Punched by an Angel
by Henry Wyckoff

A crossover between Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, Millennium, and Touched by an Angel

Chapter 4

Kermit had lived a life as intense as it was varied. He'd seen the world as a CIA operative and as a mercenary, but it was not until he met Kwai-Chang Caine that he'd begun to re-evaluate his life. Things that he'd thought he remembered, he began to see in a different light. Things he saw now were seen in angles that he would not have believe possible. He even believed that he saw a common figure that stood above every man that he had killed.

He looked at Frank, who was explaining to Peter about an episode in New Hampshire, and it seemed that Frank had morphed into something else for a moment. A demon.

A very intense vision flashed through his mind then. Not a message, but rather a flashback. It made him think of an earlier time.


First Mesa, Hopi Nation, 1980 --

Sometimes, things just happened around Kermit. It was a matter of statistics. Sometimes when you're on a walk, nothing happens or you see a sunset. Sometimes you encounter a rabid pit bull named Cujo who wants to tear your throat out. From God's or the dog's point of view, it's not personal. It's just a roll of the dice, and you're a big, fat target that says 'Eat me.' This particular day, it was monsoon season, and sporadic anvil droppings (as one other Anglo visitor had called the brief, random, and intense rains) were in full force.

Kermit had stopped by the only gas station in Polacca, with the intention of filling his gas tank and grabbing a coke. Just that. He should've known that setting those intentions would just offset the dice roll.

An old man, his face flushed with excessive alcoholism, pointed an old rifle in the air. He shouted, "This is a hold up! I want all the money!"

The young man at the register, a no-nonsense Hopi who had recently left the Navy, whipped out a gun and shot the old man before he could do anything else. The old man wasn't expecting it, and it was quite obvious -- he wasn't quite alive now, and was unable to fire his rifle.

Kermit wasn't really scared by the sudden violence. Just startled, because this reservation had seemed like a tranquil haven more than another site for random violence to occur.

There was something about the old man that drew Kermit towards him. There was no hospital for miles -- Tuba City was the closest place, and that was over an hour away.

"Hey, what's your problem?" asked the cashier, his gun still out.

"I'm just making sure he doesn't die alone." Kermit didn't know why he said that, but it struck a chord within him.

The young man shut up, but he was still a bit puzzled by it.

The police didn't give him any trouble. After all, he was just a sympathetic passerby.

Kermit quickly moved on. His business was done, after all, but he couldn't help but notice everyone's stares. News of his peculiar action had spread quickly in this small town.


Kermit stood up, "I hope you excuse me, but there's nothing else I can contribute at this point. I need to get some fresh air."

Frank seemed skeptical, but Peter accepted it. "Come back any time."

Kermit nodded, followed by an unseen Monica.

Monica felt frightened of this man and his obvious capacity for violence, but she also felt a sense of mystery. She wanted to know more about him. What kind of pain did he carry behind those shades? What was it about the discussion that rattled him so much? He kept a good poker face, but she could see a little bit more underneath the mask than Peter or Frank could.

Kermit didn't want just a breath of fresh air, she noticed. He was walking with a purpose to some specific location, and it wasn't until a while later that she saw it was Saint Andrew's Cathedral.

Kermit would have thought that the place would have been deserted, but was surprised to find a very familiar looking man who sat in prayer at the very first row. He found himself shouting, "I know you!"

Andrew turned around, his sorrow still evident on his face. "Hello, Kermit. I had a feeling we would meet again."

"I'm sure. Why is it that for every man I've seen killed, I'm just now remembering that you were always there, standing in the shadows? I never consciously noticed you until now."

The Angel nodded. These observations popped up now and then. "I'm Andrew, and you have seen me."


"Because death is your occupation, just like mine is. The only difference is that I know what my assignments are."

"What are you, mercenary or government?"

"Government, from a certain point of view."



Kermit snorted.

A golden aura emanated from around Andrew, "I'm an Angel, Kermit."

Kermit looked around wildly, "That's a neat trick. How are you doing this? Remote control? Invisible paint that lights up only when you flip on a fluorescent lamp?"

Andrew didn't know how to react. Usually, the light from Heaven was enough, but this man had more than one pair of sunglasses. "It's no trick, Kermit."

Kermit nodded, "So, what are you going to do now? Walk on water? Turn water into Merlot? Tear a large loaf of bread into a bunch of little pieces?"

"Why are you so cynical? Is it because of the endless death? Is it because in this world, all you see are the uphill struggles, but nothing to indicate that there's any good?"

Kermit's face hardened, "You don't know me at all."

He stormed out of the cathedral, and Monica stopped one moment to look at Andrew. "Don't feel bad. He's my assignment, and I'm not even close to knowing him."

* * * *

Previous Chapter Punched/Angel Main Page Pacific Main Page Next Chapter

Main Page My Fanfiction Henry's Fanfiction My Favorite Links Webrings I'm On