Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a particularly slow night, especially not in the bar on the west end of lower L’manburg, the official title for the poorest districts of Escempei. 

The inhabitants themselves were a tough bunch. After all, they pretty much had to be in a city of villains and heroes where only the rich can afford protection and help when needed.

An upper Escempeian wouldn’t be caught dead in L’manburg willingly, and the L’manburgians had enough pride in who they were that they spit in the direction of the heroes of a corrupt government, and wouldn’t step foot near the upper districts.

The mafia had links everywhere, but it wasn’t a surprise that they stationed themselves most commonly in L’manburg, where crime and vigilantes ran rampant. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad one. It was easier to get away with more things in the one place in the city where law enforcement was tied only to morals and vigilantes, but even then both of those were a huge gray area.

You could pay almost anyone off with enough money. 

Additionally, medical care was common knowledge among the lower district’s inhabitants. Stitches, fever, infection. Most couldn’t afford the overpriced cost of heading to an actual hospital. And ambulances? They never bothered showing up once they knew the address of the person who got hurt. They knew they couldn’t pay, so they wouldn’t come. And if you took the train, you’d be dead long before you got anywhere near a hospital.

Needless to say, if you’re stuck in L’manburg, you learn how to survive. 

Tommy was from L’manburg, born and raised his whole life, half of it on the streets. He knew how to survive its darkest alleys, and its coldest nights.

When he was old enough to be able to, he carved his way into the woodwork, not bothering with crawling in, instead making his own place for himself, not trying to fit into anywhere.

He bought a run-down building and started saving. He stole money, called in favors, and pulled strings. The building took almost a half year to renovate. But, in the end, it was worth it when he opened the front door and saw exactly what he was imagining.

It took a bit for the idea to catch on, neutral ground. A bar, nonetheless, where drinks make the tongue loose and anyone could be prying for information. The first time a rival gang member started shit, it took almost ten minutes for the fight to settle down. The only reason it did was because Tommy scratched one of their faces up real bad, a bunch of red lines over their right cheek bleeding profusely from his quills.

The other fighter hightailed it out of there faster than Tommy could blink, but the one Tommy had hurt stayed. That was when Tommy first met Russ.

Russ was a badass. He was an old ring fighter who was trying to get out of the mafia business- of course Tommy offered him a job! And Tommy still thinks to this day that he only accepted when he saw how badly he’d actually hurt him and was impressed.

Tommy, if you couldn’t guess, is a porcupine hybrid. His quills can fall out almost on command, and if he pulls them they don’t hurt coming out. There are a few that line his forearms, which are the ones he uses to attack most often, and the rest are on his back, usually covered by a shirt, save for a few stray ones in his hair. They’re sharp, and barbed, so they’re a bitch to pull out if they get stabbed into your skin. Tommy can also shoot them, and they grow back really fast. He has the advantage of long range and short range, and he was really dangerous when you thought about it. It was probably one of the few reasons he survived as long as he did.

Russ became Tommy’s closest friend and companion, and helped mainly with business decisions. He took charge of buying the liquor for the bar, hiring cooks for food, and dealing with money. Basically all Tommy did was make sure he didn’t fuck up, settle fights, and sell drinks. 

Then along came Marvin. He’d broken into the place and nearly had gotten away with a pretty hefty stack of bills before Tommy took his legs out from under him with a few well-aimed quills to the knees and ankles.

He howled for hours as Tommy and Russ tried patching him up. Eventually, in turn, Tommy offered him a place with them as security for a stable job and financial income, instead of letting him resort to stealing and squatting. It was a win-win, he wouldn’t try to steal from their place, he wouldn’t be like the rest of the poorer population.

The man was loyal ever since. And after, the rest kind of fell into place.

It didn’t take long at all for the word to spread, of a new neutral ground spot. What was probably so surprising to everyone that came was to how well-enforced this rule was. The other ones are more… loose in their definitions of neutral. In Tommy’s place, the bar called The Golden Median , the rules were as clear and simple as they could possibly be. 

Don’t start anything, because bans are permanent.

That was pretty much it. Short, simple, and to the point. There were various consequences to those who wouldn’t follow these rules, along with a few other minor ones. It wasn’t long before The Golden Median was the hotspot for any non-civilian activity.

Heroes would come in for a break, just to feel normal for a bit, even around the enemies they fought every day. Villains would do likewise, meeting and talking to old friends that they couldn’t when anywhere else, because here they were far out of reach of the media.

The media, obviously, had no idea about the spot. It was a well-kept secret spread only by word of mouth. But everyone in L’manburg knew of it. 

And Tommy couldn’t ask for anything more.

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The man who walked into the bar at half past midnight had so obviously never been there before.

And Tommy wasn’t saying that just because he didn’t recognise the man. Though that was a big part of it too- he never forgot a face, it was literally part of his job. No, it was painstakingly obvious by the slightly awkward and tense way he walked straight-backed through the crowd, which was a mixture of mafia members, vigilantes, and even unmasked heroes relying on the rule that no one would start anything.

No one ever started anything when Tommy was behind the bar. There were a couple brave and foolish souls who, despite the rumors that always swirled around the place (and him), tried starting some shit when he was off shift, but Russ was the only other person he trusted enough to work the counter, and he could put anyone in their place almost as well as Tommy could.

But this man clearly didn’t know about the ‘neutral zone’ signs plastered literally everywhere. Or maybe he questioned their credibility. Either way, when a drunk member of a rival gang in the area bumped into him with a childish giggle, you could see the metaphorical hackles of the man rise drastically. 

But, thank God, all he did was gently redirect the drunk man to another direction, and continued picking his way through the crowd to the bar where Tommy stood, cleaning a beer glass with a cloth. 

The bar was less crowded than the rest of the room, Tommy could see the tension leaking out of his shoulders as the crowd thinned the closer he got. And when he turned his head just right , the neon lights caught his face and Tommy couldn’t help the feral smile that wormed its way onto his face. 

It would be hard for him not to recognise one of the most notorious villains in Escempei, even without his mask. The villain was Siren, who could control anyone with only a few words, with the drawback that he could only do a couple people at once and had to keep his concentration on them the entire time. Civilian name- Wilbur Soot Gold.

Yeah, he’d definitely never been in here before. 

But the most funny part was when he sat down on one of the barstools, and the look on his face when he saw Tommy. The pure shock, disbelief, and borderline horror in his eyes made the quills on his arms and back stiffen a bit.

“What can I get for ya’?” Tommy asked, not even bothering to glance back up at the man who was staring quite literally open-mouthed at Tommy. When he did glance up though, Wilbur quickly composed himself, closing his mouth and clearing his throat. 

