Steven Universe: The Old Guard

by TheSergeant1944

Have you ever asked yourself, "What if Greg hadn't been around for Steven's life?" Maybe. How about, "What would Steven Universe be like if instead of being raised by gems he was raised by a bunch of old human super-soldiers?" Probably not. But this story will attempt to answer both questions. My first fic, super niche subject but hopefully somebody out there enjoys this mess.

7. Episode 5: Fathers Day I - Fond Memories

Disclaimer: I don't own Steven Universe. Alert the press.

Author's Note: In honor of Father's Day, I'm releasing a chapter that focuses on Steven learning about his dear departed dad, Greg Universe (everyone's favorite rockstar-turned-dad). There will be more information that comes to light in the future, but given that Greg (and his absence) are one of the central pillars of this story, I felt it was time to shed a little light on his relationship with the Old Guard. The story of how they first met will come later…

In addition, I am planning out a little thing I'm calling the Independence Day Offensive. In honor of the upcoming 4th of July (Independence Day in the US), and in recognition of the military nature of the Old Guard, I am planning to rapidly release *at least* two more new chapter by July 4th. These chapters will be formatted as follows: Disclaimer = A little scrap of dialogue from the Gem invasion of Earth (only for flavor, and because I enjoy writing that stuff) = Actual Chapter = Author's Note.

Thanks for sticking with me so far, folks! Now, on with the story!

/

Episode 5: Father's Day I – Fond Memories

Steven Universe didn't usually wake up super early in the morning. The problem wasn't that he liked to sleep late, or that he wasn't a morning person; he just didn't use an alarm clock and he was naturally more likely to wake up a little later in the day.

Today, however, he made an exception – it was a special day, and he intended to get as much out of it as he possibly could. When the alarm clock that he had gotten specifically for this occasion finally went off, the sun was just barely beginning to creep over the horizon.

The boy was quick to turn off the ringing alarm and rub the sleep from his eyes. He swung his legs off the side of his bed and his feet searched for the pair of fuzzy slippers that he always kept by his bed side. Quickly locating the comfy footwear, the hybrid stood with a final yawn and stretched. He peered over the side of his loft down into the den below – usually in the mornings, one of the Old Guard would already be awake and waiting to make Steven breakfast. Typically it was either August or Benjamin, seeing as how Fred was a self-proclaimed "zombie" in the mornings, and, as he put it, "People who like waking up early should be put on a watch list."

Today, Steven saw that it was August who was awake. He was sitting on the couch holding newspaper, scanning the text intently. He seemed entirely absorbed in his reading, evidently not expecting Steven to wake up so early and probably too distracted to have noticed the alarm briefly going off. A smile spread itself across the boy's face: moments where August let his guard down were few and far between, and this represented a rare opportunity to startle his guardian. Steven decided he was going to get the drop on him, quite literally.

The older man was simply enjoying a relaxing early morning read, when suddenly the silence was broken by a loud cry.

"STEVEN BOMB!"

August looked up from his paper and felt his stomach drop.

Oh no, a sneak attack!

A normal person would have been doomed to a swift and Steven-y demise, but with superhuman reflexes, August was on his feet and caught the boy in his arms. He held Steven cradled almost like a baby as he stared flatly at him. Steven could only smile sheepishly. After a couple of seconds of silence, both August and Steven burst into laughter.

"Heheh. You almost got me there, pilgrim," the man said, setting Steven down on his feet.

Steven raised a fist and looked into the air dramatically before replying, " And one day, I will get you! It is my destiny!" This got a few more chuckles out of both parties.

"So, what's got you up and at 'em so early in the morning?" August asked, although he was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"Well, it's Father's Day…" Steven began, wondering how best to phrase it.

This was a semi-dangerous subject on most days, as talking about Greg was usually an express ticket to a place that Fred often called "Bad-Feelsville." Most of the time, the guys usually only spoke about Greg in reverent tones – compliments were common, as the Old Guard seemed to regard Greg with something halfway between brotherhood and idol-worship. And while it was certainly nice hearing about how his father was a saint, and how he kept us human, and reminded us what we were fighting for… The guys rarely ever got into the specifics.

Any sort of Greg-talk that delved deeper beyond these compliments, however, was bound to make all three men go into a death spiral. Self-loathing, regret, guilt, sadness… A maelstrom of negativity and despair would consume the Old Guard, leaving them morose and antisocial, sometimes for days.

Fred would stop cracking jokes and often vanish off to who-knows-where, only to return battered and bruised the next day. August would wear a permanent scowl, muttering constantly, and be quick to snap at Steven and then even quicker to offer up an obscenely (and frankly embarrassingly) large amount of apologies as guilt consumed him. Benjamin would be even quieter than usual, often sitting and staring off into nowhere as some internal battle no doubt raged behind his golden irises.

Steven's normally pleasant life would be thrown into chaos as he found himself isolated from his distraught caretakers. On days like that, he spent most of his time in town and away from the beach house, but the bad feelings followed him – he couldn't help but feel guilty for having caused his friends such distress. It was obvious that Greg's death had messed them up badly. It was much safer to stick to nostalgia and shallow compliments, even if it meant that he never got to know as much about his dad as he would have liked.

There was a loophole to this conundrum, however. For as long as he could remember, the Old Guard had always made an extra effort to tell him about Greg on Father's Day. They must have known how eager he was to learn about his dad; on Father's Day, they made sure to spend as much time with the boy as possible, constantly fighting through their own emotions to tell him stories about Greg. Father's Day was the one day a year (and maybe his birthday) when Steven was guaranteed to be able to ask them about his dad without fear of repercussion. And then, at the end of every Father's Day, they had a special tradition where they would take Steven out to see his father's grave so that he could watch the sunset with him.

"And uh, since it's Father's Day, I just want-," Steven began.

"You want to maximize your Greg-story time," August finished, keeping his face carefully neutral.

It was clear that Steven was trying to be a little more tactful with expressing his reasoning, but honestly the boy was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Having August bluntly expose his desire left the hybrid momentarily stunned.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and then finally uttered, "Yes."

Steven watched August's face carefully, paying attention to his eyes especially. August was pretty good at keeping his emotions under wraps, when he wanted to – not as good as Ben was, but good, nonetheless. Still, his eyes betrayed him. Steven could see the telltale signs of the incoming spiral: the slight narrowing of the pupils, the barely-noticeable way that his eyebrows furrowed, the way his gaze became just a hair more squint-like. The child braced himself for the coming storm, and briefly wondered whether this episode would consist of August's usual smoldering self-loathing, or whether it would be the much rarer slow transition from mournful sorrow to disproportionate guilt.

Fortunately for Steven, the storm never came. After a second, the man's eyes relaxed and he placed a gentle hand on the boy's head before ruffling his curly hair. He was obviously still melancholy, but when it came to the late Mr. Universe, melancholy was a good day for the Old Guard. Steven could handle melancholy.

August let out a sigh, and then walked over to the kitchen area before motioning for Steven to follow him. Steven took a seat at the bar while August turned towards the fridge.

"What would you like for breakfast, Steven?"

"Eggs, please. Sunny-side up."

"Sunny-side up, for a sunny-side up kinda kid," August commented idly, as he began to gather the ingredients.

Steven sat there in silence as August cooked, the only sound being the cracking of the eggs and the sizzle of the stove. The boy patiently waited for the super soldier to say something, waiting for him to make the first move. The silence was awkward and uncomfortable, totally unlike the usual cheery atmosphere in the morning when one of the guys was making Steven breakfast. Finally, right when Steven's curiosity had overpowered his patience and he was about to speak up, August spoke first.

"Alright, I've got a story for you. This one oughta be perfect, considering you just recently went on your first mission. It's about Greg's first mission with the Old Guard."

/-/

Mid 1989, 25 years ago…

"I can't believe this is actually happening. I'm actually going out on a mission to hunt a space monster with a group of super soldiers!" A young Greg Universe exclaimed to no one in particular.

"Yeah, let's hope you don't get eaten," Fred commented nonchalantly as he marched alongside Greg.

Greg gulped audibly. "Eaten? Do these gem monster things eat people?"

"Yeah, but only civilians who shouldn't be out on dangerous missions!" Fred replied darkly.

"Stand down, Sergeant," August commanded as he walked just ahead of the pair.

In a less stern tone of voice, he addressed the former rock star. "Take it easy, Greg. Just stick close to us and you'll be fine."

The trio were trudging through a humid bog, with the earthy stink of swamp and the annoying buzz of mosquitoes filling the air.

The muck clung to their boots, attempting to suck them deeper into the mire with every step. Tangles of thorny vines and thick roots emerged from almost every dry piece of land, and an army of reeds, cattails, and tall grass made it nearly impossible to see where you were about to step. The muggy atmosphere was suffocating, the heat and moisture guaranteeing that every member of the party was covered in sweat.

This was certainly not how Greg Universe was used to spending his Friday nights. Normally, his Friday nights would consist of either putting on a show (when Marty was actually competent enough to get him a venue), going to parties, or bumming around in his van and just killing time.

Now here he was, trudging through a godforsaken swamp while looking for some kind of hostile alien creature. He couldn't help but feel totally out of place and unprepared. Oh sure, August had made sure that he had gotten three months of intensive physical training – the man had even managed to get Ben and Fred onboard to help train him, although the latter hadn't been happy about it. Still, he had to ask himself if this was really the kind of thing he wanted to be doing with his life.

When August had first told him about the Old Guard – that there was a group of ancient soldiers with superhuman abilities who were defending the Earth from alien invaders – the whole thing had sounded like a great adventure, something straight out of a comic book. When August had eventually told him he could join them and "help protect humanity from the Gem menace," Greg had been a little nervous, sure, but an even bigger part of him (the same part that drove him to abandon his parents and a life of strictly-controlled safety) was eager. Here, at long last, was a chance for him to leave his mark on the world!

