AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just something I've been kicking around with ever since I finished "Arabian Nightmare." Now this does NOT follow canon. I've taken creative licensing to a new level with my Impossibles fanfic, and this story is no exception. I also find it far to warn you, this one in particular is a little darker than my other stories. In any case, the Impossibles and Big D belong to Hanna-Barbera, and everyone else belongs to me.

It was a fairly calm night in the laboratory of Professor David McAlister. He was working on a formula for the National Science and Technology Federation. This formula he was assigned to was a big deal, and that meant a big pay raise. Unfortunately, he had to work from a big military base that was several hours from his home. His wife, Janice, was also his laboratory assistant, so she, and their three-year-old son, Franky, came out there. Franky was not the couple's biological child. They were unable to have children, so they looked into adopting a baby. They happened across a news story about a baby that had been left on the doorstep of the Megatropolis Children's Home one stormy September night, and were able to adopt him. They gave him the name Franklin Peter McAlister, but they called him Franky for short.

As David was working on the formula, the door to his lab opened.

"Hi, honey," Janice said, coming in with Franky. "How's the formula coming?"

"I think it's almost perfected," David replied.

"We go home now?" Franky asked, hopefully.

"Don't you like it here, Franky?" David asked, knowing darn well Franky was bored to tears in the facility. There weren't any other kids around to play with.

"No," Franky said, pouting. "Boring! I wanna go home."

"Well, good news," David said. "Once I talk to the general and give him the copy of the formula, we'll get to go home."

"Yay!" Franky cheered.

"I wouldn't start cheering just yet, sweetie," Janice said, taking Franky's hand. "You know how long it takes for General Logan to stop talking."

"That why you call him General Longwinded, Dad?" Franky asked.

"Yes, son, but don't say that in front of him, okay?" David replied. "That might get Daddy in trouble."

"Kay," Franky said. The trio walked down the facility's hallway to General Logan's office, and knocked on the door.

"Come in, I say, come in!" a thick southern drawl, reminiscent of Foghorn Leghorn, shouted.

"Why he talk like Foggy chicken?" Franky asked (that's what he called Foghorn Leghorn).

"Beats me," David said, shrugging. The three of them walked into the office.

"Good evening, General Logan," David said, saluting. "I think I've perfected the formula I've been assigned to."

"Good, I say, that's good, son," General Logan said. "It took you awhile before you got it done, though."

"Well, science can't be rushed, sir," Janice said. "When that happens, the formula doesn't come together correctly."

"Yeah, then it go boom," Franky commented.

"Boy's got a good head on his shoulders, McAlister," General Logan said. "It's like I was sayin' to the troops . . . . pay attention, I say, pay attention, boy! This is a good story! As I was sayin' to the troops . . . ."

"Uhh, I hate to interrupt, sir," David said. "But is this going to be a long story? We had hoped we'd get to go home after I was finished with the formula, and I gave you the report on it."

"Yes, son, I know, I say, I know that," General Logan said. "But it won't take too long."

"Why don't you guys go wait for me in the car?" David whispered.

Luckily, General Logan was too caught up in his longwinded story, he didn't notice. Janice took Franky's hand, and started out the door. They went out to the parking garage, and Janice strapped Franky into his car seat.

"Dad gonna take long again?" he asked, coming very close to whining.

"You know General Logan," Janice said, climbing into the passenger side of the car. "When he gets started, it's hard to get him to stop."

An hour went by, and finally, David came out to the car.

"Am I glad to be out of there," he said, climbing in, and buckling his seat belt.

"Me too," Franky said. "Now we go home!"

"That's right," David said, as he started the car, and drove out of the garage.

"What did General Logan do with the report?" Janice asked.

"I don't know. Confidential stuff. Once I gave it to him, he gave it to someone else, and I was dismissed."

"How long 'til we home, Dad?" Franky asked.

"A couple of hours," David said.

"Maybe we should stay on the base until morning," Janice said. "It's late, it's a four and a half hour drive, and you know I don't like driving at night."

"Nooooo!" Franky whined. "I wanna go home nooowwww!"

"You heard the man, Janice," David said. "He wants to go home nooowwww!"

"David . . . ." Janice warned.

"Look, I want to get home myself," David said. "I'm tired of sleeping on those hard army cots."

"All right," Janice sighed. "But please, at least take Torrence Road. I don't want to be driving on Berry Drive at this time of night."

Berry drive was commonly known as "Dead Man's Curve." It was a winding mountain road, barely big enough for two way traffic, and the turns were very sharp. There were guardrails posted, but there were still several accidents that happened on the curve when the cars took the turns too fast, and then plunged down the side of the cliff. It was especially hazardous at night. David happened to agree, even though Berry Drive was the fastest way to get home. David and Janice were hoping Franky would fall asleep on the way home, but that was just wishful thinking. About an hour into the trip, Franky was becoming fidgety and cranky.

"Moooommmmm!" he whined. "We home yet?"

"It'll be awhile, sweetie," Janice said. "Why don't you go to sleep?"

"I don't wanna go to sleep!" Franky shouted. "I wanna go home!"

"Settle down, Franky," David said. "I don't want to get pulled over for speeding. That'll take us longer."

Another half hour went by, and Franky's whining became more constant. He couldn't fall asleep, and he was complaining about the least little thing. David was about to lose his patients.

"I can't take this," he said. "I'm going on Berry Drive."

"David, I don't think that's . . . ." Janice started.

"Franky is driving me bananas," David interrupted. "If we keep on Torrence, it'll take us another three hours to get home. If we go on Berry, we'll be there in an hour and a half. It's already one in the morning. I'm tired and crabby, you're tired and crabby, and Franky is tired and crabby. I say we go on Berry."

Janice sighed, and gave in. She knew they should have stayed at the army base overnight. That way, it would have given her a chance to prepare to deal with a cranky toddler for a four and a half hour car trip.

Half an hour passed. Janice hated to admit it, but they were making great timing on Berry Drive, but it wasn't making her any less nervous. At least Franky had finally settled down. He was sleeping in his car seat, sucking his thumb. At one point, she felt David was going a little too fast.

"Dave, slow down," she said. "You don't want to take these turns too fast!"

"I can't!" David shouted, pushing the brake pedal, but nothing was happening. "The brakes aren't working!"

"I thought you got them fixed!"

"I did!"

"David, look out!"

David turned the steering wheel frantically, but it was no use. He couldn't stop the car, and the swerve only resulted in squealing tires, and a crash right through the guard rail, and smashed once it hit the bottom of the cliff.

It was that exact moment when Fluey woke up in a cold sweat. He glanced over at his alarm clock. Four fifteen in the morning. Not a very good time to get up, especially since the Impossibles were on a concert tour, and no telling when Big D was going to call them in on a case.

"Brother," he grumbled, as he flopped back down in bed, and covered his eyes with his hands. "Of all the things to remember about my parents, why'd it have to be that car accident?"

Fluey then heard whimpering, and the door that connected his room to Multi's opened slightly, and in came Multi's puppy, Skittles. Apparently, she had a built in ability to know when one of the Impossibles needed her, even when the boys didn't know it themselves. She walked over, and jumped onto Fluey's bed, and whimpered a little. Fluey scratched the puppy behind the ears, and tried to get back to sleep. He had a little less than two hours before the alarm went off.