If I Stand

by Larissa James

"No, I done told you. I ain't comin' back."

Piledriver sighed and sat down, leaning his elbow against the back of the seat, watching the passing lights come less and less frequently as the subway train slowed down. "C'mon, Dirk. You belong with us! I mean, you're the one what started the group!"

"So maybe I made a mistake," the man grumbled darkly, staring down at his rough, calloused hands. He had been doing that for the entire conversation, and it was starting to get more than a little unnerving. Then again, Piledriver was starting to find that most everything about the man he knew as the Wrecker was now at least vaguely disturbing. His hair was longer now, and shaggier -- Brian figured that it must've been a few weeks since he'd had a good trim. The scruffy beard was a new addition, one that didn't add much to his already rugged appearance, and the dark circles under his eyes gave away how tired he was.

"Aw, ya don't mean that."

"How would you know?" he snapped, looking away irritably.

Over the years, the Wrecker had occasionally regretted sharing his power with his teammates. True, he was still lightyears ahead of any normal man in terms of strength and durability, but there had been a time -- before the Wrecking Crew -- when he had been able to go toe-to-toe with Thor. Solo. He had never fully understood the accident which had granted him his powers -- after all, he had had no idea that the room he had broken into had been occupied by Loki, the Norse god of mischief. He hadn't known that putting on the strange helmet that he had found there would have made him look enough like Loki that an Asgardian sorceress by the name of Karnilla would mistake him for Loki and grant him the powers meant for someone else. Really, he figured -- he hadn't even known that gods of mischief existed, let alone that they stayed in swank hotels! It was the stuff of comic books. But he was glad he had been there, in the right place at the right time. And he would never be able to forget the feeling that it had given him.

Power -- so strong, so heavenly! He could remember it as if it were yesterday: the energy coursing through him, snaking its way through his body, coiling in his muscles like a threatened and threatening viper. As abruptly as the breath had been knocked from him, his lungs had filled with air again, and this time, when they did, he felt it all the way down to his toes and back again. His heart had thundered in his chest so loudly that he had briefly entertained the notion that the mere sound of it could bring the building down; even as he dismissed the notion, he suddenly knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if it had, he could have survived without a scratch. Dirk had always been a powerful man, but that had been nothing -- this, this was what real power was like.

And instead of keeping it all for himself, he was sharing it with three ungrateful idiots.

Yes, there were times that he regretted having his power divided into fourths like this. Now was one of those times.

Everything had been fine, up until Piledriver had found him. He had done what he needed, all on his own. He had gotten through a couple of tough scrapes, gotten everything together, gotten all the loose ends tied up...and then he had gone on his way to Pittsburgh, trying to figure out what he was going to do. Alone.

That is, until one-third of his fan club had shown up to make a nuisance of himself.

Piledriver frowned, thinking for a moment. "Dirk...how much money've you got?"

His cheek twitched slightly. "I got enough."

"How much?"

There was a long pause. Just when Brian thought that he might not have heard, he spoke. "Twenty, thirty thousand. Maybe."

"How far d'you think that's gonna stretch if you try to go straight and gotta get a normal job?"

"I didn't say I was gonna go straight," grumbled the Wrecker, offering his former teammate a sidelong glare.

Piledriver frowned to himself, digesting that. If Dirk had been paying any attention, he may have noticed a brief flash of hurt in the man's eyes, but no one had ever accused the Wrecker of being particularly observant. "But you ain't comin' back with us. You're gonna fight without the Crew?"

"Didn't say that, either."

No one had ever accused Piledriver of being particularly sentimental, either -- he threw his hands in the air impatiently. "Well then, what the hell're you gonna do, man? Run from the law by yourself 'til you're outta money and sleepin' on this subway instead of ridin' it?"

The Wrecker's eyes flashed angrily as he jumped to his feet, his lip curling into a defensive snarl. "Shut up, Calusky! Just shut the hell up! Yeah, I started the Crew -- and I was all by myself before that! You think I can't cut it without you, huh? Well you just wait and see, you damned priss. Just wait and see!"

Piledriver frowned again, only this time, there was a touch of sadness. "What's the matter with you, Dirk? You don't act right."

"Don't act right, huh? I'll show you how I act..."

"Let's don't fight, Dirk," he said softly. "I'll go if you want me to."

