Work Text:
Kaeya and Diluc are eleven years old the first time Crepus takes them behind the bar at the Angel’s Share.
“You’re both too young to be pouring drinks yet,” he tells them, “so don’t go getting any ideas.”
Diluc looks relieved; Kaeya pouts.
“Just watch how we run things around here, alright boys?” Crepus waves a hand at the tavern, still empty except for staff. “I know you’re both getting ready for Knights training, but there’s still a thing or two you could learn from your old man!”
(Later, Kaeya will look back and wonder if he’d missed some hidden bitterness in the words.)
The tavern is still warm from the heat of the day, the fireplaces not yet lit, when the first customers wander in. Crepus greets each of them by name when he gets the chance, though in the early hours he splits his time between the bar and the back office, tending to final preparations for the night.
It’s not until the sun has inched its way below the horizon, making way for the darkness that Kaeya still feels more comfortable in, that Crepus looks towards the opening door and frowns.
Kaeya can’t see who just came in—he’s sitting on the floor behind the bar with Diluc, testing their reflexes with wrestling thumbs. But he sees Crepus give the newcomer a nod instead of a smile, and drum his fingers on the counter instead of waving a welcome.
Crepus watches whoever it is for a long minute, and then beckons the boys to stand.
“What’s going on, Father?” Kaeya whispers. He knows it’s Not Right to gossip—not in front of the people you’re talking about, at least, which is the useful bit of the rule in his opinion.
Crepus bends down to speak near their ears, barely audible in the now-noisy bar. “The man that just came in is Jerom Hart. He’s at the third table from the front, right wall.” He hesitates for a second. “Keep an eye on him, will you? Don’t be nosy,” he warns, “but I want you to notice how he orders. It’s good to know your customers, right?”
It feels like an excuse.
“We will, Father,” Kaeya promises before Diluc can ask any questions. “You can count on us!”
It sounds to him, though he doubts Diluc picked up on it, like Crepus wants them to Know Something. And maybe Kaeya enjoys his lessons in swordplay, and learning how to run the vineyard, but his main talent has always been Finding Things Out.
He pulls Diluc off to find a table before his brother can speak up and ruin their new mission.
The two of them are a familiar sight to the tavern regulars at this point, though Crepus only brings them along when Adelinde has the night off. No one questions them as they tug and shove each other into seats near the middle of the room; in fact, Grandmaster Varka passes them a cup of bar peanuts with an indulgent smile and a “no drinking just yet, eh?”
Diluc puts up a fuss at first, but he settles down soon enough. So the two Ragnvindr children sit and snack, and dutifully keep track of the orders they hear from the mysterious Jerom Hart.
What they hear is…
“One Dragonspine Flurry, please.”
“Could I get a shot of Firebath?”
“Death After Noon, thanks. Uhh, make it two.”
“Could I get another—“
“Yeah, a refill, thanks—“
“Three shots of—“
“Lemme try the—“
As the night goes on, Hart’s words start to run into each other and his head starts to droop. Somehow, he manages to put down as much alcohol by mid-evening as half of the other customers combined.
At that point Crepus’s frown has etched itself into his forehead, and when Hart stumbles over to the bar he shakes his head instead of reaching for another bottle.
“You’ve had enough, Jerom,” Crepus says. “Have some water and gather your wits some before you walk home, maybe.”
Hart looks offended. “C’mon, ain’t I a paying customer? Night’s still fresh, you wouldn’t deny me another ‘un, would you?”
Crepus is unmoved. “Water’s right over there, Jerom. Don’t push it.”
If Hart had been a bit more or less drunk, he might have put up more of a fight. As it is, he backs off with a mutinous grumble. He stalks to the door and grabs his coat, ignoring the water station as he passes it.
Once he’s gone the atmosphere in the tavern feels lighter. Kaeya and Diluc abandon their peanut shells at the table and scamper back behind the counter to report.
“We saw everything, Father!” Kaeya reports proudly. “He ordered a lot of drinks.”
“Kaeya was too nosy,” Diluc complains. “You said not to be nosy, remember?”
“Erm,” Crepus says. “Yes, well. You’re right, Kaeya, he ordered much more than most of our patrons. Did you see what I did about it?”
“You told him he had to stop,” Kaeya says. “Why’d you do that, though?”
