#tell me Why i told him that he should grow out a handlebar mustache so that he looks like hercule poirot bc ‘some girls would be into that’

[duskholland]

your workplace is wild bestie

i am insane but i am free

[sweetest-honeybee]

To Hell and Back

Chapter 31

Summary: Introducing a new evil hermit in the story and Doc nearly chokes BadTimes to death.

Characters: Doc, Impulse, BadTimes (Oscar), Hex (my Evil Mumbo) (NPC Grian, Xisuma, Hels, Wels, and Evil X mention)

TW: Strangulation and (kind of) swearing I believe?

Notes: Yes, notes will become a consistent thing lol, but I love this chapter a lot because of Oscar’s characterization :D

——————

The Evil Hermits were interesting to say the least. BadTimes led them around the vast area which resembled their server in some way. The land seemed generated quite the same, and in the places where their bases were in the overworld, they were there in HelsCraft, as BadTimes called it. The castle for The Champion was actually the Hels version of Grian’s castle he built, just the land was changed here and there.

There was a ‘jungle’- large burnt trees- close to it, and within the jungle was a very tall withering tree, presumably the HelsCraft version of Iskall’s base, owned by who BadTimes called Iskill. However, they weren’t on their way there after getting a glimpse at the other bases. The moment they were through the lava and flying around, their eyes landed on Mumbo’s HelsCraft base. Unsurprisingly, it was built nearly identical to it but gears and hundred block tall machinery ticked with metallic groans outside of the temple. Smokestacks made their way from the ground and the place looked more like a factory than the preserved temple.

BadTimes decided that that was where they would be visiting first as far as actually talking to the Evil Hermits was concerned. He said he had an ally there named Hex. Hex was supposedly Mumbo’s evil doppelgänger and that all of the Evil Hermits, and a large portion of HelsCraft itself, tended to rely on him for materials. BadTimes said he was respected, nearly a Champion but lacked a will to fight all the time and didn’t care to please The Lord of Darkness.

Already had been flying around, BadTimes led them to land on the spire in the middle of the factory, wings folding behind them neatly. Doc and Impulse were absolutely stunned by the build itself, not that Mumbo’s general base in the overworld wasn’t already incredibly impressive. Just the intense amount of machinery and watching farms grow and be harvested in amounts at a time by the hundreds. It was incredible and that made Impulse particularly giddy to meet this redstone master.

BadTimes had them land on the highest layer of the spire and let Doc and Impulse take in the ginormous build and it’s details. Occasionally, they saw BadTimes glance around, presumably looking for his friend. Though, were friends a thing here? BadTimes said Hex was an ally, not a friend. Yet, Evil X said Hels considered the Evil Hermits to be his friends at one point.

That also brought a thought to Doc, from something Hels told him a while back. He decided to ask BadTimes anyways while Impulse was busy looking over the edge. The creeper stepped up to the evil terraformer with a grunt.

“Weren’t you the one who helped in dethroning Hels?” He asked, not sparing a glance at the other, simply watching Impulse gawk and ramble about the machinery as he stood next to the evil hermit.

On the other hand, BadTimes didn’t seem fazed by the question, simply keeping an unmoving gaze. “Yes. I helped NPC get the throne. Wasn’t the one who stabbed em’ though.” He side eyed Doc carefully. “Why.”

Doc nodded, taking in the information that Hels, in fact, didn’t lie if he was talking shit about his previous companions. “We need your help,” he muttered.

That brought a chuckle out of BadTimes. “What, with The Lord a’ Darkness?” He whistled, emphasizing the size of that kind of task. “Can’t help ya’ there. ‘S got all of us wrapped around his finger. You want help, you get NPC. Kid’s got tons of power.”

The creeper sighed, then faced BadTimes curiously. “Why did you help us? In the castle?”

“Aw, now don’t bring none a’ that here. I did y’all a favor, but I don’ do it out of the nonexistent kindness of my heart, Doc. You owe me.”

