A/N: I had considered this fic for the prompt "Yellow" from the 100 fanart challenge (see FanArt100 on DeviantArt), but once again I decided to take a draft and make it a separate piece.
The plunger wheels of the Larry-Mobile slowed to a halt beside a purple shoe-shaped super vehicle already parked on the underground platform on the center of the Larry-Cave, but its plunger-eared driver did not immediately move to climb out of the cockpit. He closed his smarting masked eyes for a moment, drew in a sleepy breath, and had to remind himself that the sooner he got out of his car, the sooner he could go to bed.
Finally, he willed himself to hit the button to make the canopy pop up, and LarryBoy practically rolled out of his super vehicle. The cool air of the Larry-Cave helped to wake him up, and he trudged up the illuminated walkway up to the main area of his hideout.
Up on the dais ahead, his asparagus butler, Alfred, sat at the Larry-Computer, overseeing several programs at once. As LarryBoy approached, Alfred looked over his shoulder to smile at the costumed cucumber.
"Welcome home, Master Larry," he greeted. "Your pajamas are waiting for you when you're ready for them."
"Thanks, Alfred," LarryBoy sighed, tired and grateful, until he glanced toward the time on the computer screen. He grimaced. "I feel kinda guilty making you stay up so late to welcome me."
"I don't mind," Alfred replied as he typed. "Your beloved bride wanted to do the honors herself, but I told her that one of us had to be near the nursery in case Master Gherkin woke up, so it made more sense for his mother to stay upstairs while I could catch up on my work here at the Larry Computer."
LarryBoy grinned. "Even when she's on maternity leave, Petunia is still a superhero looking out for her teammate."
"You've found yourself a prized jewel, Master Larry," Alfred complimented.
"You can say that again," he replied, but the last word was taken over by a yawn. He stretched again. "Well, since I'm back, you can head onto bed, Alfred. I sure am ready to go get reacquainted with my pillow."
"Oh, I still have a few more things to do before I turn in," Alfred said serenely as he typed. "I've been using the Larry-Satellite to check in on our friends in Europe."
Like a switch flipped on, LarryBoy went from sleepy to alert. He hurried over to join Alfred on the dais, and he peered earnestly into the computer screen.
With the time zone difference, the soft gold light of dawn was slowly replacing the thinning shadows within a stone city square surrounded by old buildings, some of which had been painted yellow. A crowd of veggies, ranging from huge zucchinis to little peas, already bustled across the square, busy with early morning shopping, catching breakfast, or hurrying off to work. Here and there a scooter cut through the crowd, and the veggies drew back temporarily to let it pass, only to cluster back in to fill the space once this was done.
The camera on Larry-Satellite, however, was focused on one tall veggie in a jacket and fedora, who sat beside a planter on the perimeter of a restaurant. He read a newspaper through a pair of dark sunglasses which obscured most of his face, but when he lifted the frame in order to scratch his pale nose, a pair of yellow eyes became visible. The veggies around him barely gave him a glance, except when he moved his arms or shuffled his feet — because how often did anyone see an onion with limbs? — but these too continued on their way.
"Where is Alvin now?" asked LarryBoy, cheered to see his buddy safe and sound.
"Florence, Italy."
"Oh, that's good!" LarryBoy smiled with relief. "So, he got out of France okay. Those pie guys didn't cream him after all."
"That would have been a trifle unpleasant, wouldn't it?" Alfred replied, with his understated humor.
LarryBoy studied his friend with a sense of brotherly admiration. For all that Alvin used to be his archnemesis, the onion was now one of LarryBoy's favorite buddies. Alvin may not have possessed superpowers or a supersuit, but his brilliant mind allowed him to spot traps and ambushes a mile away, and the cucumber cheered to himself every time Alvin had dodged yet another one of his many enemies who thought an ex-villain meant a weak hero and an easy target.
LarryBoy leaned against the counter, thoughtful.
"Did you ever think we would someday be checking in on Awful Alvin just to make sure he's okay?" he asked Alfred. "I mean, did you ever really think we'd be friends with him?"
"I'll admit I was guilty of not thinking it was possible," Alfred said, leaning back in his chair. "Sometimes in the superhero world, you forget that the villains you fight are still people who God loves very much. If Jesus could redeem someone like Saul of Tarsus, who had been on his merry way to kill Christians when he encountered the Divine, then anyone can be redeemed."
"Alvin sure proves that," remarked LarryBoy.
Dark memories surfaced within his mind — the various schemes which Awful Alvin had pulled in order to enslave Bumblyburg, the uncomfortable situations and death traps which LarryBoy had found himself in, the times Awful Alvin had kidnapped Vicki Cucumber, the beautiful blonde photographer who used to be the objection of LarryBoy's shy affections (before Petunia came along and captured his attention), and so many other dastardly capers. Wherever Awful Alvin went, something unpleasant was sure to happen.