“I- uh, a Bloody Mary?” he stammered with a subtle middle-class accent, bordering on lower. Tommy held back a laugh, seeing one of the most dangerous people in the city completely flabbergasted at his mere existence. 

“What cat shit on your bed this morning?” Tommy asked, the common way to say ‘what the fuck is up with you’ in lower L’manburgian. 

“Why the fuck is there a child working the graveyard shift of a bar smack-dab in the middle of a criminal’s hotspot?” Wilbur asked, gaping as Tommy expertly prepared his drink with practiced motions.

Tommy smirked. “You’ve never been in here before,” he stated, sliding the glass to his spot, the drink stopping perfectly in front of him with practiced precision. It wasn’t a question, Tommy knew he hadn’t. “Have you at least heard the rumors?”

He wasn’t surprised when Wilbur nodded his head hesitantly. “What did you hear?”

Wilbur paused. “That this bar was a safe spot for anyone and everyone, hero, villain, mafia, vigilante, or anything in between. That no one would ever dare start shit in here. I don’t really know why though, I’ve heard a couple different versions.” Tommy raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. Wilbur sighed. “Well, in one version there’s a hybrid regular that will beat the shit out of anyone who tries anything, in another version it’s one of the security, in another the bouncer. I’ve heard one where it’s even the bartender, but I sincerely doubt that.” he finished, eyeing Tommy with an amused expression.

Tommy couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him. “I’m glad that our secrets aren’t getting out, but on the other hand that means that you don’t know the X-factor rule.”

“The X-factor rule?” Wilbur questioned. “That sounds like a math thing.”

Tommy grinned. “Yep, you’d be correct in that guess, it does have something to do with math. But I’ll go out on a limb and say you haven’t heard of it.” 

Wilbur snorted, amused. “You’ve chosen a sturdy limb.” he said, taking a long swig of his drink.

“Well, you see,” Tommy started, leaning his elbows on the counter, “Every time you call me a kid or make fun of my age, I raise the price of your drink. Right now, that Bloody Mary’s price is squared, a thing in math where you multiply the value with the original value. Do it again and it’ll be cubed. Supervillain or not, you really should’ve done your homework before coming in here.” 

Wilbur darn near spit out the mouthful he had, coughing loudly when he’d finally managed to swallow it. He looked at Tommy like he’d just killed his entire family. “The fuck ?” he swore, wiping his mouth with his sleeve for the alcohol that dripped down his chin. There were wet spots on his shirt now, too.

Tommy grinned. “There’s a reason no one ever messes with the bartender, Wilbur.” he said. Then promptly walked away to serve another customer. It was rather funny seeing Wilbur flounder for words out of the corner of his eyes as Tommy slid another guy another beer. 

Business continued as usual for a few minutes, until a knock on the bar alerted him that Wilbur had finished his drink. Tommy raised an eyebrow as he walked over to him and stopped, arms crossed. 

Wilbur had composed himself, only looking back with a sort of amused expression on his face. He said nothing, only slapping down the money for his drink. “Any chance I can get a refill? Kid? ” Wilbur put emphasis on the word kid . He knew exactly what hole he was digging himself into. 

Tommy smirked as he grabbed the empty glass and stack of bills and pile of coins. “It’ll be cubed,” he warned as he counted out the money. Perfect change, down to the two quarters, a dime, and three pennies that he dropped in the coin jar. Obnoxious fucker. “I don’t have any problem emptying your wallet, and I’ll have no sympathy when I have Marvin throw you out when you can’t pay any longer.”

Wilbur only smirked back. “Am I getting that refill or not?” he asked, leaning his weight on the bar. Tommy couldn’t hide his smile as he mixed the refill. He knew he was a supervillain, sure, but he had balls.

“How did you know my name?” Wilbur asked, and Tommy’s eyes darted back over to where he sat. 

“It’s literally my job to know people, Siren ,” he said, putting emphasis on his villain name the same way that Wilbur had said kid . “And your presence in the city certainly has not gone unnoticed.”

Wilbur had… frankly gone pale the second the word Siren left his mouth. “You’re an information dealer.” he said, voice nearing a whisper. It was slightly hard to hear over the loud music and talking, but the statement was there.

“I am.” Tommy agreed. “I run a neutral zone bar for criminals and law enforcement alike. People let things slip when they’re on a buzz. And people pay a lot for some of the stuff I just happen to overhear.”

“You know who I am.” Not a question, once again simply stating the obvious. Tommy snorted in amusement.

“What, did the name throw you for a loop? I just go around calling everyone Siren? The third most notorious villain this side of anywhere? C’mon Wil, Phil comes in here all the time after a mission of yours goes wrong for a drink. His usual is the Manhattan, though he pays twice what everyone else does because he made the initial mistake of calling me a kid when we first met. He doesn’t push his luck, though.”

Wilbur screwed up his face. “Does he know that you… know? Who he is?”

Tommy snorted. “Please, you underestimate the old man. Yes, he already paid me off, you don’t need to worry your brown igloo of a haircut about it.”

Wilbur’s eyes darkened at the comment. Huh. Guess he was sensitive about his hair. “You’re one to talk,” he growled, taking a quick sip of his drink. “Are you even old enough to be working here?”

“I’m a legal adult, yes.” was Tommy’s half-truth answer.

Wilbur didn’t look convinced. “You sure?” he asked, almost mockingly.

“That’s what it says on the papers.” Tommy answered, which made Wilbur huff in annoyance. Please don’t let him be an angry drunk , Tommy prayed. I hate angry drunks. I like happy drunks. They always say all sorts of sweet things.

“You and I both know very well that papers can be forged, kid.”

“You just got the price raised to the quartic. You really want to go?”

“Child.” Wilbur smirked.

“Quintic.” Tommy shot back, setting down the glass in his hands, slamming his palms on the bar. It drew eyes, and the music screeched to a halt. People were watching.

“Baby.” 

“Sextic.”

“Infant.”

“Heptic. At this rate you’ll pay more for one drink than everyone else combined pays for theirs.” Tommy warned, but that only seemed to make Wilbur’s smile grow.

“That almost sounds like a challenge, toddler.”

“Octic.” Tommy growled. He and Wilbur were both leaning forward a little more with each pass-back, they were so close that their noses were almost touching. “You’re on thin ice, bitch.”

“Sure, kid.” Wilbur smirked. 

“Nonic.” Tommy replied. 

“I’m running out of ways to call you small.”

“You’re finding them.”

“I swear you’re just making up words at this point.” 

“Official words, use a dictionary, smart-ass.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed. “You seriously have all this memorized?”

Tommy smirked. “The last guy who tried this didn’t make it past quartic.” It was phrased almost as a challenge, and all it did was make Wilbur throw his head back and laugh.

“He backed down pretty quickly, then.” 