Doc hummed, a fair point. “Right, well, you didn’t say you wouldn’t help us with The Lord of Darkness because you didn’t want to. You said it because you’re not able to.”

BadTimes snorted at the observation, nodding his head fondly. “Who said I like workin’ for em’? I don’t care about none a’ y’all, but I like not having to murder people all the time for his satisfaction. I want out just as bad as you do, but that’d hurt that Scar fellow.”

That was true. Hels trying to get out only landed in whatever was going on with Wels. “Right, right. Why’d you overthrow Hels then?”

The other shrugged. “Needed NPC up there. He don’ hurt anyone, really. Soft kid, actually. But even without whatever The Lord gave em’ as a reward, he’s got enough power to wipe out a city with a snap.” BadTimes sighed, almost sadly. “Kid ain’t from here, Doc. He could change this but it would risk everything we got here.”

“Change what?”

The trio turned their heads towards the familiar British accent, though much deeper than they thought it’d be, more distorted. There stood, who Impulse and Doc assumed, was Hex. Unsurprisingly, the man was still sporting the curled handlebar mustache, and his outfit screamed the word Victorian. This man, they already could tell, was some kind of inventor. Maybe the googles were the deciding factor for that thought.

“Howdy, Hex! Showin’ these fellas around. Lord a’ Darkness took em’ from the overworld.” BadTimes pointed a thumb at the two behind him.

“Figured,” the Brit replied, though not hardly showing much interest to them. “Touch anything and I'll have you ground in the gears down there, understand?” Doc and Impulse nodded, Impulse still with a grin on his face.

“You are like- holy shit, how long have you been doing this?!” The redstoner asked excitedly. “This is amazing!”

Hex tilted his chin up proudly. “Years. This world kinda forces you to get better than most. Competition, I’d say, is probably why it happens to look like this anyways.”

“You’ve got to teach me,” Impulse replied, bouncing on his heels.

“Better hope you can keep up, I don’t wait.” Hex ended his sentence on a cold stare, but even behind the mustache, you could see his lips perk up just slightly.

BadTimes decided to interject their little conversation. “Ay Hex, gotta ask you somethin’. Think you can do anythin’ to help this whole Lord a’ Darkness thing?” he asked, putting a hand on the brit’s shoulder.

He’d shook his head. “I don’t believe so, no. NPC can’t do anything?”

“Ah, ‘s what we were thinkin’. Hels ain't havin’ a fun time though, Wels is gettin’ possessed by The Lord.”

“Serves him right....” Hex muttered. “Evil Xisuma dragged him over there, he can stay for all I care.”

“Hex, he was just tryin’ to please The Lord. You know what happens when you don’ please The Lord.”

“Well, The Lord can punish me,” he replied in a disgusted tone, plucking the other evil hermit’s hand off his shoulder. “I don’t care about Mumbo. I’m not being paid to sit around and do his handiwork. I invent for myself, Oscar.”

BadTimes huffed, quirking a brow at the inventor. “So you won’t help us with a little revolution?” he asked with a pout.

Hex merely rolled his eyes with a slight smile, then looking at Doc and Impulse. “What’s been going on in your world, anyways? We heard it’s getting bad. Your own admin is starting to turn on you.”

The pair’s eyes widened, jaws dropping at the phrase. Xisuma turning on them? Had he been possessed as well? Doc wondered about it, then realizing now how aggressive the admin had been since this whole thing started. Now, he and Keralis were off somewhere, probably finding Hels and Evil X to figure out what was going on. That could only lead to something bad.

“Uh….” Doc started, promptly shutting his mouth in confusion. “I….don’t know apparently. I didn’t know Xisuma was….” he trailed off, the Evil Hermits stared at him curiously.

“You’re an idiot,” Hex commented. Doc sent him a glare, but that was quickly returned by the inventor. “You seriously haven’t noticed this entire time? Whew boy, you’re in for a treat.”

“Yeah,” BadTimes agreed. “Can’t believe you didn’t know Evil X was bein’ punished too. I mean I don’ like the guy, but just somethin’ you should know.”