Sure, it meant leaving behind his music career, but after doing some soul searching, Greg found that while he would always love music, he could do without the career part. And all the promotional stuff. And the constant wrangling with his equipment. And nearly always playing to a nonexistent audience. And Marty – oh god, he could do without Marty. Anything in the world sounded better than spending more time driving cross-country with the sleazy, insufferable, lazy slimeball that called itself Marty.

/-/

"Wait," Steven interrupted, "Who's Marty?"

August peered at the boy as he shoveled eggs into his hungry mouth.

"Marty was Greg's manager back when he was a one-man band. Well, he was supposed to be your dad's manager. I got the impression that he didn't really do much."

A small frown crossed his face.

"Have I really never mentioned Marty to you before? He was there when your dad and I first met."

"No, you never included him in the story before!" Steven said before stars grew in his eyes. "Will you tell me the story of how my dad met you guys again, but this time with Marty? Please?"

"Woah, Steven. One story at a time. I'll tell you the 'How We Met Greg' story, Marty Edition, later. Just remind me."

The boy nodded in understanding.

/-/

When Greg had first joined up with the Old Guard, he'd been worried that their military-like demeanor would mean a military-like lifestyle for himself. He'd been completely ready to bail out if they expected him to get a buzz cut. Thanks to his parents, he'd spent most of his teenage years with a buzz cut and he was not going to do that again, not to himself or to his precious hair. He just wasn't cut out for a life of strict discipline.

Fortunately, that had proved not to be the case. For one reason or another, despite their outwardly military nature, it was clear that the Old Guard operated more like a group of best friends who happened to be coworkers. Sure, they made him get out of bed well before he usually would in the mornings (well, typically he wouldn't wake up in the mornings at all, preferring to sleep until the afternoon) and yes, they made him eat a healthy diet instead of his usual salty, grease-laden fare, but aside from that they were rather lax. They even gave him a place to stay, and while it was just a small room with a simple military cot, it was still much comfier than sleeping in his cramped van.

He spent most of his time with them training. To the rocker's great surprise, this did not always mean physical training. August spent hours teaching the man everything he could about their enemy, the greatest threat to the human race: Gems. Greg had to admit, even though the stuff he learned about the aliens was fairly horrifying, he found himself fascinated by them. He'd always been interested in space and the cosmos (as evidenced by the theme of his many songs and shows), and the fact that there actually were aliens out there and that they had come to Earth added fuel to his already burning curiosity.

There was the physical training, too, of course. He marched, he jogged, he ran. He lifted, he benched, he did sit ups and pull ups and chin ups. By a couple of weeks in, he was spending an hour a day whaling on a punching bag. He climbed and jumped and crawled. After only a meager three months of this intensive workout, Greg could already see the gains and was reaping the rewards.

While he'd never been scrawny and his parents' attempt to force him into wrestling had kept in good shape, it was only now that he would truly describe himself as… Well, for lack of a better term, ripped. Rippling muscles had made themselves visible on his arms, rock hard abs had begun to conquer his somewhat doughy stomach, and his pecs were becoming more well defined by the day. A Greek god? Maybe not. But he was a darn sight more fit than most guys he'd ever met. Judging by some of the looks he got from the ladies in town, he was more fit than most of the guys they'd ever met, too.

There'd been a slight hiccup when it came time for firearms training.

"I'm not using a gun," Greg had said simply.

"These things will try to kill you. You need to be able to defend yourself," August had replied just as simply.

While Greg didn't necessarily think of himself a hippy – which was a good thing, evidently, because August talked about hippies like they were a plague upon the Earth – he was certainly not a fan of violence. On top of that, he was completely opposed to both carrying and using a gun.

August had sat Greg down and they'd had a long talk about that. August had said that he respected Greg's beliefs, but that if the man wouldn't use some kind of ranged weapon, then he might as well not even bother fighting the Gems because he was already as good as dead. Greg had nearly left, right then and there. It just wasn't something that the man was cool with, always considering himself more of a lover than a fighter.

"If a wild animal was about to attack you and you had a gun, would you use it?" August asked.

Greg's brows furrowed. "I wouldn't put myself in that situation to begin with," he answered.

"Well, that's like our whole job Greg. The Gems left on Earth are like wild animals now – no sense of reason, no way to communicate, just operating on pure instinct. And a Gem's instinct is to kill humans. So if you wouldn't put yourself in that situation, then what are you even doing here?"

Greg frowned. August frowned. No doubt, if Fred or Ben had been there, they would have been frowning too. Okay, maybe not Fred. He seemed to dislike Mr. Universe for some reason, and would probably be pleased by the prospect of him leaving.

"Well, a wild animal's coming right at you, old sport. Would you use a gun?"

Greg's frown deepened but he met August's steely gaze with one of his own.

"Maybe."

A compromise was reached: Greg would carry a rifle, but he would only have to use it if a Gem directly came after him. He'd be operating in a support role, carrying medicine, ammunition, and whatever else the Old Guard needed him to. He'd paled upon being told that he might have to carry some explosives, but said nothing else.

The other two, Ben and Fred, for their parts, hadn't been quite so pleased to have a pacifistic civilian coming with them on missions. August had explained it to them like this: he was an extra pair of hands and eyes, and it wasn't like he was unarmed – he could shoot if he needed to defend himself. Ben accepted this with a slight nod, passive as always. Fred still looked ready to argue, but at the end of the day, August was his superior and his military discipline cowed him into acceptance.

And that is what brought Greg back to his present state: marching through this bog. Greg snapped back into reality just in the nick of time, as August had stopped moving in front of him and he nearly walked right into him. If that had happened, he had no doubt that Fred never would've let him hear the end of it.

"Okay, Ben's just up ahead. He's been scouting the area all day and he should have eyes on our target by now. We move forward as carefully and quietly as we can. When we get to Ben, we'll get a look at what we're dealing with and decide how to move forward from their. Let's go," August ordered in a low tone of voice. Fred and Greg simply nodded.

Greg was getting more anxious by the minute. He hefted his rifle in his hands. It was a foreign weight, although less so after he'd had weeks of practice with it. He hated to admit it to himself, but in this situation, the object was somewhat of a comforting presence. Greg really didn't want to die today.

Sure enough, a few dozen yards ahead, the trio came upon their fourth member. Greg didn't even see him until he stood up from where he'd been laying, partly because the man was wearing a ghillie suit that completely camouflaged him with his swampy surroundings and partly because he had the ability to stay completely, perfectly still. Seriously, Benjamin Cragg was like the stealthiest person Greg had ever met… It was borderline creepy. In the man's hands was a rather robust-looking rifle with a scope and a bipod attached.

"Ben, report."

Silently, the tall man gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, pointing at the vast expanse of marsh behind him.

The three other men craned their necks to peer over his shoulders. Fred was the first to speak.

"Uh, Ben, where's our target?"

"You're looking at it."

With this, Ben turned around and pointed straight at a small patch of muddy dirt about a hundred yards off. The tiny islet was little more than a long, fairly narrow strip of soil, devoid of the thorny brush and roots that the rest of the wetland was choked with, but aside from that, it was unremarkable.

Greg was about to question this, but August pre-emptively held up a hand to silence him. With his other hand, the team leader withdrew a pair of binoculars from one of his pouches and looked through them towards the spot Ben had indicated.

"I'll be darned," August breathed.

/-/

"August," Steven said, grinning.

Looking mildly annoyed at the interruption, the man asked, "What?"

Steven's grin widened.

"You didn't say 'darned,' did you?"

This caught August off guard, and the man held his fist to his mouth and coughed once in embarrassment.

"Ahem, er, no comment."

/-/

August handed the binoculars over to Greg as Fred withdrew a pair of his own. Greg peered through the binoculars at the islet. At first, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to see. The little strip of land looked the same to him, just muddy soil surrounded by swampy water. But then, after paying attention for a few seconds, he saw it.

It was slight, hardly even noticeable with the binoculars. The naked eye would only see it if it was right there beside it. Every few seconds, the islet moved. It shifted, no more than an inch or two, before settling back in its original spot. Now that Greg was looking at it, the islet didn't look quite so normal, after all.

Sure, the exposed part of it appeared to be little more than a heap of much with some choked, dying grass laying across it. But if one looked down at the submerged part of islet, the part that was below the marsh water, the island appeared to be discolored. Through the binoculars, Greg could see that whatever this creature was, it had a greyish-greenish hide, almost but not quite the same shade as the rest of the plant life in the area.

"That whole thing is the Gem?" Greg asked incredulously as he lowered the binoculars from his face and looked at his comrades.

"Yep," August confirmed.

Greg hoped that the guys didn't hear his gulp. That patch of dirt may have been small for an islet, but for a real, actual creature that they were going to have to fight!? That thing must be at least twenty feet long!

Fortunately, August began giving orders which snapped Greg from his own fearful thoughts. Unfortunately, those orders involved Greg getting even closer to the beast.

"Alright, Ben, you stay here and keep your rifle trained on that thing. If it starts moving before we're in position, you start firing."

Ben nodded and began to get back into his original prone position.

"Fred, you circle around wide to the left, keep about fifty yards between you and that thing at all times. I'll circle around to the right. I want us to form a triangle around this sucker so it has nowhere to run once we open up on it."

Fred nodded resolutely, hefted his carbine, and began to stalk off towards his position.

"Greg, you're with me. Stick close and try not to make too much noise or any sudden moves. You've got the grenades and spare ammo, and we're gonna need both if this gets hairy."

Greg gulped again, sucked in a breath, and nodded. August began to trudge off to the right, and Greg followed after him. The super soldier seemed to move effortlessly across the rough terrain – it wasn't what you'd call graceful, but he was absolutely sure-footed. Greg felt like a bumbling clod behind him. He moved slowly, and had to carefully watch when he raised one foot to make sure it didn't get snagged on a root or a vine, and then he had to carefully watch where he placed it to ensure he didn't step in one of the many holes and divots that speckled the swamp. He tried to keep close to August and only step where the older man did, but it was tough to match his pace.

Finally, August came to a stop and Greg stopped beside him. The already claustrophobic atmosphere grew even more oppressive. Here, even the mosquitoes had stopped buzzing, but somehow the silence was even worse, even more grating. Greg was sweating bullets, and this time not just from the humidity.

