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Author's Chapter Notes:

For reasons unknown, I think Dwight (with a concussion) and Creed would have fun together.  This is based on the conversation between Creed/Dwight in The Injury.  Enjoy :)

Dwight had been staring at Creed sitting at his desk for a grand total of seven minutes before Creed decided to ask him.

"Something wrong, Ace?"

"Dwight thought about why his dad was calling him Ace. It must’ve been a new habit he had picked up out on the beet fields.

Unable to come up with the words, Dwight just shrugged. They both stared at each other, like in those old Western movies. Once defeat was accepted, Creed opened the top drawer and took out a small vial. He walked over to Dwight, who was now messing with his tie. His hand cracked as he slammed the vial down on Dwight’s desk. Dwight jumped at the sound.

"Here. This should help. I got that from an old folk doctor I met in eastern India." Creed explained, a big grin on his face. He was clearly lost in the memory of that time. "Although I should warn you that it was intended to be an aphrodisiac, and it might turn your urine a light blue color." Creed shrugged, and Dwight fingered the glass vial filled with a few drops of a cerulean liquid. "Always helped me pay attention to those sales calls, though."

Creed began to walk back to his desk, and Dwight called.

"Thanks, Dad."

"You’re welcome." Creed replied, slipping on his glasses and putting his feet up on his desk.

***

Creed was in the middle of finishing up his mung beans when Dwight walked into the kitchen.

"How’s it hanging, Dwayne?" Creed smiled proudly, finally able to remember somebody’s name in this office. Remembering it was the easiest five bucks he’d ever made.

Dwight sits down, unable to think about anything.

"Mung bean?" Creed offers, putting the paper towel near Dwight’s face. Dwight shakes his head.

"no thanks, Dad."

"About this dad business..." Creed began, placing the paper towel down on the table. "Was your mother a waitress in a Howard Johnson’s back in the sixties? Blonde, great legs, voice like an angel?"

Dwight shakes his head.

"Oh." Creed shakes his head, and leans back in his chair. "Never mind, then."

***

Jim was grabbing Dwight’s coat when Creed walked over to Dwight’s desk.

"Where you heading, Ace?" The name didn’t stick.

"I don’t know." Dwight moaned, the room suddenly spinning. "Did you ever go to Vietnam?" He asks, swearing that Creed was in a dream he had once about going to the Vietnam War.

"Thankfully, no. My draft number never got pulled. I had a good friend, Bucky Longfellow, got deployed. Ended up sticking around with a woman he met while in the service. Good fella. Sounds like a dreadful place to live, though."

"Okay. See you later, dad." Dwight says as Jim begins to pull him away from the conversation. He remembers the dream well. Before he knows it, he’s recreating the sounds of the Vietnam war.

"Goodbye, Dwight!" Creed exclaims, once Jim and Dwight are in the elevator and on their way to wherever they’re going. He shakes his head on his way back to his desk, wondering when youth got so weird.

Chapter End Notes:

Okay, maybe it’s a bit of an exaggeration of what Creed is like. But listening to "Untitled (Red Dot)" by Pearl Jam has that kind of effect on you.  Comments/criticisms are appreciated!!  Let me know if there are any glaring errors or you just simply like or hate it.   Reviews=love. 



WildBerryJam is the author of 18 other stories.
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