The pair dragged their hands down their faces, glancing at each other worriedly.

“We’ve gotta get back to the overworld,” said Impulse. He looked at the Evil Hermits with pleading eyes. “There’s gotta be a way for us to get back.”

“Look, I’m sorry boys, but-“

The Evil Hermits paused, pulling out phone-like objects from their pockets. Impulse and Doc realized quickly that the Evil Hermits had their own communicators. That quickly gave the both of them ideas.

“Xisuma experienced kinetic energy,” Hex read. “Hm, guess he’s not doing great either.”

“You have communicators?” Doc asked them.

Quickly, they pocketed their comms. “Yeah, they ain’t for you though, back off.”

“You don’t understand, we’ve gotta get back home, BadTimes,” the creeper growled.

“I think we’re done meetin’ people for today, Doc,” the other replied rather blankly.

“I thought you wanted to get out of this!”

Impulse turned to pull him away from BadTimes. “Doc, don’t-“

Doc pulled his shoulder away from Impulse harshly. “No, we’re getting out of here. You’ve gotta help us, because if you wanna leave this,” he gestured around them. “This is how.”

Without hesitation, both Evil Hermits drew their swords, the familiar netherite blades reflecting the luminance in the spire. Hex stepped forward with BadTimes and Impulse stepped away from the trio, far away. Doc stood his ground with a snarl. Yet, he spread his arms away from him with a smirk.

“Go on then. Kill me. I’ll get stuck on that island again, won’t I?”

“No, actually.” Hex looked at Impulse darkly. He walked back and pressed a button on the wall, one of many of them littering it. “But he can go.”

A couple seconds after the button was pressed, an arrow shot out of a hidden dispenser, striking Impulse in the chest. The redstoner, having been close to the edge, stumbled backwards, finding no more ground behind him. Despite this, his shock kept him from yelling on his way off the edge. Doc ran to catch his hands but at the last second, Impulse’s fingers slipped through his grip and he watched as his friend descended painfully into the machinery at the bottom of the build, watching blood splatter in the large gears.

ImpulseSV suffocated, they knew their communicators read. The server mechanics wouldn’t be able to name any other death.

The creeper took a step back, silent at what’d just happened to his friend.

“Don’ worry about it. He’ll spawn back up there. I’m gonna go grab em’-“ BadTimes was interrupted by a metallic grip around his neck pushing up against one of the stone pillars. He grabbed at Doc’s arm, clawing at it, but the hold didn’t budge. Quickly, he was lifted off the ground, left squirming in the air against the wall.

“You don’t respawn, Oscar. You can help me or I strangle you to death,” Doc snarled. “Just a damn pitiful creature. Nothing more than a skeleton, aren’t you.”

With that, Hex pulled a bow from his inventory, aiming it at the creeper. “Let him go or I call NPC. He won’t be merciful.”

The hand around BadTime’s throat tightened and he choked, swallowing thickly. “H- Hex don’t—“ he rasped. “Doc,” he swallowed again. “I’m sorry- Can’t help your world.” The Evil Hermit began to feel lightheaded. “But I can get you out- I can-“ At those words, he fell to the floor, the hand no longer around his neck. He hacked and coughed, bringing his hands up to his now sore throat.

“Tell me how.”

“Oscar, you’re not seriously going to help him!”

“We need the NPC,” BadTimes muttered. “But you,” he pointed up at Doc. “Don’t ever call me Oscar, ya’ hear?”

“Noted, now go get Impulse.” Doc smirked at how BadTimes scurried away, stumbling to stand, and fumbling with his liftoff. Man’s all bark and no bite, isn’t he. The creeper turned to Hex, who stood motionless. He was confused as to what to do now.

“You’re gonna help us, too,” Doc growled.

[tahanismoved]

did you really think i’d forget this one?

Good evening. Hi, I’m John Mulaney, nice to meet you. Jon Brion, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming to see me at Radio City Music Hall. I love to play venues where if the guy that built the venue could see me on the stage, he would be a little bit bummed about it. Look at this. This is so much nicer than what I’m about to do. It’s really… It’s really tragic. What a historic and beautiful and deeply haunted building this is. I keep walking through cold spots being like, “I wonder who that used to be.”

