Archive of Our Own

Fifteen years.

They had planned to meet up again after fifteen years.

That day, the three of them had sat around the bar, nursing their various drinks. To his left was Heavy, hunched over and intimidatingly large. To his right was the loose cannon Max, intimidating just through his sharp teeth. He liked to think he looked intimidating too, in his bright sharp mask. It was quiet that day, so the three of them stayed stationed at the bar and didn’t return to their usual table with their poker game. Instead, their drinks stood lined up on the polished wood, each remarkably different from the other. Biting down on his tongue, Strong Bad had managed to not mention or make fun of Heavy’s drink thus far – but it was tempting whenever he caught sight of the pink fruity drink out of the corner of his eye. At least it didn’t smell strong enough to burn through his mask, unlike whatever the rabbit-thing had ordered. His own was a classic Cold One, gained by the Inventory specially for him.

“Would be nice to meet you again, little bunny and tiny Heavy,” The gravelly voice of Heavy responded to Strong Bad’s suggestion he had made seconds ago about meeting up. In an attempt to seem more relaxed, Heavy had leaned back, his large hand enclosing the small frilly glass as the bar stool creaked ominously below him. It was a ridiculous sight, and it reminded Strong Bad of some sort of balancing act a clown might do. When the punchline would hit was a different question. “Is good to talk to you.”

“Likewise! Not many people can talk to Sam and I without going green in the face!” Max’s perpetual sharp-toothed grin widened. Strong Bad gulped. He tried to disguise it as drinking his drink – and not the memories of Max’s conversation topics resurfacing. Along with his drink, Max had found himself a pile of bones that the bartender tossed his way and chewed on them loudly as he spoke. Strong Bad suppressed another shiver as he heard the bones crunch. “It’s good to meet people like us. Maiming habits or… Otherwise.”

From over Strong Bad’s head – for Max was standing on his stool while Strong Bad was sitting like a normal person – Max and Heavy exchanged a pointed intentional glance. In response, Strong Bad narrowed his eyes at them, his mask reflecting this expression change. “Hm? Have you two been blabbering behind my back?”

With the little decency they had, the two began to try and make up a cover-up on the spot – but failed massively when they talked over each other with clashing stories. Trying to tune out Max’s talk of ‘huge Kaijus taking over’ and Heavy’s anecdote to do with the sewers, a dance party and a ‘two-fort’, Strong Bad waited until their voices trailed off and dissipated into the awkward silence.

“Tiny Heavy… We did not mean to ignore you. Talk about you behind back,” Heavy’s hand – his free one – sheepishly tapped on the table as he avoided eye contact. At least he had the courtesy to look ashamed, unlike the grinning lunatic to the other side of him. “Was just discussing… Personal matters. Sensitive.”

“What the big guy is trying to say is that his drink isn’t the only fruity thing about him!” Max cackled, even through the withering look Heavy sent him. Another crack made Strong Bad look swiftly away as Max’s rows of canines broke through a femur – somehow not damaging his teeth in the process. “And he isn’t the only one here like that!”

“Fruity?” Strong Bad looked between the two, head spinning back and forth like he was watching an intense game of pong. Between Heavy’s large masculine figure and Max’s… Well, he was less surprised about Max, but he hadn’t expected Heavy to be… “Gay? You mean you’re both homos?”

“Duh! Sam and I have been in a civil partnership for ages, I’d mentioned it while we played poker earlier,” Max quirked a brow at him, picking bone shards out of his fangs with a toothpick. “You think I was joking about knowing his tongue better than-”

“Ew! Okay, I don’t want to hear about it all in detail.” This interruption effectively shut Max up, but the tension remained in the room. Strong Bad could see Heavy’s hand tighten out of the corner of his eye, with careful precision as to not break his glass. A threat, maybe. Max followed in sync, slowing down his teeth-cleaning in order to stare at Strong Bad with his tiny beady eyes. It sent droplets of cold sweat down the back of Strong Bad’s neck – being stared at like a prey animal.

Strong Bad didn’t know how to feel about this.

His gut reaction was to call them a word that he’d seen somewhere in a comic-book, yelled at to a man wearing heels and with mascara running down his face. A memory lodged in his brain like a piece of shrapnel. His instincts were telling him to leave before he could be associated with them. Before he could be lumped in with the ‘gay people’. The guys he knew from when he was younger, long before he had attended his first concert, would’ve spat at him or tossed cigarettes his way for even considering hanging around them.

He fought back against it, because just because he isn’t gay doesn’t mean others can’t be. And it’s not like he hasn’t met gay people before, he’s been in mosh pits, he’s part of the punk scene for crying out loud! You can’t get much gayer than that, unless you dressed in drag…

Which he has.

Taking a swig of his drink, he took his time to think of what to say. He still wanted to be friend with these guys, it didn’t matter what they did with their partners… They were cool. They were funny and he liked them, even if they sometimes freaked him out. Who cares what they do with their mouths when they weren’t chugging alcohol or telling violent stories? Strong Bad doesn’t, he can cope with this news.

He’s also technically queer, since he was born a girl and became a dude, but he actively fought against that connection in his brain.

“I don’t care. That you’re both homos, I mean,” He shrugged, his glass clinking against the coaster-less wooden surface. “You’re both still cool.”

And, immediately, the tension began to leave the room.

“It’s lucky you said that! I’d have hated to try and find a discreet way to snuff you out,” Max’s eyes finally broke away from him and returned to his bone pile – one that had dwindled to a tiny stack. With a careless arm, he swept it off the table and onto the floor. Strong Bad could hear the sigh of the cleaner from all the way across the room. “It’s not easy getting rid of a body when you’re in the middle of a bar, y’know.”

“I agree with bunny. Is not simple, would have to forge documents, hide evidence,” Heavy added, a small smile returning to his face and bringing back the crowfeet by his eyes.

After watching Heavy delicately sip out of his fancy glass, Strong Bad’s eyes widened as he fully began to process their conversation. He cleared his throat and adjusted his mask’s string tails, trying to hide the sudden shaking in his hands. “Wait. What are we talking about?”

Max turned to him again, his ears flopping around like two unstable springs screwed onto his head. He gestured towards Strong Bad with his drink, and splotches of hissing alcohol (seriously, what was in his drink?) hit the counter as it escaped the tempered glass. “Giving you the ol’ cement shoes if you were nasty about us being gay.”

“But tiny Heavy has no reason to worry now!” A strong arm from his left swung around his shoulders and Strong Bad found himself in the worst headlock he’d ever been it, which was saying something! It was probably meant to be a side-hug but instead he felt his back pain be cured, inflicted, cured again and then return tenfold in the span of ten seconds. “You are good man, is why you will live!”

