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musical-shit-show · 2 years ago

Note

hi, I love the way you write dewey finn so much!! may I request #18 from prompt list 2 and/or “you are terrible at this.” from prompt list 3 for him please?

close enough to touch

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: #18 (“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyways.”) from Prompt List 2 and #36 (“you are terrible at this.”) from Prompt List 3, requested by anon

Warnings: Awkward flirting, fluff

Word Count: 2,370

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long, anon! I was really struggling with this one but I hope you like it! I’ve been meaning to write some post-School of Rock Dewey, and if people like this I wouldn’t mind doing another teacher!Reader one shot. So please let me know if this is something y’all like in the comments and reblogs! Also, check out my Masterlist, Prompt Lists, and About Me page, and submit an ask! It might take me a little bit longer with some requests but I promise to always make those my priority. I’m also working on my Beetlejuice series (to fill the void of course) so hopefully there will be more chapters of that coming soon. Thanks to everyone who’s supported my writing so far and enjoy!

“Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you again.”

“Who?”

“The music tutor.”

You decided to not look up from your coffee mug, the creamer you had just poured swirling slowly. It was the end of your second week at Horace Green, and Mrs. White had quickly taken you under her wing.

The teacher’s lounge was buzzing with activity, since the second Friday of every month meant free pastries from the local artisanal bakery. Apparently incentivizing the molders of young minds with sugar and fat never failed.

You placed an almond croissant on your plate, trying your best to stay discreet, “What’s his name again? Danny?”

Mrs. White laughed lightly, “Dewey,” she said with the smallest hint of disdain, “He’s the one I was telling you about last week. The one who impersonated a substitute last semester.”

Your jaw fell open slightly, and you decided to get another look of this guy. Turning from the spread of baked goods, your eyes wandered over to the other side of the room, where you saw the culprit averting his gaze from your direction.

He was, in a word, unkempt. His clothes were mismatched and ill-fitting; the button-down shirt hiding under his loud sweater vest was about half a size too large, and his dark jeans looked half a size too small. Most of the male teachers at Horace Green typically wore sport jackets and khakis, or at least a tie. Clearly Dewey didn’t get the memo.

His hair was also rumpled, dark brown and wavy and spurting in all different directions. You guessed he had rolled out of bed without running a brush through that mess, let alone even looked in the mirror.

You also noticed a significant amount of stubble growing on his round face, finishing off the whole scruffy vibe he had clearly committed to. He was almost…cute. His eyes were the same color as your coffee, deep brown with a touch of lightness.

“Not to state the obvious, but isn’t that a crime?” you murmured, trying to be discreet as you gossiped with your co-worker.

She answered with an eyeroll. “Of course it is,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She took it black, two sugars. “But Rosalie—Ms. Mullins—decided to not press charges and hired him instead. Caused quite an uproar, but the students love him, so…”

You peered at him again curiously. Dewey was had just finished scribbling something in his notebook, breathing a heavy sigh as he slouched back into the plastic chair.

“I wouldn’t get involved if I were you,” Mrs. White warned, clearly noticing your interest in him, “From what I’ve heard, he’s nothing but trouble.”

You nodded. “Believe me,” you lied, “I know when to stay away.”

~oOo~

A sigh of relief left your chest the second the final bell rang at 3:15 that day. Teaching 10 and 11-year-olds how to structure essays all day really drained you, no matter how polite and well-behaved they were.

You gathered your belongings quickly and were walking briskly to your car when you heard your name being called behind you. You turned to see Dewey, and you couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows. He was carrying what looked like stacks of sheet music.

One misstep and he’d be picking up papers until sundown.

“Uh, hi,” he said as he caught up to you, the cold January air making his breath visible. He attempted to extend his arm for a handshake, but retracted when the heaps of music in his one arm began to falter. “I’m uh, I’m Dewey. Or ‘Mr. Finn’ as the kids say, but you can call me Dewey.”

