Author's Note: Written for the Big Bang Big Bang 2012. If you noticed that it's not 2012 anymore (and barely 2013) give yourself a cookie. Also, give my beta, Lionne, a lot of cookies. She deserves them. Kick-ass cover art by Rubyanjel
Disclaimer: The Big Bang Theory is an American sitcom created by Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, and is produced by them along with Stever Molaro. It is a Warner Brothers production and airs on CBS. All characters, plots and creative elements derived from the source material belong exclusively to their respective owners. I, the author of the fan fiction, do not, in any way, profit monetarily from the story.

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday mornings were usually pretty slow at the comic book store. Nerds, gamers, comic book aficionados and bill collectors usually didn't start prowling the city until the sun was overhead. Even so, Stuart couldn't afford to be closed. If he sold even one thing, it meant he was one item closer to staying out of debtor's prison.

He was watching Saturday morning cartoons on a small TV he kept behind the counter when the bells on the door rang out their jangly call. He looked up, only to discover that his most faithful customers had arrived: Leonard Hofstadter and Sheldon Cooper. He stood up and leaned on the counter.

"Good morning, guys," he said.

"Good morning," came back two muffled replies.

"Let me guess," he said, "you're here to pick up your special order."

"Of course we are," Sheldon said. "Wednesday is New Comic Book Night, and today, sir, is not Wednesday. I forfeited my Saturday morning routine of watching Doctor Who over a bowl of cereal to make the trip down here, and I would never do so lightly." He thought a moment. "Of course, it was a re-run, but the point still stands."

"Fine," Stuart said, reaching below the counter. "Here you are." He produced two brown paper bags that were stapled shut, one marked "L.H." and the other "S.C." Both men anxiously opened the parcels, excited to check out their new loot.

There was, of course, a problem.

"Where are the role-playing cards?" Sheldon said, scandalized. "We both specifically ordered the Iron Man board game and the role-playing card to match. These bags only contain the board game."

"Right," Stuart said, suddenly remembering. "I meant to tell you they're on back order. After Robert Downey Jr. got in that car accident, role-playing game sales went up. They couldn't keep up with the demand. They should be here in a week."

"But we did pay extra to have it rush ordered," Leonard said. "Ten bucks I think."

"Indeed we did," Sheldon said, more agitated with each passing second. "I demand a full refund at once."

"Yeah… I can't do that," Stuart said.

"Why not?" Leonard asked.

"I'm a little short on cash." He pressed a few buttons and the cash register popped open with a ding, revealing that it was empty.

"Well then I suggest that you become un-short on cash, Mister," Sheldon said. "It is absolutely appalling that you, a so-called purveyor of books, cards, and playthings designed to entertain the masses and furnish Pasadena with tales of fantasy and diversion would make such a gross failing in—"

"Cool it, Sheldon," Leonard said, exasperated. "No one wants to hear that long-winded diatribe. If you use up all the words, you won't leave any for anybody else."

"That's nonsense," Sheldon said, baffled and standing up straight. "One person can't use up 'all the words.' Words aren't a finite commodity."

Leonard shook his head. "Stuart, is there any way we can get our money back?" he asked wearily.

Stuart took a glance around the store. "Um, sure. I can throw in some other cards until the ones you ordered arrive. Pick from any you see in the bargain bin. They are all worth between ten and 15 dollars."

Leonard shook his head. "Nah, that's okay. It's not your fault they got here late and I'd hate for you to lose the money."

The statement amused Stuart. "Oh, what's $15 when you're $32,000 in debt and living in the break room?"

"No, keep them," Leonard insisted. "We couldn't."

"Speak for yourself," Sheldon said as he elbowed his way pass Leonard and commenced to rifling through the plastic tub. He emerged with World of Darkness cards. "I haven't seen these babies in a while," he said gleefully. "I'll take them." He hurried back to the cash register, gleeful and bright, and plopped the slick box of cards on the cool counter.

"Enjoy, sir," Stuart said, maybe sarcastically.

"I will." Sheldon replied and stared at the cards contentedly. "You know, I was going to wait until New Comic Book Night to come and pick this order up, but now I am glad that I didn't. It's scarcely,"—he checked his watch—"nine o'clock and it's already shaping up to be an amazing day."