I’ve never seen a ghost, by the way. I asked my mom if she’d ever seen a ghost. That’s where we’re at conversation-wise in our relationship as a mother and son, because I’m 35 and I don’t have any children to talk about and she doesn’t understand my career. So I was home for Christmas and we were just eating Triscuits in silence and I was staring at the floor and I was like, “Well, here goes nothing. ‘You ever seen a ghost?'” And my mom said, “Yes.” Which is the best answer. She said, “I never told you this before but our house, when you were growing up, was haunted.” I said, “Say more right now!” She said, “Outside you and your brother’s room, I used to see the ghost of a little girl in a Victorian nightgown and then she would walk down the hallway and then she would evaporate.” And then my dad said, “Let’s change the subject!” And I think he was just doing that dad-thing of, like, “This is a weird topic and I want to talk about a book I read about World War II.” But the way it came off was that he definitely killed that little girl. “Let’s change the subject! Why are we even talking about Penelope… or whatever her name was? I didn’t kill her! Whoever did kill her only did it to protect her from this world.”

None of us really know our fathers. Anyway… My dad is so weird. I’d love to meet him someday. You know, my friend was telling me that his dad used to beat him with a belt and that’s just the setup to my story, so… Forget about that poor son of a bitch. Anyway… He was talking and I was waiting for him to be done so I could talk. So he’s “talk, talk, talk.” It’s my turn next! And…

[audience laughing]

I said, “My dad never hit us.” My dad is a lawyer and he was a debate team champion. So he would pick us apart psychologically. One time I was at the dinner table when I was like six, because I had to be. My dad goes, “How was school today?” I said, “It was good but someone pushed Tyler off the seesaw.” “And where were you?” “I was over on the bench.” “And what did you do?” “Nothing. I was over on the bench.” “But you saw what happened?” “Yeah, ’cause I was over on the bench.” “So you saw what happened and you did nothing?” “Yeah, ’cause I was sitting over on the bench.” “Let me ask you this. In Nazi Germany…”

[audience laughing] “

…when people saw what the Nazis were doing and did nothing, were those good people?” “No, those are bad people. You gotta stop the Nazis.” “But you saw what they were doing to Tyler and you did nothing!” “Because I was over on the bench.” And then my dad said, “Just explain to me this. How are you better than a Nazi?” And then my mom said, “I made a salad with Craisins!” And the conversation ended.

My dad’s a very weird, informal guy. A lot of people ask me if he gave me a sex talk. Yes. I think. I was like 12 years old and my dad walked up to me and he said, “Hello… [chuckles] Hello, I’m Chip Mulaney. I’m your father.” And then he said the following, “You know,  Leonard Bernstein… was one of the great composers and conductors of the 20th century, but sometimes he would be gay. And according to a biography I read of him, when he was holding back the gay part, he did some of his best work.” [audience laughing] Now we don’t have time to unpack all of that. And I don’t know if he was discouraging me from being gay or encouraging me to be a classical composer. But that is how he thought to phrase it to a 12-year-old boy. How would that ever work? Like years later, I’d be in college about to go down on some rocking twink and I’d be like, “Wait a second… What would Leonard Bernstein do?” I’ve never talked to my dad about that, but I figured I would tell all of you.

[audience laughing]

This is so great. Thank you for coming. You’re here. That’s great. You all showed up. -[audience cheering] -I appreciate it. And then we showed up so you got to see the things that you paid to see. That’s great. You don’t always get to see the things that you paid to see. Ever been to the goddamn zoo? Those guys are never where they’re supposed to be. Every time I go to the zoo I’m like, “Hey, where’s the jaguar?” And the zoo guy is like, “He must be in the inside part.” The inside part? Tell him we’re here.

