Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part One

            Usually, Christmas on a Friday was where it’s at. Family, friends, and enough leftovers to keep yo mama outta the kitchen and on the sofa, watchin’ the soaps, for days. But, on this Friday, Christmas in my neighborhood in South Central wasn’t goin’ ever be the same as the Christmases that came before.

            It all started early in the month when me and my Pop – Willie Jones – came back to reality (literally) with Carrie, this crazy white chick we met during my brief stint in college up in Washington, D.C.

            Ya see, Carrie is a legit alien from another planet.

            Yeah, it sounds like I’m high right now, but I swear I’m tellin’ y’all the truth.

            Our first time together, we met a brotha who turned into a black Superman from a meteor, a bald white dude who tried to kill us twice, and ended up on a whole island of Amazonian women with a velociraptor and a wizard kid.

            Again, I ain’t makin’ any of this up.

            It’s just the type of life you live when travelin’ with Carrie, who apparently will one day turn into a brotha herself through this process she calls “regeneration.” My Pops been obsessed with breakin’ out her “inner brotha,” ever since he found out about it – feeding Carrie all kinds of soul food and making her listen to R&B music, twenty fo’ seven. Truth be told, I think Carrie was into all that before she met us.

            She brought us back to South Central early enough to prepare for Christmas with my moms, Betty Jones, and my brat of a sister, Dana. Of course, they ain’t had no idea of what me and Pops been up to, so when we rolled up in that big black domino-lookin’ thing Carrie calls her “TARDIS,” they were rightfully scared spitless.

            Even though we explained everything to them, it was still a lot to process.

            We welcomed Carrie to the neighborhood for as long as she planned on staying. The only white girl in the ‘hood, living with us. Who’d have thunk?

            That Christmas Eve morning, my boy Smokey stopped by when my Pops went with Mom and Dana. Last I saw him, Smoke had been the biggest dopehead in the ‘hood, always with a blunt in his hand. But he looked a whole lot different when I saw him that morning. Yeah, he still dressed the same with that cap he wore sideways, that same t-shirt and baggy ass pants, and what I hoped wasn’t a blunt stickin’ out the side of his cap. He still knocked the same way, too, like he was the po-po.

            “One of these days, somebody gonna shoot yo ass,” I told him when I opened the door and welcomed him in with a hug that only brothas knew to give.

            “Thought you was goin’ to college, man,” he said on the way in.

            “I ain’t no more,” I scoffed. “Still gotta find a job though.” I then put it back on him and asked, “What ‘bout you? Got rehabilitated yet?”

            “You know this, man!”

            “I do, huh? Then what’s that?” I pointed to the possible blunt stickin’ out his cap.

            As if he noticed it for the first time, he yanked it outta his cap and held it in his hand, fakin’ surprise. “Oh, this? It’s just a normal cig, man.”

            I had to laugh. “So, you still smoke…just not the weed?”

            “Doc says that as long as I don’t make this a habit, I’m cool. And then, I’ll eventually stop smokin’ altogether.”

            It sounded stupid, but it seemed to be workin’. Smoke didn’t look anywhere close to as high as when I last saw him. Don’t get me wrong – he was still the skinniest negro on the block, but at least he wasn’t raidin’ my fridge for food and twitchin’ like a rooster anymore.

            While Smoke and I were sittin’ and talkin’ in the kitchen, he suddenly stopped and kept repeatedly slappin’ my shoulder. “What?!” I asked him, noticin’ how he was lookin’ away from me and towards someone who was walkin’ into the kitchen.

            “Mornin’, guys.” It was Carrie, who had just woke up. I could tell she did because her long brown curls were more out of whack than usual and her eyes were crustier than the edges of a peach cobbler. She slept in a white wool sweater that Mom loaned her, though it’d been stretched out some (my moms ain’t exactly a “small” woman), as it pretty much hanged on Carrie, showin’ off the skin of her left shoulder.