The big man clenched his fists, glaring at him for another long moment before, all of a sudden, he seemed to deflate, all of the bravado sucked right out of him at once. He sat back down heavily, looking down at the floor, his expression alternating between anger and regret. "You ain't gotta act all kicked-puppy-like..."

"I don't act like no puppy."

"Yeah, ya do." He kicked at the seat across from him. "Now quit it."

Piledriver sat still, biting his lip and refusing to meet his teammate's eyes. He had never seen the Wrecker like this before -- tired and broken, full of doubt about himself and everyone else. As long as he had known him, he had always been so confident -- even when Thor was pounding on him like there was no tomorrow. As long as the Wrecker was okay with everything, then everything really was going to be okay. Looking at him now, seeing how unsure he was...it made Piledriver feel wrong inside.

The Wrecker shook his head, more to himself than to anyone. "She wanted me to go straight," he said softly.

"Huh?"

"Mom."

"Oh." Piledriver swallowed hard, unsure of exactly what to say. Dirk was always a little strange where his mother was concerned, and had only gotten worse she had died. "Are...are you gonna?"

"I dunno. I...you know, what would I do?"

Piledriver said nothing for a long moment, looking down at the floor again.

Dirk sighed, then looked up, sitting back up abruptly as if suddenly aware that someone might see him and think that he had gone soft. "Anyways, I ain't comin' back."

"Ever?"

He shrugged, trying to act like he didn't care.

"Wish you'd come on back with me. Eliot's gettin' too big for his britches again, and Henry won't never let me watch nothin' but John Wayne movies!"

The Wrecker chuckled a little at that, having suffered through Bulldozer's love affair with the Duke for a long time, himself. Like 'Driver was any better, watching cartoons all the damned time! Thinking of his old teammates and their habits, he couldn't help but smile to himself. He hadn't seen the guys in months, and there were times that he almost missed them. Everyone except maybe Thunderball, that is. "You'll live through it."

"Guess so..." Piledriver hesitated, kicking at a stray drink can that had rolled their way. "It just ain't the same without you around. Hey...you 'member that time that we was fightin' and that kitten got in your way, and you kicked it 'cross the street, and Captain America got pissed?"

"Heh, yeah..." He struck his best "I am a hero" pose -- hands on his waist, jaw clenched, and chin lifted. "'Wrecker, I always knew you were a nasty fellow, but that's just sick!'"

'Driver grinned, striking his own pose. "'Egad, man -- don't you know that what you did was,'" dramatic pause, "'mean?'"

"Oh, man, that one cracks me up! Hey, hey -- guess who I am!" He cleared his throat, posing again. "'Verily, yon villains! Cease thy naughty goings-on or be smited by mine enchanted hammer!'"

Piledriver roared with laughter, drawing wary looks from the few travelers in their car. "Thou art the Odinson!"

"Verily so!"

"Ooh, ooh, how 'bout this one?" He fluttered his eyelashes, flipping his hair and raising his voice into a terrible falsetto. "'Oh no, like, it's the Wrecking Crew! Keep 'em away from me, Hanky-panky -- they'll get my new outfit dirty, and I only have twenty more to last me the day!'" He cleared his throat again, dropping his voice a few octaves. "'I'll never let them hurt you or your skimpy little outfits, my cuddly little cupcake! Why, I'll just -- oh my God, Jan, they're smashing things! Oh, oh wait...they're smashing me! Can't...handle...stress! Must...have...nervous breakdown!'"

"'Oh no, Wasp!'" the Wrecker added in, his voice almost as high-pitched as his friend's had been. "'My hex power won't work again! Wonder Ma -- I mean, Vision, help!'"

They dissolved into fits of laughter, stomping the floor so hard in their mirth that the entire car rattled. After a moment, Piledriver looked up again, wiping at his eyes. "See what you miss, man?"

"Yeah..."

"You ain't gotta come back forever. You need money anyways, right? We got a job all lined up today -- you can get in on it, maybe hang out for a few days...then, if you still wanna go, you can go. Whaddya say?"