Looking at him more closely, you decided he was even cuter than you first thought. With Mrs. White’s warning ringing in your ear, a part of you wanted to turn the other way, tell him you were in a hurry to get home, make up some excuse to not get involved.

But it was clear he was interested in you, and you’d be lying if you weren’t at least a little intrigued. And besides, it’d be rude to not at least introduce yourself, right?

“Hi, Dewey,” you parroted, giving him another once over. “I see you already know my name.” He was already flushed from the cold, but his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, well, I got it from the staff directory. Just…wanted to introduce myself. I teach the kids music after school most days.”

“I know who you are,” the statement came out colder than you intended, “I did see you this morning, do you make a habit of hanging out in the teacher’s lounge?”

He gulped. “No,” he answered, “No, I just…I had a meeting with Rosalie this morning about the spring concert.”

Pure enough excuse. However, Mrs. White had also let it slip that he and Ms. Mullins apparently had a fling a few months prior, which only intrigued you more. What was so special about this guy that he could avoid a criminal trial for identity theft and date his boss in one fell swoop?

“I see,” you said coyly, trying to scrutinize him without being too obvious, “And are you and Rosalie…close?” If Dewey’s face was pink before, it had now turned to an embarrassing shade of scarlet.

“Oh, um, no,” he said, clearly flustered. “Nope. She’s a great…lady. And really cares about the kids. But…no. Not very close.” You nodded, completely unconvinced. You didn’t want to believe the gossip, but with a response like that, how could you not at least consider that it could be true?

Dewey shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his grip tightening on the sheet music. “We kissed,” he blurted, exhaling heavily, “Like, twice. She’s great but…I’m single. Very single.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his honesty. It was oddly refreshing. “Should I be taking that as some kind of hint?” you flirted, smiling softly. You couldn’t care less that your nose and fingertips were growing red from the cold.

“Only if you want,” he said, a shy smile dancing on his lips. Panic overtook his features only seconds later. “I mean, shit, not to be too forward or anything—”

“You know, you are terrible at this,” you said, cutting him off. Dewey flashed an embarrassed grin, letting out another breathy laugh, “How about I just give you my number and we just go from there?”

The two of you quickly exchanged digits and walked to your respective cars separately, unknowingly sharing excited smiles that lasted all the way home.

~oOo~

A few weeks later, you found yourself sticking up flyers for the School of Rock’s annual midwinter concert after the final bell had rung. Dewey had somehow roped you into posting the brightly colored papers on every corkboard, chalkboard, and section of blank wall space in the school.

“I thought you’d be headed home by now,” you heard Mrs. White call from down the hall. You jumped slightly, the haughty timbre in her voice surprising you.

Plastering on your most innocent smile, you turned to face your colleague. “I will be soon,” your voice was dripping with saccharine sweetness, “Just hanging these flyers and then I’m home free.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “Any big weekend plans?” You shook your head, turning back to the wall where you stuck up another flyer. You hoped she would just walk past and be none the wiser.

Mrs. White approached you, skeptical. You were friends, sure, but she was old enough and smart enough to know when someone was hiding something.

And unfortunately for you, as soon as she caught a glimpse of exactly which flyers you were hanging up, it all clicked.

“I thought I made it very clear that Mr. Finn was nothing but trouble,” she said, sounding eerily like a disapproving mother. Despite your heartrate increasing rapidly, you remained calm.

An incredulous scoff left your lips as you placed your free hand on your chest, “Mrs. White,” she rolled her eyes at you using her surname, “I was simply assisting another educator in promoting a fundraiser for this school that seeks to promote the arts and enrich our students’ lives.”

“Did you rehearse that?”

“A little. But I mean it, Mr. Finn has been nothing but professional. We’ve barely even spoken outside of planning the concert.”

That was a lie, of course. The truth was, ever since you and Dewey had exchanged information, you had texted and called and even met up a few times outside of school. Of course, they couldn’t exactly be called dates—at least that’s what you told yourself.