[audience laughing]

I love doing stand-up for crowds because this right here, this reminds me of assembly in grade school. And assembly was the only part of school I ever liked. Once you leave school, you don’t get to have assembly. This is the closest we get in adult life to assembly. ‘Cause look at you all, you’re just sitting there in chairs, looking at a guy with absolutely no expertise, who’s going to talk for a while. Although this is different than assembly because you bought tickets, you knew this was coming. Assembly you never knew was coming when you were a kid. You just showed up at 8:00 a.m. and they were like, “Put down your stuff. Go to the gym.” You’re like, “God, I guess they’re finally going to kill us all. All right. This is younger than I thought I would be but we are pretty big assholes.” You get to the gym and the whole school is sitting on the floor. You’re like, “What are we, about to graduate from Tuesday?” My principal would always come out to kick things off. She’d be like, “Children, rather than continue to teach you how to read, we have cleared the entire day for this random guy.” [imitating New York accent] “I used to smoke crack! As you seven and eight-year-olds probably know, freebasing is the greatest orgasm known to man. But I’m here to tell you there’s hope. I’ve been sober now two weeks. Well, weekdays, not weekends. Weekends, that’s Nunzio’s time.”

I was once in assembly listening to a guy talk about smoking crack. My social studies teacher yelled at me, “Sit up straight! Show some respect.” I was like, “He’s smoking cocaine.” “Sit up straight”? He’s standing on a 45-degree angle. Or, as junkies call it, first position.

[audience laughing]

I always got yelled at at assembly. That’s right. There was always assembly and then, like, that second assembly to yell at you for how you behaved at the first assembly. They’d be like, “Get in here! Sit down. I want to talk about what happened yesterday.” You’re like eight years old, “What’s yesterday?” “We invite a woman here with homemade puppets to teach you about bullying through skits and you laugh at this woman? We noticed you had all been bullying each other and making fun of everything constantly. So we invite a woman with straight gray hair, in a denim dress, with a wrist-cast and homemade puppets that all have the same voice to teach you about bullying through skits, and you, ha-ha-ha, laugh it up. What was so funny about that woman? I want to know. What was so funny about when she couldn’t fit the box of puppets back into the trunk of her Dodge Neon? What was so hilarious that you all ran to the windows? Well, you all missed a valuable lesson on the danger of cliques.” “What’s a clique?” “It’s when a group of people hang out together.” “Oh, you mean like having friends?” “No, because these people make fun of other people.” “Oh, you mean like having friends?”

[audience laughing]

The greatest assembly of them all, once a year, Stranger Danger. Yeah, the hottest ticket in town. The Bruno Mars of assemblies. You are gathered together as a school and you are told never to talk to an adult that you don’t know and you are told this by an adult that you don’t know. We had the same Stranger Danger speaker every year when I was a kid, his name was Detective JJ Bittenbinder. Go ahead and laugh. His name is ridiculous. That was his name. It was JJ Bittenbinder. He was from the Chicago Police Department. He was a child homicide expert and… -[audience is silent] -Oh, gee. [audience laughing] Very sorry, Radio City, did that make you uncomfortable? Well, guess what? You’re adults and he’s not even here. So try being seven years old and you’re sitting five feet away from him. He’s still got blood on his shoes. And he’s looking at you in the eye to tell you for the first time in your very young life that some adults find you incredibly attractive. [audience laughing] And they may just have to kill you over it. Okay, c’est la vie, go be kids, go have fun. Bittenbinder came every year. By the way, Detective JJ Bittenbinder wore three-piece suits. He also wore a pocket watch. Two years in a row, he wore a cowboy hat. He also had a huge handlebar mustache. None of that matters, but it’s important to me that you know that. He did not look like his job description. He looked like he should be the conductor on a locomotive powered by confetti. But, instead, he made his living in murder. He was the weirdest goddamn person I ever saw in my entire life. He was a man most acquainted with misery. He could look at a child and guess the price of their coffin.

[audience laughing]

That line never gets a laugh. But once you write it, it stays in the act forever.