They were closer to the monster here, only half as far away as they had been before. Even though the creature had not reacted at all in response to their approach, Greg still felt his fear slowly constricting around him like a python.

If he looked across the monster over to behind it, he could see Fred standing there with his weapon half raised, waiting for action. If he looked back over to where they came from, Greg couldn't see Ben at all – he was too well hidden – but he could just make out the glint of a scope in the moonlight.

August crouched down and motioned for Greg to join him. The older man pulled out a walkie-talkie (although it certainly looked more advanced than any walkie-talkie Greg had ever seen) and began to speak into it, addressing his team.

"Okay, I'm gonna get this party started with a grenade. That oughta startle it out of its hiding spot. Once its up and moving, you all know the drill. Ben, you target the vitals. If this S.O.B. has eyes, I want you to make sure it doesn't. Fred, you and I are on damage output duty. Pour it on thick – we don't know how tough this one is, and I'd rather be safe then sorry."

"Yes, sir!" Greg could practically hear Fred's grin through the walkie-talkie. The man had a love of causing destruction that was borderline psychopathic.

August lowered the radio and looked over at Greg.

"Alright, Mr. Universe, you're on spotter duty. I want you to keep your eyes peeled for that thing's gemstone. When you locate it, let me know ASAP. If we can figure out where its gem is and what kind of Gem it is, this whole thing will be a lot easier. I'll let you know if I need more ammo, you remember which pouch you put the .458 mags in, right?"

At the musician's nod, August let a small grin split his features.

"Then let's get started."

Greg watched the older man pull a single, tubular grenade out of a pouch-pocket and stand up. He pulled the pin and a second later, he lobbed the grenade in the most perfect arc Greg had ever seen so that it landed squarely upon the "islet" that was the creature's back.

The beast shifted slightly at the new sensation, but before it could respond further, the grenade went off in a bright and fiery explosion that sent sparks and shrapnel flying. The Gem monstrosity roared in rage and, presumably, pain as it rose from its hiding spot. On its back, the mound of earthy sludge that had camouflaged it quickly fell off in heaps.

Greg observed that the thing looked crocodilian in nature. It was squat, and had a scaly green-gray hide, and it moved about on six legs. It had a thick, muscular tail that ended in a forked tip like a snake's tongue. Its blocky head ended in a long, thick snout which opened up into a maw filled with jagged teeth. It definitely reminded Greg of a mutant alligator he had once seen in a horror/sci-fi B-movie. He'd have to ask August later if all Gems resembled Earth animals.

His observation was interrupted by the beast giving another angry bellow as bullets began to slam into it simultaneously from three sides. To Greg, it seemed as though the creature was entirely made of stone, as the bullets chipped off small bits and chunks of the thing's hide, with the occasional round ricocheting off entirely. It wasn't at all the way that bullets would have impacted an Earth creature, Greg imagined, with a low and meaty sound and a spray of blood. August had told him that the Gems' bodies were somehow made of "hardened light," (how that was possible, Greg didn't know) and it seemed that this fact was indeed the truth.

The Gem beast, with its crude animal intelligence, knew only two things: that it was being attacked, and that it would very much like to stop being attacked. It saw three separate threats: one was farther away than the other two, and that meant it could be dealt with last. It had to choose between the one behind it, nearer its tail, and the one in front of it, nearer its head. It chose to charge the one closest to its head. That one happened to be Sergeant Fred Barnes.

The good sergeant, as this monstrous alien mutant charged alarmingly fast towards him, gave a grin that could only be described as frighteningly unhinged. He kept putting .30-06 rounds into its face with his carbine, but when it was about 25 feet away, he let loose with the under-barrel grenade launcher and sent a 40mm grenade sailing straight into its roaring jaws. When said grenade exploded directly in the monster's mouth, he was open to have finished the creature off right then and there. Unfortunately, the creature simply bellowed furiously and turned around.

The Gem beast, with its crude animal intelligence, knew only three things: that it was being attacked, that it would very much like to stop being attacked, and that whatever creature had just sent that searing pain exploding through its head was best left alone. At least for now.

Instead, the alligator-esque Gem turned around and made a beeline straight for Greg and August. However, this time it was wise enough to know that a full frontal assault was likely to be more trouble than it was worth. This time the creature scuttled into the swamp water and with its massive weight, it managed to submerge all but the top of its back. It began to glide through the bog water at shockingly high speed towards the muddle lump of land that the two men were huddled on.

As it approached, August kept firing, sending as much lead into its exposed back as he could. Greg, for his part, had not been able to locate the gemstone yet, and frankly, with this frightening killing machine coming straight at him, he had other things on his mind. His eyes just kept getting wider the closer the Gem got, and he could feel his mouth opening and closing as he tried to speak but no words were coming out.

"Greg, grenade!"

August's command, firm as iron and without so much as a touch of desperation, snapped Greg back to attention. In his fear-clouded mind, he fumbled at the flap to the satchel containing the grenades but somehow he managed to get on out and into August's hand. No sooner had he done this than the Gem burst out of the water with a roar. Greg heard himself shriek in utter terror as the creature lunged for him, jaws wide open.

As the beast sailed towards Greg, time seemed to slow down. He could see its every shining, razor sharp tooth. He could beady, hateful eyes focusing on him. He could see its pale green, circular gemstone located on the underside of its jaw, barely discernable from the similarly colored skin around it… Thoughts flashed through his head.

Oh god, no! I miss my van! I miss my music! I miss Marty! I even miss my parents! I'M NOT READY TO DIE!

A force like a freight train shoved him to the side, and as he tripped and twirled to the mud ground, he saw August standing where he had just been. The super soldier had the grenade in hand, sans pin. He let go of the grenade and dived to the side, just in time for the beast to snap its jaws shut. It had hoped for a bite of human, but instead it had once again wound up with an explosive in its mouth.

The grenade explosion was muffled, but a split second later, the creature opened its mouth once more and howled in pain. Steam poured from its open mouth, and Greg could see hairline cracks forming within its cavernous math. The cracks glitched a bit, like static on a television screen.

The Gem was furious. It was in pain, it was angry, and it was done getting its mouth blown up. Like lightning, the beast thrashed in the water and turned around so it was facing away from the two humans. With one swing of its mighty tail, it sent August flying off into the swamp, his cry of pain and surprise being cut off with a distant splash.

Greg scrambled to get off his back and out of the water. This monster had just sent his best defense into orbit like Babe Ruth hitting a home run. He was by himself – Ben and Fred were still shooting, but as the creature rounded on Greg once more, it was clear that it was too focused on killing him and their bullets were merely a nuisance to it.

Not willing to risk another grenade in its gullet, the Gem kept its mouth closed and simply raised itself up up above Greg. It was going to crush him with one its large, clawed feet. Greg's hand searched for his gun – it was gone, no doubt lying somewhere in the muddy water around him.

Greg did the only thing he could. He screamed. Fortunately, unlike most of his other screams, this one was actually useful.

"GEM ON ITS JAW!" The man cried out in desperation.

He closed his eyes as the foot descended. But death never came. He heard the sharp report of Ben's rifle firing, and then he heard a sound like a window shattering. He felt a couple of tiny shards of glass come sprinkling down on his face.

He opened his eyes. The Gem was gone. Thin, pale green slivers of crystal rested in the creases on his shirt. He looked around. There was no sign of the beast anywhere. The swamp was silent and peaceful. Then he looked back down at the shards of crystal on his shirt, and quickly dusted them off.

Suddenly he heard the telltale splashing of somebody stomping through the water towards him. August, completely covered in mud and pond scum and soaked from head to toe, approached him. His chest was heaving a bit raggedly and his face seemed scratched up, but aside from that he looked fine. He peered down at where Greg was still kneeling in the water.

"You alright?" He asked.

Greg released a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Yeah." His heart was thumping in his chest like a jackrabbit. His blood was pumping. Adrenaline coursed through him. He was sweating and breathing raggedly. But he was alright. More than alright, in fact. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever felt so alive, or so glad to be alive.

August helped Greg to his feet as Fred and Ben made their way over. By the time the other two members of the Old Guard had reached them, Greg was laughing like a mad man. He whooped and hollered and pumped a fist in the air.

"Haha! We did it! I'm not dead!" The young rocker hollered.

He turned towards Ben and clasped one hand to the tall man's shoulder and with his other he began to vigorously shake Ben's hand.

"You… You saved me! You shot that thing right as it was about to crush me."

Benjamin looked surprised by the sudden physical contact, and was unsure of what to make of the praise.

"Yes, well, you… I wouldn't have known where to shoot it if you hadn't called out where its gemstone was," the tall man replied awkwardly, golden eyes blinking uneasily.

"And you- the way you just shot a grenade in its face! That was awesome!"

At this, Fred let a small, smug grin appear on his face.

"Yeah, it was pretty awesome, wasn't it?" he replied, smugly.

"Well, as nice as it is being praised after a successful operation," August began, still trying to wipe some of the mud and slime off of his outfit, "And believe me, it is nice – I mean it's been decades since the last time somebody actually thanked us for doing this – but anyway, let's clean up and get outta here."

The men gathered their gear and located the missing guns and began the trek back to their vehicle.

"Not bad today, Mr. Universe. You may just have what it takes to join the Old Guard, yet," August complimented.

"Thanks," Greg replied, grinning good-naturedly.

"We'll just have to see how you do on a mission that isn't so easy."

"Wait, THIS WAS EASY!?"

/-/

August finished the story and then took Steven's plate, which he had long since emptied of food, and began to wash it.

"Wow, that was so cool! My dad's first mission was just like mine: it was super dangerous and we both almost died!" Steven exclaimed, stars once more in his eyes.

August frowned and let out an uncomfortable, "Yeahhh…"

Then a troubled look crossed Steven's face.

"But wait… Did you guys… Kill that Gem?"

August's face darkened and he placed a comforting hand on the child's shoulder.