The Wrecker went silent again, looking away and thinking about his mother. Her dying wish had been that her son would go straight...but he had to start somewhere, didn't he? Mama would've understood, wouldn't she? If he tried to settle down and get a job right away, he'd go to jail again for sure -- he was a wanted man, after all. Mama wouldn't want him to go to jail, would she? If he just built up some cash so he could lay low for a while before trying anything dangerous, Mama would've understood... "All right. Just this one job."

'Driver stood up and held out his hand to help his friend to his feet. "Come on, then. We can get off at the next stop and switch trains. Everybody'll be glad to see you, you'll see. And you'll be glad you came back." He paused for a long moment, looking at the floor and clearing his throat nervously as the Wrecker stood, shouldering his duffel. "Hey...Dirk?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry 'bout your Mama, Dirk."

"Me, too, Calusky. Me, too."

"All right, all right, whaddya...oh, hey..."

Henry Camp, the Crewman known as Bulldozer, stood in the doorway of the old house that the Wrecking Crew had "borrowed" for a hideout, one hand on the doorknob, the other groping for purchase on the doorframe.

"You okay, 'Dozer?" Brian asked, grinning.

"Yeah...yeah! Hey, what alley didja pick this garbage up at?"

"Better watch it, man -- he's still prettier'n you! Better let us in 'fore he gets mad..."

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" The man, finally regaining his composure, stepped back inside and held the door open, bowing and gesturing with one hand for them to proceed. "Please, do come in, your royal Loveliness!"

The Wrecker snorted as he walked in, crossing his arms over his chest and looking around critically. "What a dump. Looks like you guys ain't been doin' too good with Thunderball runnin' things."

Bulldozer shrugged. "Yeah, well, we do okay. We got a job planned for this afternoon, even. It's gonna be big, man!"

"Hell, yeah!" agreed Piledriver, high-fiving his teammate. The resulting sound was enough to make everyone's ears pop.

Bulldozer looked up at Dirk, his eyes dancing merrily. "You gonna be in on it, Wrecker?"

"Maybe." He shrugged coolly. "I ain't decided yet."

Dirk put up with his teammate's enthusiastic welcomes and back-slappings good-naturedly, even if Bulldozer did tend to forget that he was exceptionally strong even for a member of the Crew, and nearly knocked him off of his feet a couple of times. It was a lot like he remembered it: he and his friends -- hell, who was he kidding? His best friends, his only friends -- laughing and joking and, more importantly, really caring about what had been going on in his life since last they spoke. He couldn't say that anybody else did, that was for damned sure. He wondered briefly if it was anything like this when the Avengers got together...but nah. They were so busy signing autographs and showing members in and out of their revolving door that they couldn't know anything about what it meant to have friends like this, best buddies who watched your back and still wouldn't mind having a beer with you when the job was over and done.

"Henry?" came a loud voice suddenly from a few rooms away. "Who was at the door?"

Piledriver and Bulldozer looked at each other guiltily. Thunderball wouldn't be happy -- not that he usually was, or anything, but he and the Wrecker had always competed over the leadership of the team, and he had been quite happy to have Dirk out of the picture these past few months. As a matter of fact, in one of the last times they had been together, Thunderball and the Wrecker had very nearly killed each other. Neither of their teammates really understood it -- after all, they were a team, and even though they fought a lot, they still worked really well together -- but Piledriver, at least, had known enough not to tell Thunderball that morning, when he set out, that he was heading out to find their old friend, the Wrecker.

"Henry," the voice came again, closer this time and obviously getting closer. "Henry, if that's 'Driver out there, you had best tell him..." Thunderball stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he rounded the corner, his eyes resting on the trio in the doorway.

Piledriver cleared his throat. "Uh, hey, Doc. Look at what I found."

The Wrecker met his teammate's eyes, raising his brows slyly. "Hey, Eliot. Gonna leave your good friend Dirk outta the action?"

Doctor Eliot Franklin, the Crewman known as Thunderball, frowned colorfully. For that matter, as long as Dirk had known him, the man had seemed to be frowning. The Wrecker had always just chalked it up to the fact that the guy worried too much -- it came with having way too much education for his own good, he figured, as Eliot also happened to posses a Ph.D. in physics, or something stupid like that. Who besides a compulsive worrier would want to go to eight or ten extra years of school?

Hell, the Wrecker thought, Physics ain't so hard. Alls you gotta do to get an "A" is do a few push-ups and run a few laps around the gym...