So Bittenbinder came every year with a program to teach us about the violent world waiting for us outside the school gym, and that program was called Street Smarts! “Time for Street Smarts with Detective JJ Bittenbinder. Shut up! You’re all gonna die. Street Smarts!” That was the general tone. He would give us tips to deal with crime.

I will share some of the tips with you this evening. “Okay, tip number one. Street Smarts! Let’s say a guy pulls a knife on you to mug you.” You remember the scourge of muggings when you were in second and third grade. You know how a mugger thinks. “Man, I need cash for drugs right now. Hey, maybe that eight-year-old with the goddamn Aladdin wallet that only has blank photo laminate pages in it will be able to help.” “Let’s say a guy pulls a knife on you to mug you. What do you do? You go fumbling for your wallet. And you go fumbling for your wallet. Well, in that split-second, that’s when he’s going to stab you. So here’s what you do. You kids get yourselves a money clip. Okay, you can get these at any haberdashery. You put a $50 bill in the money clip then when a guy flashes a blade, you go, ‘You want my money, go get it!’ Then you run the other direction.” And our teachers were like, “Write that down.” [audience laughing] We’re like, “Buy a money clip. Engraved, question mark?” You go home to your parents. “Hey, Dad. Can I have a silver money clip with a $50 bill in it, please? Don’t worry. I’m only going to chuck it into the gutter and run away at the first sign of trouble. The man with the mustache told me to do it.”

“Tip number two. Street Smarts! Let’s say a kidnapper throws you in the back of a trunk…” This was at nine in the morning. [audience laughing] “Let’s say a kidnapper throws you in the back of a trunk. Don’t panic. [chuckles] Once you get your bearings… find the carpet that covers the taillight, peel back the carpet, make a fist, punch the taillight out the back of the car, thus creating a hole in the back of the automobile, then stick your little hand out and wave to oncoming motorists to let them know that something hinky is going on.” Can you imagine driving behind that? [imitating a thud] I think they’re turning left. [audience laughing]

“Tip number three. Street Smarts! You kids have no upper body strength.” And we were like, “We know but, hey.” “If some guy tries to grab you, you can’t fight him with fists. So here’s what you do. You kids fall down on your back and you kick upward at him. That’ll throw him off his rhythm.” That was a big thing with Bittenbinder, throwing pedophiles off their rhythm. “He’s not gonna know how to fight back with two little sneakers coming at him.” [audience laughing] “If the Lindbergh baby had steel-toe boots, he’d still be alive today. Street Smarts!”

Yeah, he was not a “spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down” kind of guy. He was more like, “Brush your teeth. Now, boom, orange juice. That’s life.” Bittenbinder, he didn’t want us to not get kidnapped. He wanted us to almost get kidnapped and then fight the guy off using weird, psych-out, back-room Chicago violence. Like here’s what he wanted to see on the news. “We’re here with seven-year-old John Mulaney who fended off a kidnapper earlier today. How did you do it, John?” [imitating heavy Chicago accent] “Well, thank ya for askin’. I used the Bittenbinder method. When I saw the perp approachin’, I chewed up a tab of Alka-Seltzer I carry with me at all times. This created a foaming-at-the-mouth appearance that made it look like I had rabies. Now I’ve thrown him off his rhythm. Then I reach into his jacket pocket where I had planted a gram of coke and I went, ‘Whoa! What the fuck is this?’ And he goes, ‘That’s not mine. I never seen that before.’ I go, ‘Boo-hoo, it’s in your jacket. You’re doing two to ten and your kids are going into Social Services.’ Now he’s cryin’! Then I grab a telephone book and I beat him on the torso with it. ‘Cause as any Chicago cop will tell ya, a phone book doesn’t leave bruises.” “Well, that was seven-year-old John Mulaney, currently being sued for police brutality.”