He seemed nervous around you at first, sure, but as soon as you got to know him, that faded away and you were left with a carefree, albeit scatterbrained work buddy. And despite the occasional flirt, it was clear that he wasn’t as interested in you as you first thought.

Which only crushed you the tiniest bit.

Mrs. White glanced at the colorful flyer again, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Well, of course I’ll be there to support our students’ artistic endeavors,” she said, a small smirk on her lips, “But don’t think I still don’t have my eye on you.”

You could tell she wasn’t being completely serious, but a small shiver of fear still wracked your spine as she walked towards the exit, the click clack of her pumps echoing on the linoleum tile.

You called goodbye sweetly, playing your role as nothing more than a helpful new teacher who was just excited about music education. Stapling up the last piece of paper onto a mostly bare bulletin board, you couldn’t help but overhear the noise of excited chatter coming from the music room down the hall.

The door was closed, but you managed to sneak a peek through the tiny window to see Dewey chatting with the bassist, who was about the same size as her as instrument. You felt a grin creeping onto your face.

Dewey’s passion for music came out the most when teaching the kids; even after watching him play a gig at the Roadhouse, you never saw his eyes light up more than when he was in that practice room.

You turned away and took a few steps toward the exit when you heard the door creak open, the chatter growing louder before muffling again. “Are you spying on me or something? You’re already getting into the concert for free, ya know.”

Dewey’s voice was more hoarse than usual, the gruffness making your stomach flip. “Not spying,” you teased, glancing over at the bulletin board, “Just doing your job for you.”

He clutched his heart dramatically, “You wound me,” he smirked, “But seriously, thanks for doing this. Hopefully we can drum up some more buzz.” You waved off his praise.

“No trouble. Consider us even since you had to suffer through listening to me babble on for way too long last night.” You two had made a habit of call each other late at night, which only confused your feelings even further. Your brain couldn’t decide if you were just co-workers, friends, or something more.

Apparently, Dewey couldn’t decide either.

“It’s okay,” he replied, running a hand through his messy waves, “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” He bared a toothy smile, wiping his palms on his dark jeans. His casual remark was innocent enough but still found a way to make your heart ache.

You decided the best course of action was to turn the attention away from yourself. “Well, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with attendance,” you said, referencing the brightly colored flyer again, “From what I hear your kids are incredible.”

He beamed like a proud parent. “Yeah, yeah they are,” he said, “And thank you for spreading the word. Some teachers around here still aren’t too keen on me, after, well…everything.”

You felt yourself frown, your mind flashing to Mrs. White’s warnings. From what you could see, everyone had misjudged Dewey. He was kind, passionate, albeit far less put together than the other Horace Green staff, but he loved teaching and he loved those kids.

Wasn’t that enough to take a chance on?

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, I did have big plans with my couch and a shitty movie, but—”

“You and me. Tonight. Roadhouse.”

“Okay?” he laughed, taken aback by your abruptness.

“And this is a real date, Finn,” you added. “No take backs.” A look of panic flashed across his face, and for a split second you wondered if you had made a terrible miscalculation. But how could you not take matters into your own hands after his weeks of mixed signals?

Before you could open your mouth to apologize profusely for stepping way over that friendship line, Dewey grabbed your arm lightly, pulling the two of you around the corner and away from the only occupied classroom on a Friday afternoon.

And he kissed you.

Softly at first, so gently that you felt yourself melting into the cold painted cinderblock wall as he grabbed your waist. Prep schools weren’t designed to be the most romantic of places, but perhaps that was for the best.

Nevertheless, you let your eyes flutter shut as your lips molded to Dewey’s, your breath hitching in your throat. After a few seconds he pulled away, a shocked look on his face that surely mirrored yours.

“Sorry,” he muttered, a smirk creeping its way onto his mouth, “Surprised myself with that little stunt, huh?” You nodded as he peeled himself away from you. You instinctively checked your surroundings, but you were alone.

“Dewey, are you insane—”

You wanted to be angry with him for risking both of your jobs, but the fluttering in your heart was overwhelming. One thing was for certain, there was no mistaking that signal.