Diluc nudges him. “‘Cause he was super drunk, duh.”
“Yeah, but he was buying lots of stuff,” Kaeya says logically. “Shouldn’t you let him keep buying if you want to make money?”
Crepus smiles down at the two of them. “You’re both right. Yes, he was very drunk, and yes, normally it doesn’t make sense to turn away business. But the Angel’s Share isn’t just here to make money, you realize.”
Kaeya and Diluc frown. “Then what are all the numbers and math problems for?” Diluc asks. “I thought you have to… balance the costs and the profit. And demand.”
“And prices!” Kaeya jumps in. “And supply, and wages, and you gotta distribute your stock—“
“Yes, yes, those are all parts of running a business, you’re right,” Crepus says placatingly, cutting Kaeya off before he can list out more vocabulary. “But you can’t run a business without customers, can you?”
Kaeya and Diluc shake their heads.
“And so we have a duty, sons, to every person who walks through those doors.” He looks each of them solemnly in the eyes. “Did you know that drinking enough alcohol can kill someone?”
Diluc shudders, eyes wide.
“How much it takes to be dangerous can depend on the person,” Crepus says. “But Jerom Hart wasn’t going to stop drinking once it stopped being safe. He would have kept going, and kept going, until eventually he passed out and choked to death.”
Now Kaeya feels a little pale too.
“So I kept an eye on him. And when he got too close to the breaking point—when I thought he was close to passing out, or being too drunk to make it home—I cut him off. Because that’s my most important job, do you understand, boys? Not selling drinks. But keeping the people in my tavern alive.”
The Ragnvindr brothers nod furiously, and promise to remember, and for a moment being a bartender is the most noble calling in the world.
*
It was winter in Mondstadt, and the city’s uncrowned king had come home to roost.
In all his time as Cavalry Captain, Kaeya Alberich had never seen such a fever among the people. Everywhere he went the talk was the same: Diluc Ragnvindr had returned, and rumor had it he was here to stay.
Kaeya didn’t believe it at first. Diluc had abandoned his responsibilities when he left his home; Elzer took over operations at the vineyard, Charles kept the Angel’s Share afloat, and Adelinde coordinated the supply chain and financial records. Kaeya himself had been left to make arrangements for Master Crepus’s funeral—under the table, of course. He was the only one qualified to know what Crepus would have wanted, for all that he was still banned from the funeral itself.
With all the duties Diluc had left behind, of course, if he really had returned then Kaeya was sure that he was back for one duty in particular.
Diluc had never gotten around to finishing him off for good, after all.
Kaeya packed his things up, fought his way through the paperwork backlog at Headquarters, and waited for his brother to come knocking one last time.
Weeks passed.
New paperwork showed up, along with a commendation from Jean for his sudden spurt of responsibility. Belongings were unpacked and packed again as he needed them; his clothes eventually found their way back into his wardrobe permanently, since it was too much of a hassle to box them up between washes. Kaeya found himself going on patrols, training new recruits, and walking through the snowy streets just like any other winter, and still Master Diluc never made an appearance.
Apparently, he was working odd shifts at the Angel’s Share. Kaeya had always avoided the place, since it carried far too many bittersweet memories, and since he could get the same information from the other bars in the city if he worked long enough hours. He tried not to feel hurt that Diluc apparently returned there without issue. He tried not to feel like a spurned lover, left waiting for an appointment that never arrived.
So Diluc had time to tend the bar, but couldn’t be bothered to show up to deal with his ex-brother. That was fine. Kaeya was patient. He could wait; he’d waited for three years (eleven years, twenty years) and a few weeks here or there would hardly make a difference.
He used the extra time to take care of things he hadn’t thought he’d get to. He wrote letters to Jean, Adelinde, and some of his friends among the Knights, then had them filed along with an updated will. He bought a map of Mondstadt and the outlying regions, and annotated it with his latest intel on Hillichurl villages and Treasure Hoarder camps. When two months went by with no contact from Diluc, he gritted his teeth and sent word to his foreign informants; any information he could get on the Fatui went into a little notebook, tied up with ribbon and Diluc’s name on the front.
When he heard about the Darknight Hero, so obviously an excuse for his brother to work off steam that it wasn’t even funny, he snapped.
Kaeya left work early that day, and got to the Angel’s Share right as the doors opened.