"Well, yes, I'm afraid we did, sport. But it was either kill that Gem or let your dad die, and we couldn't do that, now could we? Besides, we always destroyed them back then. We didn't start trapping them until…" An unrecognizable look, some flurry of emotions, passed across his eyes too fast for even Steven to decipher.

An easy expression quickly forced itself back onto his features.

"Yeah, Greg didn't like us shattering those Gems too much either. It's actually because of your dad that we just catch and contain them now. You're so much like him…"

Steven knew that last sentence was an indication that August was reverting back into nostalgia mode. Any further Greg-talk was likely to be unproductive. Steven thanked August for the story and walked outside to hopefully locate one of his other guardians.

As he left the house, the last thing he heard was August muttering, "…like a saint."

The sun had risen considerable since Steven had first awakened that day. Down on the beach, Steven saw Ben out on one of his walks. The quiet man liked to take long walks and observe the people and world around him. Often, he would let Steven come along on these walks, and they'd swap stories of interesting things that they had seen or that had happened to them. This was the perfect time for Steven to get a story about his dad from the golden-eyed man.

Taken the stairs two at a time (August's familiar words echoed in his memories: "Be more careful on those stairs!" – he ignored them, as usual, with a slight pang of guilt), Steven hurried to catch up with Ben. Even though he'd already been walking at a leisurely pace, he slowed down to a crawl as soon as he realized Steven was coming over to him. Once the child had reached his side, they both resumed a normal walking pace.

Without facing him, Ben looked over at Steven out of the corner of his eye and nodded in silent greeting, his expression as stoic as ever. It wasn't until he turned his gaze forward once more that Steven realized how rarely Ben ever looked him square in the eyes. Steven combed through his memories and while he did recall it happening occasionally, it was indeed a rare occurrence for the tallest member of the Old Guard to turn his golden gaze in its entirety towards the hybrid. The more Steven thought about it, the more it became clear that whenever Ben and Steven interacted, Ben usually found something else to look at, or found some excuse to turn his head or face so that Steven didn't see his eyes very much.

Steven wondered why this was, briefly, but then he shook his head slightly and filed that little revelation away for later. He had something else on his mind, and the clock was ticking.

Ben, perceptive as always, seemed to read his young friend's mind.

"It's Father's Day. I presume you're here for a story about Greg?"

Steven decided to throw subtlety to the wind – if August had been fine with a little Greg talk, then he could assume that Ben would be the same. He nodded eagerly, his demeanor reminding Ben of an excited puppy.

"I assume August told you about Greg's first mission with us?" At Steven's confirmation, he continued. "Yes, he told me he was going to. I myself have been thinking about what story I would tell you today for a while now. I think I've decided on an appropriate one. Would you like to stop and sit or shall we walk and talk?"

"We can keep walking," Steven confirmed, unwilling to tear the man away from one of his favorite pastimes.

A corner of Ben's lip quirked upwards in just the slightest indication of a smile and he nodded appreciatively. As the duo reached the edge of the Beach and entered Beach City proper, the super soldier began his tale.

"This is the story of how Greg Universe saved the Old Guard from complete annihilation…"

/-/

Early 1991, 23 years ago…

Greg Universe rested comfortably in a bean bag chair as he strummed his guitar…

/-/

"Wait, wait, wait!" Steven interrupted, causing a deep scowl to occupy Benjamin's normally neutral face.

"Now listen here, Steven: Fred and August already interrupt me all the time, don't you start doing the same!"

Steven's face reddened in embarrassment, and he could feel his ears growing hot.

"Sorry…" He muttered, feeling the stinging bite of shame.

The boy's apology mollified his older companion, whose mask of passivity quickly slipped back into place.

"Don't worry about it. Now why was it you interrupted me?"

"Does this story take place in the beach house?"

Ben was slightly puzzled by this question.

"No, the beach house wasn't even built until shortly before you were born…"

"Then where does this story take place?"

"Hm, I suppose that is a relevant question. The story takes place in our old base of operations, several hours away in West Virginia – I mean, in West Keystone, as they call it these days."

"Woah, so you guys weren't even in Beach City? Does that mean that my dad spent most of his life somewhere else?"

"Yes, I suppose it does."

Steven had never really stopped to think about it. In the back of his mind, he'd always just kind of assumed that his dad and the Old Guard had pretty much always lived in Beach City. He knew it was where his pops had first met them.

"So why did you guys come back here? Why not somewhere else?" Steven questioned innocently, and instantly knew he'd stepped on an emotional landmine when Ben's naturally calm demeanor suddenly became very forced.

"Because this is where your mother lived." Every word was clipped.

Steven decided to make what August would call "a tactical retreat," (which Fred bluntly called "running away"), and he urgently backtracked away from the volatile topic of his mother.

If talking about Greg was like watching his friends drown in a sea of sorrow, then talking about his mother was like watching them catch on fire and then angrily spread that fire all around them until the whole area was one big emotional wildfire. The child was wise enough to snuff that spark out as soon as possible – he wasn't exactly sure why his caretakers harbored such ill will towards his mother, but given that they usually tried (and failed miserably) to suppress their obvious distaste of her for his sake, he decided not to press the issue.

"So can you start over with your story again?" Steven prompted.

Ben gratefully took the bait and launched into his story once more.

/-/

Early 1991, 23 years ago… (again)

Greg Universe rested comfortably in a bean bag chair as he strummed his guitar. His green cargo shorts and white undershirt did little to hide how much more obviously muscular he was at this time. The year and a half of training, exercise, and missions with the Old Guard had taken his body and transformed it into a well-oiled machine. Still, for all his athleticism, Greg still found that one of his favorite hobbies was just sitting around and plucking away at the strings of his old guitar.

Beside Greg, occupying the corner of an otherwise empty couch, sat Benjamin. In the tall man's hands was a copy of War and Peace, which his golden eyes diligently scanned as he read through the thick book. Across the room, sitting at a table, was August who was reading the newspaper.

The room itself left the impression of a studio apartment crossed with a basement. It was half-den (where Greg and Ben sat) and half-kitchen (where August sat), and although the room was well lit, there were no windows.

Although the room was technically for everyone's use, the den had clearly become the domain of Mr. Universe, who found that he was vastly more at home sleeping on a couch than he was in a bed these days (August was sure that the former rockstar's many months of couch surfing had left him addicted, a statement so absurd that it never failed to make Greg guffaw). Posters of various bands, including his own, plastered the walls of the den. Greg had recently decided to start getting into music again, resulting in the current state of the room. Aside from Greg's guitar and a couple of his amps, a drum kit, a keyboard, and a bass also lay scattered about the space – remnants of a failed attempt at getting the Old Guard to start a band with him.

/-/

Steven took special note of that. The Old Guard – a band! The idea was as intriguing to him as it was comical. He'd have to ask more about it some other time.

/-/

A door on one side of the room suddenly burst open with a bang. Standing in the doorway was none other than Fred, grinning widely with a can of beer in each hand. He strutted into the room and called out "Catch!" to Greg, who set aside his guitar and caught the can that Fred tossed his way. Both men cracked their cans open, raised them towards the other in mock toast, and then took a long swig of cold beer.

August lowered his newspaper and sent a scowl towards the drinking buddies. Unconsciously, the team leader began lowly shaking his head in derision at their alcoholic festivities. Fred noticed this and began to chug his beer even louder and faster. Ben watched the whole spectacle with detached amusement.

Suddenly, Fred seemed to recall something which made him choke and he sputtered and coughed for a second as he wiped beer from his chin with the back of his hand. Finally, he spoke again, this time without beer in his mouth.

"Greg! I nearly forgot to tell you, there's a giant package up there at the front door for you. Like, bigger-than-the-door giant. You order an atomic bomb from Skymall or something?"

Benjamin did not often engage in much bantering or joking, but when he did, it was often with lethal effect.

"Knowing Greg, a package that big could be his mail-order bride," the golden-eyed man commented dryly.

Greg's face took on the appearance of a tomato as Fred burst out into another volley of laughter. Even August put down his newspaper and found himself unable to stop chuckling for a minute. Greg sent a death glare at his three "friends."

"I can't help my taste in women!" He said in a defensive huff.

"Aheheh, we know old sport, we're just teasing," August told him, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Oh my god, Ben, why do you keep that sense of humor of your hidden from the world? It's a crime!" Fred exclaimed after finally regaining his breath.

"The world can only handle my humor in small doses," Ben replied in a tone so serious that for half a second Fred was inclined to believe him.

"Heh, yeah, sure man. Anyways, quit lazing about, you slugs, and let's go see what's in this package."

The four men went up stairs (for they were indeed in a basement) and made there way to the front door, Greg scratching his head as he puzzled over what could be in the package. He couldn't remember ordering any-

The front door opened, revealing an expanse of forested mountains for as far as the eye could see, cut through by a singular road that dead ended at the garage of the manor that the Old Guard currently inhabited. Sitting directly in front of the door itself was a massive box, easily 10 feet tall.

"Oh my god, it's the Deafinator Supreme 5000!" The rocker cried out upon seeing the giant package.

"The what?" Fred asked.

"I don't like the sound of that…" August muttered.

Greg rushed forward and wrapped his arms as far as he could around the box, approximating something of a hug.

"The Deafinator Supreme 5000! It's an amp that I ordered! It's supposed to be the biggest and loudest that you can legally buy outside of certain third world countries. Man, I am going to be able to rock so hard with this thing!"

August approached the young man and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Greg, buddy, you know I like to rock as hard as anybody else," and here he raised his other hand in the classic "devil horns" gesture, "But I see two big problems with you making use of this amp."

Greg turned around fully to face him with a look of consternation. "What problems?"

"Well, first of all - and I think I'm speaking for us all here when I say - we don't want to go deaf!" The older man gestured at the size of the mammoth amplifier.

"August, that is such bull! You know as well as I do that none of you 'superhumans' can go permanently deaf from a simple amp, no matter how big it is! And, need I remind you, you were the one who once told me, and I quote 'I find the sounds of artillery fire and explosions are very comforting for some reason,' and-…"

August raised his hands placatingly, and tried to interject. "Alright, alri-..."