Yet LarryBoy reminded himself that Alvin was no longer that man, and God had used even the bad things which Alvin had done to bring His prodigal home again. The last and final time Alvin had committed a crime, the onion had unknowingly started a chain reaction of events that had led to his eventual redemption.
After all, if Alvin had not tried to rob the First Bumblyburg Bank right when the League was down the street having lunch at Burger Bell with their old friend, Vicki Cucumber, who was back in town to open her own photo gallery, then the League would not have heard the alarm bells and responded.
If the League had not rushed out to the bank, then Alvin would not have been in such a hurry to escape, and he would not have loaded the bags of money haphazardly on his hovering platform, and he would have made sure his sidekick and best friend, Lampy the floor lamp, was better situated on the platform.
If Alvin had not been speeding away from the League, he would not have drawn the attention of Vicki, who had stepped out of Burger Bell to snap photographs of the chase for her gallery's grand opening.
If Vicki had not been out on the sidewalk, Alvin would not have spotted her, and he would not have tried to pluck her off the street to be his hostage.
If Alvin had not had taken Vicki hostage, then he would not have been steering the platform with one hand while he was struggling to keep hold of a thrashing Vicki with his other arm.
If he had not been driving so clumsily, the loot on the platform would not have been sliding back and forth.
If the loot had not been sliding about, then the money bags would not have knocked into Lampy.
If they had not knocked into Lampy, then Lampy would not have fallen off the platform.
And if Lampy had not fallen off the platform, then he would not have been broken.
…And after that, Alvin had quietly allowed the heroes to take him away, too guilt ridden to put up a fight.
The next weekend had been the church's prison-ministry day at Bumblyburg Jail. The League members often went — alternating between going as heroes or as their civilian identities — and when LarryBoy had hopped into the room where the men's group met, he had been floored to see Alvin sitting quietly at the back of the room, slumped over with his arms on his lap.
Throughout the whole meeting, Alvin had barely raised his head, and he did not join in the group discussion, except when asked a direct question. When Alvin had left at the end, he dragged his feet out the door, head still hung.
"I'm worried about him," LarryBoy had told Thingamabob and S-Cape. "Let's go see if he's okay."
Vogue, finished with the women's meeting, had joined her husband and her other teammates on the way down to Alvin's cell block.
Alvin had been sitting in a brown study on his bunk, staring blankly at the corner where he used to place Lampy in his prior incarcerations at the jail. When the heroes had spoken to him, he had slowly, fully turned his head.
"How're you feeling, Al?" LarryBoy had tried, making his voice as friendly and as sympathetic as he could. "We wanted to check on ya."
"We know it hasn't been easy for you," Thingamabob had chimed in, "but we want you to know we're here for you, Alvin, if you need us."
Vogue and S-Cape had murmured in agreement.
Alvin's somber yellow eyes had trailed from one to another until they fixed upon LarryBoy. In a quiet voice so different from his usual harsh tone, he had asked, "Is Lampy in Heaven?"
The heroes had exchanged awkward glances. None of them could lie and say a household appliance had a soul, but it had seemed like the wrong time to tell the vulnerable Alvin that his best friend had never been alive in the first place.
Then Vogue had stepped toward Alvin with an almost motherly smile and had said, with an amount of tact that exceeded even her usual standard, "I can honestly tell you, Alvin, that Lampy did not end up in hell."
The look of grateful relief that had taken over Alvin's face was one which LarryBoy would probably never forget.
The League had continued to visit Alvin regularly after that, but it had still been awhile before he responded to either their message or their offers of friendship. Then one day Vicki Cucumber, to the surprise of the League, had gone to the jail to visit her former enemy, and she had brought along a scrapbook of all the newspaper photographs which she had taken of Lampy and Alvin back when she had worked at The Daily Bumble. This she had given to the astonished onion.
"He really was a nice little lamp," she had told Alvin as he slowly flipped through the pages. "I know he meant a lot to you."
After that, a shift had come over Alvin. He had seemed to wake up from his grief, and he would speak politely to the League members whenever they checked in on him. He had even asked Vicki to come back and see him during his weekly visiting hour. He had continued to attend the prison-ministry Bible study and had asked many questions, but he had still seemed to resist making the step over into becoming a believer.
"I have to know for sure," he had said whenever the League members asked him about it.
In his zeal LarryBoy had wanted to press and challenge him, but both Alfred and Thingamabob had reined him in.
"God didn't force you to choose Him," they had reminded him, "and He won't force Alvin either. It has to be Alvin's choice."
LarryBoy had reluctantly complied, waiting and praying for his new friend to see the true Light.
Then came a special day. After the monthly Bible study, Alvin had lingered to ask LarryBoy a question like usual, and he pointed to John 14:2-3.
"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also."
"So, if a person decides to follow your Jesus, He starts to prepare a place for them?" Alvin had asked in a quiet tone.
"Yep!" LarryBoy had chirped.
"And does He make a mansion the way a person likes it?"