“I just, I couldn’t wait until tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “But yes. I’ll see you tonight. No take backs.”

You smiled as he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched as he happily sprinted back to his students.

*****

thanks for reading! please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

read part 2 here!

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beetles-and-rock · 3 years ago

Text

The Bard of Strange Music

Dungeons and Dragons Beetlejuice/School of Rock AU X-Reader.

No one asked for this. I just wanted to write it.

!!!Special Thanks to @kitsunki and @baked-beanbag-chair for creation of the AU and reviewing the fic for me!!!

This on is fairly long. Let me know if you'd like a part two.

Warnings: Heavy Alcohol consumption, Heavy intoxication, Sassy Dewey

Y/r: Your race.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening air was chilly. A white, misty, fog had settled at the base of the trees over multicolored leaves. The sun had not yet disappeared, but crickets and frogs had already begun chirping their night songs. The atmosphere was peaceful. So different from the one you knew you were about to walk into. You walked slowly through the forest buying your time, and drinking in your surroundings before entering the village just a few field-lengths outside the forest.

You didn't like going into the village unless you had to. The villagers weren't the kind to accept those who were unlike themselves, human. You, being what you were, you were definitely an outcast among them. Every time you went to market you could feel their eyes bearing into you. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and the people were not always shy about their hatred. Some hurled their insults, rotten fruit, and occasionally small stones without a second thought.

The few friends you were able to make here were like you, outcasts. A small, but friendly group of creatures of a few different races and skills who were accepting of those the villagers weren't. They were also the reason you were headed to a noisy crowded tavern instead of staying in your quiet, cozy little cottage. You had attempted to back out of it, but they insisted you join them.

"It wouldn't have to be for drinking." Lydia assured you.

"The food alone is worth the visit." Beej added.

In order to cease the conversation, you finally agreed to join them. Now that you were at the edge of the forest surveying the village, speckled with lit windows, you were having second thoughts. You took a deep breath. Your friends were expecting you. Aside from a few animals that stayed close to your cottage, they were all you had. It would be foolish to let them down now.

The moment you stepped into the tavern, your ears were bombarded with the clacking of wooden dishes, the chatting of patrons, but most notably the loud playing and singing of the bard. If his odd style of music wasn't alarming enough, the sight of him definitely was. A chubby half-orc danced wildly on a wooden stage at the back of the tavern, playing his lute like you'd never heard one played before. His longish messy brown hair swished around as he made a complete spectacle of himself. Perhaps the strangest thing about him though, were the two big axes that hung from his back; their wooden handles clacking together with his movement.

You stood at the entrance in utter awe, your gaze so fixed on him that you didn't notice the tiefling standing right next to you until she spoke.

"He's odd isn't he?"

You jumped. Lydia giggled.

"Are you ready to join us, y/n? Or would you rather continue watching this obnoxious performance."

You were still a little dazed from the change in your surroundings. Once you were able to process what she'd asked you nodded.

"I-Is everyone here?"

"Beej and Heidi are." Lydia replied. "The others may or may not come later. The tavern really isn't their thing."

Part of you wished you had known that. You could have stayed with them in their quiet, comfortable home. instead of this loud, brightly lit, busy place. Still you enjoyed Lydia, Beej, and Heidi's company. They were a more adventurous group, and had the best stories. At least you'd feel safe being around them.

You followed Lydia as she navigated through numerous round wooden tables full of villagers and visitors deep in conversation, the two of you eventually reuniting with your party. Beej was in the middle of eating what looked to be his third bowl of stew. Heidi sat next to him regal as ever. The dark eyed, dark skinned elf smiled at you with such grace and nobility, contrasting greatly with the pale awkward firbolg beside her, who grinned and waved with a little meat juice dripping down his chin. The two couldn't be more different, but were one of the most loving couples you knew.

You returned a friendly smile, and sat with them.

"Hello, y/n! We're so glad you could make it." Heidi greeted.