He’d stopped by Charles’ house on his way, just to check that there was smoke coming from the chimney. It would be humiliating to break his streak of avoidance and not even do it on the right night, after all.
The city was covered in deep snow by this point. Frost caught the dying light of dusk in pretty patterns on window panes, and icicles spiraled down from rooftops as far as the eye could see. Kaeya passed a few familiar faces on his way, and perhaps he’d normally greet them all by name with his best smile and a jaunty wave. Not today.
He heard his father’s voice in his head as he approached the Angel’s Share. Still his father, after all this time—he never could get in the habit of using ‘Master Crepus’, not in his own thoughts.
Every person who walks through those doors, Father had said. We have a duty.
Kaeya grabbed the doorknob and threw himself on Diluc’s mercy for the second time.
Walked in.
Pulled a stool out at the bar.
And looked into a pale face framed by violent red hair.
“One Death After Noon, thanks,” Kaeya said cheerfully.
It wasn’t clear if Diluc understood what was going on, at first.
He looked Kaeya up and down with narrowed eyes for an uncomfortable length of time, glanced around the bar as though someone might remove Kaeya from his presence, and then huffed and stomped his way to the wall to grab a bottle and a glass.
He was glaring daggers at Kaeya the whole time he made the drink, but as far as Kaeya could tell he made it perfectly.
“Much appreciated.” Kaeya smiled winningly at the bartender, who grimaced and turned away.
The first drink was the hardest. Kaeya knew from experience that hard alcohol was an acquired taste, and he never quite got used to the way it burned his throat. He still took this one slowly. He’d been careful to give himself plenty of time, after all.
Soon enough he finished his glass and tapped on it with a fingernail. “Bartender!”
At the far end of the counter, he saw Diluc reluctantly look his direction.
“I’d like a refill, please,” he said pleasantly. “Another Death After Noon.”
Diluc had clearly spent his years away training his poker face. Kaeya could still see his surprise when he saw Kaeya’s empty glass.
There was another long pause before Diluc started on his second drink of the night. That was fine. There was plenty of time for him to get with the program; Kaeya had no intention of leaving for hours yet.
The rest of Mondstadt started to show up while Kaeya started sipping again. The usual assortment of adventurers and tradespeople came up to the bar, each with their own requests for Diluc. Kaeya figured that most of the excitement of Diluc’s return had finally died down, because a month ago there surely would have been wealthy businessmen and hopeful young women, all eager for a look at the prodigal son’s return.
Hah. Prodigal son. If either of them was to fit that descriptor… but of course Kaeya was no son of the Ragnvindr clan anymore.
He watched the flow of people as he drained his glass, grateful that Rosaria at least didn’t seem to be here. He wouldn’t put it past her to count his drinks, just to spite him.
It would have been nice to trade banter with her one last time, though. Ah well.
“Bartender!”
He was careful now to wait until Diluc was between customers. Otherwise he had no doubt he’d be kept waiting, just to be difficult. When Diluc trudged over this time, he didn’t just look irritated, but also confused. Good. Maybe he was finally starting to take the hint.
“Got any Firewater, my good sir?” Kaeya asked slyly. “I heard talk that you’ve been traveling in Snezhnaya…”
Diluc flinched. “No Firewater,” he said shortly, making as though to walk away.
“Ahh, what a shame,” Kaeya lamented loudly before he could. “I’d have liked to try it, you know, but that’s okay! I’ll just have to settle for a Firebath, instead.” And Diluc was looking at him now, so Kaeya pulled out a challenging grin. “Four shots.”
His brother—ex-brother—frowned deeper than ever. Kaeya fancied that he could see the glimmer of understanding in Diluc’s eyes, though.
“You’ve had a lot to drink already,” said Diluc evenly. “Maybe you should slow down.”
Kaeya laughed; it was the same carefully-practiced laugh that all the people of Mondstadt loved, the only laugh anyone had heard from him in years. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bartender,” he said. “Do I look drunk?”
He didn’t, was the thing. Kaeya could hold his alcohol well, and even once he was drunk he could put up a front of sobriety better than anyone he’d ever met. Diluc, of course, knew this.
Diluc didn’t react for a moment, and Kaeya—emboldened by the two glasses he’d already put back—leaned forward to pat him on the shoulder condescendingly.
