Neas’s forehead, holstering it. “Anything for you, doll,” he acknowledged with a wink before leaving the cellar with Francis.

Sanders gagged. “I can’t stand that idiot,” she muttered.

“Who are you?” Neas asked the woman.

She glimpsed back and forth between him and Skeeta.

“Aren’t you guys sick of wearing those outdated airman clothes? Seriously, you guys could do with a makeover. Come on in the T.A.R.D.I.S., and we’ll…”

“Let’s worry about that later,” Neas impatiently snapped. “Again, who are you?”

Sanders strode up to him, lovingly placing a hand on his broad chest.

“Oh, sweetheart, wasn’t it obvious from the tall slab of solid behind me? I’m you.”

Neas scoffed and grinned, gestures that caught Sanders off guard.

“You’re…not surprised?” She speculated.

“My whole day’s spent running into my past and future selves, so you’re not much different.” His eyes scaled up and down at her revealing apparel. “Though I am surprised by the choice of clothing, or lack thereof. I must suffer one serious mid-life crisis at this age.”

Sanders chuckled. “That clever wit – my favorite part of your regeneration. I know Mandy and Shel came here with you, and I’m glad of it. It falls right into my plan.”

“And what plan is that?” Neas queried.

“Oh, baby, you’ll see soon. It’s all in good time. But, in the meantime, you and your little friend, who I think just peed himself, relax and watch a little television with Sloth, Gen, and Skeeta – I believe you know those last two very well.”

She retreated into her T.A.R.D.I.S.

The defeated and disgruntled Neas looked to Mikey, who cowered to one corner of the room. Figuring it would be awhile before Sanders set her plan in motion, he took a seat on the floor, right next to Skeeta.

“How did she rope you into this insanity?” He asked his old war buddy. “I mean, no offense, but you’re only a commanding officer from World War II – your importance serves to a conflict historical to Earth and no place else in the universe. What makes you so important?”

Skeeta huffed. “She discovered what I really am: a Time Lord.”

Shocked from this, Neas’s focus on his old friend shifted to frustration.

“I’ve known you all the years we’ve fought in WWII! You’ve mentioned you have a family and job back home!”

“And I do.”

“Yeah, but on Gallifrey?! Did you ever fight alongside a tall, muscled blonde back in the Time War?” Skeeta nodded in reply. “And did you know you were fighting alongside a regeneration of that same blonde in World War II?”

“Yes,” Skeeta regrettably confirmed.

Neas’s frustration and anger rose. “So you’ve known the truth about me this entire time and never said a word?!”

“Of course I knew. I was dedicated to protecting the fabled Gladiator of Gallifrey, knowing she would one day return home.”

“Gallifrey was never my home, Skeeta!” Neas boomed.

“And I agree. Gallifrey isn’t the home I meant.”

Skeeta began reaching into his jacket, his fingers gripping the old photograph pocketed there.

And then the cellar door clanged open again.

The Fratelli brothers returned, along with their mother.

Each of their guns were aimed on Neas, Skeeta, Mikey, and Gen.

“You four haul your butts upstairs now!” Agatha fiercely ordered.

Distinguishing the old woman’s loud, raspy voice from inside her T.A.R.D.I.S., Sanders rushed out to witness the unexpected turn of events. “Agatha,” she yelled. “Have you forgotten who’s in charge here?!”

“No, I haven’t,” Agatha retorted. “Because I am!” She turned her gun on Sanders, who was impelled to raise her hands. “I’m not gonna listen anymore to some two-bit hussy who can’t decide between a skirt or a pair of pants!”

“Something’s definitely wrong, guys. It’s been over an hour, and they haven’t returned yet. What’re they doing in there?”

With one grip on a pair of binoculars he used to scope the old restaurant and the other on the swaddled Gizmo, Benson kept himself standing along the ridge and maintaining observation. Unbeknownst to him, Mordecai, Rigby, Muscle Man, and H.F.G. had been lounging the entire time on colored lawn chairs, wearing sunglasses, and sipping bottled lemonade.

“Relax, Benson,” said Mordecai. “They’ll be back.”

“Yeah, Benson,” added Rigby. “I’m sure your girlfriend’s fine with Neas and that other lady.”

Benson fumed. “For the last time, Rigby, she’s not my…!”

He turned to face them for the first time in minutes and finally noticed how they have spent their hour.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IS THIS WHAT YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“Hey, man, we’re not at work,” Rigby argued. “You can’t yell at us for not doing any of it!”

“Where did you even replace all this?” Benson asked.

“Inside the T.A.R.D.I.S.,” Mordecai said. “Neas’s got a whole bunch of cool stuff in there that goes back like ages ago.”

Getting over the idiocy and laziness of the four slackers, Benson was welcomed with the sight of Skips exiting the T.A.R.D.I.S. The immortal yeti spent his time being productive and making repairs on the spaceship.

“Skips, please give us some good news.” Benson pleaded.

“Lucky for you, I do,” he said, wiping his hands with a grease rag. “She got pretty banged up from that gremlin attack, but she should be able to take off again, as soon as we’re done here.”

Benson sighed, looking towards the old restaurant and becoming increasingly agitated. “We should go and help them. I have a real bad feeling they’re in trouble.”

“Do we have to?” Rigby whined. “I just got real comfortable.”

“GET OFF YOUR BUTTS AND COME WITH US, OR YOU’RE FIRED!!!”

The crew arrived at the old restaurant just as another individual – a big kid dressed in 80’s style sweats – did on what looked like a small pink tricycle. Benson knew he and his employees should have stopped right there and then to turn back, avoiding unwanted attention. Unfortunately, the big kid already spotted them.

“Nice costumes,” he jeered. “Halloween was last month, fellas.”

“We’re on our way to a…costume party,” a story Mordecai managed to fabricate on the spot. “We took a detour and our friends went inside this deserted restaurant to use the bathroom.”

“They probably ran into my idiot brother and his knuckle-headed friends,” the big kid inferred. “I followed them here when they talked about going after some buried treasure that doesn’t even exist.”

“Yeah, well,” Benson uttered, “don’t let us keep you—”

“BOO!”

They all screamed with terror, thanks to the playful jittering of two teenage girls, a beautiful redhead in a letterman jacket and a bespectacled blonde who looked to be following the latest in 80s fashion.

“What the heck, bros?!” Muscle Man bellowed.

“Yeah, you nearly gave us heart attacks!” Rigby complained.

“Lame costume, Chunk,” the blonde told Muscle Man. “What’re you prankin’ people to think it’s Halloween again for candy?”

Muscle Man cringed. “Who’s Chunk?”

“Alright, there’s no more time for fun and games!” Benson shouted. “We need to get in this place before—”

POW!

A single gunshot rang from inside the old restaurant.

Everyone froze.