Chapter Text
Waylon Smithers was best known around Springfield for his position as the personal assistant and right hand man to Springfield's richest man, C. Montgomery Burns. He catered to the man's every whim and developed a rather close partnership. However, over the years he realized he had come to view his boss as less of a family friend and more as an infatuation. Infatuation turned to devotion, to full-on obsession, he spent half his life chasing after the old plutocrat. He sacrificed his time, his health, friends, worldly possessions, even giving up on a marriage betting on the hopes that one day his feelings would be returned. It had been decades ago that he had first realized his love for the man was unconditional, and up until the past month, he had never fully questioned whether any of his decisions had been worth the cost.
The well-known fact that Smithers held a deep love for his boss and the fact that that love was completely unrequited went hand in hand. Even a blind man could see that Burns couldn't care less about his assistant as a person , let alone whatever feelings he might possess. For all anyone knew, he wasn't even aware there were feelings involved in the first place. He was never gentle or kind to anyone, and his assistant was no exception. In fact, it wasn't a stretch to say he may have even disliked the man. Smithers was always his personal punching bag and whether it was surviving an onslaught of insults or being denied any form of compensation for his years of over-the-top service, he always received the short end of the stick. He was there for Burns, beck and call, and for what? The rare moment where Burns would acknowledge his existence?
Still, despite everything, Smithers continued on as he always did. He brushed aside the insults, ignored his boss's lack of gratitude, and chose to focus on the little things about Burns that he admired. He always wondered how no one could see that Burns was much more than just some senile old man peddling nuclear energy for an inflated price. He was intimidating and sly, a cunning businessman, and had the agility to put men half his age to shame. He truly was admirable, but here Smithers sat at his desk in his bachelor pad, filling out papers, wondering if any of the things he truly believed about Burns were even present or was he so lost in his delusions that he only let himself see the things he wanted to see.
Smithers leaned back in his chair. A look of misery was splayed across his face. He rubbed his eyes, sighed, and looked back at the piece of paper in front of him. His chest tightened the longer he sat there, gazing dreadfully at the half-finished document he had tried -and failed- so many times to write before. He took a deep breath and leaned forward to continue his work. This was not a letter he had any desire to complete, but one look towards the pile of what could have easily been 20-or-so scrapped attempts, taunting him with his own inability to go through with his decisions served as a reminder that this time he would finally end the cycle of heartbreak he had been putting himself through, once and for all.
Finishing up the last of his work, he placed each document neatly into a folder and made his way into his bathroom. He washes his face off in the sink and looks up at himself in the mirror. He was a sight for sore eyes if ever there was one. His hair was unkempt and messy, his face red and his eyes puffy from sobbing. He sniffled and brought a hand up to his forehead, dragging it down through his hair.
Hell, Waylon, look at yourself! He thought, staring into his reflection. You're a wreck. You can hardly recognize yourself!
He steps back away from the mirror. He was not in the least bit prepared for tomorrow, and he knew wallowing in self hatred wasn't going to make anything easier. He'd do that once everything is said and done. He does his business and leaves, shuffling past his kitchen and into his bedroom. He was hungry, but he knew that if he ate anything it would never stay down. All he wanted to do right now is sleep and try to calm his racing mind. With his small terrier dog curled up by his foot, he wills himself to sleep, his thoughts chanting the same line over and over.
I'm SO not ready for tomorrow.
>>>×<<<
It all felt numb as he walked to his boss's office, a cup of coffee in hand, newspaper tucked neatly under his arm, the folder from the previous night tucked within his coat. He gazes down into the cup. He'd made quite possibly the nicest looking cup of coffee he'd ever created, replete with creamer art in the shape of a flower and a light sprinkling of cinnamon to top it off -a few of the little things he once performed happily, although these days he lacked the willpower to continue doing so. He took as much time as he possibly could making it. Realistically he probably only spent a minute or two on it, but he bathed in every second he could spend pretending he wasn't about to send his entire world for the past few decades crashing down.