“It’s okay,” he said. “No one will blame you for not knowing what my tolerance is like. It’s been so long, after all.”
Diluc looked at the hand on his shoulder like he’d never seen it before, and then back at Kaeya with the same expression, and Kaeya knew that now he understood.
Kaeya was here to drink himself to death.
And Diluc wasn’t going to stop him, because this was the closest he could get to Fratricide, Take Two without implicating himself.
No one else would see it as murder, of course. It wouldn't really count to anyone else, even if they knew that Diluc could tell exactly how drunk Kaeya was. But Diluc and Kaeya, for all the years and blood between them, were still bound together by the common thread of Crepus’s lessons.
A bartender holds the lives of his customers in his hands, boys.
From the moment Kaeya stepped through the door, he'd handed his life over to Diluc. All Diluc needed to do now was keep pouring drinks.
And he did: four shots of Firebath, pushed across the counter with trembling hands.
Kaeya took the first one and toasted Diluc with it.
“About time, Master Diluc. You kept me waiting.”
He threw the shot back; it tasted like flames and smelled like rain.
*
Here’s the thing about Jerom Hart:
He dies at 10 pm on a Tuesday, walking home from the Angel’s Share when Kaeya and Diluc are thirteen. He has a flask on him when he enters the tavern, and he still has it when he leaves, and he still has it when they find him in the alleyway except by then it’s empty.
Crepus isn’t working the bar that day. He doesn’t blame the tavern worker who is, when they hear the news later.
Kaeya, on the other hand, does. And he’s pretty sure Diluc feels the same way.
*
“A Fellflower Sour, please.”
“Another shot of Firebath, thanks.”
“Death After Noon.”
“Can I get a refill—“
“Two shots of—“
*
Here’s the other thing about Jerom Hart.
His daughter comes to sword practice on Monday with a bruise that hadn’t been there when she went home Saturday.
And Kaeya’s always been good at Finding Things Out, so here’s a thing he doesn’t think anyone else knows: the Tuesday night bartender at the Angel’s Share is sweet on Jerom Hart’s daughter.
So when Diluc hears the news and races to Crepus’s office, ready to demand justice against the man who let Hart die, Kaeya follows close after and puts a hand on Diluc’s shoulder.
Crepus hears Diluc’s impassioned rant out, then turns to Kaeya. “What do you think, son?” He asks gently.
And Kaeya looks up to him and gives the expression he’s practiced so many times in the mirror, the one where butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I think that anyone can make mistakes, sir,” he says. “And poor Mr. Hart shouldn’t have been drinking unsupervised, right?”
Diluc elbows him on their way out of the office. “What the heck was that for?” Diluc hisses. “You think it’s the bartender’s fault too! I know you do!”
Kaeya shakes his head. “Come on, Diluc,” he says cynically. “Even if it is his fault, there are some people we’re better off without.”
Diluc looks like he doesn’t get it. Kaeya’s not sure why—after all, it’s something Kaeya’s known for years.
*
“One more Death After Noon, I think,” said Kaeya. “And make it a double.”
They were nearing the end of the end of the night, and Kaeya figured he was just about done for. It took longer than he’d thought; maybe he shouldn’t have taken it so slow in the beginning, but he’d clearly underestimated his alcohol tolerance. Perhaps those long nights spent trawling bars for information had affected him more than he’d thought.
However long it took, he was at the very limits of his tolerance now. It was all he could manage to keep his words clear for the order, but he’d be damned if he let go of the pretense now. He looked up blearily at Diluc; he would have to leave soon, but he figured he could allow himself the pleasure of watching his brother work one last time.
He blinked a few times to clear his vision.
Diluc wasn’t moving.
“Uh,” Kaeya said, confused. “One more Death After Noon, please? An’ double it.”
“You’re done for the night.”
Kaeya squinted, then reached up and tried to clear his ears out. “Come again?”
“I said you’re done.” Diluc turned around and grabbed a glass, then filled it with water. “Here’s your last drink, on the house.”
Kaeya felt an unpleasant sensation in his stomach—though that could very well be the alcohol. “You’re not funny.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? Drink the damn water, Sir Kaeya.”
Kaeya barked out a laugh that didn’t sound like him. “Oh, please, are you really gonna… pretend to cut me off now? C’mon, Diluc, I’m so close.”
