Chapter Text
It was late friday night, around 10pm now and the guys were all well into their 5th or so beers. Moe glanced at Homer who was slumped over and playing with a tiny peanut. Lenny and Carl were arguing and laughing about some nonsense he was sure and Barney... well, Barney had actually already left.
He'd really been trying hard lately to make a change of himself, sticking to only coffee when at the bar and trying to limit just how much time was spent there. He wanted to see his friends, sure, but he couldn't deny the temptation to drink that he felt whenever he was here.
He almost felt proud of the man if not for the sickening sense of betrayal that kept creeping up whenever he thought about it. Moe shook the feeling off, not wanting to dwell on an issue that was said and done. No, instead he'd focus on the drunks he was still receiving business from.
“'nother beer, Homer?” He asked, polishing a glass with an old, holey rag.
“No... I guess I better head home to the kids. And Marge. And the... TV... “ He slurred, smiling happily to himself.
“Oh yeah, yeah, big man over here has such a happy life! And a TV! Don't rub it in, huh?” Moe bit back harshly.
“Come on, Moe, you got a great life goin' on! You got this... bar!” Lenny tried cheerfully, raising his mug towards him.
The bartender rolled his eyes and went about setting up the rest of the mugs for the next day as Homer said his goodbyes and stumbled out the door. From behind him, Moe heard Lenny and Carl whispering conspiratorially about setting him up on some sort of date but their drunkenness made them quickly forget the topic completely. Instead, they began discussing dying and being buried inside tubes to become trees in the afterlife. Them and their crazy Buddhist theories.
At the end of the bar, Larry waved his empty mug at Moe silently, signaling he was ready for a refill. He took the mug from the man, who frankly, had seen better days and refilled it for him. Hey, he wasn't their keeper, he was just their bartender. If they wanted to poison themselves and give him cash for it, who could blame him for taking it?
Just then the door swung open and in strolled Waylon Smithers, looking tired and dour as hell. Moe cocked an eyebrow but grabbed a mug for him anyway. He didn't usually frequent this part of town and he'd only ever been in the tavern maybe once before with that crazy old guy.
“Uh... what'll it be?” Moe asked, placing the mug on the bar.
Waylon rubbed at his face tiredly, smooshing up his glasses from his face before plopping his arm back down on the surface of the bar. “Uh... just a... beer I guess.”
“Comin' right up.”
Filling the glass for him, he set it down gently in front of him to which he replied a quiet, 'Thanks'.
Moe tried to go back to his cleaning and stacking of mugs, seeing as the guys had settled down into a drunken quiet but something itched at the back of his mind. He found himself turning back around to give the disheveled looking man a once over.
He wasn't too familiar with Waylon Smithers. After all, it was a big town and he was a busy man. He was very invested in his business, you know, so if it didn't involve his customers well then, why would he concern himself?
He watched as the man had gulped nearly half of the mug down in just a short minute and was working on finishing it already. Moe blinked at him a couple of times. That was odd behavior for him. Or was it? He wasn't really sure, again, he didn't know the guy.
“Another!” Waylon called, sounding more intoxicated than he'd suspected when he came strolling in.
“Sure buddy.” Moe replied, pulling the tap and filling his mug with some Duff. “Uh... you want a tab or somethin'?”
“Yes... and keep 'em comin'.”
Moe nodded, only slightly disconcerted before making his way down the bar towards Lenny and Carl and the others. “Hey guys... what's that guy's deal?”
The two were cackling about something, Lenny's hand on Carl's shoulder and creeping a little farther and farther south as the seconds ticked on. Carl seemed to sober up as he peered around his friend's mirthful face however.
“Oh god, that's our boss!” He uttered in a quiet tone.
Moe cocked an eyebrow as he glanced back at the drunken man. “Really? I thought you uh... you worked at that plant or whatever?”
Lenny glanced over as well, eyes growing wide in shock. “Aw man, it IS him!”
“Yeah, well, we do. Mr. Smithers is Mr. Burns' assistant... or something.” Carl shrugged, trying to hide behind Lenny a bit, though there wasn't much point as Waylon wasn't paying attention to anything other than the beer in front of him.
“Who's Mr. Burns?” Moe asked, feeling out of the loop.
“Are you serious? He's our boss! He's the... freakin' head of the nuclear power plant for god sakes!” Carl replied, a little too loudly. “Oops... “ He muttered as he caught Waylon's eye and attention.
The older man began to laugh harshly, downing his entire mug of Duff. “Not anymore, gents!”
A wicked smile on his face, he stood up from the stool and headed their way with a confident stride. Moe glanced at his friends and the way they seemed to sink in their seats. He smirked. This guy was alright.
“No, no! You see, the precious Mr. Burns has left us all!” Waylon continued, swinging the empty mug around as his shouting grew louder and louder. Even Larry perked up a bit at the antics.
He grabbed Lenny by the collar of his forest green shirt, pulling him close. “And do you know... do you know where he went?!”
“Uh, no sir, Mr. Smithers! Where?”
Carl and Moe exchanged confused glances.
“Who the hell knows?!” Waylon finished anti-climatically, dropping Lenny's shirt and slamming the mug down on the bar in front of Moe. “He's somewhere in... in germany or something. Who cares?! I don't! I... sure as hell don't!”
Moe shrugged, knowing better than to argue with drunks. It was one thing he'd learned in all his years. “Sure. I can see that.”