"And its your fault that we're all the way out here in the mountains where I can't even drive anywhere else to play…"

"I said alright, jeez! And anyway, there's still the second problem."

Still frowning, Greg said, "And what's that?"

"That thing won't fit in the door."

The frown dropped off of Greg's face. He blinked once. He looked back at the box. Then he looked at the front door. He blinked again.

And that is how the Old Guard ended up hauling the amp in front of the garage and then sitting in the grass watching as Greg ran a chain of extension chords all the way from inside the house out to his new amp. He refused to let a minor setback such as "not being able to get the thing inside" to stop him from taking his new amp for a test run. He insisted on giving his first performance to a live audience, and if that meant making the rest of the guys sit on the ground outside while he fiddled around with cables and dials, then they were just going to have to deal with it.

The Deafinator (pronounced "deh-fin-a-tor) Supreme 5000 was, according to the box, the last word in "spectrum-defying sound," which nobody was quite sure what that meant but they knew it didn't bode well for their ear drums. The amp had a literal control panel sticking out of one of the sides, with a dizzying amount of knobs, dials, and switches for various effects.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Greg finished screwing around with the settings and got his guitar. He plugged the cable from his guitar into the amp.

"Are you guys ready to-," Greg switched on the amp, "ROCK!?"

He strummed a chord on his guitar and the sound exploded forth, sounding something like a bomb going off. The three audience members sitting in front of the amp were instantly doubled over with their hands on their ears, gritting their teeth. Meanwhile, the sound waves continued their assault, shaking the very ground itself, or so it seemed.

"TURN IT OFF!" August shrieked.

"ONE MINUTE! I'LL TURN DOWN THE REVERB!" Greg called back, rushing to the control panel.

"WHAT!?" Fred called out.

"I THINK HE SAID SOMETHING ABOUT THE SUBURBS!" August called back, unhelpfully.

"WHAT ABOUT THE KURDS?" Fred replied.

Benjamin knew this was pointless, and chose to remain silent. Well, as silent as one can be when it sounds like the world is ending all around them.

"I'M JUST GOING TO TURN IT OFF!" Greg called.

"SOMETHING ABOUT DAVID HASSELHOFF?" Fred returned.

"WHAT!?" August repeated.

Finally, after a few second more, the amp shut off with a click and the sound ceased.

Everyone let their hands drop from their ears and felt their shoulders sag in relief. Their ears were still ringing.

August was the first to regain some semblance of normalcy.

"I'll be damned. Look at that – you nearly cracked the windows."

Indeed, the windows on the manor house were all displaying hairline fractures that previously hadn't been there. Greg let out a single breathy chuckle.

"Yeah, and it feels like the ground is still shaking!" Fred added humorously.

"Wait a second, it is still shaking. What the-?" The rest of August's question was cut off as something exploded upwards out of the tree line beside the house. Like a cruise missile, the thing shot into the sky and then came rocketing back down straight into the dirt right beside where August had been. If the thing had landed a yard more to the right, he'd be a bloody paste. As it was, the dirt exploded all around and August was launched aside as whatever this thing was left a sizeable crater where it landed.

The impact knocked everyone who had been standing off their feet, but Greg managed to get his head to stop spinning long enough to get a good look at the thing. It was a corrupted Gem, which wasn't all that surprising.

It's always a corrupted Gem, isn't it? We move out to the mountains to get away from everything, and of course, one finds us here. Peachy.

/-/

Steven was about to interrupt again, but he caught himself, and instead, he waited until Ben took a breath before speaking.

"Excuse me," the hybrid said politely.

Ben stopped telling his story and shot a brief glance over at the boy.

"What is it, Steven? And thank you for not interrupting me, by the way."

"So, a corrupted Gem really got the drop on you guys? Like, it really surprised all of you?"

Steven was incredulous. To him, it seemed like the guys were always ready for a fight, always expecting a corrupted Gem to jump out and attack. He found it hard to believe that one could have snuck up on them, especially with his dad around to serve as an extra set of eyes and ears.

Ben let out a small laugh, rueful and perhaps a tad embarrassed.

"Yes, it certainly did get the drop on us. Y'see ever since your father joined us, our missions had gotten a lot easier. We ended up getting a bit… lax in our usual vigilance. We got careless."

Steven absorbed this information and nodded sagely. Then he smiled up at his caretaker.

"But not anymore!"

The current of sadness that those words evoked was well-hidden behind Ben's stoic expression.

"No, not anymore."

Never again.

/-/

The corrupted gem had a bizarre form. It upper half was a bulky blob looked like the bottom half of an egg: rounded on the bottom but flat on top. It had two eye stalks protruding from the flat plain atop its "torso," and a large circular mouth with three sharp, triangular fangs located at the center of its body. The thing only had one leg, long and thin, tapering down to a singular round foot, like a plunger. Overall, the beast's shape was like that of a giant wine glass. The entire thing was cyan, with red blotches scattered across its body like some kind of rash. A blue triangular gemstone shined from between its eye stalks.

When the thing opened its circular mouth (its three triangular fangs parted like some kind of futuristic door), it gave off a warbling battle cry that sounded like a helicopter's rotor – a sort of repeated "thwop-thwop-thwop-thwop" that grew higher and lower at random intervals.

Before anybody could move more than a couple of inches, the Gem launched a needle-like quill straight out of its mouth, lancing straight through August's shoulder and pinning him to the ground. He let out a sharp cry of pain and immediately struggled to free himself, alternating between trying to force the spike out with his hands (it didn't budge) and thrashing his body to try and tear himself away from it (no luck there, either).

Fred pulled a combat knife from his boot – because he always had a combat knife on him, of course – and rushed towards the creature's foot. In the course of a single moment, the thing had sort of contracted its body downwards towards its foot, and then, like a pogostick, it uncoiled its leg and launched itself skywards.

"Oh what the fu-," Fred began, but before he could finish, it rocketed back down and landed very nearly on top of him.

Instead of crushing him, however, the impact sent him flying and, just like it had with August, it was quick to shoot a mouth-spike at him as soon as he landed. This time, the quill pierced through Fred's left leg just above the knee, and buried itself several feet deep into the ground. Fred screamed in pain and tried to yank his leg free, but it was no good; he too was pinned.

Ben was halfway to the front door, and to the guns that lay within the house, when the Gem turned its attention towards him. It let out another warbling shriek and then spat a quill at him. With inhuman quickness and dexterity, Benjamin dodged the first one, and then he dodged the second one. The third one, however, was aimed perfectly: as Ben dodged the second quill, he dodged straight into the third one. The spike caught him straight in the gut with enough force to pick him up and launch him several feet back into the wall of the house behind him, where he remained pinned and losing consciousness.

In the span of six seconds, the three members of the Old Guard were totally incapacitated.

Greg was the only one left standing, spared only because he was partially obscured from the Gem's view by his amp. He quickly crawled the rest of the way behind it so that he was totally out of its sight. His mind was working a mile a minute – he had no weapons on him, his friends were all down for the count and needed his help, badly…

A single, selfish thought intruded on his strategizing, rudely shoving its way to the forefront of his brain.

So much for my debut concert with the Deafinator.

It was really a nonsensical thing to be upset about in this dire moment, and yet…

Greg looked at the windows on the house, all cracked because of the amp's insane ability to boost sound. A plan began to form.

He peeked around the amp and looked at the corrupted Gem. More specifically, he looked at its gemstone. It was a shot in the dark, but hey, it was better than nothing. And come on, the thing even looked like a wine glass! If that wasn't a sign from above that this hairbrained scheme was a good idea, then Greg didn't know what was.

Meanwhile, the Gem leaned over August, who was still pinned by the spike in his shoulder. The alien examined him, as though a curious scientist studying a dissected lab rat. Slowly, its fangs parted once more, and another quill slowly emerged from its mouth, pointed directly towards the man's face. As the spike extended further and further towards his face (specifically, his right eye), August could feel the cold hand of fear for his own life begin the wrap around his heart. It had been a long time since August had felt mortal fear; a part of him had missed it.

Just as the Gem's mouth-spike was about to jab into August's eye socket, the sounded of an amp turning on split the air. The Gem immediately straightened up, and all eyes turned towards the Deafinator Supreme 5000.

There, standing beside his amp with his guitar in hand, was Mr. Universe.

"Alright Gem!" Greg yelled, flexing his fingers. "I hope you're ready to ROCK!"

The members of the Old Guard, awestruck by this turn of events, barely managed to get their hands over their ears before Greg let loose with a blast of ultra-amplified guitar sound. If anything, the volume was even louder and more distorted than last time.

Once more, it felt like the earth was shaking. The Gem yowled and hissed in agony, totally immobilized. The glass in the windows wavered dangerously.

Greg kept shredding on his guitar, and even though it was sounding only like a mangled, high-pitched, squealy mess, he still put his heart and soul into the performance. As he played, he watched the Gem writhe in agony.

It fired quills desperately and blindly from its shrieking maw, all of them sailing off into the distance where they would do no harm, except to any woodland critters or lumberjacks who were especially unlucky. It wavered on its single leg, before toppling over entirely. But still, its form held. Greg played harder.

The Old Guard felt like their heads were bound to split open. Their poor ears were on fire. The glass in the windows finally shattered completely.

Greg saw small cracks beginning to appear at the edges of the Gem, first in its physical form, and then in the gemstone itself. Its form flickered erratically, and although the fractures on the gemstone worsened, it seemed like it would hold together.

You leave me no choice.

Greg raised one foot and stomped it down onto a pedal labeled "Max. Reverb." The results were as immediate as they were catastrophic. With one final, garbled screech, the gem shattered and its physical form vanished. That very same second, the amp's speakers gave out and burst with a loud bang. Silence reigned.

Well, silence reigned except nobody knew that because everyone's ears were ringing.

Greg dropped his guitar and turned to his ruined amp.

"Farewell, my friend. I hardly knew ye." He patted its side.

"WHAT!?" August yelled, still pinned to the ground.

