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thiswasinevitableid · 1 month

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Golden (OT4)

The winner of one yeehawgust poll was: Fools Gold

The entrance to the trail is innocuous. The normal sign posts, the wooden information board with faded tips for identifying rattlesnakes and avoiding heat stroke that half the hikers never even read.

“Ready?” Duck pulls his hat lower over his eyes against the evening sun.

“Indeed.” Indrid adjusts his red sunglasses; they’re the same ones he wore when Duck first found him in the mountains, the only part of his wardrobe he hasn’t updated to match this century.

As they cross from the parking lot onto the trail proper, a massive, shaggy-furred dog lopes toward them, boofing happily.

“Hey Sass” Duck kneels, “don’t suppose the big fella is right behind you?”

The dog wanders over to the nearest shade structure, sniffing around the water fountain. If Barclay were coming down that trail, Sass would be doing what he always does; running back and forth between his owner and the people he’s excited to see.

“I’ll radio Juno and ask her to come get him.” He pulls out his walkie talkie as Indrid pours some water into Sass’s waiting mouth, “then we better get goin’. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

—---------------------------------------------------------

If Sass weren’t so fucking cute, Barclay would be really, really pissed at him for running off and leaving him behind. But he knows the big pile of fluff didn’t mean to; dogs never seem to get as discombobulated by this place as humans. He thought Barclay would keep up like he always did.

The sun peeks around the pile of rocks he’s using for shade and he scoots across the sandy dirt until he’s behind another boulder. He knows his friends will find him. They always find each other. He just wishes he knew where he was.

Or when he was.

He has no one to blame but himself; they know that whatever weirdness surrounds this portion of the Superstition Mountains, it has the potential to grow and shrink without warning. That’s why Duck insists they all carry survival backpacks with them if they’re within a mile of the last known boundary. Barclay came out looking for Pine Nuts–he loves making brittle with them to give as presents. He went to his usual gathering area, Sass trotting along with him and snuffling the brush.

Then he turned and realized the way back wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The fucking mountains had swallowed him up.

He sips some water and waits, listening for familiar bootfalls. Aubrey’s in Phoenix performing, and Dani is with her, which means Indrid and Duck are probably the ones who’ll find him.

Feet shuffle in the dry earth and he stands, intending to wave down whoever it is in hopes they aren’t lost or, better yet, are looking for him.

The man who’s just rounded the corner is dust-covered and sunburnt, and Barclay’s heart sinks a little.

“You okay?” He steps forward as nonthreateningly as he can; he’s a big guy with, “the air of a mountain man” to him, according to Indrid, and that can freak people out if they’re surprised by him.

The man doesn’t seem to see him, keeps walking past, close enough that Barclay can see he’s in the remnants of a suit.

(Who the fuck wears a suit out here?)

“Hey man, do you need water? I’ve got plenty.” He touches the stranger’s shoulder.

“Shit!” The man backs away in a hurry, not seeing the rock behind him until he trips over it and falls to the ground.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Barclay holds his hands up, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I didn’t mean to freak you out you just…you weren’t responding.”

“I didn’t think you were real. I’ve seen so many mirages lately I just gave up believing anything promising was really there.”

“Pretty sure mirages can’t talk. Or carry granola bars.” He holds one out, “I’m Barclay.”

The shiny green package is cautiously taken from his hand, “I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern.”

“That explains the suit.”

A bitter, cracked laugh, “I was supposed to be out here an hour looking over a site. Not a fucking month.” He slumps down in the shade with the offered water bottle. Looks at Barclay’s boots, then slowly up the rest of him. Were a hot guy giving him a once over in any other context, Barclay would be into it, but this one seems to only be adding to the panic in those blue eyes.

“It has been just a month, right?”

“Since?”

“Barclay? That you buddy?”

“It’s me, Duck! I’m by the boulder that kinda looks like a bear eating a cactus.”

“The what now?”

“This one, my sweet.” Indrid, in denim shorts and a white tank top, rounds the rocks first, “it really does look like that.”