Diluc didn’t budge.
He felt something dark and angry rise within him. “Alright,” Kaeya said, trying for a light tone. He wasn’t sure he was managing it any more. “Okay, I see you need persuasion. I can be…” he hiccuped… “convincing.”
Kaeya dug deep into the pockets of his winter coat. He searched the wrong ones at first, so it took a couple tries before he pulled out what he was looking for: a little notebook tied up with ribbon. One that had Diluc’s name on the front and a goldmine of information on the Fatui inside.
Diluc looked down at it. “Kaeya, what’s this?”
Kaeya hiccuped again. “That’s for you. And this…” he pulled out a flask, “is for me.”
Diluc grabbed the flask out of his hand almost before Kaeya could get the words out. “Kaeya, what the hell?”
Then he looked down, tilted the flask back and forth. “What. Is this empty?”
Kaeya mustered up his best sarcastic look. “Welll,” he said, “I figured that since I was going to a tavern I wouldn’t be needin’ any extra.” He tried to snatch the flask back, but failed.
Diluc finally looked at the notebook. “And what’s this, then?” His voice, Kaeya was just starting to notice, sounded like it might be a bit shaky. Well, too bad for him. Kaeya wasn’t having the time of his life either here, ha-ha.
“This, dear brother,” Kaeya pronounced, “is somethin’ I think you’ll like a lot. This for my last drink, sound good?”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
Kaeya scowled. “I think it’s a pretty fair trade.”
He tried to grab for his flask again, but Diluc moved it out of reach and set it somewhere out of sight behind the counter.
“No deal.”
Kaeya felt the floor lurch beneath him. “Ehh?” No, that didn’t sound right. “I beg your pardon?” He was careful to pronounce each word perfectly, and also imbue the words with the full force of his disbelief.
Diluc was looking at the notebook with something resembling disgust, or maybe horror. “I don’t want it,” he said, looking up at Kaeya. “I never want to see it again, in fact.” He pushed it towards Kaeya, gingerly. “Put that away, and drink your damned water before I shove it down your throat.”
Crepus never would have cursed like that, and Crepus never wore the expression on Diluc’s face now, but for a second Kaeya was so strongly reminded of their father that he shrunk back and picked up the glass of water.
“Sorry,” he muttered, not even sure what he was apologizing for. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Diluc sighed, loud and frustrated. “I don’t want you drinking yourself to death in my tavern, Sir Kaeya. Surely it’s not that hard to understand.”
Kaeya closed his eyes and, at long last, took a drink of water. “It’s not that complicated,” he muttered. “There’re some people we’re better off without, remember?”
He heard the squeak of leather on wood: Diluc was grabbing the countertop. “I never agreed with you on that,” he said quietly.
Distantly, Kaeya realized that the final few customers had left the tavern. All he heard for a moment was the crackling of the fire and the whistling of wind outside.
“Master Diluc,” Kaeya said.
Diluc sighed. “Hmm?”
“Why did you come back?”
Kaeya heard the rustle of cloth, and then the clinking of glasses. Diluc was cleaning up for the night. The question hung in the still air, unanswered.
“I finished my business abroad,” Diluc said finally. “Of course I came home. I was always going to.”
Kaeya snorted, ugly in a way he rarely allowed himself. “Nothin’ to do with the unfinished business you left behind, huh?” Of course Diluc hadn’t come for him. He didn’t know why he’d ever thought otherwise.
“I don’t think my business in Mondstadt is the type you finish.”
For the Abyss’s sake, Diluc sounded gentle when he said it. Kaeya hadn’t dared to hope for gentleness. He tried to lift his head up and give his brother a scathing look—and when had he rested it against the counter?—but found that his stomach protested the movement. He groaned and sprawled across the countertop once more.
“Diluc?”
Another sigh. “Yes, Kaeya?”
“I think I drank too much.”
“Well, finish your water so you can go home then.”
Kaeya propped his head up to drink from the cup Diluc pushed into his hand. Then, cup empty, he levered himself off of the stool and onto his feet.
“Thanks, I guess,” Kaeya heard himself say. “An’ welcome back to Mondstadt.”
Diluc didn’t say anything else as Kaeya stumbled out the door and into the night, but Kaeya fancied he saw a flash of red on the rooftops as he made his way home.