Tommy snorted. “He still had half a brain, even through his drunken state. He knew when to back off. You, apparently, don’t.”

Wilbur smirked. “I’m sure I can still pay however much extra the drink is. Honestly, you forget who you’re talking to. Kid. ” 

“You really insist on digging your own sorry ass into a deeper hole, don’t you? Decic. You want to keep going?”

“Maybe. Kid.”

Tommy paused. “Wilbur, do you know how much money you’ll get if you double a penny for a month?”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed. “No? Why would I know that off the top of my head?”

Tommy grinned. “Well, on day one you have a penny. Day two you have two. Day three, four. Day four, eight. Each time it multiplies, it gets bigger. Hey Nora!” he yelled over to a regular who was nursing a cocktail. “You’ve heard me use this example before, how much money do you have if you double a penny for a month?”

Nora grinned, blonde tiger ears flicking. “Over 5 million.” she answered, and Tommy could see Wilbur’s face drain a little bit of color.

“Five million, three hundred and sixty-eight thousand, seven hundred and nine dollars, and twelve cents.” Tommy said, “To be a bit more specific. And that’s only thirty days, do it the thirty-one of an alternate month and it’d be over ten million. All from doubling a penny.”

“Now, my rule isn’t quite like that. I’m raising it to the next power, so to the power of three, the power of four, and so on. And I’ll be nice, I won’t even count the last two, I’ll leave you at nonic. It still adds up quickly, are you still absolutely sure you can pay?”

They had a bunch of eyes on them at that point. And when Wilbur threw the rest of his drink back, setting the glass down with a clink of glass on wood, they chuckled. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“You sure about that?”

“Why not? I can just go rob a bank or something.”

“That’s not in the rules!” someone from the back shouted. “You can’t leave and come back!”

Tommy grinned in their general direction. “Fine, hand me your card and let's get this over with.” Tommy held out a hand, and Wilbur somewhat reluctantly handed it over.

It was dead silent in the whole place as he swiped the card. 

Then the machine beeped, lighting up with a little red light in the corner.

The entire bar erupted with hoots and hollers, laughing and pointing fun at Wilbur, whose card declined the transaction. 

Tommy handed it back with a small smile. “Sorry Wil,” he said, not feeling the slightest bit sorry. “You’re maybe two million short.” 

Wilbur’s eyebrows shot up on his head. “How much was that single Bloody fucking Mary?” 

Tommy snorted. “Normally, it’s just six bucks. But six raised to the ninth power is a bit over ten mil. Should’ve held your tongue, quit while you were ahead.” 

“I’ll get the shot glasses!” Russ shouted as he headed into the back room, and the bar only got louder.

“I wonder how far new guy’ll get?”

“It’s been so long since King got challenged!”

“I bet he won’t last ten rounds.”

“Over fifteen.”

“Fuck’r won’t make it past nine.” 

“I’ll bet fifty bucks.” 

“What the hell, I’ll bet a hundred.”

“Kick his ass, big man!” a particularly familiar voice sounded from somewhere in the middle. 

“Yeah, pop off, King!” another agreed. 

“Fuck off, Tubbo! Ran, you’re cool!” Tommy shouted back as he came out from behind the bar, people clearing out of his way, carving him a path.

“Oi, fuck you, too!” Tubbo shouted back, laughing as Ranboo slapped him on the back. 

“Sorry Tubs, guess I’m the favorite now!” Ranboo laughed as Tubbo smacked him upside the head playfully. Tommy grinned. The two were shitheads.

Wilbur, on the other hand, looked confused as all ever-loving fuck. “What’s happening?” he asked, clearly seeing the money being passed around, bets being placed. 

“Drinking contest,” the man next to Wilbur told him. He spun around, surprised.

“Quackity?!” Wilbur borderline yelled at seeing the no doubt familiar face with a white scar stretching down it. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” 

Tommy rolled his eyes- of course the fucker knew Quackity. He kept listening, even as he sat down at the table where everything was getting set up by various helpers and Russ. Two bottles were placed on the table, and shot glasses began filling up, straight whiskey looking rather intimidating in the little glasses.

Quackity snorted, though it was hard to hear over the people placing their bets. “Really Wil? It’s a neutral zone, why wouldn’t I hang here? A bunch of people do. Anyway, King will challenge anyone who can’t afford to pay for their drinks to a drinking contest. If you win, your debt is paid off. If you lose, you get kicked out and can never get back in. That's why it’s such a gamble.” 

Wilbur whistled lowly. “King?” 

Quackity smiled. “Won’t ever tell anyone his real name. No one could agree on a nickname either, until Tubs and Ran- a couple regulars- came in here and kept calling him that. Stuck eventually.”

Wilbur frowned. “How good is he?” he asked, sounding scared of the answer. Quackity laughed heartily, slapping Wilbur on his back, hard enough to make him stumble closer to the table where Tommy was sitting already, elbows on the table and shot glasses lined up.

“Oh Wil, you’re so screwed, songbird.” Quackity told him. “I’ve never seen King lose a drinking contest before. Rumors say that he even opts to get stronger stuff than his opponents.” 

“While that may be true,” Tommy cut in, loud enough for everyone- not just them- to hear, the room got quieter again. “I figure this time you annoyed me enough to not give you an edge. Sit down.” 

The last bit was a demand, and there were a couple low whistles passed around as Wilbur approached, looking very out of place as a random person practically shoved him into his seat. He looked terrified. Tommy wanted to laugh at the thought that a top villain could be so scared of him.

Someone turned the speakers back on, and music started playing over the people in varieties of intoxication standing around, waiting for a show.

Russ stood off to the side of the table, and raised a hand, calling out, “First shot!” over the crowd, who didn’t get any quieter at the statement, and Tommy smirked as he grabbed his glass. Wilbur did the same, though he looked a lot less confident. 

“Bottoms up!”

“Glass castle, King!”

Tommy raised the glass to the supervillain, tipping his head in acknowledgement, almost a salute, then threw his head back and downed the shot. 

Sweetness broke across his tongue, and Tommy smirked across the table at Wilbur as he set the glass upside-down off to the side on the table, watching as the older mirrored his actions.

The bar erupted once again, laughter carrying and people getting shoved around for a better view, but no one actually got mad. This was always the best part, seeing everyone wearing different colors yet uncaring about their meaning. 

The second went down just as quickly and easily as the first, then the third, and fourth. The laughing and talking only got louder.

Tommy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grin turning feral as his spines stood up on end, making him look a bit more intimidating. Wilbur raised an eyebrow around his glass as he choked the drink down with difficulty, finally setting it on the table near his others.