He makes brief eye-contact with Burns walking in, and immediately averts his eyes. The closer he gets to Burns' desk the more his thoughts became focused on the letter, specifically doubtful thoughts. Did he really have to give him the letter? He thinks maybe, just maybe, Burns would be on his good side.
Well If Burns was on his good side, then who knows, maybe he'd notice the coffee? Maybe he'd see the sudden extra effort and say something good about it?
The newspaper was placed in Burns' outstretched hand, the coffee placed in front of him.
Well if he says anything good I might want to give him another chance. I wouldn't have to give him any letter except the newsletter. He reasoned with himself. It was a poor excuse, but it was the best he could come up with.
He watches hopefully for a response on Burns' end, anything, even just a snort to signal that he noticed anything had changed. Movement from Burns caught Smithers' eye. Not even bothering to move his eyes from the paper he takes a sip from the coffee and simply just places it back down, none the wiser to anything different. Burns' nose remained buried in the newspaper, only moving again to turn the page. Smithers turned away and just looked ahead of him. Of course, he thought, Burns didn't notice, and if he did, he didn't care. The stars would have to be aligned for Burns to ever just dole out a complement for something as trivial as coffee . It was exactly what he expected. He probably didn't ever notice he stopped doing anything in the first place.
The folder in his coat pokes him in the arm, making it's existence ever-so-known. He slowly, dreadfully, pulls it out of his coat and runs his hands along it's slick surface.
"Hell's that?" Burns suddenly asked, the folder obviously having caught his attention.
Smithers takes a deep breath and sighs, it was now or never. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead as he pulls out the few sheets of paper, the first of which being a bubblegum pink color. There was only one type of form in the entire plant that would be colored pink, it was unmistakable. Smithers knew that, and so did Burns as he took the papers from Smithers' hand and surveyed them, an eyebrow raised.
In that moment it felt as if time had stopped. His face was drained of color, he felt weak, like he would just topple over dead at any second, and if the look Burns was now giving him could kill he surely would do just that. He watched in utter dread at the old man before him, who met his terrified gaze with a cold one. The old man raised a curled paw up to the piece of paper.
"What-" he said icily, jabbing a crooked finger into the paper "is this?"
Smithers swallowed the lump in his throat.
"That is a letter of… resignation, sir… er, my resignation, that is." Smithers coughed nervously. The look Burns was giving him could burn a hole through him. Smithers couldn't meet his eyes and opted to look towards the ground. How long he had been silently standing there under Burns' scrutiny, he couldn't tell you. He only looked up when he heard the sound of the papers being placed down onto his desk. He watched Burns fold the papers, push it away from him, and stand. Slowly he made his way passed the desk before stopping directly in front of Smithers. He had to admit, he certainly wasn't being delusional when he thought Burns intimidating. For a man that small, he certainly knew how to make others feel smaller. He stood for a minute, inspecting Smithers top to bottom. After seemingly finding an answer to whatever internal question he had, he leaned against his desk, his cold expression seeming to fade into a more relaxed look. Burns let out a laugh before speaking.
"Really Smithers? You can't seriously think I'd believe this! You? Quit ME?" Burns laughs harder before slapping a hand down on Smithers' shoulder
"For a second you almost had me there! Always the jokester, ey?"
"Heh, uh…yeah. That's me. The…the jokester" Smithers replied, laughing in a manner that was obviously forced.
Smithers figured Burns must have picked up on the insincerity in his reply, as he seemed to now be eyeing him suspiciously, his smirk lowering, and his laugh turning awkward.
"You are kidding? Right?"
Smithers couldn't bring himself to make eye contact, but he could see Burns turn to look at the papers on his desk, then back to Smithers.
"Oh. Oh. " Burns retracted his hand from Smithers shoulder, in a way that reflected his building anger.