“Haha! Yeah!” Strong Bad squeaked out, clawing at the arm in a futile attempt to escape. “But could you let- Hrk- let go man? I can’t breathe over- hh- here!”

Max poked his face with one of his round stubby fingers, eyes flicking over him as he watched him struggle. He would’ve loved to fight back against the poking – protest – but right now he was focusing on breathing. “Keep up the headlock and you might get his head to grow even bigger!”

“Ah, tiny Heavy has weak neck. Like Scout.” When Heavy finally, mercifully, let go, Strong Bad sputtered at the accusation as he rubbed his throat. No doubt there would be a bruise somewhere on him later. He didn’t personally know who this ‘Scout’ person was, with his little context being from the few comments and brief anecdotes Heavy had made about the guy – but he was sure Scout was more like Homestar than himself! “I forget. Apologies.”

“No worries, big man, but warn a guy next time! Jeez!” Voice now hoarse, Strong Bad tried to nurse his drink to soothe his throat. “A-Anyway, the meeting. We’re talking about the meeting now.”

“Ohhh, right, the meeting!” Max nodded, his head turned towards the counter. He seemed to be digging into it with his fingernails – or claws, whatever they were – and writing something. “Why fifteen years exactly?”

“Well, they’re gonna refurbish this place soon but that’s gonna take a few years, and I’ve got e-mails to write, big guy’s got people to kill and you’ve… Also got people to kill. Probably.” Just saying all of that out loud made Strong Bad realise he was possibly the least violent of the three, which is weird! He’s never felt the least violent. He desperately pushed those thoughts out of his mind, he didn’t want to compare himself to Marzipan, or worse, Strong Sad. “Anyway, that plus budget and time stuff… Ehhh… It’s like fifteen years.”

“Hmmm… I’ll have to check my schedule but I should be free!” Max nodded, and Strong Bad could see the start of… A heart? Why was Max etching a heart into the table? One of the cartoon-y ones, not a realistic one.

“Will check the same, but job is unpredictable.” Heavy pointed out, to which Max and Strong Bad nodded at. Suddenly Heavy let out a big bark of laughter, hitting the counter with his free hand and causing the others’ drinks to rattle. “May not get until next hundred years free day!”

“Too true, brother! Too true!” Strong Bad lied immediately, more focused on making sure his drink didn’t spill over forming a good cover-up or lie. What kind of person gets a job where they can’t have a day off? He never had to deal with that, he could just do what he liked. Quickly, he tried to reign back in the conversation – moving away from the uncomfortable topic of work. “So we’re all meeting up in fifteen years on this day…”

Pause. Well, ‘all’ wasn’t exactly the right word.

He glanced over to the corner of the bar, where a man with brown hair sulked.

He seemed to still be sour after losing yet another poker match – but it wasn’t like any of them ever won either! The winner was always that weird guy that showed up, the one that Strong Bad never remembered the name of, who would leave after they won. Yet Tycho was the only one out of the four remaining players that sulked, and didn’t join them for drinks afterwards. Maybe it was because they always made fun of him for it, but he gave them good reasons to. His sarcasm was fun, and he made an entertaining ‘straight man’ but…

Turning back to the others, Strong Bad made an amendment to his earlier statement. “Without the dork, though.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

“He said… Scary words. About little animals,” Heavy spoke, his voice tinged with the same fear he had when describing his nightmare to the group. Strong Bad didn’t blame him at all, he’d seen and heard of some weird guys but never anything like this. Leaning over, Heavy’s tone lowered to a wispy rasp. “Did not want to say anything but… Made Heavy uncomfortable.”

“You’re not the animal one here! It made me itch all over! It almost made me wanna-” Max shivered, “- put on clothes. What horror!”

“So we’re in agreement! We just uhh… Don’t tell him. Or let him know,” Strong Bad clapped his glove-hands together to solidify his, now validated, statement – making a small soft sound as the plush material bumped together instead of an actual clap noise. “And we’ll meet up again in fifteen years!”

“Cheers!” Heavy raised his glass to the others, preparing a toast. “To poker in future!”

“In future!” Max joined in after finishing his carving (the heart had S + M written in the middle of it, something that might’ve sounded innocent if it hadn’t been those two initials). He leapt onto the counter – which, shockingly, didn’t seem affected at all by his energetic jump. His mug, still oddly full of that horrible liquid that gave Strong Bad goosebumps, clinked against Heavy’s, and then they both then turned to look at Strong Bad.

“In future!” He too had to stand up onto the green plush seat, managing to balance on the weirdly steady bar stool below him as he leaned forwards and knocked his glass into the others. Luckily for them, none of the drinks spilled into the others. Strong Bad felt he might not have minded a taste of Heavy’s drink – but that was because he was comparing it to whatever Max’s was. Now that their drinks were all together, in a toast for the future, Strong Bad’s earlier doubts dissipated and he felt comfortable with them. He had friends here, ones outside of Free Country USA. Ones that, while weird, kind of understood him a bit better. Ones he would meet again – in the future.

It would’ve been a really sweet moment, had Max not decided to ominously add a statement that shocked the other two out of their soft, grossly sappy, smiles. “If we live that long.”

But when Max and Heavy began to laugh, Strong Bad found himself laughing alongside them both too.

And that was how they decided to meet here today.

Strong Bad replayed that memory in his mind as he made his way back to the Inventory. He remembered the conversations – or snippets of it – and felt the burn of the drink in the back of his throat. He had ended up trying Max’s drink… And still suffered the effects of it all these years later.

The way of getting into the Inventory had changed a bit, but, as a former member of the bar, he was welcomed in by the owner like an old friend. Which, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, they probably were friends. Although he had struggled with actually getting into the building, he was greeted once he had managed to weasel his way in and was led around by the Captain (as they affectionately nicknamed him), who showed him all of the changes in a speedy tour. The layout had changed considerably. Lights came down from above and it no longer felt like a seedy shady place, instead it felt more cozy and bright. It felt strange seeing the once almost empty Inventory be full of people bustling around. In the years that Strong Bad had been away, business had apparently picked up massively. Word of the invites had spread like a virus, and people needed an escape from their troubles.

Even if you were from completely different places, you were allowed in to the Inventory to have a break from the life you led. You could play poker or not, drink a beer or have a plain ol’ glass of water, and relax.

He looked around at the new faces and felt… A bit understood by all his fellow bar-goers. Reluctantly.

It was by what Strong Bad thought was a stroke of luck that the Captain had remembered their conversation from that day fifteen years ago – he vaguely recalled drunkenly telling him the plan but with the amount of drinks they’d all had? He wasn’t sure he’d actually made any sense. Yet he had! As evidenced by the booth that had a special little reservation sign made specifically for the trio.