“Barkeep! One more! Better yet... gimme a pitcher of the stuff!” Waylon shouted, slamming his hands down on the bar, then leaning against it so as not to topple over. Carl had stood up and was slowly making his way towards the exit, frantically signaling to Lenny who was awkwardly trying to sneak away as well.
“Alright... well, sure but I'm gonna need a card or some cash or somethin'.” Moe said, hands on his hips. He knew better than to trust some rando coming in his bar and demanding alcohol with no payment. Sure, that was fine for his regulars but this guy? No way was he getting jipped!
Waylon began to cackle. “What? You think I'm not good for it?!” He pulled out his wallet and slammed a metal, black card on the bar, making Moe's eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Run it! Go ahead!” The bespectacled man sneered.
“You got it buddy!” Moe happily snatched the credit card up and ran over to the register, admiring the way it sort of shimmered in the dim lighting. Smiling to himself when he realized he was once again distracted by Lenny, he began to ring up several charges for pitchers of beer. No need to let a good card like this go to waste. After all, the man had the money, right? Why not share in the wealth a little bit?
Returning back to Waylon, Moe handed the card back over and began filling up a pitcher for him. Carl had seemed to disappear and Larry was shoving cash into his hand and shuffling out as well.
“Mr. Leonard... I'll have you know, I do not care what that wrinkly old coot has in mind for his future plans! I am... going to be just fine. Yes!” Waylon trailed on and on, only pausing once the pitcher was placed next to him. He began to drink directly from the lip of it causing Moe to stare wide eyed.
“I was gonna give ya a new mug, geez!”
Lenny looked less terrified at being spotted out by his supervisor and more concerned about the statements he'd been making. “Wait, so Mr. Smithers, does that mean Mr. Burns has... sold the power plant?”
The older man slammed the pitcher down, not seeming to care when a bit of beer sloshed over the sides. “Yes! To... a german man, the same company as before, of course. They don't seem to learn from their past mistakes. But... the point is, I'll be fine! I'm fine! Really!”
Lenny looked even more upset. “Are we gonna lose our jobs?!”
“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. No, I think they are well aware of the situation.” Waylon slurred, turning back to his beer, well, pitcher of beer.
“I gotta tell Carl!” He shouted, running out of the tavern.
“Hey, you bums! You get back here and pay me!” Moe shouted. “Ahh!” He waved a hand at the empty doorway and began grumbling to himself as he stacked more of the mugs in the corner.
The bar was now empty, well except for Mr. lush over there.
“No, I'm... I'm fine.” He heard Waylon quietly mutter to himself.
Turning back around, he found the man staring wistfully into the amber colored liquid in the glass. He sipped at it a bit more before pushing it back and laying his head down into his arms to cover his face.
Moe frowned. He didn't particularly like when patrons got this drunk, well, unless they were entertaining. No, he didn't like customers bringing him down. He had enough doom and gloom without other people's problems to bother him as well.
“Hey, uh... Smithers, is it?”
“Waylon.” Came the muffled response from the man. He didn't yet raise his head.
Moe rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, ya seem like... maybe you're not so fine. Maybe you should... aw geez. I never do this! I don't! I'm here to make money, ya know? But... maybe you should call it a night.”
Finally, Waylon raised his head and peered at the bartender curiously. “You don't think I can hold my liquor?” He asked, hiccuping in the middle of the question.
“Uh... it's just... I'd rather not have another attempted suicide on my hands, ya know?”
This wasn't exactly a comforting response that he was looking for and so Waylon stood shakily to his feet and began to stumble towards the door.
“Hey wait!” Moe called out quickly. “I'm sorry... I ain't no good with people, ya know? I know. Bartender here. But still, I ain't the best. I ain't good with words none. Eh... sorry.”
Waylon stumbled back over, taking a deep breath in and out. He offered a small smile. “It's okay. I should... just pay you for the drinks and leave... “
“Uh, you actually already paid me.”
“Oh.”
Moe shrugged. “Yeah. You uh... okay to drive?”
Waylon leaned his elbows on the bar once more, rubbing his face repeatedly in an effort to wake up a bit. “I walked here.”
“Ah. Okay then. Well... good.”
He straightened up a little and gripped the bar with knuckles so tight, they turned a bit white. “I'm okay. I am. I don't need him. Contrary to what this town thinks, I'm not tied to that man's hip! And besides, it would just break if I was.”
Moe felt lost again like he was missing something. Maybe he needed to get out more, not that he had anywhere to go. “If you say so, pal.”
Waylon took a deep breath and shrugged. “Oh, what the hell?” In one fell swoop, he leaned across the small bar and grabbed him by the apron, pulling him in close for a kiss.
He kissed him soundly, as firmly as he could while being intoxicated as hell. Moe froze in shock.
Waylon reached up and ran his hand through his hair before resting it down on his shoulder. He moved his lips against the man's own trying to part them with his tongue, seeking entrance inside but settling with just running the tip along his chapped lips instead.
He pulled back, satisfied with himself and grinning as Moe stared at him, eyes as wide as saucers. “Well... I'll see ya.”
Moe watched as the man stumbled out of his bar, leaving him alone with his thoughts, abundant as they were. Emotions ran through him, from confusion to anger to finally... giddiness?
Running a hand across his brow, he leaned against the bar in confusion. What had just happened? The man had taken him for a... a... homosexual!
Checking the Duff clock on the wall above him, Moe made the decision to close up early for the first time in nearly ten years. He needed a drink.