            Then there was the Christmas pajama bottoms that Pops gave her.

            Once a gift from Mom to him, way back on the Christmas of ’84, they was meant to be part of a set with a matchin’ top that got ruined one day in the wash. If you ask me, the wash machine did him a favor. Those pajamas had a weird design with a Corgi in a Santa hat, snowflakes, and Christmas presents.

            Now, Carrie and Pops aren’t exactly compatible in size.

            Carrie is almost as tall as Deebo, the bully in my neighborhood whose ass I kicked three years ago and got sent to prison after that. She towered over everybody in my house, including Smokey’s skinny behind. So, when she wore my Pops’ pajama bottoms, they cut off above her ankles and tightened around her ass, especially when she bent over…just like she did when she went to get something out of the fridge.

            That Corgi in the Santa hat stretched out along the right cheek.

            “Why you ain’t tell me y’all got a white woman in yo house?!” Smoke whispered to me, despite the fact that Carrie was just a couple of feet away and the noise cancels in my house when not that many people are there.

            Provin’ my point, Carrie (still bent over in front of the fridge) answered Smokey, “Maybe ‘cause you’re the last to find out.” Her answer made me snicker. Smoke just sat there with a stupid look on his face. After findin’ the carton of orange juice she was lookin’ for, Carrie turned and faced us while pouring herself a glass. “So, you’re Smokey. Craig’s talked a lot about you.”

            “What he been sayin’?” Smoke got a little defensive.

            “Ain’t nothin’ bad,” I chilled him out. “Just all that shit that happened that one Friday, with Deebo and Big Worm.”

            “And here I thought Craig lived dangerously after he met me,” Carrie said.

            “So, who are you? You know Craig already has a girlfriend, right?” Carrie nearly choked on her orange juice when Smoke jumped to that conclusion. We both laughed our butts off, only confusing Smoke even more.

            “It ain’t like that, bruh,” I told him.

            “Then how did a white woman end up livin’ in yo house?!” Smoke asked again.

            I wasn’t sure if I should tell Smokey the whole story or not, but when Carrie gave me permission, I went right on with it. I told him everything that happened from the moment Pops and I left for D.C. last summer to our last trip with Carrie that ended with the three of us almost gettin’ smoked by some robot aliens called “Daleks” in the distant future where I think I met one of Smoke’s descendants (another story for another time, y’all).

            Of course, Smoke reacted just like we figured he would. “Maybe you need to go to rehab,” he told me.

            Carrie was prepared for this. We took Smoke out to our cluttered, disused backyard where her TARDIS stood among all the junk that’s been sittin’ out there since Dana and I were little kids. We brought Smoke inside the TARDIS, and I wish I could describe to y’all the look on his face when he saw how much bigger it was inside. He looked dumber than he was back when he was on that weed. In fact, he even said, “I wish I could smoke a joint right now.”

            The fun was over, as soon as Carrie’s TARDIS console made that sound whenever somethin’ bad was happenin’ – it was like a ringing clock, only slowed down. She looked at that TV monitor on her console, and the scared look on her face had me feelin’ a bit uneasy. “What is it?” I asked her.

            “The scanners picked up on an alien ship in orbit of y’all’s planet,” she said.

            “We’re bein’ invaded?!” Smoke flipped out. “W-We need to call somebody! Call the President! Call the army! Call Johnnie Cochran!”

            “How the hell Johnnie Cochran gonna save us from aliens?!” I asked.

            “Guys, relax,” Carrie told us. “I got this.”

            Or so she thought.

            Carrie did her usual thing when takin’ off, flippin’ switches and all that. Only this time, nothin’ happened. We were still in our cluttered, disused backyard. She tried several times to get us in space, so that we could see whatever the hell it was invadin’ us, but still nothin’ happened.

            “Something’s grounding us,” she said with that same scared look on her face. “I can’t get my TARDIS anywhere!”