“If you say so.” Duck follows behind his boyfriend. He’s still in his park ranger uniform, and breaks into a smile when he sees Barclay.

“I so fucking glad to see you guys.” Barclay lets Indrid wrap him in a hug, laughing when he kisses him, “can’t believe Duck let you come out with so little sun proofing.

“I consider my outfit an indication of my faith that we would locate you quickly and that Duck will guide us home safely. Also, I am wearing an entire bottle of sunscreen.” He notices Joseph, “my apologies, I did not realize you had found someone else.”

“I…I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern. FBI.” He sounds almost distracted, eyes flicking between Indrid’s legs and Barclay’s face.

“You sure about that? You look pretty rough, sun can really do a number on you” Duck taps his temple.

“Yes I’m sure! I’m lost, not insane. Look, here, I’ll prove it.” He hands Duck a battered ID badge.

Duck whistles, “That’s the real deal, sorry for…not…aw fuck.” He turns the ID so Indrid and Barclay can see it as he says, “I hate to ask this, agent Stern but, uh, how long after gettin’ that did you come out here.”

“Three years.” Joseph’s face is hanging onto calm by a thread.

“Hoo-kay.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “so, uh, here’s the good news: you ain’t gonna be stuck out here any more. Bad news is you’re a long, long fuckin ways from 1972.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Given what must be going on in his brain right now, Joseph is holding it together pretty well.

He’s also holding Barclay’s arm hard enough it’s starting to bruise.

Duck can’t blame him; people go to pieces after being lost in the normal parts of this desert and without an existential crisis on top of that.

Indrid and Barclay are doing their best to bring the agent up to date on the last fifty-odd years, ranging from the end of the Cold War (“oh, thank the lord”), to cell phones (“incredible”), to the fact the Cubs actually won the world series (this got a gasp of awe).

He’ll join in the conversation once they get to the parking lot. Right now, he has to focus. They’re on the Twin Canyons trail, the south end. He knows that route, knows what the path ahead of them should look like. The desert flickers a moment, the view now subtly different with no trail in sight.

That ain’t it. I ain’t gonna even notice it. This is the south end of Twin Pines, nothin’ weird at all

The trail is back how it usually is.

His friends have speculated on why the mountains have never been able to suck him in and turn him around; Aubrey thinks it might be magic, Ned worries it’s luck that’s bound to run out. Duck’s pretty sure he’s just too damn stubborn to let some weird-ass wormhole time and space bullshit tell him he’s not on the trail he thinks he is.

All the same, when they step onto pavement, his shoulders relax a hair.

“This is us.” He beeps the lock on the Jeep, Barclay taking shotgun (he gets motion sick) and Indrid climbing into the back with Joseph.

“Tell me, agent.” Indrid buckles in, “what led you into the mountains?”

“Assuming it’s not, like, classified. We’re trying to figure out if why you’re there makes a difference in getting lost in the anomaly.” Barclay adds.

“I was looking into missing person’s cases. There’d been three groups that had just disappeared, all in the span of a month, and that was on top of a history of disappearances in the area overall. Two of the three were looking for the Cold Treasure. Is that still a story around here?”

Indrid sighs, “Indeed. Now and then it fades from the greater public memory, only to be reignited by some television show or other. I was never even convinced there was something in those damned boxes. I think someone managed to trick us, but my father and brother were not sold on the idea. You likely heard Alistair Cold and his sons were never seen again, yes?”

“That’s how the story goes.”

Duck sees Indrid smile in the rearview mirror, “That is not entirely true. I am seen often, though I may not have been had a certain, intrepid civil servant not found me.”

“More like stepped on you, you were passed out on the red rock trail.”

“My point stands.” Indrid blows him a kiss.

“You…you’re…” Joseph sounds like he’s about to have a revelation or a full-on breakdown.

“The outlaw Indrid Cold, in the flesh. I know, you are shocked by my youthful appearance.”

“You don’t look a day over a hundred.” There’s a weak laugh and Duck’s heart warms at corniness of the joke.