Wilbur’s empty glasses were, while numerous, not orderly put down in the slightest. Tommy’s, however, were stacked in a pyramid with various patterns in it. Tommy was kinda impressed that Wilbur had lasted this long, normally he didn’t get far with his building.

There was a reason people started chanting ‘glass castle’. 

Tommy picked up his thirty-first, downing it with ease and setting it on top of his castle. Wilbur, however, was struggling. Even so, it was a miracle he hadn’t thrown up yet- or blacked out.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Tommy said conversationally as he threw back another glass. “Normally even the hard-core don’t make it past, what, twenty-five? I think the record was forty-three, and it was some pufferfish hybrid that had a certain level of tolerance to it, poison of sorts and all that. Maybe I should’ve broken out some vodka, it gets you drunk quicker, though I’ve always been partial to whiskey.”

Wilbur only glared as he gently set down his own shot with fingers that seemed unsure and hands that were shaking. “I used to do th’s a lo’ in high sschool.” he slurred. “B’n.. awh’le, tho’t I was too out of practisse. Ha’ a streak goin’.”

Wilbur glared down at the row of glasses that were yet to be drunk, Russ ready with quickly diminishing bottles and a stack of empty glasses. “Th’s sstuff’s reeeally sst’ong,” he murmured, wobbling on his place slightly. “Yu’re… I wanna h’g y’u.” Wilbur said, to Tommy’s  amusement. “Y’u l’k like y’u need a huuug.”

Of course Wilbur would be a happy drunk. Tommy didn’t think that he had the capability to be an angry drunk. Especially not anything like.. Schlatt, for example. He used to be a regular, before Tommy out-drank him. He was always an obnoxious fucker. It was actually how Tommy met Quackity, he started coming after Schlatt was kicked out, just so he could be somewhere where he didn’t have to worry about him. Schlatt died of liver failure from the amount of alcohol he drank about two months after. He and Q celebrated that day.

Wilbur tried standing around the table to apparently hug Tommy, but didn’t get very far before tripping and completely passing out on the floor. The cheering, hootin’ and hollerin’ was really loud, but it was always like this whenever someone came in with an addiction but nothing to satisfy it with. Alcoholics with no money. Wilbur... wasn’t exactly that, so Tommy did feel a bit of sympathy for the man who lay passed out on the floor. It was kinda a sad sight.

So, he didn’t feel it ethical to just have Marvin leave the man out in the alley like he did everyone else, instead opting to have him carry the villain to the backrooms, where a small line of beds was available for use to anyone too drunk to go home and having no one to take them home.

Marvin dumped Wilbur’s snoring body on a bed and smirked as he walked past Tommy out of the room. Tommy returned the smirk with a smug look. To be fair, it was funny. 

Tommy leaned against the wall as he dug his phone out of his pocket, pulling up his contacts and clicking one.

It rang twice before a click met his ears, and Phil’s tired voice spoke over the line. “Hey mate, if I gave you this contact I probably trust you but it is two in the fucking morning and you better have a good explanation for this.”

Tommy chuckled. “Hey Phil,” he replied, eyes flicking down to the sight of Wilbur’s snoring body. “I have something of yours.”

There was a pause. “That really sounds like a threat- who the fuck is this?” 

“It’s King, Phil, the bartender of The Golden Median? You gave me your number and told me to call if I ever needed anything? You might’ve been drunk and don’t remember it, but still.” Tommy waited a beat, but Phil said nothing, so he just kept talking. “Anyway, your son maxed his card so I drank him under the table, fucker’s passed out right now.”

Phil sighed. “I was wondering where Wil was. How did he max that card, I just refilled it!”

Tommy smirked. “Called me a kid. Repeatedly. X-factor rule, remember?” 

Phil laughed. “How much did he pay? And for what?”

“Ten mil for a Bloody Mary, can you believe it? Anyway, I didn’t want to just kick him out into the alley, that would seem inconsiderate, ignoring the fact that I do it to other people. Anyway, that’s why I called you. Mind getting over here?”

A sigh from the other end of the line. “Yeah, I’ll be there in like, ten. How far did he get?”

“Thirty-one shots of pure whiskey. He’s going to have a killer hangover tomorrow, I’ll warn you. And probably a bad mood. Anywho, see you soon,” Tommy said, and hung up.

It was getting time for the bar to close, and people started filtering out, leaving tips on the tables and paying for their food and drinks. The regulars said ‘goodbye’ to Marvin as they left. The more drunk ones either waved like small children or stomped past him like toddlers throwing a tantrum. 

Tommy wiped down the bar as Russ and two other waitresses cleared the tables, setting everything back in order and taking a picture of his glass castle before dismantling it, the instant photo immediately getting put on the wall of fame. 

Tommy was debating calling Phil again to see if he was actually coming when the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Tommy’s eyes snapped up to meet the bright blue ones of the most sinister villain in the city. 

He looked like a tired dad. 

His wings draped behind him, the bright night-sky patterned feathers almost on the verge of outright shining. 

Despite popular belief, while Phil had an affinity for crows, he himself was not one. He colored his feathers black with special wing dye for avians during heists, the black color being very misleading to his true species.

Phil was actually a starling. They can be labeled as both an invasive pest and also as pets, but their feathers can range from dull to completely beautiful. It was always nice seeing this more colorful side of Phil whenever he came into the bar.

“Where is he,” was all that he sighed as he walked up, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tommy jerked a thumb in the direction of the back room, and as Phil went to retrieve his offspring, prepared a quick Manhattan.

Phil came out of the room dragging Wilbur by his leg, who was still snoring contently away. Tommy handed Phil his drink, which he took without complaint.

“Did he give you too much trouble?” he asked, still sounding very tired. 

Tommy shook his head with a small smile. “No, actually, it was really fun. You never told me your son was a happy drunk.” 

Phil’s nose wrinkled. “He is? Whenever he gets drunk at home he always gets sad. Not angry or happy, just sad.” 

Tommy snorted. “Man’s got problems then, when he got wasted he got so happy, really chatty too- and then told me that I looked like I needed a hug before passing out on the floor.”

Phil laughed. “I still won’t ever understand how you do that- thirty-one shots and you’re still completely sober? Is your power simply immunity?” 

“That’d be boring,” Tommy complained, “And it would suck not being able to actually get drunk. Opportunities and experiences simply wasted, y’know?” 

Phil nodded, understanding. “Secrets will stay secrets, then. I’m going to take this little shit home. You have a good night!” he called as he walked towards the door still dragging Wilbur by his leg, who didn’t seem to mind at all. “I’ll pay back whatever he couldn’t eventually! Or make him do it, who the fuck cares?” 

“You have a good night- or morning, whichever way you look at it.” Tommy replied, waving back as Phil shouldered the door open with a wing and dragged Wilbur through.