"We thought you might not come." Beej added. "I mean I couldn't really blame you, but you'd definitely be missing out! You've got to try this stew!"

"I think I'll just start with something light." You replied.

Beej shrugged. "Suit yourself." He raised an arm to flag down a barmaid. Anxious as you were, you were happy to see at least a few of your friends. Especially Beej. Being a form of giant, he easily towered over most people in the tavern. Should anyone try to start trouble with the group, he could definitely handle them. With that knowledge, you found it easier to calm your nerves. It didn't last though. You jumped hearing the bard belt suddenly. Once again you turned to see him, singing so loud, the fangs on his bottom jaw were exposed, and the otherwise sickly green flesh of his face had turned red. The others looked up too.

Beej chuckled. "That's Dewey. He plays here almost daily. Mainly cause the tavern practically owns him. They keep him so broke he can't travel anywhere else."

Heidi shushed him, making a small worried gesture to who you assumed was the tavern's owner.

"It's a shame," Lydia added. "His unconventional style of music isn't really appreciated here. He ends up getting made fun of more so than enjoyed."

You continued to watch the bard, listening to him. His lyrics telling a story very similar to what the others had explained. Even though the music was loud and exciting, the song was a sad one, if a little poorly written. The passion for his music was definitely still there. That much was clear by his movement and the way he sang, but it was as if the drive had died.

Bards were more than just musicians. Their songs were supposed to have the power of motivation, inspiration, manipulation, and in some cases, even healing. Looking around the tavern, you could see not a single soul was affected by anything he was doing. At most, people seemed to just mutter their grievances about him under their breath.

"Hey, y/n!" Beej nearly shouted behind you.

You jumped again, turning to him to see him chuckling while an impatient barmaid stood at his side.

"Did you want some bread and potato soup?" Heidi offered. "It's a nice dish for when you don't have much of an appetite."

"Oh, um. . . Sure. That sounds nice." You answered blushing a little. You weren't sure how many times Beej had called you. Still he regarded you cheerfully.

"You're pretty mesmerized by him, aren't ya? Starting to develop feelings for him?"

Lydia giggled. You could feel the ticklish warmth spread further across your face.

"Now, now. Don't tease her." Heidi cut in. "Besides, he is a rather fine looking half-orc."

"Half orc, Y/R, babies are pretty rare!" Beej teased. "Do you think he's as wild in bed as he is on stage?"

Heidi elbowed him.

You grew even more embarrassed. When the barmaid brought your bread and soup, you thanked her softly and kept your head down, eating slowly.

"Hey, you okay?" Beej asked, realizing he might have overstepped a boundary.

You nodded.

"I didn't mean to upset ya. I'm sorry."

You could tell it was a genuine apology. Beej never minded making anyone feel uncomfortable, usually always taking things too far. Still yours was not the reaction he was going for. You looked up to see his hair orange with worry. Despite your embarrassment, you couldn't stand to see him upset either. You gave your best smile.

"It's alright, Beej. . . um. . . do you think I could try some of the stew you were eating?"

The firbolg's expression brightened dramatically. "Sure!" He spooned a little of the stew out of his bowl, and held it out to you.

"This stuff is amazing! Er. . . Well not as good as Heidi's cooking-"

The elf at his side smiled, a little pink coming to her cheeks.

"-But still pretty good."

You leaned forward, taking the spoon and eating from it. It was still warm, the meat juicy, and the carrots and potatoes cooked to their softest. Something about it made you feel good, like a sense of relaxation and calm assurance washing over you. You understood immediately why Beej liked it so much. He was the kind to cling to comfort, and it was most likely for fear of ever feeling as lonesome and hopeless as he had before meeting Heidi.

"What do you think?" Beej inquired enthusiastically.

"You're right, it's very good." You replied, glad to see him smiling again. You gained a look of approval from Heidi.