"WHAT DID HE SAY?" Fred called, blood slowly trickling from his ears.

Ben sighed, and then winced at the pain the simple action caused his sore head.

/-/

"And the next year, they officially labeled the Deafinator as a military-grade weapon and outlawed it. A happy ending, indeed," Ben finished.

"Wow," was all Steven could muster.

"Your father's quick thinking and musical aptitude saved us all. If not for his audio-wizardry, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

So, dad was clever and he was good with tech, at least tech relating to music stuff. Good to know.

It wasn't much, honestly. So far August and Ben had both told him stories that were more about things his dad had done as opposed to things about the man himself. Still, it was probably the best he was going to get, given the circumstances. It was becoming increasingly clear that if he wanted to get to the real nitty-gritty of Greg Universe, it was going to involve having some difficult discussions with his caretakers.

Still, he had one more chance, and out of all the Old Guard, Fred had always been the most open with Steven. He treated him like slightly less of a child then the others did, and although August (and perhaps Ben) no doubt saw this as a bad thing, Steven was very appreciative of it.

"Thanks for telling me that, Ben. Do you happen to know where Fred is?"

Ben stared straight at Steven for an awkward few seconds, gold eyes meeting chocolate-brown eyes head on. Evidently, this was not the response the man was expecting from the boy.

Finally, he uttered, "He's back at the house."

"Thanks. See you later, Ben!" Steven called out, already beginning to run back towards the beach. The pair had walked all the way around the town as Ben told his story, and the sun had already passed its midday position. Time was growing shorter.

Steven felt his stomach grumble as he ran. He'd missed lunch. He looked down at his gem-laden stomach and told it to pipe down; there were more important things to do than eat. He forced himself to run past the boardwalk, past the fry stand where the delicious smell of bits called to him… He came to a halt.

Five minutes later, Steven was once again headed for the beach house, bag of fry bits in hand – he was a growing boy, after all!

He finally arrived back at his home. The open garage door alerted him that August was probably in there tinkering with his car. Steven hoped so, as that would mean that he and Fred would have the house to themselves. No interruptions, no holds barred. If he was going to get some real insight into his father, now was the time.

Within the house, he saw Fred lounging on the couch, looking at a magazine feature a large explosion on the front and in bold, red letters: PYROTECHNICS MONTHLY.

"Are you learning how to make fireworks?" Steven asked, startling the man who jerked his head up and nearly dropped his magazine.

"Oh, hey Stevie-boy! Nah, I already know how to make fireworks; they're easy. I was just reading an article about pyrotechnic fasteners…"

Steven looked confused.

"Y'know, explosive bolts? They're like, bolts that…"

At the look of non-comprehension on the boy's face, Fred sighed and tossed his magazine on the floor beside him.

"Forget it. What brings you home? I mean, aside from me, your favorite Old Guard, obviously. August told me you were out on the town with Ben."

Steven flopped onto the couch beside Fred before answering.

"Yeah, Ben was just telling me about how my dad once saved you guys from a Gem with his giant amp."

"Ah," Fred replied, a look of comprehension dawning on his face. He scratched his chin and said, "It's Father's Day, isn't it?"

"Yep! Did you not know...?"

"Nah, I guess I wasn't payin' much attention to the calendar. August sure didn't warn me. You already talk to him?"

Steven nodded.

"He tell you about our first mission with Greg?" Another nod.

"Darn, that one and the amp story are like, two of the best stories about your Dad. How am I gonna top that…"

"Uh, actually, I was hoping for something other than another story about my Dad fighting Gems with you guys."

Fred cocked an eyebrow and shot Steven a questioning look.

"What'd you have in mind, kid?" He asked warily.

"Can I just ask you some questions about him? You don't have to worry about sparing my feelings with the answers, I can take it!" Steven puffed out his chest and put on his "serious" face.

"Ehhh, what kind of questions?" Fred's danger-sense was telling him that where this conversation was headed was nowhere good.

Taking that as a yes, Steven began to unleash a torrent of questions.

"Did you guys ever argue? Why did my dad convince you guys to stop shattering the Gems you fought? When, where, and how did my dad meet my mom? Why do you guys blame yourselves so much for him being gone?"

Fred physically winced with every question and found himself growing more and more panicked.

"Woah, easy there kiddo! These questions- they aren't the stuff you should be asking about Greg! There's a reason we haven't told you the stuff you're asking about, and it's not the reason you're thinking of! Well, okay, it is partly the reason you're thinking of, but it's partly other stuff, too."

Steven let out a frustrated huff and looked away as he crossed his arms. He'd been stonewalled, again.

"Come on, Steven, don't be like that!" Fred reached out to pat the boy's shoulder, but Steven scooted further down the couch and out of his reach.

Fred's eyes softened and he retracted his hand.

"Listen, Steven, I know how messed up this is. Believe me, I do. I'm sure Ben and August know too, but Ben's too much of a statue and August is too proud for either of them to acknowledge it. This isn't right, but this whole situation is completely FUBAR and we're doing the best we can."

Steven felt some of his anger vanish at the man's heartfelt tone and genuine words, but he still clung to some of his irritation as he turned back towards his guardian.

"It's just- it's not fair! He's my dad, and you guys are always talking about how great he is, but I barely know anything about him! You all tell me these stories about how he was some great action hero, but that just makes him seem more like a character out of a comic book than a real, live person."

Steven's next words came out as a plead, and he could feel tears gathering in his eyes.

"I just wish that I could know Greg Universe the man instead of Greg Universe the legend. Maybe then I…"

He wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

Maybe then I wouldn't feel like I was trapped in his shadow.

Maybe then I wouldn't feel like such a burden.

Maybe then I'd actually understand why my parents decided to have me.

All were true, but saying even one of them felt too monumental a task to do in the moment. Instead Steven clenched his fists in his lap and he set his jaw as he spoke bitterly.

"And I can't even ask you guys about him except for one day a year, or else you'll all spiral out of control and it'll be my fault."

Fred didn't know how to respond. There was too much to unpack here. Surely he wasn't having this conversation with his Steven; lovable, carefree, Steven Universe who was only twelve years old. It was beginning to dawn on him just how badly he and his fellow super soldiers had done in raising the boy. His old familiar friend, self-loathing, began to rear its ugly head in his gut.

"I… I'm sorry. We're not- You shouldn't have to deal with this crap. Not at your age, not at any age. This whole time, we just wanted you to think of your dad as a hero because we thought it would make you happier and because it was easier on us. But it wasn't right of us to keep you from knowing your old man. It was selfish."

Steven's tears were flowing freely, and Fred was ashamed to say that he himself felt like having a good cry at the moment. But he stayed strong. Steven needed that, needed an adult to look after him instead of being forced to look after an adult. He just wrapped his arms around the child and patted his back soothingly.

"I promise you, kid, I will talk to August and Ben. We'll start telling you about Greg more often. But I need you to make me a deal."

Steven leaned back and Fred looked down at him. His eyes were red, his face was puffy, and his nose was runny, but the worst of his crying seemed to have passed.

Steven sniffed through his clogged nose, and asked, "Yeah?"

"There's some things that are just too painful for us- stuff you're too young to understand. Stuff about your dad and your mom, stuff about his…" Fred couldn't even bring himself to say 'death.'

"So we'll tell you more about Greg, but nothing too serious until you're a little older, deal?"

The man held out his hand. Steven quickly went to shake it, but stopped himself just as fast.

"How much older," he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know. I'll have my people call your people and hammer out the details."

This drew a small, phlegmy laugh from the boy, and he grasped Fred's hand firmly.

"Deal."

The pair sat in comfortable silence. For all of three seconds.

"So, do you still want to hear my story about Greg?"

"Sure."

"Okay, good, because I've got the perfect one. It's got all the stuff you love: your dad, parties, action, and most of all, me!"

Fred's playful arrogance always got a smile out of Steven.

"So as you may have noticed in August's story, I didn't like Greg very much at the time. But then, by the time of Ben's story, me and Greg were practically BFFs."

"Oh yeah, why didn't you like my dad at first anyway?"

"Well, there were a couple of reasons. For one thing, I felt like he was encroaching on my turf as the jokester of the squad!"

And for another, I didn't want a regular civilian prancing around with us, asking to die horribly. I didn't want to be responsible for him. I couldn't take another death on my conscience.

Fred smirked, a smirk that was internally bitter and full of loathing, but to Steven it just seemed like another self-satisfied smile.

Ironic. I wound up being responsible for his death anyway.

There'd be time for the soul-crushing guilt later; at the moment, Fred had a child to impress.

"So without further ado, here is the story of how I went from hating Greg to calling him one of my closest friends."

/-/

Early 1990, 24 years ago…

The awkward silence of the drive to Ocean Town was painful. Earlier that day, Greg had been looking forward to that evening: he'd heard that somebody was having a massive party in Ocean Town, and the former rockstar knew he had to attend. After months of training and going on missions with the Old Guard, he figured that spending the night partying down was just what the doctor ordered.

Then he'd made the mistake of telling his friends where he was going that evening. Much to his surprise, Fred immediately perked up.

"I'm going to," he said simply, and stared at Greg as though daring him to challenge it.

August looked up from the maps he was poring over at the kitchen table and for a split second, looked like he might intervene. Then he simply shrugged and told them both to have fun.

Greg should have said something then, but he'd always been something of a people-pleaser, so instead he shot an uneasy smile at his fellow partygoer and simply said, "Cool."

In truth, it was not cool. Fred seemed to dislike Greg, and Greg wasn't entirely sure why. The youngest of the three super soldiers always went out of his way to tease, prank, and be especially discourteous to the musician.

At first, Greg had just chalked the hostility up as a normal, "I don't appreciate an outsider butting into our group"-type reaction, but after several months, the fact that Fred was still so standoffish made him doubt his original assumption.

But Greg didn't want to be seen as an instigator of trouble. He simply dealt with it in his own, good-natured way and let his frustration simmer in private.

"We can take my van," Greg added somewhat lamely.