This might have worked if the unconscious supervillain was a little less heavy, but Phil wasn’t able to get all of him out of the door before he accidentally let it go and it closed with a thunk! against Wilbur’s head. 

Tommy cackled as Phil didn’t even bother re-opening the door to get the rest of him through, simply continuing to drag him so the door closed after his head finally slipped through. 

When the bar was finally closed up, lights off and doors locked, Martin and Russ having said goodbye for the night, Tommy collapsed into one of the bar stools with his own drink- just a mimosa, nothing too alcohol-heavy.

It wasn’t like the drinking contest, with sweetness and easy-to-swallow shots. The drink was tangy, burned the back of his throat if he swallowed too quickly, and let him take his mind off of everything for just a little bit.

It wasn’t enough to get drunk, it never was. Tommy very frankly never wanted to get drunk, wanted nothing to do with the hangovers, lost time, and loose lips that never looked very appealing. He never felt tempted to pour himself a drink when serving customers. And it was perfect that way.

>>><<<

Wilbur woke up… very slowly. And he was pretty sure that the only reason he woke up in the first place was because his head was pounding . The light streaming in through his window didn’t help in the slightest- Wilbur threw an arm over his eyes and the blanket over his head and proceeded to lay in agony for a few minutes, attempting to drift off again.

When he finally came to the reluctant acknowledgement that he was definitely not getting any more sleep, he finally dragged his own sorry ass out of bed and stumbled into the shower, turning the water up hot and letting it stream down his back, the stream slowly helping clear his head.

It took him almost fifteen minutes of standing there in the spray to realize that he was still in his clothes.

There was no glass of water on the nightstand, no painkillers sitting next to it as there always was every other time he came home drunk. Wilbur wondered how badly he fucked up if Phil was mad enough not to leave him painkillers. 

When he finally managed to get the right limbs through the right holes of his clothes (which took embarrassingly longer than it should’ve) Wilbur trudged upstairs to the main living area to find Phil in the kitchen, something cooking in front of him. 

He made a small noise in the back of his throat to alert Phil of his presence, who didn’t even turn around from what he was doing.

“Good morning, Wil.” he said, a hint of.. something that Wilbur was too hungover to make out, “Or should I say ‘good afternoon’? It's five in the afternoon, you were asleep for more than sixteen hours. I know King said you downed more than thirty shots, so I’m not really surprised.” 

Wilbur… blinked. “Oh.” he croaked, wincing at the soreness of his throat as he spoke, then started coughing. “Where’s the Tylenol?” he managed, swallowing hard.

Phil snorted. “The cupboard in the bathroom, above the sink, with the mirror on it. It’s the only bottle that isn’t Techno’s orange prescriptions, and it’s in the front so it should be easy to see. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t get it for you, I had to wake up at two in the morning to cart your ass home. Take that as your explanation.”

Wilbur nodded numbly, trudging off in what he vaguely thought might be the direction of the bathroom. He tugged open a door and was slightly relieved to see the white tile instead of something else, telling him that at least he was in the right place.

It took him a solid minute or two of staring blankly at the open cabinet of bottles to remember why he was there, then another to actually find the bottle. He shook a couple out into his hand and dry-swallowed them, wincing as they grated against his sore throat, realizing how bad of an idea that was. 

When he made it back to the kitchen, Phil already had a glass of water with a raw egg in it- he never really understood drinking raw egg after getting drunk. Phil insisted it helped, though Wilbur didn’t get why. It was slimy going down and just overall uncomfortable. 

A good-sized coffee later, Wilbur was finally awake and lucid enough to snap back to his senses. And he realized that he had absolutely no recollection of how he got so hungover.

“Phil?” he asked as Phil was putting dinner on the table, who looked at him. “Why am I.. how did I get-?”

“How did you get so drunk?” Phil cut in, saving Wilbur from his suffering from the hands of his words. Wilbur nodded. “Well, the story I got from King was you called him a kid then couldn’t pay for your drink, got challenged to a drinking contest and proceeded to lose.”

Wilbur wrinkled his nose. “I lost a drinking contest to some fucker called King ?” 

Phil snorted. “I forgot how proud you were of the ongoing streak of wins you had going. What was it, in the twenties?” 

“Twenty-six,” Wilbur grumbled. “I won various drinking contests twenty-six times in a row and I just lost to some random fucker in a bar?” 

“Not just some random bloke, to be fair,” Phil replied as he dished out some casserole onto his plate and leaned back in his chair. “The youngest and most badass bartender I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. His whole thing is raising the price of your drink if you ever call him a kid. Then challenging people who can’t pay for their drinks to a drinking contest. You win, you get your debts paid off and a fair amount of fame. You lose and you get kicked out for life. I don’t think anyone’s ever won yet.” 

Wilbur wrinkled his nose, rifling through his spotty memories to recall what had happened. A gold glowing neon sign with the words The Golden Median plastered over a building. Teasing a young-looking blonde-haired porcupine hybrid who was serving him. A ridiculous price for a Bloody Mary. And then the contest. The first few shots were crystal clear, the rest either very patchwork or completely gone. 

Wilbur groaned, letting his head drop to the table with a thunk. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

Phil huffed a laugh. “Which part are we talking about here? The ten mil for a Bloody Mary or the fact that you dug yourself into a hole too deep to get out of?”

“All of it,” Wilbur murmured. “But how did he manage to beat me? That was a lot of whiskey.” 

Phil shrugged. “I’m guessing tolerance, or a power of some sort. Or maybe something’s up with his hybridism, who knows? All I know is that you can’t technically go back, because you lost. It’s in the rules.” 

Wilbur’s face scrunched. “I want to talk to him.” 

Phil raised an eyebrow. “If you want to, it can't be in the bar. You’d have to corner him after hours and that’d just be creepy. Plus I don’t think I’ve ever gone in there and he wasn’t there.” 

Wilbur huffed. “I’m literally a supervillain, I’ll figure something out.” He glanced over at Phil to see a look of amusement on it. He immediately felt defensive. “What?” he asked.

Phil only shook his head with a soft smile. “Good luck getting past Marvin,” was all he said, before standing and leaving the table with his now-empty plate. “And frankly everyone else. I’ll bet that you’re famous there now.”

Wilbur scowled as he disappeared into the living room of their house, glaring down at his mostly untouched plate before leaving it there as he stood up and strode to the front door. 

He didn’t bother with a vehicle, using the time it took to walk to let the night lengthen so maybe he could slip in unnoticed- either in the crowds of people or the fact that they might have already cleared out. 

It took literal hours to cross the two districts on foot, and it was somewhere around midnight when the place finally came into view. The neon gold sign was like a beacon in the night, where the apartments around it had the lights turned out because they couldn’t afford to have their electricity paid through the night. 

