Chapter Text
The bar was grimey. Even before they stepped inside, both H. Shoe and Benzedrine felt sticky just by looking at it. As is customary in Hollywood, it had a gaudy flashing neon sign. They could already smell alcohol, smoke, and vomit from outside the doors.
It was some rundown looking brick and mortar building, and much like how Fishmonger Deep’s shack is just called Deep’s, this was named after whatever random Celeb owned this place. Some other Name Apostrophe S bar that people will go to for a week.
“Wow,” H. Shoe starts, sarcastically. “Such a unique name. And a unique concept. And I’m sure they have-“
He pauses, peering in to try and see the menu board.
“Oh my lucky stars. Vodka Redbull with the mysterious goop! Who could’ve EVER thought of that?!”
Mr. Benzedrine rolls his eyes at his companion’s sarcasm. It was obvious that both were upset that this new place was some generic bar, and that all their weird unspoken tension was for nothing. Because this bar was going to be forgettable.
Benzedrine was almost sad. He’d been so excited to be with his friend. To get out and stretch his legs, go somewhere new, and fuck over Dr. Benzedrine. He’d wasted one of his infrequent nights out for nothing.
Much like his canary-clad counterpart, the plume in his hat seems to droop to match his disappointment.
H. Shoe Crab takes notice, sighing dramatically.
“Whatever. Let’s go inside, get drinks, and then head back to my cabin.”
When Mr. Benzedrine goes to protest, he gets cut off. H. Shoe Crab was too tired to deal with more whining.
“I am not going back with-“
“-Yes you are. I’m not going to have you out by yourself, doing who knows what! Because when Doc comes back, I’m going to be the one he blames, and I don’t want to deal with that.”
Of course. He was only worried about the inconvenience Mister would bring. Not if something happened to him, or making sure he didn’t drink too much. It was always just about him.
Mr. Benzedrine just huffs at him, walking into the bar. It wasn’t a good feeling, knowing your only friend saw you as a burden.
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Both of them drank quite a bit, but not their regular amount. No where near. But just enough for the shadow to break the glass between them.
“Hey. Why do you hang out with me if I just get you in trouble?”
“Wh-ha-hat?” H. Shoe drunkenly laughs out.
“I’m serious! Every time we hang out. We do what you want, go as far as you want, but…like..when I suggest something, it’s always ‘no, M. That's dumb. That's boring. That's too far.’ I don’t see why you hang out with me. You act like I’m a social burden. Does…”
He pauses, staring at his cheaply made, high priced drink.
“Does he pay you? To like…babysit me?”
“Babysit?!”
“Yeah! Because you’re the only one of his friends that's like…‘responsible’ enough? B’cause..well Sandman would be weird…and Donnie would just lie to him about what we did…”
H. Shoe feels cold. Which was odd because the bar was packed full with sweaty Celebs, and he could swear his gorgeous hair was going to grow mold if he didn’t get out of this humidity.
No, this cold was in his chest.
Of course H. knew that he was self centered. It was kind of his thing. But he thought M knew better than to take it so personally. He thought Mr. Benzedrine could see between the lines of his ego, knowing that it was just bashful deflection from the concept of emotional attachment.
“He doesn’t pay me. I get worried. You do stupid things, and he wakes up hurt.”
“So you only care if he gets hurt?”
H. Shoe Crab pauses, bewildered. Was he intentionally misinterpreting him? Is he serious right now?
He turns to stare at Mr. Benzedrine, but almost loses all annoyance and anger to stifle a snort. His companion had flopped face down onto the bar, his hat crooked, and his rotund body all slumped.
“M, sit up dude. And no. I care about both of you. I have two good friends who do stupid shit and share the same body. I’m allowed to be worried about both.”
Benz turns his head to face H. Shoe. His terrible makeup was running, and he looked…ugly. In a cute way though. Like a kicked puppy. If that puppy looked kinda melt-y. Honestly, H. Shoe was convinced that the doctor either removed his tear ducts, or the shadow just fully couldn’t cry. Like how some people can’t roll their tongue.
“M. Listen. I get worried about you. I only see you so often, and when I do, you’re already in a bad way because Dr. Benz worked himself to exhaustion. And then you go drink until you’re silly and eat random things on a dare.”