The Captain was busy, but he warmly assured Strong Bad that the other two would be arriving, before vanishing into the crowds. Strong Bad shuffled into the booth, grateful for the soft expensive plush material he was now sat on. The journey here had been rough, but now he felt like he could relax.

If he could ignore the fluttering nervousness in his gut.

On the table, three drinks were set out. The same three types from that night. Which surprised him since he wasn’t sure they would even be on the menu any more! A frilly pink one placed on a coaster that seemed to have Heavy’s emblem on it, a death-smelling concoction that was placed on a coaster with the Freelance Police logo on it and his own classic Cold One covering the coaster below it. When he lifted his drink, he looked at the coaster below it to see the design – it had the Homestar Runner website logo on it. Less specific like Heavy’s, but he found he wasn’t too bothered. Instead he was focused more on the condensation from the drink running down the sides of his glove-hands. It was still cold. He had many questions in his brain, such as how were the drinks still cold? Did anyone remember his name? Had Max’s graffiti habits remained on the counter?

And, more importantly, would the other two still get along with him? How much had they changed?

For him, not a lot had changed since he had last seen the other two. Maybe a little bit had, maybe a couple of dynamic changes and some law shifts outside of Free Country USA (since, inside of Free Country, pretty much anything goes) – ones that, if he remembered the details of their last conversation correctly, would impact the other two greatly… Basically that thing about gay people being a bit more legal in 2025 America. Not everywhere, but more legal than they were.

Other changes included his housing situation, as he had a new room-mate. No new rooms were added, but they sure had more dirty laundry and dishes… For someone else to handle. And maybe he was closer with some people he’d previously ignored, and maybe he’d softened over the years. He didn’t like to admit that last part but did find himself actually saying ‘sorry’ more.

Weird. Peculiar. Other synonym to describe the abnormal changes he was feeling.

As he swirled the drink around in the bottle, looking at the orange and brown reflections created through the soft yellow light that shone down from above onto him, he heard a throat clear nearby.

His head snapped up.

But he was met with some disappointment. There were people there, just not the ones he’d expected. Fans, he assumed, judging by their stammering for autographs and buzzing questions. They said something about ‘flash animation’ and ‘gravity falling’ and some other junk that he just nodded passively to. He was more concentrated on holding back the rush that came with the upset of broken expectation, because, weirdly enough, he didn’t want to seem like an asshole to these people who looked up to him.

Over the years, his wider popularity had dwindled, but in more niche circles, he was a famous (infamous?) face. It wouldn’t be wise to upset the few remaining followers – even if he could definitely handle the outcome of doing that.

Another throat cleared, echoing the one that happened moments ago but it was deeper. More intimidating. And, this time, a familiar voice followed. It was deep and rough, accented in the same way that it had been all those years ago, leaving Strong Bad breathless. “Excuse us, this is our booth. We would like to sit down now.”

The fans shuffled, letting out a thin string of warbling apologies. As they parted, like a set of stage curtains, the spotlight of Strong Bad’s attention shifted to the large Russian man and short freakish lagomorph that had haunted his memories. The latter of the two still wasn’t wearing clothes and only wore his sharp teeth and short fur, but the former had changed his outfit. His uniform, the one that Strong Bad had thought was permanently attached to his skin, had shifted into something more casual. A thin green shirt replaced his red one; he still had his bullet-proof vest; the mini-gun was affixed to his side but he looked a bit more like he was going out to a bar than to a war, which did make sense.

However, there was one thing different that stuck out like a sore thumb, something that blew all of the minor changes out of the water…

“A beard? Man, when the crap did you grow a beard?” Strong bad pointed at the offending growth of hair that had sprouted in the years between them seeing each other. He couldn’t help his rectangular mouth from hanging open agape as his brain let out the noises of a broken dial-up machine, trying to mentally register this weird change.

“The bunny noticed this, you noticed this… I feel like it is not that much of a change,” He stated, shaking his head and letting out a few weary chuckles. Despite being clearly wrong because it was a freakin’ huge change, man, Strong Bad let him off the hook and tried not to bring it up again…

Out loud at least.

Shifting to the side, causing the gaggle of fans to finally disperse as he basically bull-dozed into them, Heavy let Max slide into the booth first. It seemed like he had remembered the lagomorph’s habit of crawling under table no matter where he was sat in order to escape the booth, either to get more drinks or go to the toilet. They had, when this first became apparent, devised a seating arrangement that then allowed the outer two – Strong Bad and Heavy – to be able to get out easier while Max did what he does best: being chaotic. Even after a decade, this came as instinct to the trio as they all took their place.

“Y’know, I didn’t realise how seriously you guys took the whole ‘not being at the Inventory’ thing. It was pretty boring without you two here.” After moving the drinks around to their respective people, Max started up the conversation once again. He still gestured with his paws, Strong Bad observed. “I mean, there was a robot lady who was cool and talked about neurotoxins! She brought along a human at some point, which was very disappointing. I wanted to see more giant robots! Not tiny humans.”

Max traced a circle absent-mindedly on the table with one of his fingers as he spoke – he only had four per hand in total, but Strong Bad really couldn’t judge here with his whole glove-hand situation. Then, suddenly, his head shot up.

“Oh but I did see someone I’d heard about! Big guy-” Max turned to Heavy so fast that Strong Bad was surprised his head stayed on, “- Didn’t you mention you worked with a little lady in purple? Stressed out? Drinking wayyy too much coffee all the time?”

“Hm. Yes,” He responded, visibly taken aback as his eyes widened slightly. Maybe Heavy hadn’t expected Max to remember his long ago dusty anecdotes. Strong Bad sure didn’t… For the most part. “Her name is Miss Pauling, why are you asking?”

Hang on a minute.

“Wait, has your English improved?” Strong Bad butted in to also question Heavy, earning him an annoyed look from Max. Usually the sharp snarl and pin-prick eyes of the lagomorph would send someone into tears, but Strong Bad was resilient – mostly. “I totally swear you’ve improved, man.”

“I have! Thank you for noticing,” He paused, and a twinkle emerged in his eyes when he next spoke, “Tiny Heavy.”

And didn’t that small nickname send a wave of nostalgia over Strong Bad?

“Excuse me, as I was saying,” Max, once more, took back the reigns of the conversation. “I’ve seen that Pauling visiting here with the woman the robot lady brought and the duct-tape-jacket girl that’s friends with the crowbar-Freeman guy.”

“It is nice to hear she has made friends,” Heavy smiled at the news, and took a sip of his drink. His smile, as he drank, seemed to grow. Strong Bad tried not to look at how it showed off his new wrinkles that he’d collected. It reminded him too much of how many years had passed. “It is difficult for her, with her work being very busy.”