Indrid had looked much closer to his grand total of 145 years of age when Duck found him, what with the being near death and all. He’d been in the desert, by his count, 50 days, having fled after his brother tried to murder him in his sleep to increase his cut of the loot.

“All that is to say, Joseph, that should you want to talk with someone who has dealt with much the same leap forward as yourself, I am glad to.”

“Thank you.” There’s an audible gurgle from the backseat, “I, I hate to cause more trouble, but is there any chance we get something to eat?”

“Way ahead of you.” Duck pulls into the Burger King on the edge of town and waits patiently at the menu sign for Joseph to choose his first meal of the 21st century.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t thank you enough.” Joseph finishes setting up the sofa-bed in Barclay’s small living room.

“Seriously, Joseph, it’s not a big deal. I’d do the same for anyone we fished outta the anomaly.”

Barclays face, that gorgeous, bearded face, parts in a smile that would make Joseph believe just about anything he said. Except, when they stopped at Amnesty Lodge, Barclay’s work and clearly the headquarters of the group of rescuers, the conversations he overheard suggested it wasn’t common for one of the members of the Pine Guard to offer their couch to a rescuee.

Maybe Barclay thinks he’s special. Maybe he likes him. It feels like ages since anyone liked him for him, rather than what he could do.

“Is Mr.Cold, um, I mean, is Indrid coming back tonight?” He has approximately six hundred questions he’d like to ask before he no longer has the chance to interview an time-traveling, 1880s outlaw.

“Nah, he lives with Duck.”

“Oh.” He nods, smiles to show he’s hip, “free love?”

Barclay chokes on his tea, startling Sass from his dog bed, then quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Sorry, sorry, uh, I mean kinda? We don’t really call it that anymore. But yeah, Indrid is both my and Duck’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” He repeats, sitting down on his temporary bed, “it’s…its funny. To hear another man say that word. Not bad!” he turns, hurriedly, “just…is it really allowed now?”

“Fuck of a lot more than it was when you got lost. There are still some really fucking bigoted people and places out there but, like, even in a small town like this, I can be out. Aubrey and Dani can be out as girlfriends. Stuff like that.”

Joseph closes his eyes and digs his nails into his palms, “I’m like that too.”

There’s no immediate reply, which terrifies him. Then a weight settles next to him on the bed and Barclay takes one of his hands.

“Kinda figured. From what your face did when you saw Indrid kiss me. And, like, that’s for sure gonna be different in 2024. But you don’t have to figure out everything in one night, or remake yourself in one. You’ve got time. You’ll be okay.”

Joseph looks down at their joined hands and believes, for the first time since he got lost, that things might just work out.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mercifully, libraries are more or less the same as he remembers them. No more card catalogs or microfiche (“unless you need to look at the newspaper records, in which case I’m happy to get them for you” offered the woman at the reference desk). But he can still find books on every subject he needs, and leaves with a canvas bag stuffed full of them.

When he gets back to Barclay’s place, after patting Sass on the head he sets the bag next to a smaller one of clothes from Goodwill. He bought several he’s excited about, but steps back into the summer heat in a borrowed t-shirt and gym shorts; he’s not putting anything on until it’s washed, and Barclay said he was taking his laundry to the mat tonight anyway.

The state park is the main tourist draw, and a corner of town dedicated to faux-western theming has sprung up in response. Joseph wanders through it, no goal but to take in the sights. He knows that soon, the lack of direction will tie him in knots, but there’s no harm in a day or two to recover.

As he passes a shooting gallery in the arcade, there’s a flash of silver hair. Indrid is at the counter, knocking down targets as kids with sticky lollipops and precarious ice cream cones dart around between the games and their exhausted parents.

Joseph positions himself by the soda fountain for a better view. Indrid doesn’t miss a target; yesterday, he seemed to always be moving, like a moth in the night air. Here, he’s calm and measured, hands steady and arms…

Christ the man has a lot of tattoos. Joseph wonders how much of his body they cover, and how it would feel to trace the shapes of them with his fingers.