Thunderball didn't say anything, instead looking back and forth between the Wrecker and Piledriver, and then the Wrecker and Bulldozer.

'Dozer stepped back, holding his hands up. "I didn't do nothin'."

"I didn't say you did anything, Henry." Thunderball crossed his arms over his chest, looking squarely into Dirk's eyes.

Dirk looked right back at him unflinchingly.

"So..." he began.

"So what?" the Wrecker returned flippantly.

Another of those little frowns crossed Eliot's face. It was too bad, Dirk reflected, that poor ol' Eliot didn't seem to realize that his frown was probably the only thing that ever marred his pretty little face. He had always been a little too smart and a little too good-looking for Dirk's tastes -- guys like that just didn't belong in the Wrecking Crew. A fancy little country club tennis court where they could wear fancy little tennis shorts, maybe, but not in the Crew where they'd be going up against Iron Man. So he thought being smart made him right to lead the Crew, huh? Dirk suppressed the challenging growl that stole up his throat, reminding himself that he wasn't really planning on staying, anyway. Let Mr. Smartass get everybody sent back to the Vault to do some hard time -- what did he care?

"Wrecker..." Eliot began again.

Dirk held his hands up as Bulldozer had done. "Hey, I ain't here to stay. I just want a piece of this job, and then I'm outta here." He narrowed his eyes in challenge. "That is, if this job of yours is up to snuff."

Thunderball smiled wryly. "Hunh. You're going to follow my orders, then?"

"Sure, 'Ball. Whatever."

"Well, then..." He gazed back at the Wrecker for a moment more suspiciously. Finally, he looked away again, apparently satisfied. "All right. So this is what we're going to do..."

"And my ties are severed clean
The less I have the more I gain
Off the beaten path I reign
Rover, wanderer,
Nomad, vagabond,
Call me what you will!"

The Wrecker sighed, leaning against the window of the van and trying to ignore his teammates' lusty -- and, in Bulldozer's case, more than a little off-key -- singing. There was something wrong with him. He could feel it. Back in the old days, this had been his favorite part of the game: heading off to a job, laughing and singing and clapping each other on the back as if they were already returning with the loot rather than just leaving. And when he thought about it, that's how it was. Overconfident? Hell, yeah, they were overconfident! How could they not be, going out and knowing -- knowing -- that they'd pull it off, that they'd never get caught, that no one would even lift a finger to stop them because no one short of the Avengers could possibly take them in. It was a feeling he couldn't even describe, like being at a party and suddenly realizing, as you stand there with a beer in your hand, the music thumping in your ears and reverberating in your chest, that you're one of the gang.

It was easy, at times like that, to forget that just the day before, Bulldozer had threatened to quit, and just that morning, he and Thunderball had been at each other's throats over who ate the last of the Count Chocula cereal. Yeah, it was easy to forget how bad things could get when you were on that high that came with knowing you could get away with anything. But now, it just didn't feel the same...

"Hey, Wrecker..."

Dirk glanced up, startled, into Bulldozer's grinning face. "Huh?"

"You with it, or what? Lookin' a little lost, there."

"I'm tryin' to shut out your loud mouth. You got a problem with that?"

The man's face contorted with anger for a brief second before falling back into an amused grin. "Heh." He nudged Dirk roughly with his elbow. "That's the Wrecker we know an' love! Rotten to the core, man."

The Wrecker grunted in response, one corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. "What? You was doubtin'?"

"Nah. Just double-checkin'. C'mon, Wreck. Get with it. Get pumped!"

"Get pumped!" Piledriver echoed, looking back from the front seat.

"I am pumped, guys..."

"Liar! Don't make me come back there and kick your ass inta gear, ya pansy."

"You an' what Asgardian army?" He gestured them off halfheartedly. "Lay off, man..."

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Bulldozer shook him playfully. "What we gotta do to get you goin', knock over a bank?"

That set Piledriver off into the wild, snorting giggles (which were funny in and of themselves, especially since he was so big and his natural voice was usually so deep) that his teammates always teased him about. Unfortunately, he had been turning his head to guzzle a beer at the time, and it had the predictable result -- a stream of Budweiser and villain-spit jetted up out of his nose and all over the dashboard, knocking over the little hula girl above the radio.

"Oh, fuck!" cried Piledriver, cupping his nose with one hand. "That burns, man!"