“Mhm, and that’s not all!” Max exclaimed, sticking a hand into the air like an enthused scientist or, more accurately, an enthused detective. As quickly as his arm rose, it fell – and he leaned into the centre of the table with his hand cupped around his mouth. The others, on instinct, fell in too to hear what secrets he had to say. They didn’t have to lean in too close, though, as he didn’t actually lower his voice at all. “I’ve seen her getting’ it on with the other ladies… Gettin’ frisky if you will… Gettin’ freaky one might say… Gettin’-”

“We are ‘getting’ your point, little bunny,” Heavy sighed out as he leaned back once again, though he looked somewhat pleased still. “It is good to know she is feeling more confident about her… Eh, preferences.”

“Confident is right!” Max laughed, falling back into the seat with a hand on his head. “With the way those three are gettin’ it on, you’d think this was a lesbian bar, not a poker place!”

“Huh. This whole lesbian thing reminds me of someone,” Strong Bad began to speak, before drinking a little. Their eyes turned to him. He pretended to ignore them, pretended to not see them, as he drank in both the booze and the attention. Then he set down his drink, a clink coming from the coaster, and let out a sigh. He let a smug smile creep across his face. “… Do you remember me mentioning Homestar’s girlfriend? Marzipan? Yeah.”

Without adding more, he could see their brains turning for a moment.

Then they pieced it together.

And both of their reactions? Priceless.

Heavy choked on his drink part way through a sip, beating on his chest as he tried to push out the liquid that had managed to trickle into his airway, and Max began to downright cackle. It wasn’t a quiet one either, it was loud and passer-bys shot them confused glances – some deeply irritated. But that didn’t matter to Strong Bad. Instead he was nodding at his friends reactions as he let them process the implications behind his questions.

… But he was a bit annoyed they figured out what he was going to say so quickly.

“I assume Homestar and his girlfriend are… No longer together, hm?” Heavy commented lightly and gently, placing his drink down for the time being – no doubt slightly put off drinking for the time being after coughing some of it up.

“Nope,” Strong Bad popped the ‘p’, “He was a sad single sack for a while!”

“When was this?” Heavy questioned, eyes narrowing.

And Max’s voice overlapped with an emphasised, “Was a sad sack?”

Deliberately choosing to ignore Max’s question, Strong Bad took the easier of the two and turned towards Heavy. His free-hand did a see-saw motion as he tried to think long and hard about the specifics of it all. “Ehh, about two years after us agreeing to meet up again? … Three?”

He looked at his glove-hands to count. They were unhelpful.

He muttered a very confused and very uncertain, “Five?”

“Ooh… That somehow reminds me,” Max began a new topic, having seemingly immediately forgotten his question to Strong Bad. Score. Strong Bad internally celebrated Max’s short term memory. “Remember when I said I had weird dreams about psychic powers?”

“I remember this, yes,” Heavy nodded; Strong Bad echoing this action with not too much to add.

“Well, I hadn’t been honest with you guys. I mean I had but…” Max paused, his gesturing turning loose as he tried to pick his words. The other two became quiet, sensing this topic would be deeper than their previous one. “There was this thing that happened during my time at the Inventory. I’m from a different timeline. The Sam that you guys have seen me with is from your timeline, but I just replaced the Max you guys knew at some point… My Sam went all Kaiju-mode so we had to put a bomb in his stomach and boom!”

He threw up his arms, flailing them around like the wobbly men outside of car dealerships, and wailed like a banshee to mimic the screams of the people in New York, or the screams of Sam himself. It would’ve been funny – and it still kind of was – had it not been for the context. Strong Bad’s eyes flicked over to Heavy’s for a second, seeing his expression tighten. He wasn’t sure what his own face was doing. Max did some more small explosion noises with his mouth before he eventually, finally, settled down. His face did that weird thing it sometimes did, where his mouth would vanish. His teeth would be gone from display and he’d stare either at someone, typically in disgust or confusion, or… He’d stare into the distance.

Normally it was creepy. Right now it was just sad.

No one spoke for a second. It was bizarre to hear this story after how many years it had been since it happened, and how much time they’d spent not knowing this fact.

“So I hopped timeline and now I’m with Sam again. Then I met back with you guys and didn’t say a thing and no one noticed!” Max’s smile returned, flipping from its invisible state right back to its normal one, and he clasped his hands together in front of himself like he’d just finished telling one of his usual stories.

This was not one of his usual stories.

He looked between Heavy and Strong Bad, his brows furrowing in his growing puzzlement. It didn’t even seem fake, Strong Bad could see the genuine confusion. “What? Did I say something horribly out-dated?”

Heavy remained quiet, and rather still. It was clear that, after a few moments, Strong Bad would have to take control of the conversation and speak up.

“That sounded messed up, man. Like seriously,” Strong Bad stated very factually, knowing that Max wouldn’t care for pity statements.

“It is a shame. I am glad you are here, though,” Heavy added – and Strong Bad had a feeling he was holding back a ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or something along those cheesy lines.

“If you wanna hear ‘messed up’, then ask my bi-yearly surgeon about the sights he’s seen during my check-ups. That stuff is nightmare inducing!” Looking unbothered once more, Max waved away the concerns and statements; he continued with one of his weird anecdotes instead. Then he sat up straight, his ears pointing up like antenna on a bug. “Oh! But that wasn’t what I was gonna talk about. I was going to say that it meant Sam and I had to re-marry, just to make sure we were one-hundred percent married.”

Strong Bad had no idea what he was talking about now.

“But then we thought-” Max continued, oblivious to Strong Bad’s confusion, “- why stop at two? So we divorced and got married again. And we’ve been doing that ever since! Sometimes it’s just us two, sometimes we invite family… We switch who wears the dress, but it’s me usually. It’s like a time-loop.”

From the way his hands were clasped, pressed against the side of his face, he was acting like he was retelling them the sweetest, sappiest love story ever – and not whatever psychological horror he was actually spouting. Maybe that was too harsh… They both sounded happy about it. It wouldn’t make a good horror movie, maybe it was more corny than Strong Bad expected – but he always assumed the worst with Max.

Maybe that would change too.

Ew, anyway.

“Hm. On the topic of marriage…” Heavy took up the conversation topic, sheepishly moving one of his large hands to rub at the back of his neck. Strong Bad remembered this habit of his – it was either this or he would adjust his ammo belt. Even with this new look, he could vividly imagine Heavy doing it again. Now was not the time to focus on that, though, and Strong Bad tuned in again to hear what Heavy had to say. “Dok-tor and I are in a civil partnership now.”

“Congrats, big guy!” Strong Bad raised his drink in a toast. Honestly? He wasn’t surprised about them being a ‘thing’, but he was surprised about the legal nature of it.