As you sat back down, two men at another table caught your eye. You'd recognized them as two of the village's particularly malicious residents, and all the pleasant feelings from the bite of stew were immediately replaced with anxiety. You noticed the dark haired one gesture with his thumb over his shoulder. You glanced in the direction the gesture was made to see what poor soul he was likely poking fun at. There Dewey stood, singing just as he had been all night.

You felt bad for him, but more surprisingly you felt a twinge of anger that began burning hotter as the two men continued. Lydia caught your glare. The tiefling placed her hands on your shoulders to try and calm you.

"Hey, it's alright. It's okay they aren't studying-" she noticed your anger. "Y/n, are you alright?"

Beej and Heidi looked at you like concerned parents. Before you could answer though, there was a loud noise like the sound of two thick wooden pieces being slammed together. Everyone in the tavern had gone quiet. All were looking at the table where the two men were sitting just in time to see one of their tankards splinter across the floor. The floorboards were wet with ale, and a small axe lay among the heap of metal and wood that had been a mug just moments before.

The two looked in the direction the axe was thrown, and there stood the bard, sipping from his own tankard, but making sure to keep direct eye contact with them.

The dark haired man, who's mug had been destroyed, stood quickly. His countenance threatening.

"You'll pay for that, you miserable half blood."

Dewey set his drink down on a nearby table, ignoring the looks he got from the party seated there. The two men marched up to him. You worriedly listened to the following conversation, along with everyone else in the tavern.

Dewey crossed his arms and smiled. "Pay for what? The mug? Don't worry, this place has plenty more where that came from."

The man who's tankard he broke grabbed the neck of his lute. Caught by surprise, Dewey leaned down with the instrument as it was being pulled, concern that it could be damaged clear on his face.

"You think this is funny!?" The man growled.

"Of course he does." The shorter man cut in with a smirk. "Orcs are stupid. All they know is smashing things. They make about as good comedians as they do musicians."

The two laughed. Dewey sighed. You couldn't tell if that had gotten to him, or he was unimpressed. He stood again as his lute was released.

"I think you misunderstood my intention." He explained. "I was just saving you the embarrassment of passing out in front of all these people. Seems it takes no time for you humans to become drunk. Save people the trouble, you're insufferable enough when you're sober."

"What kind of weakling do you take me for?" The first man questioned. "I bet I could outdrink you if I wanted."

The half-orc grinned, the big canines on his lower jaw becoming visible as he did. "I know you can't."

"Alright then, why don't we find out? Barkeep! Get me a pitcher!"

Quiet muttering filled the tavern, as well as the shifting of chairs across the floor to face the scene. Other patrons lined the railing of the loft above. Everybody wanted a good view of what was about to go down. You yourself thought it was foolish, yet you were prepared to watch anyway.

The tavern owner weaved his way through the tables with a pitcher full of ale. A table had been pushed between Dewey and his challenger. The owner set the pitcher in the center of it. Dewey looked at the pitcher. This time you could definitely tell he was unimpressed, but nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“Tell the boys to bring up a barrel."

The tavern owner groaned. He turned to the bar at the other end of the tavern, and yelled to two nervous looking youths. "Boys! Get a barrel up here!"

Both of them jumped and disappeared through a door and downstairs to what you assumed was the cellar. All around you heard people whispering in astonishment. Surely, you thought, Dewey had just requested a full barrel to have on hand in case they needed to refill the pitcher. He stood and waited leaning against the wooden stage that he'd been playing on moments before. If the man against him had any concerns or second thoughts regarding his request, he did not show it.

The two young men finally reappeared carrying a barrel on their backs. They awkwardly made their way through the tables and past the stairs that went to the loft and rooms above. A smile appeared on the half-orc's face. He stood as the boys came over to him, setting down the barrel. He said something fondly to them. Whatever it was, you could not hear, but it seemed to cheer them up a bit. The owner interrupted though, quickly sending them on their way, and glaring at the bard before announcing the start of the contest.

"This gentleman and this half-blooded brute have decided to settle their dispute by out drinking the other. The first of them to lose his consciousness loses!" He turned to the two. "Are you ready?"