The streets were all quiet, other than the full parking lot by the lone business that looked so inviting to passersby, with its colorful lights and music that you could hear across the street. You could smell the alcohol and cigarette smoke from half the distance. 

And Marvin was standing right beside the front door, looking intimidating even as his phone illuminated his face with blue light and his shoulders sagged slightly. Wilbur walked up, and was suddenly kinda subconscious about his dirty hoodie and jeans. 

Marvin looked up as he approached, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the bloke who lost last night, aren’t you?” Wilbur nodded slowly, a frown pulling at his lips. Marvin laughed, a deep rumbling sound. “You made the quickest comeback I think I’ve ever seen,” he commented. “Most people are out for a couple days to lick their wounds and clear their hangovers before attempting to come back despite the rule saying they couldn’t.” 

Marvin eyed him up and down, sizing him up. “You seriously are trying to get in already, Siren ?” 

Wilbur’s eyes snapped up to his, panic pulsing through his head. Marvin only laughed. “Cool your stack kid, only me, Russ, and King know, and me an’ Russ only know because King trusted us enough to tell us. He’d be a damn fool to leak the secret with how much Phil is payin’ ‘em.” he said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. “So I know who I’m up against, before you ask. And you ain’t getting in this bar.”

Wilbur glared. Out of him, Techno, and Phil, he was the worst fighter. And this man held himself like Techno did, he held himself like a Pit fighter. Wilbur wouldn’t win this fight, not unless he used his voice manipulation. And that was currently out of order with how sore his throat was.

Wilbur sighed. “There’s no chance I could convince you to move?” 

Marvin raised an eyebrow. “If you’re talking about money, sorry kid, but I’m loyal. And King pays better than you probably could.” 

Wilbur smiled. “That almost sounds like a challenge,” he said. 

Marvin chuckled. “You couldn’t pay for a single Bloody Mary, how do you expect to pay me?” 

Wilbur was quiet for a second. “...Paypal,” he admitted, glad he remembered his phone but still turning red as Marvin laughed. 

“Okay, fine- I’ll bite,” Marvin said, raising Wilbur’s hopes just a little. “How much are you willing?” 

“A mil,” Wilbur answered, “Along with paying off what I technically still owe to this establishment, which’s around another two mil. How about that?”

Marvin only raised an eyebrow. Wilbur groaned. “Alright, fine! One point five!” His unimpressed expression didn’t change. “Two?” 

Marvin only chuckled, seemingly to an inside joke. “You’d better follow through,” he warned, before opening the door to bright lights and loud music. 

Wilbur walked in, taking care to avoid anyone who seemed familiar, slipping through the crowd easily. When he forgot it was a mishmash of rival mafia members and heroes, it was just like any other bar. And everyone was all just that. People.

He got bumped and jostled just as much as he did in any other bar, and when he actually got to the bar bit, it wasn’t surprising that King looked like he was waiting for him.

“You’re not very subtle, you know,” King told him as he sat down on the same barstool as the one he chose last night. “How much did Marvin milk you for you to get in here?” 

“Four million, two to pay off yesterday, another two just for him.” Wilbur answered, a smug smile adorning his features. 

But, however he expected the bartender to react to him telling him that he’d just paid off his security to get in there, it wasn’t him smiling and laughing quietly. “Good,” King answered, pouring a dry martini for the lady sitting next to him, who was completely ignoring their conversation as she handed King what was probably way too much for the drink. “Normally he wouldn’t let anyone in, no matter the price, but I told him if you came tonight to get himself a bonus before letting you through. You do not disappoint, Wil Gold.” 

Wilbur scowled. “Wait, so he would’ve let me in anyway, no matter the amount I paid?” King shrugged, and Wilbur deflated. “You account for everything, don’t you?” he asked, feeling kinda defeated, and rather bitter at the use of his last name.

King shrugged again as he cleaned a glass, white lights adorning his face from the disco ball spinning in the middle of the room. “You’re a supervillain, of course I counted on you paying past him. Might as well let him know he won’t get in trouble when he’s finally offered something he can’t refuse. Besides, he needed something nice. The poor man insists on working himself too hard, though I tell him to take time off.”

Wilbur sat back in surprise. “You don’t force him to take the extra shifts?” 

King’s expression twisted quickly into something foul, and he stared Wilbur down with a scowl and murder in his eyes, quills on his arms and the few in his hair bristling. “He’s an old friend, and I have money to spare,” he growled, looking murderous as he slammed an elbow onto the bar with a barbed porcupine quill in his hand, pointing it under the supervillain’s chin. “This bar is one of the only places in the lower districts where you can afford to work here and are paid well enough to take a healthy amount of days off. I am not. One of those assholes. Who takes advantage of the high unemployment rate of the lower districts. These people deserve better, Wilbur, and I pride myself in being one of the few options available who won’t overwork anyone .” 

Wilbur raised his hands in surrender, carefully guiding the sharp, barbed quill away from his neck with a finger. “I wasn’t suggesting anything, it was only a question.” 

King glared, whipping around and stabbing the quill deep into the plaster of the wall, where Wilbur now noticed a number already sticking out. “You’ll learn one day, Wilbur, that loyalty cannot be bought,” he said as he picked up an unopened bottle. “Not with all the money in the world. On any other day, you would never be able to buy or threaten your way past Martin unless he was unconscious on the floor. And you could never convince Russ to betray me. A cook would never slip poison into my drinks, nor would any customer here put a gun to my head. That you cannot buy.”

“This is a safe place, Wilbur.” King murmured. “These people know that. For some, it is the only place they can come and feel accepted. For others, yes, it is a way to gather information. But at the end of the day-”

King pulled a quill from his hair and threw it like a knife across the room to the dartboard, sticking smack-dab in the center. The handful of people playing darts clapped and cheered. “Everyone enjoys themselves.” 

He grinned, a wild thing. “Want to do the whole ‘call me a kid’ thing again? Honestly, it was rather fun, I don’t think I’ve met someone who was as cocky as you were last night.”

Wilbur scowled. “I paid ten. Million. For a single Bloody Mary. I think I’ll pass on that one, thank you.”

King snorted as he mixed a drink. “Technically you only paid eight mil, you still owe the two million for the drink and another two mil you promised Marv.” 

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “And I promise I’ll pay the next time I go stealing from rich people.” he jumped a bit as King slid a drink down the bar, the glass stopping perfectly in front of him. 

Whiskey. Cocky fucker.

“I didn’t order this,” Wilbur said, picking it up anyway to study the amber liquid. King shot him a small smile from where he stood on the other side of the bar, pouring a pair of club sodas to a couple who were clearly hooking up. 

“I’ll put it on your tab,” King replied with a wink, making Wilbur scoff and set the drink back down. 