Chapter Text

Part Two

            With Carrie’s TARDIS on the fritz and a huge ass alien spaceship hangin’ over us, we were rightfully on edge through most of Christmas Eve. Smoke and I sat out on our porch, just like the good ol’ days, while Carrie kept scannin’ the sky with that “sonic screwdriver” of hers (which I always thought was a fancy lil’ bong). Smoke and I just stared up, but all we could see was white clouds and blue skies.

            “CRAIG!” I heard my name yelled out by the one woman I really didn’t wanna see that day: my ex-girlfriend, Joi. She came stormin’ up to my porch, holdin’ a seven-month-old baby in her right arm.

            I know she ain’t gonna say that baby mine.

            Turnt out that was exactly what she came to tell me.

            “Whatchu mean he’s mine?!” I snapped at her. “We ain’t ever rolled around like that when we were together!” I could hear Smoke and Carrie snickerin’ behind me while I was havin’ this public discussion with my ex.

            “Don’t matter!” Joi said to me, movin’ her blond-highlighted dreads off her left shoulder, which took her havin’ to move the entire upper half of her body. “You gonna look after Craig Jr. while I’m out of town to hang with my girls!”

            I can’t believe she named this baby after me.

            She forced him on me and handed me the supplies. She would’ve been on her way after that, if she hadn’t taken one look at Carrie and asked in that judgmental way she did, “Who is dat?!” As usual, Joi went off in a jealous rage, callin’ me a “pimp” and sayin’ how I think I’m all that – actin’ like we were still together, when we ain’t. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain who Carrie was and why she was on my porch (not that her crazy ass would’ve believed me).

            As soon as she left, Smoke and Carrie stepped up to get a look at Craig Jr., who started cryin’ in my arms.

            “Hello there, lil’ one,” Carrie gushed all over him. I handed him over to her, and he immediately stopped cryin’ as soon as he rested on her chest, the beats from her two hearts thumping against his little blue-capped head. Carrie handled him like a pro, too, like she had some prior experience to this parentin’ thing.

            “Man, havin’ a baby in the middle of an alien invasion?” Smoke said to me. “As if it ain’t like your world ended already!”

            “Shut the hell up!” I told Smoke. “He don’t even look like me!”

            “Oh, I don’t know about that, Craig,” Carrie said, cradlin’ Craig Jr. in her tender-loving arms and gently caressin’ his tiny face with the back of her index finger. “He’s got your handsome mocha skin, your handsome cheeks, your handsome nose…”

            “Just ‘cause you add ‘handsome’ to every little detail don’t make ‘im mine!”

            “My point, Craig, is that this lil’ fella’s life is precious, and while you and Joi are bickering over ownership and responsibilities, his poor lil’ soul is waiting for someone to call on mommy and daddy. Regardless of whether he’s yours or not, maybe you should stop for a moment and think…”

            “Yo! Yo, man! Mrs. Parker bendin’ over again!”

            Had Smoke not told me that, I would’ve been distracted with Carrie and all her preachin’. Sho’ nuff, Mrs. Parker – our neighbor from across the street – was bendin’ over to help Mr. Parker set up their Christmas decorations. Mrs. Parker was puttin’ down a small light-up Santa that looked to be the same size as Mr. Parker. She was wearin’ those little ass denim shorts again, the ones that were practically painted on her ass.

            I could hear Carrie scoffin’ near me, obviously frustrated by me bein’ so distracted. If y’all could see how Mrs. Parker looked in those shorts, y’all wouldn’t blame me! She fine as hell, and she know it from how often she’d wear those shorts – come rain or shine.

            Personally, I would’ve taken Mrs. Parker over Joi and all the other visitors that came by our house that day.