That was enough to set everyone off. The Wrecker's laughter echoed through the van, nearly drowned out by Bulldozer's deep rumble, Thunderball's wheezing attempts at non-laughter, and Piledriver's emphatic cursing. After a few hysterical moments, the noise died down, and Bulldozer gripped his shoulder with one hand, grinning at him in that silly way he had with a mouth that had to be hurting as much as Dirk's was and wiping away a tear. Dirk didn't truly understand, and yet couldn't shake the warm feeling that simple gesture gave him, that firm yet gentle grip that somehow said "I'm glad you're here" and "I'm not letting you go" at the same time.

"Hey, Doc!" 'Dozer called, cupping his other hand to his mouth to shout even though Thunderball was in the seat right in front of him. "Turn it up!"

With a small smile, Eliot reached up and turned the radio up, and this time, when they started singing, the Wrecker joined in.

"But I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind anywhere
And I'll never mind anywhere
Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home!"

Damn, it felt good to be alive.

The job was just as easy as the Wrecker had expected it to be.

He may not have liked or always fully trusted Thunderball, but he had to admit: the man was one clever bastard. Dirk had no idea where he got his information, but it was right on the money: they were there waiting when the two armored trucks pulled up outside of the bank. This, it turned out, was the big plan: rob the bank without ever setting foot inside. Somehow, they had found out that a large amount of money was to be moved to this particular bank on this particular day at this particular time -- all they had to do was be there to meet it.

"He gets all this stuff offa the innernet," Bulldozer explained in a whisper as they waited in the shadows of the alleyway.

Piledriver nodded. "He got one of them little-bitty computers so's he could check his e-mail no matter where we crash."

"An' it's got Quake!"

"And if you keep talking, you can't play it tonight," Thunderball hissed back at them. "Do you want to give us away?"

Thoroughly chastised, the duo subsided, casting pitiful "He's always mean to us" glances at the Wrecker.

Dirk rolled his eyes. E-mail? What a priss! And he probably had his own homepage, too, the geek. A brief vision of "Thunderball's Homepage -- Home Of Test Tubes And Giant Wrecking Balls" flashed before his eyes, and he suppressed a snort of laughter. "'Proud member of the Webring of Wusses!'"

Thunderball leaned forward, watching the guards get out of the truck, guns ready, as they looked around for anything out of place. "Looks like they're looking for trouble, guys. Bulldozer -- help them find it!"

With a happy roar, Bulldozer shoved past his teammates and charged the rear truck.

"Look out!" someone screamed as the guards scattered, firing their weapons at the charging form. 'Dozer just laughed as the bullets ricocheted off of his body in all directions, riddling the walls and street with small chipped holes.

"Wait, wait," laughed Piledriver, peeking around the corner. "Somebody'll do it!"

One of the guards stopped firing and backed up, eyes wide, as Bulldozer lowered his armored head. "He's not stopping...!"

"Better not do it!" called Piledriver around the corner.

"It's gotta be the Juggernaut!" cried another guard, turning tail and running.

Bulldozer slammed into the back of the truck with another (though angry, this time) roar, the thick metal crumpling like paper under the force of the blow. The entire truck, itself, was thrown forward ten feet, slamming into the back of its companion with a sickening crunch of metal and crash of glass. The angry Crewman stood upright again in the space once occupied by the truck, money spilling out around his feet. "Juggernaut? Juggernaut?! Why the hell can't you people ever get it right?"

Thunderball sighed, shaking his head. "They did it."

The remaining guards stood at a safe distance, some still firing, others just staring with wide eyes and trying to keep from passing out.

"Move out, Wrecking Crew! You know the drill!"

The Wrecker stepped out reluctantly, grumbling to himself. Drill? Who the hell needed a drill when any one of them could pull of this job alone and come back without a scratch? Everybody needed a little leadership -- especially this bunch of losers -- but Thunderball was taking this gig waaaay too seriously.

"Piledriver, get that other truck open! Wrecker, take out those popguns! Those bullets are starting to tickle 'Dozer, and if he laughs and wets himself, I'm not cleaning it up!"

Hefting his crowbar, Dirk turned up the collar on his dark green jacket. "Whatever you say, Doc." Dickhead.

