Disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine.
Notes: Bizarre crossover alert! I like the A-Team, I adore H.P. Lovecraft and the Mythos based on his works, and my muse (the smelly jerk) (- - that was rude, I really do like him) decided to mish-mash the two. So. If you are familiar with Lovecraft, you know that his writings are horror angst with eldritch horrors, gibbous moons, and ichor-dripping tomes full of knowledge mankind was never meant to comprehend.
Therefore, this will include all of that. Angst, horror, violence, insanity, and death. Hallmarks of Lovecraft, although amped because that's the world we live in today, which means it also includes profanity and non-consensual sexual violence.
Please consider yourself warned. If you do not like or want to read things of that nature, the back button is available.
"Come on, Bosco! You've gotta pull over—my back teeth are floating!"
B.A. sighed. His mama had taught him to count to ten to damper his temper, but she never imagined just how difficult that could be with Crazy yappin' in his ear all the damn time.
To both counter Murdock and to appease the mother in his mind, B.A. had taught himself to count to ten in lots of different languages. He never let Murdock know that, though, because he knew the pilot would jump in with both feet and try to teach him Klingon or Gallifreyan or some other fool thing, to "help".
B.A. didn't even want to admit he knew what Gallifreyan was.
"Settle down, Captain—we'll be there soon."
And sometimes if he kept quiet long enough, Hannibal took over dealing with Murdock.
Murdock sat back with a huff. "Not my fault if you go to sell this van and the ad reads, 'good condition. Slight urine smell'."
Face, who'd been trying to distance himself from the conversation, snorted in laughter.
"Fine, fine!" B.A. relented, and pulled the vehicle to the shoulder of the road.
He thought maybe he didn't have to do that, he could have just put the van in park right there in the middle of the lane because they'd yet to see another car for at least fifty miles, but still. No reason for any cops who might happen to come along to stop and see if they could be of assistance.
Murdock yipped a thank you that included a hug over the back of B.A.'s seat—the black man had been ready for it and leaned forward over the steering wheel to avoid the brunt of the embrace—and then he scrambled over Face's lap to get out the side door.
Outside the van and its climate controlled interior, the air was hot and humid.
Murdock slid the door shut again, in consideration of the heat to the men still inside, and walked off the side of the road. He didn't go far; he was a guy, and like most guys, he could piss anywhere, but he wanted a closer view of the river that'd been running parallel with the road.
This was strange country. The grass was dry and brittle, which could be expected in the heat of the summer, but there weren't many bugs. No real sounds either, which was always creepy. He'd grown up in Texas, not too close to a big city, and could remember how still the nights could be, but no birdsong? Really? And how could they be in a small state like Massachusetts and not see hide nor hair of another person for so long?
Finally reaching his destination and standing on the bank, Murdock unzipped his fly and let loose. The water below him was ugly: brown and silty, and moving so sluggishly a thick layer of bubbly foam hugged the little alcoves in the banks.
With the humidity and heat and standing so near the river, Murdock felt sticky and oppressed. When the wind shifted, the smell of urine was replaced with an odd, sickly-sweet odor, like meat just passed its prime.
Murdock wrinkled his nose, shook himself to get that last drop of piss off—that never worked, but that's what underpants were for, right?—tucked himself back in his cargos, and hurried up the slight incline to get back to the van.
Now he couldn't get the odor out of his nose. He opened the side door and found that Face had moved to the far seat, but Murdock suddenly didn't want the near one. It was too close to windows; he didn't want to look at that river again, even if it was just a glance through Hannibal's side window.
He made Face switch seats again.
"Better?" Face asked, slightly sarcastically as B.A. pulled the vehicle back onto the road.
"What?" Murdock answered in a distracted tone. He shook his head, and realized the dry, cool air from the air conditioning cleared his nostrils. "Oh. Yeah."
He hunkered down in his seat, and didn't notice everyone—including B.A., in the rearview mirror—glancing at him curiously.