[audience laughing]

Bittenbinder told me things that haunt me to this day. He came one year for assembly. He goes, “Okay, when you get kidnapped…” Not if, when. [audience laughing] “Okay, so when you get kidnapped, the place where the guy grabs ya, in the biz we call that the primary location. Okay. Your odds of coming back alive from the primary location, about 60%. But if you are taken to a secondary location, your odds of coming back alive are slim to none.” I am 35 years old and I am still terrified of secondary locations. If I’m at a place, I never want to go to another place. I’ll be at a wedding reception and someone’ll be like, “You coming to the hotel bar after? We’re all gonna get drinks and keep the party going.” I’m like, “Nah, sister. You’re not getting me to no secondary location. You want it? Go get it!” Street Smarts! Stay alert out there. I thought I was going to be murdered my entire childhood. In high school people were like, “What are your top three colleges?” I was like, “Top three colleges? I thought I would be dead in a trunk with my hand hanging out of the taillight by now.”

I went to college. For the whole time. Holy shit, right? I just got a letter from my college, which was fun ’cause mail, you know? So I open up the letter and they said, “Hey, John, it’s college. You remember?” I say, “Yes, of course.” And they said… How did they phrase it? They said, “Give us some money!”

[audience laughing]

“As a gift! We want a gift! But only if it’s money.” I found this peculiar. You see, what had happened, New York, was that when I was a student, I had paid them tuition money. Every semester, two semesters a year, for four years. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but rounding up, back in 1999 dollars, it was about $15,000 a semester, two semesters a year, for four years. So it was about $30,000 a year for four years. So it was about $120,000, okay? So roughly speaking, I gave my college about $120,000. Okay, so you might say that I already gave them $120,000 and now you have the audacity to ask me for more money. What kind of a cokehead relative…

[audience cheering]

What kind of a cokehead relative is my college? You spent it already? I gave you more money than the Civil War cost and you fucking spent it already? Where’s my money? I felt like Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life when he’s screaming at his uncle Billy. [as Jimmy Stewart] “Where’s the money? Where’s that money, you fat motherfucker? Where’s my money? Stay down on the ground, you motherfucker!” That’s not the dialogue. But do you remember that scene from It’s a Wonderful Life? Great movie, Frank Capra, 1946. A hundred and twenty thousand dollars! I have friends I went to college with and they’re like, “You should donate and be a good alumnus.” And they wear shirts that say “school” and it’s like, look… if you’re an adult still giving money to your college, college is a $120,000 hooker and you are an idiot who fell in love with her. She’s not going to do anything else for you. It’s done. In their letter they were like, “Hey, it’s been a while since you’ve given us money.” I was like, “Hey, it’s been a while since you’ve housed and taught me. I thought our transaction was over. I gave you $120,000 and you gave me a weird cinder block room with a Reservoir Dogs poster on it and the first real heartbreak of my life, and probably HPV, and then we called it a day.” Probably.

[audience laughing]

Also, what did I get for my money? What is college? [babbles] [audience laughing] Stop going until we figure it out. Because I went to college, I have no idea what it was. I went to college, I was 18 years old, I looked like I was 11. I lived like a goddamn Ninja Turtle. I didn’t drink water the entire time. I lived on cigarettes and alcohol and Adderall. College was like a four-year game show called Do My Friends Hate Me or Do I Just Need to Go to Sleep? But instead of winning money, you lose $120,000. By the way, I agreed to give them $120,000 when I was 17 years old. With no attorney present. That’s illegal. They tricked me. They tricked me like Brendan Dassey on Making a Murderer. They tricked me like poor Brendan. They pulled me out of high school. I was in sweatpants, all confused. Two guys in clip-on ties are like, “Come on, son, do the right thing. Sign here and be an English major.” And I was like, “Okay.” Yes, you heard me, an English major. -I paid $120,000. -[audience cheering] How dare you clap? How dare you clap for the worst financial decision I ever made in my life? I paid $120,000 for someone to tell me to go read Jane Austen and then I didn’t.