Of course we're taking my van! What else would we take? August's car? Yeah, that'll be the day.

Since that moment, Greg had been dreading the trip to Ocean Town. Once he was actually at the party, he was pretty sure he could ditch Fred and still have something close to a good time. But getting there was probably going to be like pulling teeth. The trip from their current (temporary) base of operations just outside of Charm City to the party at Ocean Town was a couple of hours, and he already knew that every second was going to be a grind.

Fast forward a couple of hours, and Greg could honestly say that it was not like pulling teeth. It was worse. At least if he were having his teeth pulled, the dentist would have him numbed up and high out of his mind. This was just plain uncomfortable, there was no other way to say it.

Greg had tried to make one last effort to alleviate the tension between the two when their trip initially started. But Fred managed to shoot down every attempt that Greg made at small talk both fast and efficiently.

If Fred was half as good at stopping Gems as he is at stopping conversations, there would be none left on Earth.

The trip had only gotten worse from there – Fred alternated between staring out the passenger side window and staring directly at Greg. The man seemed to enjoy making the rocker squirm. Greg tried to ignore it, but the super soldier had an overwhelming presence; it was impossible not to feel those eyes boring into him.

Eventually Greg had the bright idea to put a CD in the radio and let the tunes drive away the tension. Then he remembered that his radio was broken, and August hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet (Greg might have been able to fix it himself, but why risk frustration and failure when you're living with a human repair manual?). Silence, it seemed, was destined to reign.

Greg honestly wasn't sure why Fred had even come along to begin with. Was it purely to spite him? He'd leapt at the chance like a starving man being offered food – was all that eagerness really because of a chance to annoy Greg?

Finally, his torment seemed to be reaching its conclusion. The skyline of Ocean Town was illuminated against the rapidly darkening sky.

Thank God. Maybe I can still salvage my night.

His plan was simple: drive to Ocean Town, spend the night partying as hard as he could, wake up the next morning, wait until he was in a good enough state to drive, and then go home. It was indeed a straightforward plan, and Greg wasn't going to let Fred's presence screw it up. If the man wanted to leave early, he could walk.

Greg expertly guided his van through the streets and located the warehouse where the all the action was. Even from a block away, he could hear the pulsing music and see the flashing lights. When he found a place to park, he couldn't get out of the van fast enough.

"Alright, I'm going in. See you later," Greg called out over his shoulder at Fred, already strolling towards the building's nearest entrance.

Greg missed the brief look of vulnerability that flashed across his companion's features. For just a split second, Fred looked worried, like he had no idea where to go or what to do. That split second passed quickly, however, and his usual self-confidant grin made its way onto his face. The man sucked a breath of fresh air in, puffed his chest out, and swaggered towards the party with such bravado that Napoleon crowning himself emperor suddenly seemed humble.

Greg, of course, entered the building first. The scene that awaited him within took him right back to his days of touring as Mr. Universe. Back then, he went to his fair share of parties, and he could immediately tell that the one in front him was gonna be one for the history books.

Flashing multicolored lights illuminated the large warehouse as loud music pulsed through the air. It wasn't really Greg's taste, but as far as dancing music went, it was alright. A DJ on a raised platform ensured that the tunes kept blasting.

Across the far wall was a table loaded with every kind of alcoholic beverage imaginable: bottles, kegs, bowls, and cups, all full of the good stuff. Greg knew from experience that with all the people present, those probably wouldn't last long.

Speaking of people, it was hard to say how many guests were at the party beyond a general statement of "a lot." Most of them formed a mass of dancing, flailing bodies occupying the center of the room which had become an impromptu dance floor.

Beyond the sights and sound of the party, there were also the smells: sweat and smoke from cigarettes and other, less legal substances assaulted Greg's nose.

All in all, it was looking like a good time. The only thing that could've improved the experience was if he'd had a friend or two come with him, but the only one who came with him was Fred, and Greg sure wasn't going to spend the rest of the night hanging around someone who hated him. Instead, Greg immediately pushed his way into the fray.

He spent the next few hours dancing, drinking, and enjoying himself. He could feel all his tensions and worries slowly sliding away He made light conversation with a few people when he wasn't out on the dance floor. He even caught a few girls (and maybe a guy or two) giving him bedroom eyes, but he never took the bait. He just wasn't interested in them. They weren't his type.

They're just too small.

Briefly the man blushed and looked around as though to make sure that no one had read his thoughts. Yes, he was aware that he had a type, and while originally he hadn't been ashamed of it, Marty had made fun of him for it constantly. Seriously, he did it to the point where Greg was actually self-conscious about it now.

Despite his best efforts to forget about his companion, he couldn't help but keep noticing Fred over the course of the night. It was like, one second he'd be talking to someone or bobbing his head to the music, and the next, he'd see Fred out of the corner of his eye and his attention would be inexplicably drawn to him. Greg's observations were not pleasant; the Old Guardsman seemed to be having a tough time of it – well, maybe that was an understatement.

He'd swaggered in looking like he was in his element; now he looked like a fish out of water. Several times, Greg saw the people he was talking too burst out laughing, and the disgruntled look on the man's face showed that they were laughing at him, not with him. The few who didn't laugh seemed to suddenly find other, very important things that they had to go do, and walked away urgently.

It was worse when he tried to sweet talk the ladies. Greg counted at least five times that the man was shot down within two minutes of making first contact. It was like the more he tried to talk to them, the less anyone wanted to do with him.

It finally reached a climax hours into the party as "late night" became "early morning." Fred, having recovered his self-assured grin after his last social disaster, approached a smoking woman who was leaning against the wall beside the drinks table. Greg was too far away and the music was too loud for him to make out any of the words, so he watched it like it was an old silent movie.

Fred said something. The woman said nothing back. Fred said something else, leaning coolly against the wall beside her. She looked at him and blew a puff of smoke in his face. Fred smirked, said something else, and winked. That got a reaction out of her, although not the one he was hoping for. She stood up straight, reeled back, and slapped him before storming off. He was left standing there, stunned, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared after her.

Then Fred turned his gaze towards Greg. Greg quickly turned away, but he'd been staring for too long, and it was obvious he'd been caught. Fred simply snapped his mouth shut, shot a death glare at Greg, and then turned around and gathered as many bottles of booze off the table behind him as he could carry. With that, the super soldier turned on his heel and headed straight out the nearest exit.

A small part of Greg wanted to enjoy seeing the failure and rejection of the man who had, for lack of a better term, "bullied" him for months. However, the larger, more empathetic part of him simply felt bad for him. After that little display, Greg found himself unable to get his mind off of Fred, even in spite of all the substances that were supposed to be helping him "relax." This whole situation was just rubbing Greg the wrong way.

The musician groaned internally. He knew what he had to do to put his mind at ease.

So much for partying the stress away.

It took Greg about 30 seconds to remember which exit Fred had left out of. Once he got outside, it took him another minute and a half of looking around to realize that the bum sitting in a pile of empty bottles beside the door was actually the man he was searching for.

"Fred!?"

Greg was astounded. It hadn't even been a full fifteen minutes since the soldier had stormed out, and he'd already emptied most of the bottles he'd been carrying. Even as he called to his companion, the rocker watched him down another bottle.

Fred dropped the now-empty bottle and glared up at Greg.

"What do you want?" He spat.

Greg was still stuck on the whole "outdrinking an entire army in ten minutes" thing.

"Why are you even drinking so much? I thought August said that because of your superhuman metabolism you can't even get drunk!"

Fred squinted up at him long and hard before tearing the cap off of another bottle and taking a swig.

"I can't get drunk," another swig, "But nobody can say it's for lack a' tryin'!"

Greg just sighed and watched the dejected fellow in front of him toss the bottle after chugging it all in a few seconds.

"Fred, why'd you even come with me tonight?"

"The hell's it matter to you?" His response was laced with bitter venom.

"I just don't get it," Greg plopped down on the ground beside Fred and leaned back against the wall. "You don't like me at all – which I also don't get, by the way – and like, you're not even enjoying yourself at all."

Fred's hands scrabbled around by his sides, searching for another bottle that wasn't empty. After several moments of nothing but the sounds of empty glass bottles clinking together, he gave up and instead picked up and empty bottle and crushed it in his bare hand. He appeared unfazed by the jagged shards of glass piercing his hand.

"You're right, I don't like you. I don't want you around. You can't keep up with the rest of us in a fight, and outside of fighting, there's no point in keeping you around. I'm tired of having to play babysitter with you every time a big scary Gem rolls up."

Greg couldn't tell if it was because he was intoxicated or because the amount of BS he'd just heard was the final straw, but he'd finally had enough.

"WHAT? You haven't had to 'babysit' me in months! I can handle myself in a fight, and outside of fighting, there's no reason to keep you around either. So cut the bull and tell me the real reason you've been acting like this! Do you just get off on being an ass? Because your performance in there," he jerked a thumb at the building behind them, "all night long sure makes it seem that way!"

Anger flashed across Fred's face, and Greg braced himself for the inevitable explosion. Instead, all the fire seemed to leave the soldier, and his expression turned sullen as his mouth sagged into a deep frown.

"Screw it, 's not like my night can get any worse. Might as well lay out all my insecurities for Mr. Effing-Perfect to see."

Greg was astonished: he watched the man in front of him who he'd only ever really seen exhibit three emotions - rage, smugness, and excitement (usually at the prospect of blowing something up) – grow more tired and resigned by the second.

"I was always the social one of the group – not that that's saying much, talking about August and Ben. But I figured if I could come out here to this party and do really well, on your turf, if might… I dunno, make you jealous? Get you to step the hell off?"

Greg frowned, bewildered.

"I failed at that too, of course. It's been literal eons since I last went out to a party. I just made a fool of myself… An even bigger fool than usual, I guess. I've got nothing in common with any of these people, I don't know what the hell they're talking about half the time, and when I tell them about myself, they either think it's a joke or some creepy insane story."

Here, Fred's gaze slid back over towards the man sitting next to him, and some of his anger returned, although it was still dull.