H. Shoe Crab moves his hand to rest on his friend’s shoulder.
“I…feel sad when I get to hang out with you.”
Mr. Benzedrine looks genuinely confused that H. Shoe was talking so openly about his feelings. Let alone negative ones.
“Sad?”
“Yeah,” H. Shoe flashes a tight lipped smile. “Sad. You’re a guy. A full on guy. You can live a life in a crazy city with crazy people. Have the most fun of your life. But you don’t. We waste your rare nights out drinking. We don’t really do anything. And I feel like, as your friend, it’s my duty to look after you and make sure you’re really living.”
Mister keeps quiet. But he slowly sits up, twiddling his gloved thumbs.
H. moved his hand off Benzedrine’s shoulder, trying to say what he needed too.
“And I get it. Drinking is fun, and you can only party so often. But-“
“Why does he hate me?”
H. Shoe blinks, stunned. “What?”
“Dr. Benzedrine. Why does he hate me? I mean…I know why he now hates me. But even when I first ‘happened’, he still hated me.”
H. Shoe Crab rubs his face a little clumsily. He may not be his normal level of drunk, but he was still quite buzzed.
“It’s because you’re genuine. Doc is a bit…neurotic. I guess. He needs constant control over every little thing in his life or he breaks. Which is what you were born out of. Him breaking. The issue is you’re his exact opposite.”
“Is it because I’m not piss yellow..?”
“HAH! No but that may be part of it. You’re imperfect, adventurous, and like making mistakes. And he resents that. None of us know if you’re some side of him he kept hidden that took life or what. All we know is that he made a mistake one time on a drug he made and actually took, and you just kind of happened.”
“Doesn’t he make faulty drugs all the time? And also does that just mean I’m a living hallucination?”
H. Shoe pauses for a second. He gestures over to the bartender and closes out their tab.
“Here, M, let’s get back to my place. We can walk and talk, I just feel like this place,”
He gestures around to the dinky dive bar,
“Isn’t the best place to get real deep about Doccy. M’kay?”
Mr. Benzedrine nods, using a cocktail napkin to wipe away at his remaining tears.
___________________________________________
Mr. Benzedrine can’t really remember ever being inside the cabin. They’ve hung out on the porch and smoked before, or he’s just waiting at the front door when the two of them head out. But never truly being inside after all this time.
It was nice. It was also a miracle this place had been standing all these years. H. Shoe’s luck didn’t extend to him chopping good wood to build this place. But it extended to making sure that even though the outside was butt-ugly, it was sturdy, warm, and lasting.
The red carpet felt soft under the shadow’s pale feet as he took his polished black shoes off. It smelled like cedar, bourbon, and two different kinds of smoke. Fireplace and cigarette. There were bizarre taxidermies lining the wall above the tiny CRT TV. Some were plain deer, some were things like fish with beaks and things so hodgepodge’d that he truly couldn’t tell if they were once real animals, if they’d just been sewn and stapled together, or if they were sculpted art pieces.
H. Shoe walks out from his bedroom, having changed out of his normal bright red carnie outfit. He was in a lightly stained white wife beater and a pair of dark red pajama pants.
“You know you’re allowed to sit down, right?”
Benzedrine pauses, feeling a bit foolish.
“R-Right. Yeah.”
He walks to a tan corduroy couch, feeling it sink beneath him.
“Am I a real person? Or am I just like an alter ego?”
H. Shoe sits on his arm chair that was right across from the TV, swiveling to face M.
“You’re real. This place is weird. In any other circumstance you’d be seen as an alter ego, but you’re your own guy.”
“If that drug was untested, why did he take it?”
Dr. Benzedrine was known infamously for making experimental drugs with insane side effects. But, he never tested them on himself. The issue was, it wasn’t some new kind of drug. It was just a new dosage of amphetamine he was trying to make.
“Well he was just trying to up his own dosage. I think he was too tired to properly know what he was putting in there, and well…we don’t know what was in those pills but the next night, he crashed like crazy. Me and the guys got worried, went to go check up on him, and you were in his place. Of course, at the time we didn’t know. We just thought he was acting weird.”
“So I’m a mistake?” Mr. Benzedrine was joking, a shy smile on his face. H. Shoe sighs, an exasperated chuckle being pushed out as he exhales.
“Aren’t we all?”