“And you’re so convinced that I’ll come back here?” he asked, tracing a couple scars in the wood of the bar that looked like they were made from a hybrid’s claws. 

King snorted, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, mischief playing through his blue eyes. “It’s the one place you don’t have to hide, Siren,” he said, the use of his villain name making the other wince. “I gave the same speech to Quackity when he came in here and about tried fighting Captain and Amphitrite when they were unmasked and on a date. He didn’t believe me at first, either. Yet you can’t deny it when you saw him yesterday, can you?” 

Wilbur paused, staring down at his drink before slowly shaking his head. “You don’t have to hide here, Wil.” King said, softer. “And you don’t have to keep secrets from me, like you do everyone else. I’m already guaranteed by Phil not to be saying anything, right? So why won’t you just shrug for a night, Atlas? Lay down the sky.” 

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, meeting the bartender’s eyes. “You’ve been talking to Techno.” he accused, suspicion lacing his words. And King threw his head back and laughed, blue eyes glinting in the neon lights.

“He was in here earlier, left before you got here. Said he wished he was here when you got drunk off your ass so he could record the whole thing- use it as blackmail.” 

“Well thank god he didn’t,” Wilbur muttered, letting his shoulders drop and back slump a bit. “I never would’ve lived it down.” 

King started cackling. “Well, lucky for him, I record every match. I said I’d send him the footage of you trying to hug me.” 

Wilbur immediately shot up straight again, hand tightening around the glass of the cup. “I’m sorry, I fuckin’ did what now?!” 

Wilbur sat there with a look of open-mouth horror on his face while King bent over wheezing, not bothering to try and compose himself for several minutes. When he finally did, Wilbur leaned forward over the bar and locked their gazes. “King,” he said slowly. “Do not send that video to Techno, I’m begging you.” 

A sly smile crawled its way across the bartender’s face. “I won’t, if -” he added when Wilbur went to breathe a sigh or relief- “you beat me in a game of darts.” 

Wilbur scowled. “Are you really going to stand there like I didn’t just see what you did with that quill across the room?” he asked bluntly. “A game of pool, maybe, but darts? Fuck no.”

King grinned. “Fine, I can deal with pool. I’ll even give you the honor of breaking.” 

Wilbur opened his mouth to protest that, no, I don’t actually want to play , but King was already cleaning up the area. “Oi, Big Russ!” he shouted over to where the man sat, talking up someone who was most likely an old friend. He raised an eyebrow. “Can you watch the bar for a few minutes? Imma go play pool with this fucker!”

Russ nodded, and King grinned, walking away to slip out from behind the bar. People cleared out of his way like Moses and the Red Sea, parting easily. He scowled- it was so fucking hard to walk through those crowds himself, of course King would get everything easy. 

Wilbur shoved his own way through, leaving the glass still completely full on the bar as he made his way over. When he finally managed to reach the table, the triangle was set up and King was already putting blue chalk on his cue stick. Another one leaned up against the table, clearly meant for him. He walked over and picked it up, fumbled to catch the cue chalk when King tossed it to him. He scowled when it got on his hoodie, staining it blue. King only grinned at him.

He readied up the shot on the white cue ball, but right as he went to hit it, something bumped the back of his cue, throwing off his aim. The break was poor, and no balls went in. He glared behind him to where King stood innocently, a small smile on his face. “What. The. Fuck.” he deadpanned, crossing his arms. 

King smiled, an innocent, sweet thing. “Bar full of criminals, Wilbur. Everyone plays dirty.” Wilbur glared as King lined up his own shot, but when he tried bumping his stick the same way that King had done, he felt a sharp pain in his foot and he yelped, hopping away as King hit the cue ball. 

Three striped balls went in, two solids did, too. “Stripes,” King said, smug, as if Wilbur wasn’t already aware.

He scowled from where he stood on one leg, holding his left foot with his hands to lessen the throbbing pain. “You stomped on my foot.” he grumbled. King laughed. 

“You were about to mess up my shot,” he answered. “All’s fair in drinks and bar games.” 

Wilbur wrinkled his nose as he watched King line up another shot. “That’s not how that saying goes.” 

“Yeah, well. ‘Love and war’ sounded too formal for the situation, and I heard it from Techno, and if you know him at all, then you know that he just makes everything sound too serious.” King answered, lining up another shot, and downing another striped ball before Wilbur could even attempt to step in to play dirty. He shot again, but Wilbur could tell it was miffed on purpose as he didn’t even hit any of the balls, only sending the cue ball into a stupidly hard corner surrounded by striped balls for Wilbur to try to get out.

He growled in frustration, trying to find an angle to set up his shot. When he finally did, he looked behind him to make sure that King wasn’t anywhere near him, then hit the ball with the cue.

With a gentle clack of wood on wood, though, the shot went sour and he sent a red striped ball down a hole. Wilbur growled in frustration, whipping around to face the bartender yet again. “The fuck, dude?” 

King grinned, his slightly sharpened teeth making him look feral. The cue in his hand was held confidently, the butt of which had just been used to hit his own with a seemingly practiced and smooth motion. “Dunno what you mean, Wil.” he answered with a grin, taking his spot near the cue ball and readying his shot. 

Wilbur only scowled as another striped ball went down the hole. His next shot missed- though it nudged a solid ball right next to a corner hole. Wilbur managed to get that one, though his next shot failed. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure that King wasn’t messing up his game. 

King’s next shot missed entirely, white cue ball thumping against a wall and narrowly avoiding going down the hole. He huffed angrily. “Shit.” 

Wilbur smirked. “Having fun there?” he asked as he lined up his shot.

“I’m three balls ahead, of course I’m having fun.” was King’s answer. He paused for a second before snickering. “I’ve got more balls than you.” he wheezed, hand on the edge of the pool table to steady himself. 

Wilbur growled in annoyance, both at the comment and the fact that the shot he was trying for was too awkward. He also felt the urge to hit a ball into King’s fingers where they still were on the edge of the table, but decided against wasting his shot.

“You’re a cocky asshole, y’know that?” he told King, lining up in a more comfortable position.

“I’m an underage teenager running a bar for high-profile criminals while having the ability to knock all of them flat on their asses, of course I’m cocky.” was his clipped reply, and it caught Wilbur so off guard that his shot went completely sideways.

“What the fuck?” Wilbur asked, not caring about the shot, but more the comment. King only shrugged, picking his cue stick back up. 

“You’re easy to distract,” he said as he hit the cue ball, not even looking like he tried as he downed one of Wilbur’s own balls. 

“And you’re a minor?” Wilbur whisper-shouted, panic setting in. Realization came next. “How the fuck did a minor beat me in a drinking contest?!” 