“Care to play a round?” Indrid lowers the fake rifle, shooting him a smile.

“Sure.” He takes up a spot to Indrid’s left as the former outlaw hands the bored teenager behind the counter some bills. When the little mechanical targets of coyotes and jackrabbits begin moving, he lets his training take over.

Indrid knocks down all but one. Joseph knocks down all them,

“Well done, agent.” Indrid inclines his head towards the soda fountain, “allow me to buy you a victory phosphate?”

Joseph accepts, and follows Indrid into the air-conditioned, echoey building. His phosphate–soda water, syrup, and ice cream–is coffee flavored, while Indrid opts for strawberry.

They sit at a table out on the wooden porch, watching the families pass by.

“How are you doing so far?”

“Okay. It’s overwhelming. In a lot of ways. So many things are different. It’s exciting half the time and completely fucking terrifying the rest.”

Indrid laughs, “Yes, that sums it up well. I swung wildly between wanting to indulge in every luxury of modern life and needing to lie very still in the dark and quiet of Duck’s guest room.”

He smiles, sheepish, “I mean, compared to you, what I’m dealing with is child's play.”

“I suppose, but there’s no need to compare woes. We have both gone through a very drastic change thanks to the anomaly; that is enough.” He sips his drink, fidgets with the gold rock on his necklace. There’d been the same kind on the bracelet Barclay put on this morning. And a pin of one on Duck’s hat-band.

“That’s fools gold, right?”

“Yes. Apparently when Duck found me, I babbled to him all the way to the car about how it ‘was all fools gold.’ He brought me this from a rock shop a few months later. It was the first gift he gave me, the first time he told me that some mundane element of daily life reminded him of me. I’ve worn it ever since.”

Joseph smiles but looks away; the happiness of the moment seems too intimate, like he’s intruding on it.

Indrid’s hand settles on his forearm, “Shall we finish these while we stroll? There’s a reptile house that claims to have the worlds largest Gila Monster. Duck insists it’s a painted Chuckwalla, but regardless it is fascinating.

“I’d love to.” He stands, following Indrid down the stairs and repeating the words, “this is not a date” in his mind until they lose all meaning.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay hates being sick for a lot of reasons, but one is that it’s so fucking boring. He can’t do anything, and nothing on T.V is good enough, or trashy enough, to hold his attention.

The front door opens and Joseph hurries, shopping bags in both hands and sweat dripping down his chest. The agent has discovered he likes V-necks and tank-tops in the summer. Barclay has discovered the sight of Joseph Stern in tight, white shirt and navy shorts is masturbation fodder for a week.

“Okay, I got everything I could think of to help with a cold. What would you like? There’s soup, saltines, ginger ale, gatorade, and if you want something more substantial I can make kimchi fried rice. Did you know they have kimchi just in regular grocery stores now? Dad had to make ours”

Rustling bags from the kitchen, the flick of a receipt being tucked into a folder; Joseph insists on keeping track of how much he buys with Barclay’s card, telling him he’ll pay him back once he has his job and his status of being legally dead sorted out.

“Just gatorade for now, babe.”

“What was that?” Joseph’s head pokes around the fridge.

“Bud. Some gatorade, bud?” Jesus, Joseph has only been in the house three weeks and Barclay is already tongue-tied.

Joseph brings a bottle for each of them, gets on his knees to study the shelf of DVDs when Barclay suggests he pick something.

“They…they made Lord of the Rings into a movie!”

There goes his boredom problem.

“Three movies.”

Joseph holds the DVD to his chest, delighted.

“Let me go change into something less sweaty.”

Barclay would let him crawl under his blanket soaking wet if he asked. All the same, he smiles when Joseph comes down in sleep shorts and his “Bigfoot is my boyfriend” shirt Duck bought him as a joke after he admitted his fixation with the monster. The agent sits next to him on the couch. By the second disk, his feet are in Barclay’s lap. And by the time he hops back onto the couch after putting in The Two Towers, Joseph doesn’t bother keeping any space between them at all.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

“Not sure how I feel about the music I listened to in college being on the ‘classic’ station.” Joseph steps from the Jeep into the grim heat of the Phoenix parking lot, slipping on his sunglasses.