Piledriver leapt into the air and slammed into the top of the front truck with both feet, laughing as a few guns were turned in his direction. "C'mon, guys, this ain't even workin'! What're you still doin' here?"

Good question, thought the Wrecker, taking a few steps towards the front of the bank, where five or six guards -- some from inside, looked like -- had taken refuge on the steps, as if, by taking higher ground, they stood a chance against the incoming flood. "You guys wanna quit shootin' so's I can make this less painful? You're just gonna hit somebody you don't wanna hit..." He paused at the bottom of the steps, raising his crowbar above his head and bringing it down on the marble steps. The stone cracked and crumbled outward in a jagged line, knocking three guards and four curious bystanders off of their feet immediately.

One large hand shot out suddenly and grabbed the nearest guard still standing (a skinny little rookie -- he had known enough poor slobs like this to know just by looking), easily flinging him back over his shoulder and across the street, the dull crunch of the man's impact with the wall scarcely registering in the Wrecker's ears. One more guard scrambled to his feet and attempted to flee, screaming for someone to call the Avengers -- Dirk lashed out with his crowbar, catching him square in the middle. The man doubled over, eyes and mouth wide as he watched his own guts spill from his mouth onto the pavement at his feet. It was just like he remembered it being -- power, so much power, and no one could do anything about it, no one could kick him down because he was poor or because he wasn't smart...

On the steps to his left, the Wrecker felt the impact of the giant ball and chain that Thunderball used as a weapon, his teeth rattling in his head as the sound of the blow reverberated through his skull. "Hey, watch it, Doc! I'm s'posed to be workin' up here!"

"You aren't working fast enough," Eliot grunted, lashing out with his free arm and knocking a guard away absently. "Stop pussyfooting around with these norms and go help the boys load everything up!"

Dirk glanced up at the flimsy glass doors of the bank. "We ain't takin' it all?"

"No."

"It'd be easy! There ain't nobody stoppin' us--!"

"But there is a limit on how much we can carry," Thunderball pointed out calmly.

The Wrecker fell silent, stomping off down the steps towards the truck. So Doc Franklin thought he was stupid, huh? Thought that he'd make himself look better by making the Wrecker look stupid? Dirk hated it when people went out of their way to make him feel stupid. Like they knew anything! It reminded him of that boy he knew back his second time in the third grade, the one who had always answered questions that the teacher had asked Dirk, never giving him a chance to think, never giving him a chance to prove that he knew the answer. If he could just see that boy today, and show him what a crowbar to the head felt like...!

"Whoo-hoo!" shouted Piledriver, tossing an armful of money in the air. "Looks like a good haul, huh, Wrecker?"

"Yeah, Calusky -- looks good."

"C'mon, man, take a good whiff! Nothin' smells quite like a batch o' fresh hundred-dollar bills, huh?"

Bulldozer grinned, tossing aside the detached back door of one of the trucks. "An' twenties an' tens an' fives..."

"Hey, 'Dozer, if you used alla this, you might even be able to convince two prostitutes to spend some time with you, this time!"

"Come over here and say that to my face, ya little--"

The Wrecker stepped between them, holding his arms out. "Whoa, fellas, you're gettin' to be like me an' the Doc! 'Dozer can't help it that he's ugly, any more'n you can help it that you're a dumbass, 'Driver. Now're we gonna pack up this loot, or--" He paused, cocking his head. "You hearin' what I hear?"

Calusky listened for a moment, his face slowly spreading back into a smile. "Sirens?"

They all looked at each other. "Hey, Wrecker, you've been kinda down, lately. You wanna do the honors?"

Dirk braced himself in the street, smiling to himself. "Thanks, boys, but why don't we do this one together?"

The three of them lined up, facing the end of the street and watching the two police cars tear around the corner, heading straight towards the bank.

"On my count, boys..."

When they saw that the men weren't going to move, the cars screeched to a halt, rubber squealing as the drivers jerked the wheel to avoid them.

"Places, now..."

They stepped forward, Piledriver and Bulldozer getting a firm grip on the side of one car, and the Wrecker grasping under the front bumper of the second.

"One...two...THREE!"

The Wrecker lifted his mighty arms, smiling to himself as the cops inside screamed in terror, their car flipping up and over onto its back like a child's toy. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the other car sailing through the air, lights flashing and wheels spinning as it flew across the street and embedded itself half in and half out of the side of a fancy department store. He raised an eyebrow at his teammates. "Overkill, guys?"