"And then there's you. Greg Universe. Everybody's friend. Everybody likes Mr. Universe! He can do no wrong!"

Fred shifted into a lower tone of voice, and suddenly it wasn't clear if he was still talking to Greg or if he was just talking to himself or if he was just speaking into the universe at large.

"August and Ben certainly like him better than me, and I've been fighting by their sides for six thousand years!"

Greg suddenly found his voice.

"Fred, you know that's not true!" He said, incredulously.

"Like hell, it's not! Alright, I'm not real sure what goes on in Ben's head, so I'll give you that, but it's pretty damn obvious that August definitely likes you more than me. He respects you, for some reason, and all he sees me as is- is- like a pest! I'm useful to him in a fight, but as soon as it's over, he hardly gives me the time a' day!" Fred was shouting now.

"But YOU! Oh yeah, he respects you," Fred spat, but abruptly, his tone changed once again back to its previous tired resignation.

"Probably because you're such a decent guy."

Fred forced himself to his feet and took a few steps away so that his back was to Greg.

"The more I want to hate you, the more I hate myself because dammit you are a decent guy. And everybody else knows it too."

Greg was silent for a couple of minutes, mulling it all over in his head.

"So you're… jealous of me?"

"No! Yes- I mean- I don't know! Just go back inside and enjoy the party, will ya?"

Greg hauled himself up from his sitting position. He wobbled a bit, at first, still reeling from the effects of the alcohol and the second hand pot, although the fresh air was helping a bit. He steadied himself and then walked forward until he was beside Fred, and then he patted him on the shoulder.

"Listen man, you don't have to… It doesn't have to be like this between us. You seem like a pretty awesome guy yourself, when you're not going out of your way to screw with me."

This last part was added humorously, and just to make sure Fred knew it was a joke, Greg flashed him his award-winning Universe smile.

Fred slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned, "Oh god."

"And hey, I can teach you stuff so that you're not a total loser at parties like you were tonight." Another pat on the shoulder and a grin.

"Gee, thanks," Fred deadpanned.

"Now let's get back in there and-…"

/-/

"WAIT! This is the part of the story where a Gem shows up and you guys fight it, isn't it?" Steven asked.

"What? No. Actually we just enjoyed the party for the rest of the night and- ah, I'm just kidding. This is totally where a corrupted Gem shows up. I swear, it's like those things just know when we're having a moment."

/-/

No sooner had the pair returned to the party inside then they heard a crash and a shriek that was so loud it even briefly drowned out the blasting music. Across the room on the other side of the warehouse was a fresh new hole in the wall, and standing directly in it was a corrupted Gem.

This one was nowhere near as big as the ones Greg was used to: it stood perhaps eight feet tall. It was vaguely humanoid, standing on two long, articulated legs, but instead of arms it had two writhing tentacles tipped with vicious looking barbs. It lacked a face, instead prominently displaying a square gem on the front of its head. It was difficult to tell what color it was, as it seemed to appear as whatever color the flashing strobe lights lit it up as.

At the creature's feet was the person who was unlucky enough to be leaning on the wall right where it broke through. It was the smoking girl who had slapped Fred earlier, and she was sprawled on the ground staring up at the monstrosity above her with an expression of pure shock and terror.

Two things happened immediately. The first was that those who were still coherent and able to run, did so, all rushing towards the exits on the opposite side of the building as the monster. Those who had been hitting the bottle or the pipe too hard were unable to escape. Some were simply unconscious, others were so out of their minds that they believed the Gem was merely a hallucination. One particularly stoned partygoer who was slumped against a wall looked at the monster and slowly drawled, "Woah man, somebody open a window in here and let out all the bad vibes."

The creature gargled and hissed, although most of this was unheard over the still-booming music. It flailed its barbed arms menacingly and the gem upon its head glowed as it titled down towards the women who was lying at its feet.

Fred and Greg leapt into action. Neither man was armed, so they grabbed the nearest weapons they could find. Greg wound up with a fire extinguisher in his hands while Fred grabbed two beer bottles. Both of them ended up charging towards the thing right as it swung a pointed arm down at the girl. Fred, being inhumanly fast, reached it first and he managed to hurl himself directly into the path of the barb and latched onto the arm as it came down, completely blocking the attack and disorienting the corruption.

The monster recoiled and began to shake its arm, attempting to dislodge the man when suddenly Greg arrived and slammed the fire extinguisher right into its gem, which cracked audibly. Its form began to glitch, and right as it swung its other arm towards Greg, that arm glitched out of existence and spared the former rockstar from being impaled.

Infuriated and injured, the creature began to spin its noodle-like arms in a circle around itself. They spun faster and faster, picking up speed like a helicopter rotor until the Gem was drifting around the room like a spinning top. Fred couldn't hold on and went flying, crashing into the drinks table and winding up covered in alcohol and glass. Greg dived for cover so as not to be chopped to ribbons by the spinning bristled arms. The girl finally came to her sense and ran out the hole that the Gem came in through.

The Gem continued to buzz around the room. Every time it would come to a wall, it would reflect off of it and go spinning in another direction, leaving behind deep slash marks on the wall it hit.

This was bad. Really bad. Even though they had cracked its gem, this thing was still bouncing around like some kind of tornado of death. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be able to control what direction it went in. Unfortunately, it was still moving at rapid speed and if anything each impact seemed to make it spin faster. It was only a matter of time until it ran into one of the inebriated party guests, and when that happened… Greg looked at one of those brutal gashes that had been hacked into a wall as the creature ricocheted off it.

"We can't get close!" Greg shouted over the music that was still blaring.

Fred appeared at his side.

"We don't need to!" He raised up a bottle.

Greg really didn't think that now was the time to be drinking but- oh. Ohhhh.

Greg took the offered bottle and both men wound up like pitchers at a baseball game and then threw their bottles as hard as they could at the Gem's cracked gemstone. Against a regular gemstone, the bottles probably would have just shattered on impact and done no damage. Against a gemstone with a massive crack in it, however… It's hard to say whose bottle hit first, but both crashed squarely into the gem, one after the other.

There were three sounds of shattering glass: first one battle broke, then the other, and finally the damaged gem split in half and shattered. The whirlwind of destruction was over. Unfortunately, so was the party. Slowly, the partygoers began to creep back towards the warehouse once Greg and Fred finally turned off the music, and upon learning that the threat was gone, some of them left while others began to converse about what had just happened.

As for the two heroes, they were tired and frankly disappointed with the way their night had gone. Both agreed that it was time to beat a hasty retreat before the cops showed up to investigate, and so both made their way back to the van. However, on the way there, Fred heard a familiar voice that made him stop in his tracks.

He turned to face the source: the girl from earlier. His check still stung, a little – well, it didn't, but he imagined it would if not for his superhuman abilities. She had another cigarette hanging from her lips. She looked paler then before, but she wasn't shaking or crying over the fact that she had almost just died, so that was a good sign.

"Uh, what's up?" Fred asked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

"It was pretty great, the way you jumped in the way of that monster's attack back there. You saved my life." She was approaching him.

Oh god, oh god, what do I do?

"You were pretty heroic." She blew a puff of smoke into his face. "I dig heroes."

Fred's old smirk once again made itself known upon his face – only this time, it was a lot less forced.

Greg watched this exchange from a distance, leaning against his van. He allowed himself to smile.

Ya done good, Universe. Ya done goo-

Greg leaned over and vomited into the grass beside him.

Fighting a gem monster when he'd had nothing but liquor and pot for the past few hours was a bad idea.

/-/

"And that's how I saved your dad," Fred said.

"…But you didn't save my dad?" Steven stated confusedly.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Stevie-boy. Y'see, by opening up to him, I got him to like me, thus granting him access to the greatest friend in the world: yours truly. Think of how much worse his life would have been if he hadn't gotten to be friends with me! Therefore, I saved him!" Fred said with mock arrogance.

Steven broke out into a fit of giggles at the man's antics, which, in turn sent Fred into a fit of chuckling. It was the beginning of a vicious cycle of laughing that lasted all of five minutes.

After all that, Steven decided that Fred's had been his favorite story. He hadn't understood some of what was going on in it – a lot of references to certain "substances" just went right over his twelve year old head – and some of what he'd heard was troubling (particularly the stuff about Fred's doubts), but really that was what he'd been after in the first place. He could always count on Fred to treat as something at least close to an equal instead of merely as a child, and that meant Fred wouldn't spare him all the gritty details.

And Fred sure hadn't spared any details. Steven felt like he had learned more about his father from that one story than he had in the past couple of years. He finally knew something about Greg Universe beyond his perfect reputation with the Old Guard: his dad felt compelled to help people. That was something that Steven could relate to. Perhaps he'd inherited the trait?

On top of that, the boy remembered Fred's promise.

I promise you, kid, I will talk to August and Ben. We'll start telling you about Greg more often.

It was definitely a good day.

August's voice rang out as he came in through the front door.

"Alright, Steven, you ready to go?"

Later that day, as Steven silently watched the sunset beside a modest grave, he felt closer to his father than ever before.

/

Author's Notes:

I wanted to release this chapter on Father's Day, but between work and spending time with my own dear old dad, it had to be pushed back to its current release date.

The chapters just keep getting longer and longer! This one by over 5000 words! For the sake of my own sanity, I think I'm going to start trying to do shorter chapters, even if this means breaking up a long chapter into two smaller ones. Hopefully this should allow me to get more chapters out to you guys faster.

A small bit of housekeeping: most of the episodes of the show that focus primarily on side characters (mainly the citizens of Beach City) will not be appearing as chapters in this fic. This is because I feel that these episodes wouldn't be different enough in this alternate timeline to offer us anything new and interesting: the side characters are, for the most part, the same and so is Steven (for now, at least). I may occasionally make references to events that occurred during these episodes, but these will be small and insignificant.

Reviews, as always, are a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one! Your reviews are appreciated and thank you all so much for sticking with me through the long, drawn out hiatuses between uploads.

If you've got a dad, be sure to let him know you appreciate him!

Have a great day, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter out soon!