“You think you feel weird, they’re doin’ the same stuff with my high school favorites, and I ain’t even got the excuse of jumpin forward in time. I’m just old.”

“You’re just experienced.” Joseph smirks. It’s the line Duck uses whenever Indrid jokes about his own age, and Duck likes hearing his tired joke on Joe’s tongue.

“My conference is done at 6. You want me to come back for you then?”

Joe shakes his head, “I have no idea how long this will take. Aubrey showed me how to use an Uber on my phone, I’ll get one and go to the hotel when I’m done.”

“Works for me. See you tonight, slick.” He winks as Joe shuts the door, enjoying the way he blushes in reply.

Duck’s in Phoenix for a forestry conference, representing Lost Dutchman State Park, and as luck would have it, the week before Joe was finally able to get through to the right person at the FBI. Long story short, he agreed to a DNA and fingerprint test to confirm his identity.

The conference goes well, and he kills an hour after shooting the shit with some folks he knew from his forestry program back in school. Gets to the Radisson, unwinds with some mindless HG-TV while he waits for Joe to text him.

Joe doesn’t get to the room until 10, lays down on the opposite bed with muffled sounds of annoyance.

“That don’t sound good.”

The agent turns his head, cheek to patterned comforter, “They believe me, but since I was legally dead my pension went to my parents, and they refuse to consider anything resembling back-pay. They’re willing to give me a lump sum of twenty grand and won’t lock me in an observation facility provided I agree to not go public with my experience.”

“You take ‘em up on it?”

“Didn’t feel like I had a choice. Besides, even if I can’t go public, I can still help the rest of you get people out. I can maybe even solve some missing person’s cases. Bring families closure, even. I just won’t be doing it as a federal agent.”

Duck watches him a moment, “somethin else happened.”

Joe rolls onto his back, staring at the stucco, “I found out how long they looked for me. I was their top agent. I was supposed to be invaluable, they always said that, always made that the reason I had to give up everything for my work. Two weeks. They gave up on me after two weeks. I know, I know that sounds like a lot but…I just thought I was worth more than that. You know?”

Duck moves from one bed to the other, “Gonna be honest slick, if you went missing on my watch, I’d do anythin’ I could to get you back.”

“You do that anyway with the Pine Guard.”

“Suppose so. But, uh, let’s just say I’d put even more into it than I usually do. Wouldn’t be able to give up.”

Joe looks up at him, curious, “Why not?”

Duck leans down and kisses him. There’s mint on his tongue from the wintergreen lifesavers he’s always slipping into his mouth, and he makes a surprised noise that’s so charming Duck can’t help but kiss him just to hear it again.

“Duck I, do you really-”

“Yeah, slick, I do. ‘Drid too, though I’m bettin you’re sharp enough to notice him eye-fuckin you every time you enter a room. And Barclay’s so goddamn into you he talks like you two been datin’ for four months instead of just livin together.”

“I guess we do act like a couple a lot of the time…”

“Point is, I’m part of a three man fan-club, and I don’t give a single flyin’ fuck what the FBI thinks your worth. Cause it’s more than gold to me.” He cups Joe’s cheek, “if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine by me. But it seemed to me now was a real good time to show you how fuckin glad I am that you found your way into my chunk of history.”

Joe’s eyes drag up his body, smile never dimming, “I think, Mr. Newton, the way I feel can be best expressed if you’d come all the way down here. Ideally with your shirt off.”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice. But, uh, gimme just a sec, gotta text ‘Drid and tell ‘im goodnight.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid smirks, setting his phone back on the nightstand as Barclay cuddles up to him.

“Good news?”

“Wonderful.” He takes Barclay’s hand and kisses it, “the kind that means that tomorrow, you and I need to go get a shiny, new piece of fools gold.”

#ot4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #yeehawgust 2024 #indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #duck newton/agent stern #Inclay #agent stern/indrid cold

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