He was sure Heavy and Medic didn’t actually care all too much about the papers – they were close enough, what use would a few documents have? Lack of official paperwork apparently hadn’t stopped the Medic from being a doctor before. Strong Bad was secretly glad that Bubs was only mostly a weirdo and didn’t try experimenting on him during his top surgery (although that was maybe due to the witnesses nearby) since he had heard tales of what happened when Medic did Soldier’s top surgery.

It gave him the jibblies just thinking about it.

“Was it a shotgun wedding?” Max asked, catching the other two off-guard. From how casual he was with the phrase, it quickly became clear he was completely unaware of what that phrase means.

Heavy, having come to the same conclusion as Strong Bad, answered the question with that assumption in mind. His eyes flicked over to Strong Bad for a moment, before returning to Max with a wobbly smile – one hiding a chuckle underneath. “… It had no shotguns, if that is what you are asking.”

“Aww man…” Max shook his head, disappointed at the lack of shotguns.

The large man then grinned, showing off his upper teeth. Despite how serious his resting face usually is, Heavy has one of the biggest and warmest smiles that Strong Bad has ever seen. “But it did have mini-guns and bone-saws.”

“Really?” Max’s eyes sparkled as he clapped his hands together.

“But does it have tax benefits?” Strong Bad questioned, cutting in and jutting out his hand towards Heavy. In one glove-hand, he swirled his glass as it sent bubbles to the surface; the other continued to gesture at Heavy as if he were interrogating the man. “I know a marriage has tax benefits, cause I saw it in all the paperwork for my marriage, but does a civil-what’s-it-called?”

Heavy and Max stared at him.

They all blinked blankly at each other for what felt like five minutes.

“What? Do I have something on my- my incredibly handsome and awesome face?” Strong Bad began swatting at his own face like a game of whack-a-mole. Maybe he’d spilled something and hadn’t noticed – but, with how absolutely flabbergasted the other two looked, it should be something he did notice. He tried to ignore how his face began burning under the two’s eyes, like a magnifying glass on an ant hill. “C’mon, give me a mirror at least!”

“You?” Max asked incredulously, mouth hanging agape and showing off all his shark-teeth. “Married?”

“Yes?” Strong Bad was taken aback now. He stopped his hand on his face, gingerly moving it back to his drink to join his other one. Now, instead of feeling embarrassed, he was deeply offended; rightfully so, from the implications behind that tone. “What? You think I can’t get married? I’ve got ladies linin’ up to meet me!”

“It was not a lady you ended up with,” Heavy began, catching Strong Bad off guard severely because come on, “Was it?”

He hesitated. Sure, he could outright lie and say he had married the space alien girlfriend (Natalilie? Deliliea? He can’t remember the name he chose for her), but these two were bloodhounds for the truth. And, honestly, they did deserve it after putting up with his crap for years. Teetering between the truth and a lie, before letting out a large sigh, he gave in to the truth. “… No. It wasn’t a lady.”

“Then-” Heavy paused, gulping down a bit of his drink as he slowly drew a line on the table with his finger – showing the mental connection he was making for the other two to see. For Strong Bad to wince at. “You said Marzipan and Homestar broke up…”

“Gasp!” Max yelled the word aloud, slamming his hands down on the wooden table and causing his drink to rock precariously. His hand flew to point at Strong Bad, finger pointed directly at him. “You homewrecker! Homestar-homewrecker!”

“She’s a lesbian! She doesn’t care!” Strong Bad protested, waving away the paw being shoved in his face. Honestly, he’s not even sure why he was defending himself, he wouldn’t care if she did feel strongly about it. But now his face was burning from a different type of embarrassment. Was he really that obvious? No, they were just… Good at guessing. That’s it. “And it was wayyy after they broke up! When we..”

He gulped, unsure of how to continue the sentence.

“-When you kissed and made out and whatever, yeah yeah,” Max filled in the brief pause, gesturing with his hand to move along. Strong Bad shot him an irritated look. Ignoring this, Max put his elbows on the table and propped his large head up with his hands. “So when did you begin dating? Official boyfriend-boyfriend dating?”

Now both Heavy and Max were staring at him intensely.

He was, at one would expect, weirded out by the staring. His eyes nervously flicked back to his drink as he leaned away. But, as he moved away, they seemed to move closer. He decided to quickly answer before they could pounce at him – which, for Max, was a very real possibility. “… Five years ago.”

Heavy gave the disappointed Max a smug grin. He held out one of his massive hands towards Max, palm upturned and expecting. “20 dollars, little bunny!”

Strong Bad’s mind went blank as he saw Max grumbling and handing over the 20 dollars from the wallet – the one he’d grabbed from his ‘hammerspace’. Before Strong Bad could even consider focusing on how Max was able to get that money, he had to get over the first mental obstacle- “Were you both betting on me? Getting with Homestar?”

“Yes, we were,” Heavy nodded without an ounce of shame.

Max leaned back in his plush seat and gripped his stomach as he began to cackle. “It was obvious!”

Strong Bad took a large swig of his Cold One to hide the increasingly bright red embarrassment blooming on his face, visible through cartoon logic alone.

“Do you have any pictures?” Heavy prompted, grinning still.

But his smile still couldn’t beat Max’s. The lagomorph began beating his curled up fists on the poor table like an enraged gorilla. “Show us! Show us!”

“Fine! Fine! Keep your pants on, jeez!” Strong Bad muttered, rolling his eyes and trying to hide his joy at the chance to receive positive attention. He pulled out a roll of pictures from his wallet – expecting them to judge him – of the wedding. He showed them off to the other two like they were prized playing cards. Sure he had digital back-ups of the images (because, as he discovered, you can do that now), but he didn’t want the printed images dirtied anyway. “Hold in your applause… Or don’t!”

“Aww, these look so cute!” Max cooed, before suddenly switching his tone. “I need to rip them apart with my teeth!”

“Woah! Paws off!” Strong Bad drew them away just in time before Max could bite them – though his teeth gnashed less than an inch away. “Can’t I show you anything without you trying to attack?”

Max blinked at him. Perhaps he was trying to seem more innocent, but his long pointy fangs and tiny beady eyes didn’t allow for that level of deception. “It’s how I show my affection!”

“You wore the dress?” Heavy interrupted the brewing argument as he looked up at Strong Bad and away from the cards. He looked bewildered, with wide eyes and a surprised smile – happy but confused. “I thought you were not a girl any more.”

“How did-” He paused, his train of thought derailing. Then he connected the dots – Ah right, Soldier’s top surgery, his own top surgery, yadda yadda- Whatever. He tried to ignore the lingering idea that he was actually worse at hiding things than he had initially thought. “Nevermind, anyway, girls aren’t the only ones who can wear dresses! It’s 2025, man, get with the times!”

“Tsh, for shame, Mr Weapons.” When Max shook his head in mock disappointment, his ears bounced back and forth. Then he smiled, in a smug way that made Strong Bad weary. “We all know it’s the one with the biggest ego that wears the dress now!”