Dewey nodded. "Ready."

"Ready!" The other replied without hesitation.

"GO!" The owner shouted.

While his opponent was pouring ale into his mug, Dewey broke the tap off the barrel, lifted the entire thing to his mouth, and began guzzling down the ale. A gasp swept through the tavern as everyone watched the bard. You stared in utter shock as he tilted the barrel more and more in efforts to drain it. His belly expanded as he drank, raising his worn, brown cloth tunic up from his thighs. You knew it had to be painful, yet he paid it no mind.

The entire tavern began to cheer him on as he lifted the barrel over his head finishing it off. A few more swallows and he was finished. He set the empty barrel onto the floor and let out one of the loudest, most disgusting belches you had ever heard, raising his fist into the air in victory. The crowd let out a unanimous shout once more. Dewey's challenger slammed his mug down and walked away.

The half orc hiccuped and held a nervous hand to his swollen stomach; the only sign he'd given that the amount of ale it held was a bother to him. He looked back out at the crowd with a laugh, and a smile putting his thumb in the air convincing the crowd he was doing just fine. His time in the limelight quickly came to an end though. He wasn't a very popular creature after all.

You noticed his composure failing as people moved their chairs back into place and continued their previous conversations. He looked tired and ill. Then from all the way across the tavern, his eyes met yours. The pace of your heartbeat quickened, and your throat tightened up. It got so much worse when he started walking sluggishly toward you.

You shifted in your seat till your side hit the table. Anxiety rising as you saw the drunken stranger come nearer. You heard Beej's chair move behind you. With a quick glance you could see he was prepared to defend you. You were glad of it too. Aside from the stare and blush on his cheeks, the expression on the bard's face was so blank, no one knew what his intentions were.

He turned as soon as he reached your table, stumbling right past you to lean against the wall close by. He was looking very sick now, holding his heavily burdened belly. He turned his head side to side lazily to be sure no one was paying him any attention, and then his gaze returned to you.

"Are you an angel?" He asked with a tired slur in his voice.

"N-No." You replied too confused and worried to groan at the lazy phrase.

"Good. . . I don't ffffeel like bein' -hic- judged."

Surprised by this remark, you really couldn't think of anything else to say to that. Nor did you have the ability to protest when he sat in the empty chair next to you. Judging by how miserable he looked, he probably needed a rest. He cautiously leaned back in the chair placing both hands on his stomach and letting out a long sigh.

"Are you alright?" You prompted.

From the slow turn of his head you were sure he was going to reply sarcastically. Yet the deterioration of his expression, had you second guessing he might instead be honest. You ended up with neither. He winced, exhaling slowly returning to his previous position.

"I'll -hic- manage. Alwayzzz . . .have."

"You've done this before!?" You shouted accidentally. He recoiled, and rubbed the side of his head.

"A few times." He whined. "Bettern' pickin' a ffi-fight with -hic- them. I don't -hic- like f-fighting."

"He's gotten seriously hurt before." Beej explained.

"They don't play faaaair." Dewey groaned.

"This doesn't look like its much better. Why do either?" You questioned.

His canine-like eyes cut to you, gazing from their very corner while he ran a hand up and down his bloated middle.

"You aren't . . . You aren't fffrom . . . h-here -hic- are you?" He asked.

You almost didn't answer feeling bad for continuing to have conversation with him when it was clear, no matter how much he'd have tried to convince you otherwise, he was not up for it. He was beginning to look worse, and you weren't entirely sure if he were more likely to vomit or lose consciousness. Sick and tired as he seemed, he was still expectant of an answer, so you replied honestly.

"No."

"Why . . . why didja -hic- come?"

"I-I. . . " You hesitated. Thinking back to the reason you came here was uncomfortable. "I had to get away. There were too many bad memories where I had been."

Dewey sighed, shaking his head. "You won't make any good ones here."