            Ol’ Red stopped by, as soon as he noticed Carrie, trying (and failing) to put the moves on her. Pastor Clever’s blasphemous ass stopped by to invite us to the church for the evening’s Christmas sermon (which would’ve just been a bunch of bullshit about God favorin’ the righteous, despite Pastor Clever being the least righteous man in South Central). Even Big Worm’s big ass showed up, rollin’ in that same tired ice cream truck with that same tired perm. He called us up there to talk, and I was already sweatin’ before I stepped off the porch.

            Turnt out that Big Worm also went through rehab.

            “I came to make amends, especially with you, Smokey,” he told us. “I shouldn’t have tried to shoot you up over something as petty as money and drugs. I’ve been searching for myself this past year, and my sponsor told me that the best way to start is by being the bigger man and squashing all the drama in my life.”

            For the first time since I’ve known him, Smokey was at a loss for words. “Yo, for real? Word! Hey, you cool, Big Perm…I mean, Big Worm!” He shook hands with Worm, and they even hugged. It was a goddamn Christmas miracle!

            Too bad that miracle couldn’t have lasted for the rest of Christmas Eve.

            We still had that alien spaceship loomin’ over our heads like a dark cloud. We didn’t tell Pops, Mom, or Diana about it when they came home from shoppin’. We didn’t want anything to ruin the party we had that night. Carrie even changed into some formalwear – a brown midi sweater dress that hugged all her curves – and still looked after Craig Jr. (who was the topic of much discussion between me and my folks).

            After a while, Carrie suspected the alien invasion to be a false alarm.

            I followed her out on the porch as she looked up towards the sky – which, by this time, was all black with a full moon and twinklin’ stars and shit. “You’d think we’d see it by now, since it’s night,” I figured.

            “They could’ve been camouflaged,” Carrie figured. “Either way, if they would’ve done anything, it’d happen by now.”

            “So, you sayin’ we good?”

            “I think we are.”

            “Cool. Then let’s get at that barbecue, before…”

            All of the sudden, we were hit with a bright white light that came from the street rather than the sky. Carrie and I were blinded for a second until we were able to make out the shape of someone standin’ in the middle of the street. It was a tall, bald black dude covered head-to-toe in some robotic shit, lookin’ like the Borg from Star Trek.

            I couldn’t believe my eyes once I realized it was Deebo.

Chapter Text

Part Three

            Whenever there be drama goin’ down in the hood, you can be damn sure there’s gonna be people comin’ out their homes to see what’s happenin’. When Deebo’s big ass showed up with all those implants (yeah, I’m gonna call ‘em that) and that black leotard that made him look like a WWF reject, everybody from Mr. and Mrs. Parker to Felisha and Stanley stepped out to see him.

            Deebo took full advantage of all the attention. “Yeah, that’s right – y’all take a good look at me!” He rose his big ol’ arms in the air as he boasted to the crowd. “With the power bestowed upon me by the lords of the CVC, I’m gonna finish what I started!”

            “CVC?” Smokey repeated the name Deebo dropped. “Negro went shoppin’ before he got here?”

            “That’s QVC, man!” I told him. But I did have to ask, “Who are the CVC?”

            “A race of peacekeepers whose mission is to spread love and joy across the multiverse,” Carrie explained. “They travel from world-to-world, when it’s Christmastime, and choose a champion to represent their cause by issuing a challenge to any spirit they deem impure.”

            I had to laugh at the irony in everything she said. “And they picked Deebo?!”

            “CRAIG!” Deebo yelled to me, as soon as he noticed me standing out in front of my parents’ house with Carrie, Smoke, and my family. “I see yo punk ass over there! Get over here, so we can finish this!”

            This would be the third time Deebo and I throwed down.

            First time was on the very block where we were standing – I threw a brick at him.

            Second time was in Rancho Cucamonga – where he almost shot me before he got bit by a Bull Terrier named “Chico.”

            I didn’t expect to be fightin’ him again on Christmas Eve.

            And I damn sure didn’t expect to be fightin’ a cyborg version of him!