"I don't see why not."
An earnest look had appeared in Alvin's searching gaze.
"And so… could your Jesus put Lampy in a mansion for me if I chose to follow Him?"
LarryBoy had blinked, thinking it over.
"Well," he had said, wanting to be truthful, "on the one hand, you won't need a lamp anymore because there's no darkness in Heaven. God's light is everywhere. But" — and LarryBoy had experienced a fresh thought — "the Bible also says, 'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.' You won't know what's in your mansion until you get there."
"Then," Alvin had said slowly, "it would be smart to make sure I get there…"
And LarryBoy had gladly helped him with it.
Although Alvin had been given a lengthy sentence, he was paroled within six months on good behavior — a first for the former villain.
After he had been released, Alvin had humbly offered his services as a gadgeteer to the League, wanting to use his inventing acumen for good now. Alfred had welcomed him as a colleague in his workshop, and between the two of them, they had produced an impressive array of devices and upgrades to help the superheroes along. Alfred had also helped Alvin spruce up his old hovering platform, and it had not been long before Alvin had started going on missions with the rest of the League.
In his spare time, Alvin had tried to be like Zaccheus from the Bible and make amends with those he had hurt through his villainous career. Understandably, many of his former victims had been wary, dubious of the authenticity of his conversion, and some had outright refused to let him near them, calling the police before he could even finish apologizing. Still, others had been gracious, willing to give him a chance, and it was among these veggies that Alvin began to make real friends, but no one had seemed closer to him than Vicki Cucumber. Alvin would often help out around her photo gallery, and he would take her out on his hovercraft to get excellent snapshots. When the next Founders' Day Dance rolled around, Vicki had surprised everyone by showing up with Alvin.
But for every leap that Alvin made toward being a hero, he earned twice as much ire from the villains who had been his former allies, and it was not long before the attacks started coming: a pie here, a poisoned strudel there; a rock tumbling off a skyscraper.
To the villains, especially his former allies, Alvin was a traitor, and he deserved to be treated as such.
The League had helped their friend wherever they could, but after four months, the attacks had only risen in frequency. The superheroes had become so stretched guarding Alvin that they could barely protect their own cities.
At long last, Alvin had decided to go underground.
"I used to hide from you heroes all the time," he had reminded his friends when they had protested. "Hiding from a bunch of villains is easier than you think."
Like that, another chapter of Alvin's life had seemed to close, and he had slipped out of Bumblyburg with the stealth of a shadow.
LarryBoy sighed at the memories, wearing a bittersweet smile.
"At least Alvin is in a better place than he used to be," he told Alfred. "Whatever happens to him, he has a happy ending waiting on the other side."
"Indeed," Alfred nodded. "I don't think anyone could really do what Alvin does so effectively without God's hand on his life."
LarryBoy glanced at the screen again, and he frowned slightly.
"I really am glad Alvin is good now," said LarryBoy, "but even after all this time, it's still weird seeing him just sitting there without Lampy nearby. I hope Alvin doesn't miss him too much."
"I don't think Alvin struggles with loneliness, Master Larry," Alfred said with a knowing smile.
As though to prove his point, another figure came into the frame. A beautiful cucumber woman carrying a yellow shopping bag sauntered right over to Alvin; she also wore dark sunglasses, and her blonde hair was mostly covered by a pink headscarf, but LarryBoy would have recognized his old friend anywhere.
At the sight of Vicki, Alvin folded his newspaper and stood, only to stoop to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. She said something to Alvin, opening the bag, and she pulled out a pale-yellow piece of cloth, which she unfolded. LarryBoy blinked tiredly at it — and with a jolt he realized it was a small onesie, just the right size for a baby vegetable.
"No, indeed," said Alfred, with a warm look for the couple, "I don't think Alvin feels very lonely these days."
Meanwhile, Alvin nodded his approval, and Vicki returned her purchase to the bag, looking quite pleased. Alvin slung his green arm around his smiling wife, and the two set off toward a nearby cafe.
"Nothing like having a family of your own," LarryBoy smiled, following them with his gaze before he turned, and his eyes slid to the pair of super vehicles parked on the platform. He yawned and turned toward the stairs. "Speaking of which…"
He planned to check in on his slumbering Gherkin, take a hot shower, crawl into bed beside Petunia, and snooze until noon.
Thinking of his loved ones made LarryBoy glad to know that his buddy, Alvin, now had access to such simple joys as well.
THE END
A/N: I may explore the "Alvin loses Lampy" idea further in another story someday, but I did not want this particular fic to be too long.
In the episode "The Hunt" from the TV series, Christy (based on the novel by Catherine Marshall), there's a funeral for a dog, and Sam Houston asks Miss Alice if his dog is in Heaven. Miss Alice first references Ecclesiastes 3:21, but then she goes on to reference 1 Corinthians 2:9. This is what LB's conversation with Alvin about Lampy is based on.