1 . Name: PerryJ @ 2012-01-08 18:30

I'm posting this short intro chapter now because I'm almost done with the next chapter and got a draft of the third one, so, what the hell.

This story is enormous and I have no idea if I ever manage to finish it. Chi is mostly responsible for the plot - I'm merely the one who puts it into words and adds some input. It's inspired by many things and if you notice which, you are awesome. Feel free to read, critize and tear it apart.

WARNINGS: Will contain old people being old, tons of silly shoutouts, tons of headcanon, and no sexytimes or confirmed pairings whatsoever.

Enjoy.


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Dell awoke to the sun fighting its way through the thick curtains. The light made him squint as he sat up on the bed, reaching for his glasses. Once he managed to grab them and put them on, he glanced at the night table. He had forgotten to set the alarm for the third time this week – Or was it the fourth? He had trouble remembering. The clock sat there as an incriminating reminder, clearly displaying 8:37AM. Bee Cave was already up and busy.

If he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn that the clock scowled at him. He realized that there was actually nothing that was worth getting up early for. Work? When was the last time he had even put a foot inside the workshop? As Dell caught himself running that sentence through his head, he couldn't help but smirk uneasily. It was his brain’s idea of a practical joke. He mused on it a bit longer and hauled himself into his wheelchair.

The living room hit him with the stale, lingering scent of cigar smoke. It was like an odd greeting from Dell's father, immortalized in the wallpaper. Dell went about his morning routine. Toast, coffee, newspaper; a daily serving of strawberry jam and financial crisis. He tried to read an article about the uprising in Syria, but stopped halfway through. His eyes wandered away to gaze at the dim room. The drapes were shut, guarding the house from the outside world. Dell just sat there, listening to his slow breath, wondering what he would do today. The weather was decent, not too cold or wet. Perhaps he could go outside to enjoy some fresh air. Maybe even call someone for a chat?

Dell shook his head and rolled away from the dining table. Who was he kidding? He would just sit inside, haunted by thoughts that never went anywhere, ideas he couldn't realize anymore. Maybe he’d heave a sigh. He sighed a lot these days.

By sundown, he had already gone to bed, sinking under the blanket like a pile of laundry. After what felt like an eternity, he was finally sung to sleep by the rhythmic dripping of the bathroom sink. The most exciting event of the day had been a call from his cell phone provider.

On another unremarkable morning of strawberry jam and financial crises, Dell heard the mailbox clatter. He looked up from his breakfast, trying to remember what date it was. Couldn't be the bills, and it was too early for the Christmas letters from his nephews … Dell couldn't help but feel intrigued the more he tried to figure out what it could be.

He rolled outside, immediately assaulted by the noise and business of a bustling village. Tractors roared over the fields like hungry lions. A couple of kids ran past, laughing and yelling while kicking a ball over the Conagher property. Everything was busy and bright and screamed discomfort. Dell automatically wished he had his goggles on, despite not even knowing where he had left them to collect dust.

As soon as he got back from fetching the mail, Dell put his glasses on and examined the envelope. It was plain grey and, oddly enough, addressed to ‘Mr. Engineer, Bee Cave, Texas’. He had to reread it twice to assure himself that he wasn't hallucinating. Yes, it unmistakably read: ‘Mr. Engineer, Bee Cave, Texas’. Sent from Mercy Hospital, San Francisco.

Completely puzzled, he ripped the envelope open and carefully unfolded a sheet of printer paper. It read:

Dear Sir or Madam,

One of the patients in my care, a certain Mister Shang (who refuses to disclose his first name), claims to have a good friend residing in Bee Cave, Texas. He appears to know neither the exact address nor the name of this friend, and refers to him only as ‘Mister Engineer’. Should you be the friend in question or have any idea to whom Mr. Shang might be referring, it is my sad duty to inform you that Mr. Shang is suffering from terminal lung cancer. Regretfully, his prognosis gives him a week at most. He has told me repeatedly that he would greatly appreciate a visit from his friend, Mister Engineer.

With apologies for any inconvenience caused,

Joyce Rendall
Senior Nurse
Mercy Hospital

Dell wiped his glasses on the hem of his sleeve, put them back on and read the letter again. He ran the possibilities through his head. He had no idea who this Mr. Shang was or why he had decided to inform about his tragic illness. An elaborate prank, maybe? He knew what was possible these days with computers and the internet. Maybe someone just wanted to scam an old man for some easy money. But, just as he was about to crumple the letter, he couldn't help but read over it just one more time. Was it really just a trick…? What prankster would call him ‘Mr. Engineer’? Maybe he DID know Mr. Shang. He frowned at the possibility of having grown too senile to remember the names of his own acquaintances. Where could he know him from … ?

Then it hit him.