King only laughed, completely ignoring the question. “If you aren’t going to shoot, I will,” he warned, grabbing his cue stick. Wilbur only shook his head, hitting the cue ball into the 8-ball and making it go down the hole while barely bothering to look at it. King crossed his arms, looking slightly miffed. “Well what’d you do that for?”

Wilbur didn’t answer, instead crossing his arms and staring.

King stared back, his own arms crossed, cue stick still in one hand.

“You’re a minor.” Wilbur said.

“You’re a supervillain.” was King’s response. Wilbur scrunched up his nose, and the silence continued on for a little bit. 

“You’re an underaged bartender.” 

“You’re adopted,” King shot back. Wilbur blinked in surprise before his eyes hardened again and he borderline growled.

“You’re an orphan.” Wilbur said, not phrasing it like a guess or a question, though it was. 

“That I am, but so are you.” King surprised him by saying. 

Wilbur blinked owlishly. “You’re fucking insane.” 

“Yep! But at least I don’t hold innocent people at gunpoint to make a statement against the government!” King chirped happily, dropping his cue into the holder and walking back through the crowd. Wilbur sputtered, pushing past people to catch up.

“Thanks for covering for me, Big Russ, I’m going to head out soon anyway, aight? Don’t go too far.” King said, and Russ grinned, letting a hand fall on his shoulder as they passed each other as King went behind the bar and Russ came out from behind it. 

“No problem, kid,” he laughed, which King echoed. Wilbur felt his mouth physically drop open. 

King snickered when he saw his expression. “What’s up with you?” 

“So he gets to call you a kid but I get charged ten mil for a Bloody fucking Mary?!” Wilbur shouted- thankfully no one paid much attention. King chuckled. 

“It’s a term of endearment reserved only for friends, Wil.” he answered, wiping his hands on a towel. “You weren’t a friend yet.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “‘Yet’?”

King gave him a soft half-smile, nodding. “Yet.”

Wilbur sat back on his stool, looking down at the drink that still sat there innocently, untouched. Wilbur traced the glass’s lip absentmindedly, biting his lip as he fought his own thoughts.

“You know I’m sending your brother that video, right?” King told him, catching his attention and making him snap his head up. Wilbur’s face contorted into one of horror. 

“What?” 

King huffed a laugh. “You lost the game of pool. On purpose, but still. The deal was that if you won, I wouldn’t send it, if you lost I would.” King smirked. “You lost.” 

Wilbur wrinkled his nose, dropping his head into his hands with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me.” Wilbur said, finally picking up his drink and swirling it around. 

Wait, hang on…

Wilbur snapped his head back up, “Hang on, you never told me how you…” he blinked. King was gone, Russ standing in his place. “...beat me in the drinking contest.” Wilbur finished quietly, glancing to the side to see the familiar gold hair disappearing out a side door. Russ only gave Wilbur an amused look. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes and politely flipped the other off, raising the glass to his lips as the other only chuckled.

Wilbur nearly spit the drink out the second it touched his tongue. It wasn’t because it was strong, or burned the back of his throat, or tasted bad. 

In fact, it was the complete opposite. It was sweet. 

Wilbur choked, coughing when it went down the wrong pipe, the drink dribbling down his chin and smearing the blue chalk stain on his hoodie. He glared at the glass, the amber liquid catching the light. 

He stood up suddenly, accidentally kicking his stool back as he raced through the crowd to the side door he’d seen King disappear through with a strangled call of “Wait-!”

He slammed his shoulder into the door before he could break his momentum, twisting the handle with fumbling fingers. But when he got out of it, the alley was empty.

Wilbur leaned against the brick wall, sliding down it to sit against it, the glass of amber liquid still sitting innocently in his hand. 

“It’s apple juice, isn’t it?” he asked to the empty night air, not caring if there was anyone there to hear him or not. 

Even so, there was a noise above him, on the wall opposite the one he was sitting against him. Wilbur squinted up into the darkness, seeing the silhouette of a figure sitting on the fire escape, swinging his legs below him. 

A passing car’s headlights illuminated the alley for just an instant, long enough for Wilbur to make out the bright shine of sharp teeth and cobalt blue eyes. 

The bartender jumped down to the ground with a thump, landing expertly on his feet in a crouch. “I think proper introductions are in order,” King said, straightening. Wilbur didn’t bother moving from his seat against the wall. 

“My name’s Tommy.

"So, Wil Gold...

...can you keep a secret?”

Chapter Text

So, I keep getting comments on this that all ask for one thing.

I'll give you three guesses, I bet you only need one.

A sequel. 

And I'll admit, I loved the idea of a sequel from the moment I posted this one-shot. I've had it in the works for what is a decently long time now, but lost focus and interest when school started giving me hell. 

But I bring good news. I have regained my wanting and will to write, so guess what? It's not too far from done!

Though I'm not sure if I want to post it as a couple short multi-chapters or just one really long one-shot, (comment plz lol) That doesn't change the fact that our beloved bartender universe is still flying. 

I'm rushing to write this before school, so I really can't add more details right now. But I will add a hint: the new one involves a lot of Tommy's past (not to mention powers).

And in the story I'm really going to drag you along on the power part. I can't wait for you to guess what it is :D

Especially considering it isn't one I've ever seen anyone else use yet. Isn't that exciting?

See you (hopefully) soon! Author out.

UPDATE:

Author back. Hi again. Update on sequel so I'm not leaving you hanging.

So, in short, school is kicking my butt so things are going slowly. That's fine though, it just means it'll be slow. BUT! I have drafted an outline for the sequel (you don't get a title drop yet hehe) and it will indeed be a multichapter. In fact, it'll be thirteen entire chapters long when I'm done with it (plus maybe an epilogue)! But I'm not going to post the first chapter until I'm done with the last because I'm bad about changing details mid-story and I'm paranoid so everything needs to line up perfectly so I don't confuse anyone with misplaced details.

I will admit, I based the chapter titles off of a poem (which you can find when i post the first chapter if you give it a google searching) but I think it's really cool anyway, so who cares if it isn't an original idea? (I mean, kinda me but I enjoy the idea anyway.)

I want to thank everyone again for the support that inevitably gave me the want to continue this universe! I might keep editing this chapter for updates so be sure to pop in once in awhile. I'll add a chapter so it'll ping everyone subscribed when I start posting G- ahem. THE SEQUEL if you don't want to subscribe to my character profile (which is fine). You can also subscribe to the series so you'll always get a ping from anything posted in this universe.

No I'm not just farming subs, here lol. Just trying to be helpful.

Anyway, warning before anything, there will be a few tws, though i promise it won't be anything too serious. Other than that, you get no more hints to what's going to happen! Hope you stay interested! Bear with me please!