“Yeah- Hey!” Strong Bad frowned, turning to Max – not expecting the betrayal! He thought the lagomorph was the least conforming with his gender out of the three of them. “Don’t you sometimes wear the dress in your wedding?”

“Yep!” Max nodded, undisturbed by Strong Bad’s betrayed look. “I wear the dress in most of mine and Sam’s weddings, how do you think I know?”

“… Alright. Well. I do look great in a dress,” Strong Bad conceded with a huff, resting his head on top of his free glove-hand. It was difficult to argue when he remembered how he had soaked in the stares of the audience as he had walked down the make-shift aisle. He then grinned in a more malicious manner as he re-lived the moment. “Plus it made Marzipan, like, super jealous! She was all ‘ohhh Strong Bad, I can’t believe you look better than I ever have! I’ll never look like you!’”

Unable to help himself, he laughed at his own fabricated lie, slamming his fist on the table. In truth, Marzipan seemed happy for him – and not at all jealous… But these two didn’t know that!

“Her face was priceless!” He continued to giggle.

“Ah! When was the wedding?” Heavy asked, his smile dulling as he began to look directly at Strong Bad. An unusual seriousness began to grow in the air. “And we were not invited?”

Shit.

Strong Bad shifted in his seat, uncomfortable now.

“I-I would’ve! It’s just, y’know, there are sooo many people already wanting to come and- And we had limited seating space.” Strong Bad scrambled to cover up his mistake, certain that his bullets of sweat were visible for the other two to see.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to invite them, he had actually just forgot to. Even if he did remember, he wasn’t sure if he would invite them – it would be a lot of effort to work out the inter-dimensional paperwork that is involved in their contracts, and both him and Homestar were already struggling with the normal paperwork… Even if most of it ended up in the shredder.

In desperation, he continued as if more words would make up for the lack of invitations. “And it would be difficult to get the invites across-”

But then he was interrupted. The other two both began to laugh again, effectively silencing him and removing the sudden seriousness.

Max waved his paw at Strong Bad’s concerns, an oddly warm smile on his face. “Sam and I didn’t invite you to our wedding! It’s fine.”

“And only family came to Medic and I’s partnership event.” Heavy added, nodding as he swirled the curly straw in his drink around. It seemed that a switch was flipped and he was acting normal once again. It was kind of scary, actually. “I understand.”

With that massive weight off his shoulders, Strong Bad let out a relieved sigh and settled back into his seat as things seemed to grow calm again. However, there was still this… Thing in the back of his mind. He still felt oddly upset. Not at himself, or at the other two, but he began to feel like the fact none of them had been to each others’ weddings showed how much they had grown apart over the years. Sure, it would’ve been difficult to go to their actual weddings but… It might have been nice to have a night out after. Or have their own event.

Strong Bad put a glove up to his face, thinking. Perhaps that last part… Wasn’t such a bad idea. If they do it here, in a neutral space where interdimensional paperwork isn’t needed, then there’s potential. “Maybe… Maybe we can have like- a triple wedding with us and our partners. Like here, at the Inventory.”

“Oooh!” Max nodded, immediately bouncing to his feet at the idea and standing on his seat. It creaked when carrying his weight, and only made more noises of protest when he began aggressively jumping. “Sounds like something will go horribly wrong, I like it!”

“It is an interesting idea.” It was strange to see Heavy considering the insane proposal with such a straight face, but, then again, his drink was quickly draining – and its frilly pink appearance masked the strangely large amount of alcohol contained within it. “The Inventory is a place without laws or papers. Without restrictions. I am sure the Captain would not mind a triple wedding of men.”

He paused.

Then he corrected himself, quickly tacking it onto the end of his statement. “And rabbit.”

“Thank you!” Max tilted his head and grinned, visibly pleased to have not had to make the correction himself.

Strong Bad chose to ignore Max’s weird gender situation; instead he focused on scheming – this time for something good. Having the wedding in the main area would be too distracting to the regulars, and most of the upstairs side rooms were too small. But… He’d noticed some new doors down where they were now. Occasionally staff members would slip in and out, and he saw the inside of them from this. They looked large enough. “We could ask to rent one of those big new side-halls! I have no clue what they’re usually for but they’d be big enough for a triple wedding!”

“Mhm… I will bring my family. And friends,” Heavy announced, before counting on his fingers. It didn’t take him long to reach the limit on both his hands. “Other than Medic and I, that would be… Over ten.”

“My list would also be over ten,” Max nodded, sipping at his vile drink. “Especially if I invite my siblings…”

“Mine would be too…” Strong Bad tried to count in his head and not on his hands this time. His two siblings, The Cheat, Homestar’s siblings, Homestar’s niblings, the other people who tolerated them in Free Country, Marzipan’s new girlfriends (one being one of Homestar’s siblings)… Yeah that’s a big amount. “But I’ve seen inside the side-halls and they’d fit like a bajillion people in them!”

“Maybe they are for auctions,” Heavy suggested, sounded vaguely intrigued in the building’s layout.

“Whatever they’re for, it doesn’t matter!” Max exclaimed while shaking his head and flapping his hand in Heavy’s direction, growing more and more excited. He could hardly stop himself from entirely climbing onto the table. “Now they’re for our triple wedding!”

“Woah, woah! We still need to book!” Strong Bad tried to calm him down, glove-hands held up like he was reassuring a startled horse. The effect was lost when he couldn’t stop himself from smugly grinning. “… But yeah, they’re totally gonna be for our triple wedding now.”

“Hm. What clothes will we wear?” Heavy, as per usual, was thinking several steps ahead of the other two. Not that Strong Bad would admit that aloud. “Matching, yes?”

“I’m definitely wearing my best dress,” Max stated, hands clasped together with an assertive and confident nod.

“I’ll wear a better dress,” Strong Bad muttered, leaning back with a smug smirk.

It was soon wiped as Max tried to leap other the table to grab him, which he definitely did not let out a shrill scream at. Heavy managed to catch Max by his scruff half way through the jump, based on years of instinct, and set him down back in his seat. As soon as he was released from Heavy’s grasp, he silenced his growling and snarling instantly. Strong Bad shuddered as Max blinked innocently.

“Hm… I was wearing a suit with my partnership,” Heavy continued the topic of conversation, swiftly moving on from Max’s attempted attack and behaving like nothing had happened. “It is… Difficult to find a dress in my size. And I do not have an ego like you two, I would stand out too much.”

“Well think about it this way, big guy-” Strong Bad began, recovering from the scare as well (ignoring his own jittering hands) and tilting his head to face up to Heavy, “- if we’re both wearing dresses and you aren’t… Who’s gonna stand out then?”