He paused looking like he might vomit. The effects of far too much alcohol taking hold of him, and the panic in his eyes was all too familiar. Without much thought, you placed your hand on his upper stomach, and muttered a healing cantrip. It was a shot in the dark, but you hoped it would save him anymore embarrassment.

Everyone at the table stared in surprise, including the bard. His awe quickly melted into relief though as he relaxed back in his chair.

"You'rrrrre pretty-"

You blushed, about to utter an awkward thank you when he continued.

"Naive. They'll -hic- eat you alive here."

"I've been here a while." You informed him, understandably insulted by his notion you couldn't take care of yourself.

"It hasn't been perfect, but it hasn't been all bad either. Hateful as the people in this village are, I've had friends that have helped me through this past year." You explained, gesturing to the Firbolg, Elf, and Tiefling sitting with you.

"Heh, friends." Dewey repeated, staring down at the table. After a moment or two, he nodded.

"Yeah, s-sounds -hic- sounds like you got prettyyy lucky. . . very lucky. . ." He grew quiet.

"Dewey?"

Right next to you, the half-orc burst into tears.

Surprised to see his mood change so quickly, and remembering what your friends had told you about him, you leaned forward placing your hand on his shoulder.

"Dewey, what is the matter?"

"Everyone here hates me!" He cried. "And I can't -hic- leave cause I'm. . . I'm in debt to the -hic- the tavern owner. He won't even let me rent a -hic- r- room here. I'm for-forced to live in. . . in the -hic- abandoned shit-house because no one wants to sleep in a bed soiled by a -hic- half- half blooded monster."

It was then that you noticed the tavern owner eyeing the table with a dangerous gaze. His dark eyes pierced you, even though you were not the one for whom his glare was fixed. Dewey was going to get in very big trouble if he kept talking. The likelihood of him stopping now though was slim. Depressed drunks tend to spill everything, and the poor creature beside you had a lot to spill.

"We have to get him out of here." You said softly leaning just slightly so as to be discreet.

Beej nodded, getting up from his chair.

You looked back to Dewey placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, come with us."

He looked up at you very much out of it.

"Where?" He groaned.

"Somewhere better."

At this point Beej had made his way around the table to assist Dewey. The firbolg was at least a head taller than the half-orc. Still, getting him into a standing position was an awkward affair. Walking with him was even more so. There wasn't a moment he didn't look like he was going to be sick, and it only got worse when he was finally outside.

"Where are we taking him?" Beej asked, struggling to keep Dewey upright.

You suddenly became aware that you had no plan as far as where to take him. Sending him back to the abandoned latrine would be cruel. Besides, in this state he wouldn't make it to morning. It would also be rude to assume that Beej and Heidi would take him in. They were kind to outcasts, yes, but you didn't want to take advantage of that kindness. Knowing full well you weren't prepared to have a stranger in your home, you hesitated in answering.

"My house."

Beej stopped to give you a sideways look. Dewey over and retched. Heidi stopped as well attempting to help steady him.

"You can't take in a drunk stranger alone!"

"That's pretty close to the same thing I told Heidi when she took you in." Lydia cut in.

"Besides the point!" Beej interjected. "I wasn't a stranger. She knew what she was getting into."

"Did she though?"

Beej gave a growl of warning.

"Quiet both of you!" Heidi interrupted. "We have to get him somewhere and fast. He isn't going to be conscious for much longer."

"He's too sick to try anything, Beej. I'll be okay for tonight."

"Fine." Beej replied. "But he's in for a rough night."

"Indeed."

The four of you walked the heavily intoxicated bard back to your cottage, where you set up a makeshift cot for him. You placed a wooden bucket at his side. At least if he regurgitated it might ease some of the strain on his stomach.

You pulled a chair up to his bedside.

"You aren't sleeping tonight are you, Y/N?" Beej asked.

You ran your hand along the side of the half-orc's body from his shoulder to his hip.

"No. Someone has to make sure this poor fool makes it through the night."

The firbolg nodded and stared with a twinkle in his eye.

"We'll be back to check on you two in the morning. Goodnight."

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