They shrugged, wiping their hands on the sides on their pants.

Dirk watched one of the front wheels fall off of the car and through the roof of a bus stop. "Nah."

Dirk sat back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table, tilting the bottle to his lips one more time. It had been one hour, two pizzas, and three beers since they got away clean with close to eight hundred thousand dollars. He had to admit, he hadn't felt so good, so content, in months. Out there with the boys, everything had made so much sense -- force against force, black and white instead of shades of grey. He glanced over at Piledriver, who had only been drinking for half an hour and was already about half a beer away from being declared legally smashed. The poor dumb sap was going to pickle his own liver someday -- that is, if the magical endurance that he had been granted would ever allow such a thing. He was probably the stupidest of the group, even though Bulldozer usually acted as if he had a few less marbles rattling around upstairs than 'Driver did.

Still, Calusky had been the one who had taken the time to look for him and bring him back, and Dirk couldn't deny (to himself, at least -- he'd have argued with anyone else until he was blue in the face, or until he got fed up and broke their skull, whichever came first) that he was touched. And Bulldozer had a short fuse -- came from being in the Army for so long, Thunderball had suggested -- but so long as that fuse wasn't lit, he'd be happy as a lark all day long. Dirk used to envy him that, but he could appreciate it, too, especially when things got so grim that it seemed that if he saw another frown (including the one in the mirror) he'd go crazy. Even Thunderball wasn't so bad when it came down to it, was he? He might want the power for himself, but he had always stood by the Wrecking Crew when it really counted.

Yeah...being back with the team again, getting in on the action, laughing at the world...maybe that was the stuff life was made of. Maybe that's what he had been missing.

"So," began Thunderball, leaning against the wall next to Dirk's chair. "When will you be hitting the road?"

The Wrecker shrugged, crossing his feet just to rub in the fact that he was making himself at home. "Well, I don't know, Doc. I kinda thought I might hang with you fellas a while...that is, if that's okay with you?"

Doctor Franklin frowned disconcertedly, but before he could open his mouth to answer, Piledriver and Bulldozer's cheering interrupted him.

"Yeah! Dirk, you really gonna stay?"

"I thought I might. If the Doc says it's okay..."

Bulldozer looked up from the computer (where he had somehow been managing to both play in a Quake tournament and browse fan-art sites for nude Jenny Sparks pics) and clapped him on the back. "Aw, he ain't gonna leave you out in the cold! You're the boss, too, y'know!"

"This'll be great, just like it used to be!" Piledriver said excitedly. "We're gonna be in the money all the time, now!"

From behind his teammates, Thunderball glared in his best "I'll kill you later, you wormy little bastard" look. The Wrecker shrugged innocently, responding with the patented "Who, little ol' me?" look that he had perfected back in grade school. Of course, it worked better with harried young substitute teachers than it did with hardened mystical-ball-wielding psycho-criminals, but that was far beyond the point.

"To the Wreckin' Crew -- kickin' ass and takin' names together again!" offered Piledriver, raising his beer bottle eloquently.

"The filthy stinkin' rich Wreckin' Crew," Bulldozer corrected, nodding his agreement.

"To the Wrecking Crew," Thunderball and the Wrecker seconded, raising their own bottles in solemn toast, though their eyes never left one another.

Tomorrow, thought Thunderball, taking a single sip. Tomorrow, I'll figure out a way to get rid of him without raising everyone's suspicions.

Tomorrow, thought the Wrecker, taking a long swig. Tomorrow, I'll kick his ass. And if anybody's got a problem with it, I'll kick their ass, too.

And Piledriver and Bulldozer looked at each other, knowing, without saying so, exactly what their teammates were thinking, and knowing, as Thunderball and the Wrecker didn't, that such thoughts would lead nowhere. In the life of the Wrecking Crew, there were many threats of ass-kicking, but very little actual ass-kicking ever took place. And even if it did, what the hell -- a few bruises never hurt anybody, and by the time the next job rolled around, everybody would be happy again, because they really were sorry, even though they'd never say so.

Yes -- as far as the Wrecking Crew was concerned, it was a damned good day to be alive.

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