Author's Note: I own nothing... well, except for random teenage OC's... but why would I want to keep them? I found myself amused by a sudden rise of a certain type of story. So, this one shot was born. Enjoy (or not)!
Be Careful What Others Wish For...
The bell rang and Ernest wandered out of his third block economics class into the high school commons. Drifting through the miasma that was the hall of high school aged and hormonal humans, he made his way over to where his group of vaguely nerdy friends gathered. Predictably, Gregory and Joy were arguing over the latest video games, gesticulating wildly to emphasize their equally ridiculous points, while Beka, Tracy, and Lind were belaboring their sadly elf-less existence.
Ernest finally reached them just as Trace declared melodramatically, "Wouldn't it be amazing to meet the Fellowship?" Ernest realized that he had to stop this madness, or LOTR would take over his lunch-hour.
"Right. Plumbing, X-Box, T-V, and your library going 'Poof!' Yes, that would be brilliant. Hello? Earth to Tracy: chem test next period?" Tracy gave him an expression of utter disbelief, shocked at his cluelessnesss and callous disregard of the incredible nature of the Fellowship. Unfortunately for her, Ernest's evil summoning of the specter of double replacement reactions and oxidation numbers was too powerful to resist.
The group fell to lunch, and discussing the evils of chemistry – ignoring, of course, the fact that everything they owned was a product of said science.
...
"Wow, killer chem test!" Lind exclaimed as they exited the abattoir of institutionalized educational curriculum. The group of six teenagers had gathered promptly after the final bell and began their march to the line of school buses.
"Ditto. If anyone even mentions sodium hydroxide this weekend, I think I'm going to puke," Gregory added.
"See," Beka said, "THAT is why meeting the Fellowship would be great. No chemistry in Middle Earth!"
Tracy and Lind chorused their agreement.
"Wrong. Saruman, remember?" Ernest said, thoroughly annoyed by the trio's constant allusions to LOTR. Unfortunately, he had had to watch the movies, just so he could understand their arguments!
Greg and Joy had to pipe in: "Hey, maybe this world is just a construct in someones head... you know, like that philosopher dude from English suggested! Then, maybe they'll write you into LOTR!" The two fell into a mad case of the giggles while Trace snorted and flipped her shoulder length brown hair over her shoulder.
"No thanks. I'm not a teenage girl, unlike certain crazed individuals. The only people from our world who get sucked into the Fellowship are nerdy girls with bloom obsessions, remember?" Ernest replied sarcastically. As if an afterthought, he added, "like her!" jerking his head to indicate Tracy. The six friends parted ways to get on their respective buses – Tracy loudly yelling her indignation at his implication that she was in any way obsessed with a certain human who pretended to be an elf for high wages.
...
The next morning, Ernest's cell phone rang its most obnoxious alarm at the most annoying of times. Seven A.M. Ernest rolled over... and realized his room was rather drafty. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by – of all things – a concerned face. A face with pointed ears. A face with pointed ears and a distinct resemblance to someone that Ernest in no way wanted to meet. Ever. He quickly rolled back over and buried his face into the dust.
"Please go away. Don't be real. Please, don't let any of this be real. Oh CRUD! I've got an English paper due! HOW EXACTLY AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT HERE!" His voice had gone from a quiet pleading to a crazed shouting. He sat bolt upright and then shot to his feet! "You can't be real! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! I've got to wake up!" He ran for the nearest hard object (a large rock, to be precise) and was about to bang his head upon it in hopes the shock would yank him out of his worst nightmare (at least, that he was aware of...). Before he could accomplish that goal, a strong pair of rugged human hands restrained him and turned him around to face a gathering of nine rather confused and worried faces... including the face of his erstwhile captor.
"Young man? What mean you by this shouting?" the dark haired man asked.
"Cute, sentence inversion. I can do that too! Hands off me now get!"
The hands did so, and Ernest went windmilling backwards until he stood, back to the very rock he would have been pounding his forehead on. He drew in a shaking breath. "Great, LOTR." He grabbed his cellphone out of his Homer Simpson pajama pant's pocket. "Battery charged, no service... I'm so going to be late for first block." He looked back up at the bewildered faces of the fellowship. "Gandalf grey, pre-moria. I'm in an insert fic? Really?" His voice was slowly climbing to the upper registers. Ernest drew in another shaky breath, trying to regain his equilibrium.
Then he remembered the implication of most insert fics. Drawing a deep breath, he declared, "If any of you start making any amorous advances I'm going to call 911." That statement was received with looks blanker than blank.
...
Sam was, rather shockingly, the first to regain the use of his tongue after that strange comment. Of course, regaining the use of one's tongue doesn't always mean that the utterance issued will be useful. In fact, it was a rather inelegant, "What?"
Then Gandalf decided that something had to be done. Turning he asked the rest of the fellowship to continue setting up their camp while he, 'figured out what in the name of the Valar was going on here'.
He walked towards the frightened looking young man in the strange white short sleeved tunic without buttons and the black and yellow baggy pants with a strange – was that an ugly face? – design on them.
"Now, young man, would you care to explain what a young person like yourself is doing in the wild in such strange garments?"
"Wait! You're the wizard right? You can send me back! You're the fellowship, you're going to be fine, defeat Sauron and all of that, and you do it with just the nine of you. I'm not needed, so you can send me back, right?"
"Back where exactly?" Gandalf asked. Then, the impact of the hastily blurted out information struck. "How do you know of our numbers and our quest?"
"Uh, Earth, Tolkien, book, movie, whatever! Can I wake up now? Please?" Gandalf was quickly loosing patience with the young man. 15 was perfectly old enough to answer a wizard with sentences that made sense! After all, boys of 11 in the past had gone into full battle! The relative immaturity and panic of the youngling was getting to be most aggravating. Just as the wizard was about to issue an admonishment to the youngster, he vanished... strange nightwear and all.
...
The cell phone rang its most annoying ring. Ernest leaped to his feet – and banged his head into his overhead lamp. Rubbing his now sore forehead, he cast his vision about his room, so relieved that it had gone back to the natural order: astronomy posters, D&D rulebooks, Portals, and all. He looked at the cellphone: 7:05 AM.
"That was just a dream; it was all just a dream," he sighed in relief. For a moment there, he was sure that the old geezer was going to fry him at the end. Really, blurting out that he knew about the quest might not have been the most brilliant strategic move he could have made. Relieved, he set about preparing for the schoolday. Only, the next time Trace started talking LOTR, he was definitely bailing until the conversation returned to safe topics... like HALO or 1984... or even cucumber sandwiches.
...
Gandalf stared perplexed at the spot just moments before occupied by the strange figure. Worried, he made his way back to the rest of the fellowship, wondering how this situation could ever have occurred. If this was the Vala's idea of a joke – well, when he got to Valinor he'd...
"The boy is gone," he announced to the other eight. "I fear, however, that this encounter indicates that we must be more cautious. Somehow, he knew of the quest."