"Yeah," Stuart said, his voice world-weary. "Any day I'm giving away merchandise is definitely a good day."

Locked in a stand-off that was becoming more common, Meemaw sat in her kitchen table staring up at her daughter. The pleated curtains, Formica cabinets, and kitschy wallpaper all stood witness to the mother and daughter locking horns between their walls, and neither woman was budging.

"Momma," Mary said, gesturing sternly and using the voice she used when her patience was wearing thin, "I'm only gonna tell you this one more time. You complain about the headaches, your feet swelling and your heart racing, but come time to take the medication you don't want to. Now, you took care of me as a child and it's my turn to take care of you but, Lord knows, you won't let me. So either you're gonna let me give you these pills or I'm gonna grab my purse and go home."

Supremely agitated, Meemaw gripped the armrests of the chair she was sitting in and leveled a defiant eye at Mary. "Don't you sass me, Mary. If Moonpie was here he would never talk to me like that."

"Well fine, let Moonpie give you your pills," she said, slamming the plastic container to the table with a muted thump and crossing her arms. "Although, I don't know how he's going to do that all the way from California."

Meemaw waved her arthritic hand. "Aw, never mind you."

Just then Missy rushed into the kitchen and stopped just inside the door. Mary turned to her daughter, intending to plead for her help in getting Meemaw to take her medication but was stopped, mid-word, by what she saw. Missy was breathing hard, her shoulders and chest visibly falling and rising, and her eyes darted between her mother and grandmother, nothing short of panic on her face.

Mary knew it was bad, and cold terror ran though her body.

"Lord Jesus," she whispered to herself. "Missy, what is it?"

It was a moment before Leonard registered that he was on the floor and another moment before he could feel the throbbing in his head. He opened his eyes, and when everything was still black, he flew into a panic, flailing his arms around. Fortunately, he was buried under a shallow pile, and quickly freed himself under the fallen items. Dinged up with minor pains, he rose slowly and took a look around. The comic book store was in complete disarray, the electricity was out and he could only see from a trickle of light coming in from a jagged crack in the ceiling. He looked around and didn't see Sheldon or Stuart.

"SHELDON!" he called, frantic. A moment later, he saw a hand emerge several feet away and scrambled over to loosen his friend from the debris. Pushing books, boxes, pieces of sheet rock and concrete aside, he helped Sheldon to his feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"A bit shaken," Sheldon said, "but as I have my life and health, I think the term 'okay' will do." He started brushing off what debris and dust had settled on him. "And you?"

Leonard took a look at himself. "Surprised to be alive."

There was the sound of shifting glass. Both men took a sweeping look around.

"Where's Stuart?" Sheldon asked.

"STUART!" Leonard called. There was no answer. "STUART!" he called more urgently. Sheldon joined in calling for him.

"I'm over here," came a weak voice, and Leonard hurried over to where he heard the call. Through the gaps in the fallen wreckage, Leonard could see that Stuart was pinned under the fallen counter.

"Stuart, wait," he said, winding through the debris to where he saw a metal broom. He grabbed it and carefully made his way back to where Stuart was. "Give me a hand," he called to Sheldon, and the two of them used the broom as a lever to lift the broken counter off of Stuart. As it rose, they could see he was covered in broken glass. He seemed like he was in pain.

"Are you hurt?" Leonard asked, pushing the counter out of the way.

"Ugh," Stuart groaned. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, but he was gripping his right arm. "I think I might have broken my arm," he said, wincing. His face and arms where covered in tiny lacerations.

"Ok; wait right here," Leonard said. "I'm going to go and get help."

"What should I do?" Sheldon asked.

Leonard debated whether Sheldon should stay or go, but since Sheldon had an bedside manner that left much to be desired, Leonard thought it would be better if he came along. Besides, who knew what awaited them outside. He may need a companion.

"Come with me," he said. Taking one final glimpse at Stuart, Sheldon followed him to the twisted, broken door, and they wrestled their way out.

Once outside, the flood of sunlight overwhelmed their eyes and they squinted against the rays, blocking the sun with their hands. Both men took a look at each other and then out at the destruction all around them. The air was punctured with the sounds of sirens, screeching horns, yelling, and the cries of babies.

In a word, it was bedlam.