"I see how it is. What, so you think you can just up and disappear on me?"
Something about the way he'd said that rubbed him the wrong way. Even if it was technically what he was doing.
"N-no sir, er, I-I mean I guess but… uh-"
"Oh, quiet, Smithers." spat Burns, interrupting Smithers' protest. Yet again the room was filled with silence. Smithers hung his head, one part in shame, one part because he found he still couldn't make eye contact.
"You wouldn't do it anyways."
"W-what?" Smithers was surprised by Burns' reaction. He had expected him to just fire him on the spot, or at the very least just not care.
"You wouldn't do it. You don't have the spine to actually leave."
Smithers met his gaze. He wanted to agree with him and just go back to his desk with a 'yes sir, sorry sir' but something about the sneer crawling across the older man's face kept him quiet. He pursed his lips and didn't move. Burns took notice of this and continued on.
"You've devoted so much of your life to this plant and to me. You wouldn't leave it all behind so suddenly. You're too spineless. All I have to do is say 'Smithers, you're staying' and you'd never say a peep against it." He wasn't wrong, Smithers thought, but even still he didn't move.
"Well, Sir I-"
Burns interrupted Smithers yet again with a dismissive hand wave. Smithers could feel his temperature start to rise as he began to get frustrated.
"Seriously Smithers, don't kid yourself, you'd obey any command I'd send your way and you know it. Watch, if you will, I'll prove it!" Burns snaps his fingers and walks over to the monitors, surveying the plant nonchalantly.
"Smithers, see those ruffians over there in sector 7G?" He flicks a boney finger towards the monitor, where pretty much every worker in that sector was gathered in a circle, watching a larger man scarf down an ungodly amount of donuts.
"-Take care of them for me, would you? Luckily for you, your sudden sense of confidence is just pitiable enough for me to be willing to let you off the hook, so keep me in a good mood and we can forget about this when you come back, hmm?"
Smithers stood defeatedly. He tries to move his legs toward the door, but finds that something in him doesn't want to move. He could almost feel himself begin to panic at his lack of mobility, but the feeling was brief, as it was soon replaced with rising defiance. He had stressed over this -over the prospect of him finally quitting and forcing himself to move on- for the past month, and he was just going to let Burns brush him off like it was nothing? He clenched his fists. He'd given up and fallen back into line way too many times, felt sick and tired of being the only one of them ever hurt.
"No."
Burns whipped his head back to Smithers with a look of surprise. Even Smithers himself was surprised by his sudden insubordination. The look faded from Burns' expression and was replaced with anger.
"What!?" He growled.
Smithers met his gaze. Internally still panicking, but he pushed that aside. The time to back down had passed already and now he knew if he didn't do something all of his efforts would be for nothing.
"I said no. No sir, I won't." He took a deep breath and stood tall.
For a brief minute he thought he saw a flash of panic in Burns eyes as well, but had it been there, it had left as quickly as it came. Burns raised his lip in a snarl and moved towards Smithers.
"Why I oughta-"
"You oughta what ?" Smithers barked. As terrified as he felt, he was liking the feeling of standing up for himself for once. Burns however did not, still looking daggers at his assistant.
"Rrrrrg- FINE then! Smithers! You are fired! " Burns shouts, stomping his foot and pointing towards the door.
"Get out! Out, out, out! "
Smithers huffed and stomped his way to the door.
"You can't fire me! I already quit!" Smithers declared before flipping Burns the bird and walking out of his office.
He would have taken his sweet ass time getting to his car had it not been for the fast-approaching sounds of a herd of claws on tile floors. It wasn't until he got home, having managed to evade the hounds with only a nip in his leg, did he realize the gravity of what he had just done. He had quit working with Mr. Burns! And it felt great! -of course until the high wore off, that is. The second he realized what that meant he let out a long, depressed groan.
I really did quit working for Mr. Burns, huh? He thought. What have I done?