A series of facial expressions crossed Heavy’s face, contorting every few seconds. What started out as the start of a confident rebuttal seemed to die quickly.

“You are… correct,” Heavy carefully considered this factor. Score! A win for Strong Bad.

“And I know a good tailor for you!” Max grinned, sharply added in and breaking down another of Heavy’s points. “When Sam wore the dress a few years back, we had to get it custom-made for him. We asked Sybil for help, because she’s had over five hundred jobs so she’s got to know, and she actually made a dress for him! She also made a small suit for Geek.”

“I will think about this… It is a good chance to try a new opportunity.” Heavy nodded, growing more confident.

Or maybe it was the alcohol talking.

As more hours slipped by, they seemed to delve more and more into this plan. Along the way, they caught up – mostly through questioning statements that tripped the other two up. It was… Domestic, sort of. Like a group of old ladies gossiping. But the ‘gossip’ was ‘messed up life events’ (which, Strong Bad thought, maybe that’s what gossip was).

Heavy revealed he had lost his job at TF Industries, leaving the other two stunned.

Sure jobs could change from time to time but, from the way he spoke about it, it seemed that mercenary work was Heavy’s passion. Despite this huge life change, he didn’t seem too upset when recounting the sudden shift and actually seemed way more relaxed, even softly smiling when he told them. As for a new job, Heavy had been doing very small mercenary jobs in various places for now, but it wasn’t hugely necessary with how much money he had earned from working as a part of Team Fortress. Or with his partner’s job choice. Apparently organs sell for a lot on the black market, which Strong Bad could’ve guessed – but made him a bit worried for the trio’s wedding’s aftermath. He’d have to stay drunk… Away from Medic. He didn’t want to risk losing anything important! He’d worked hard for those organs.

The main reason his job had apparently been lost was due to the Administrator dying. Heavy claimed she turned to dust in front of them, which is definitely a sure-fire way of losing your job.

However, this had inspired his new novel.

After many years of studying Russian Literature, exploring themes and dabbling in writing essays outside of his required education that often would last for a horrifying amount of pages – Heavy had finally decided that, with his free time and world experience, he would write something. Even when they showed their enthusiasm, with Strong Bad having previous interest in Literature (which may be partly why he gets so fussy over grammar in the e-mails he gets, but can you blame him?) and Max being generally curious, Heavy would sheepishly say he was no expert and was really just testing the waters with it.

Max had no such mental restrictions when it came to discussing his life and work.

As he had stated previously, he had married Sam – on more than one occasion. And he had kids. This fact alarmed Strong Bad, but both him and Heavy calmed down once Max began talking about the whole thing. Now, having a child in your basement with access to engineering equipment that can create a nuclear bomb if attempted is a pretty scary idea – yet, out of the family of three at that point, the kid (named ‘Geek’, or Gugenheek) seemed to be the most sane one… Mostly. It was one of those comparisons that made someone seem normal, but they are actually just as messed up as everyone else.

Regardless, the two couldn’t resist smiling when they saw the pictures Max held out to show them of the small human with short ginger hair and a scowl contrasted against the dog-person and lagomorph with two large toothy grins. They ranged from normal family-outings to show-casing the kid creating a giant laser gun. It was both impressive and terrifying.

“She gets her smarts from Sam and her creativity from me!” Max explained, however this only created more concerns.

The other children they had were an alligator named after a toilet and a few lagomorph-puppy hybrids that seemed to all, unfortunately, inherit Max’s teeth. One was clumsily holding up a gun in an image – Max commented claiming that’s why he now has a discoloured spot in his ear, because they had to replace it after the kid accidentally shot at him (he didn’t explain why he thought giving a kid a loaded gun was a good idea). In another picture, one was devouring the leg of a chair. And the final image was a different kid who seemed to be drawing the whole family, with wobbly crayon lines that featured bright unrealistic colors.

Strong Bad had no pictures of kids to show off, but he did have pictures of other events.

The wedding pictures were already shown, so he instead began to show others. These were of both him and Homestar going to different concerts and shows. Most were Strong Bad’s idea, of course, and he was the one that brought Homestar along… But occasionally he let himself be dragged to a concert that Homestar picked out – and was always pleasantly surprised with how much he enjoyed it. Though it may be simply because he enjoyed hanging out with Homestar.

Again, he would never admit this to the others.

Once they had found their way back around to discussing the wedding, they called over the Captain with drunken wails. Specifically Strong Bad did. “Hey! Archibald! Capt’n!”

“Reginald,” The Captain corrected, though very gently. He had managed to make his way through the crowd with his impressive presence, primarily because he was the owner of the inventory itself. When he arrived at the table, he politely didn’t point out the amount of refills the three had for their drinks and instead kept his eyes steadily on the people seated there. “And what do my most valued customers desire?”

“Those biiig auction halls! Can they be- Can’they be rented out?” Strong Bad managed to slur out the words, finding it much more difficult to speak than he had moments ago. He tried to point at the Captain but found his glove-hand was weighted down by some unknown force. “’Cause me and the boys here-”

“Rabbit!” Max called out, with much more volume than he needed to – causing the Captain to wince.

“Yeah-yeah, me and the boys and the rabbit- Boy? Man?” Strong Bad turned to Heavy and was about to speak-

-Before the Captain brought him back to the initial question. “Yes, they can be rented out. But for what purpose?”

“Wedding! A triple wedding!” Max, rudely might Strong Bad point out, answered loudly before the others could and stole Strong Bad’s thunder.

“Yeah! Tripleee wedding!” Strong Bad pumped his fist into the air, slinging an arm over Max’s shoulder. He would definitely steal his thunder back with his next statement. “For us ‘n’ our huuusbaaands!”

“Hm, well…” He glossed by the fact they had husbands now very quickly, as if he already knew. But he couldn’t have, Strong Bad reasoned, because they hadn’t told him! Very good conclusion, Strong Bad. Thank you, Strong Bad. He was so busy with congratulating himself that he almost missed the Captain’s next words. “I will see what I can do, however they should be available to rent. They are used for auctions, yes, but also performances. A wedding will be an interesting addition.”

Heavy laughed, banging his large hands on the table. Strong Bad and Max joined in, not wanting to be excluded from the drunken joy.

The Captain shook his head but Strong Bad saw him smiling still. “I will organise the reservations finer details, such as the guest list and- ahem- finances-”

He seemed to stress that word.

“-At a later date, when you are feeling more… Capable of coherency.”

“Cohenrunsay-shmocerunsay!” Strong Bad rebutted with. They were still coherent! Even if the floor was spinning by then. Even if gravity didn’t seem to be working right. Even if trying Max’s drink looked tempting once again.

One thought of trying that drink did bring him back some lucidity, though, as the burning reminded him how bad of an idea that was.