            “Craig’s not the one you want,” Carrie stepped in between us, facin’ up to Deebo. “I’m your challenge.”

            “And who the hell are you?!” Deebo asked her.

            “Ask the CVC,” Carrie said. “They’re watching this whole thing right now from their ship in orbit. Ask them to look up ‘Gladiator of Gallifrey’ in their databanks. They’ll tell you who I am.”

            We couldn’t tell just by lookin’, but these “CVC” people did their research and faxed the information into Deebo’s implants. “A’ight,” he said to Carrie afterwards. “You the biggest badass standin’ here right now…and the CVC say that if I kick yo ass, then I’ll be their champion.”

            Carrie casually shrugged. “Fair enough.”

            “And once I kick yo big ass...I’m comin’ for Craig’s big ass.”

            I ain’t gonna lie. I was prayin’ for Carrie to beat the shit out of Deebo. She may not have been equipped to handle him there and then – hell, she wasn’t even dressed to brawl with him. But I’ve seen her fight plenty of dudes bigger and badder than him, across the multiverse.

            They wasted no time throwin’ up hands.

            Carrie unleashed some hard lefts and rights across Deebo’s face. She managed to bang him up and even draw blood. I could see the surprise on Deebo, not expectin’ this curly-haired, skinny-ass white girl – who was almost his size – managin’ to waste him. We were all cheerin’ her on from the sidelines. It was just like how it was when I was the one fightin’ him that first Friday night.

            And then, Deebo came back with a monster uppercut that sent Carrie flyin’ back, right onto Stanley’s lawn. Lyin’ there, half-conscious with blood tricklin’ down the side of her mouth, Smoke seized the opportunity in comin’ over to her and shoutin’, “YOU GOT KNOCKED THE HECK OUT!”

            With Carrie down and out, Deebo came for me.

            But I had a trick up my sleeve. “Hey, you CVC punks! You picked Deebo as your champion? Really?! Y’all ain’t do your research on him?!”

            “Ain’t talkin’ yo way outta this one, Craig!” Deebo continued to advance.

            I still kept on talkin’ to the CVC. “Look ‘im up! Look his ass up and y’all see what a ‘real’ piece of work y’all got for yo cause!”

            Deebo raised his fist at me, but before it could connect with my face, it froze just an inch shy from it. The CVC must’ve heard me, because all those implants in Deebo just shut right down. He stood there on our lawn, locked in position, like the perfect human ornament.

            Suddenly, a pair of aliens beamed down right behind Deebo…and y’all wouldn’t believe what they looked like. Both of them wore red robes and had heads shaped like blunts (with smoke actually comin’ outta they heads).

            These were the CVC’s that Carrie talked about. Although what “CVC” stood for, I couldn’t tell y’all.

            “You have opened our eyes to the truth about our ‘champion,’ Earth dweller,” one of them said with a voice that sounded like Morgan Freeman. I don’t know what “eyes” he be talkin’ about, because I didn’t see any on those blunt-shaped heads of theirs. No noses or mouths, for that matter.

            “The one called ‘Deebo’ will be stripped of the power we had given him and returned to the place where we found him,” the other CVC said, his voice soundin’ close to James Earl Jones.

            “Yeah, that’d be prison,” I told them.

            “Correct,” both the CVC’s verified.

            And, as such, they beamed away with Deebo, droppin’ his sorry ass back to prison (without all his implants), and leavin’ our world behind just in time for Christmas Morning.

            Yeah, your boy saved the Christmas that was on a Friday.

            And where was Carrie the next day? She was a’ight. She slept through most of the mornin’ in our house, none of us botherin’ her, as she deserved the rest for standin’ up to Deebo like she did. Of course, that didn’t stop Pops from makin’ her listen to some soulful Christmas music on the stereo in my room.

            That dude just ain’t givin’ up on bringin’ her “inner brotha” out.

            Merry Christmas, y’all.