“We will give you all the money!” Heavy attempted to reassure the Captain, although it came out sounding more like a threat or something that an aggressive hostage would say. It didn’t help that he banged his hands on the table again.

As the Captain, with a strange look of fondness mixed with exasperation, departed, the three of them continued to talk and talk deep into the night. Really, it wasn’t about anything in particular and the topic would dance around rapidly. Sometimes it would be drawn back to the wedding as they argued over what food they should serve (they decided on all of the food they could) or what the ‘theme’ should be (they went with whites and reds, but landed on no particular aesthetic. It could be decided later, they thought).

When Strong Bad went home that night, with the three of them being given a ride by one of Heavy’s friends (the bean-pole with a mullet and a car full of kids toys who he can’t remember the name of), he found himself feeling lighter than he had for a while. It was weird. Not a bad weird, it just felt like he had a weight lifted from him. He’d avoided the other two for so long – not on purpose, but just because of things – that he had completely forgotten how fun it was to just sit and talk with them about things that had happened.

They didn’t have to be doing any particular activity or causing too much chaos, but they could just… Talk.

Even as he left the car, guided by the driver (who, might he add, treated him like a sleepy child, which was pretty patronising), he felt that buzz lingering. The other two called from the car for him to come back until the driver sent them a look and told them to not wake up the whole neighbourhood. Surprisingly, they complied – though Max took a few more minutes to calm down. Below his shoes, he felt the grey concrete pavement shift below him. His legs felt wobbly as he moved around like a baby deer. If he were any more lucid, he would’ve probably been embarrassed, but instead all he could think about was climbing into bed and sleeping.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to knock on the door. If he had tried, he was sure he would’ve fallen over. Instead, the lanky driver took up the job and knocked far too politely with a couple of firm taps. Strong Sad had been the one to, reluctantly, answer the (already unlocked) door and shyly wave off Strong Bad’s friends.

Strong Bad had hardly noticed the car drive off, the engine still loudly stuttering in a way that had initially concerned Strong Bad when he had first clambered in. Even through the reassurances that the driver had given them all, they had all still joked that they would become stranded through the multidimensional transportation system and have to resort to cannibalism to survive. One large section of the journey here was figuring out who the first to go would be. Strong Bad still firmly believes it would be the driver and not him… Although everyone else concluded it would be him. Regardless, a broken car would be an awful way to end the night – he had thought – but it hadn’t broken and it had brought him here so all was well.

He managed to enter the house without help and began trying to head towards his room. Strong Sad watched him stumble around for a bit with an unreadable expression, before they walked ahead of him and disappeared into a room.

Strong Bad had made his way past the door to the basement before a different person began walking down the stairs – not clomping around like Strong Sad had, but instead they seemed to be lightly jogging. Invisible arms patted him on the shoulders, and one settled around him as he was slowly guided to his room.

With a muddled mind, he belatedly realised it was Homestar.

Before too long, he was being ushered into his room. It looked different. Different to how it did fifteen years ago. And, perhaps for a fleeting moment, he figured the others’ beliefs about him changing might be right. The pile was still there, of course it was, but his entire bed had been shifted to the right of the room. Through the help of Strong Mad, the bed (which was basically just a storage area at this point) was moved… And a new one had been added nearby. This one was cleaner – in comparison, he was reminded – with a red and blue color scheme, blinding to look at for someone not used to it. It still had some unidentifiable stains on it but Homestar claimed it just added charm to it.

After all, it was Homestar’s bed.

And it seemed to, eventually, become Strong Bad’s too.

That, along with the other furniture that was dragged into the room. There was a nice little precariously constructed bedside drawer that Homestar had stuffed full with random doo-hickeys from his old house. Sure, Homestar still owned his old house, but apparently he never liked staying there for too long. Either he would be at Marzipan’s or, more frequently and recently, at the Strong household.

“Sooo, did you have a good night out?” Homestar asked, breaking through Strong Bad’s reminiscing with his stupid smile – his adorably stupid smile – that was still fixed on his face. Strong Bad wasn’t sure why he was happy too when he’d stayed at home all day (the next day, when he asked, he learned it was that Homestar was happy to see him again).

“Uh, duh, I did. Heavy-m’n and that rabbit guy were super happy to see me,” Strong Bad claimed with a scratchy voice and, for the first time, this wasn’t actually an exaggeration. “They were all like ‘woww, you’re so cool, we missed you!’ and like. It was so awesome. Wish you were there.”

“Aww, thanks! It was really, really quiet without you around.” Politely not mentioning the stench of alcohol surrounding Strong Bad, he watched as Strong Bad fell onto the edge of the bed. Homestar nudged him a little, encouraging him to shuffle further on it. He had fallen off it before when he was like this – and it never helped with his future headache. “Did’ya talk about anything special?”

Homestar was always looking out for him, a train of thought that entered his mind as he struggled through both his exhaustion and drunken state. He had a feeling that, in the morning, there would be a bottle of painkillers (or the first tub of pills that Homestar found which may or may not be painkillers) placed nicely next to a glass of lukewarm water for him on the bedside drawer. It was hard not to look forward to that at least, in spite of the future hangover.

“W’re gonna have a triple wedding,” Strong Bad went limp as Homestar continued to arrange him, not bothering to move on his own anymore. His limbs felt so heavy. Was it always so difficult to keep his eyes open? “Inside tha Inventory’s ol’ auction halls.”

Homestar stopped shuffling, finally laying still – very still, in fact. Strong Bad saw, out of the corner of his eye, Homestar turning to face him. From this angle, he couldn’t see his full expression but noticed the small widening of his eyes. “Triple wedding? Three? Three of weddings?”

“With the other two. Me, you, Heavy, Heavy’s husbando, Max, Max’s hubs-bs-band. We booked it ‘n’ all that. I’m gonna wear the dress again, s’gonna be great,” Strong Bad managed to (almost incoherently) mumble, even as sleep was quickly taking him away. The bed was comfortable and it cradled his aching limbs. Surely he hadn’t done that much today… Scratch that, he had. It had been a long exciting day, and he was more than ready for some rest. He fully shut his eyes. “G’night.”

“Uhmm… Okay,” Homestar replied, sounding deeply confused by the strings of words that seemed to came from the drunken Strong Bad. He pulled up the covers over them both and then retired his normal hat for his sleep hat. Shuffling just a bit more, he got as comfortable as he could – which meant somehow pressing his entire self onto Strong Bad like a living weighted blanket – and gave his partner a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Strong Bad. I’ll ask sober-you what ‘triple wedding’ means in the morning.”

Strong Bad couldn’t reply. He was now fast asleep, snoring loudly and dreaming of wedding scenarios. But none of the scenarios in his dreams would compare to the actual event, which does prove to be one of the most exciting and strangest days of their lives.