[audience laughing]

That’s the worst use of 120 grand I can possibly fathom. Other than if you, like, bought a duffel bag of fake cocaine. No, I take it back. That’s a better use of the money, ’cause I know you’d be disappointed when you open up the duffel bag and you realize it’s not real cocaine, it’s like powdered baby aspirin or whatever they do. But at least you have baby aspirin. And maybe you have a baby and one day your baby goes, “Oh, my head,” and you go, “Hey, I’ve got something for you! Come here, little guy.” And you dump it out on a mirror. You make it nice for the baby. You make it nice. You cut it up into lines with your laundry card or whatever and you make it nice, and your baby takes his sippy-cup straw and he holds it in his little ravioli-sized baby fist and he leans over– [snorts] and he snorts up the baby aspirin, and he gets rid of his baby headache, plus you get a duffel bag! [audience laughing] That is way better than walking across a stage at graduation, hungover, in a gown, to accept a certificate for reading books that I didn’t read.

[audience laughing]

Strolling across a stage, the sun in my eyes, my family watching as I sweat vodka and ecstasy, to receive a four-year degree in a language that I already spoke.

[audience cheering]

I don’t mean to sound down on donating. [chuckles] It’s good to give to charities, you know. My wife and I just gave a bunch of stuff to Goodwill. We were moving apartments, we had a bunch of clothes and furniture, so we made a whole day out of it. We made these big piles of clothes, we put the piles into these big boxes, then we put the boxes into the back of my car, and then they stayed there for four months. And then one day my wife said, “Hey, you took that stuff to Goodwill, right?” And I said, “Of course I did! On an unrelated note, I’m going to walk out the front door right now.” So then I had to speed to Goodwill really fast. It was charitable, but it was also fast and violent, because I was throwing boxes at people. The boxes were so heavy I couldn’t even say what was in them. I was like, “This one’s shirts. I got a bunch of shirts! Take ’em away!” The guy tried to give me a big receipt. He’s like, “Take this receipt for the clothing for your taxes.” How do I write that on my taxes? “Dear IRS, please deduct from my federal income tax one XXL Billabong T-shirt from youth. It was too big. My mom said it could be a sleep shirt. Please deduct this from my 2017 income.” That sleep shirt bullshit. “Well, if it’s too big you can just wear it as a sleep shirt.” No, I get that, Mom, but why don’t we just tell our relatives that I’m a four-year-old boy and I don’t wear a man’s XXL T-shirt? “Because we don’t say that when someone gives us a gift because that would not be polite.” Oh, I get it. So rather than violate these meaningless politeness rules, I’ll just go to bed in a smock like goddamn Ebenezer Scrooge. Why don’t you give me a candle for looking in the mirror and a floppy hat and I’ll tremble off to bed in my long Victorian nightgown? Was there ever even a ghost, Mother, or was the dead Victorian girl you saw just me all along?

[audience cheering]

So that’s why you can’t give to charity. I’m kidding.

I like to throw an “I’m kidding” at the ends of jokes now, in case the jokes are ever played in court. You ever heard a joke played in court? Never goes well. They’re like, “‘And that’s why you shouldn’t give… to charity.’ Is that something you find funny, Mr. Mulaney?” Um… at the time. [chuckles] I found out recently that jokes don’t do well in court. So, some friends of mine were sued in college for property damage. And they were guilty. And the lawsuit dragged on for years and years and eventually I got a call when I was 28 years old. It was my friend from college, he said, “Hey, that lawsuit with my neighbor is still dragging on and my neighbor just subpoenaed all my emails from college that mention him or the lawsuit.” And I said, “That’s crazy. But why are you calling me?” And he said, “Because you should be concerned.”

[audience laughing]

He said, “I have an email here from junior year where I wrote, ‘Hey, guys, I’m going to miss practice tonight because I have to meet with my neighbor about that lawsuit thing.’ And you replied, ‘Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you. Okay. See you at improv practice.'”

[audience laughing]

Of all the sentences in that email I would be ashamed to have read out loud in a court of law, I think the top one is “See you at improv practice.”

Strange, the passage of time. I’m not that old. I’m 35, that is not old. But I am in a new phase right before old called “gross.”

[audience laughing]

I never knew about this, but I am now gross. I am damp all the time. I am damp now and I will be damp later. [chuckles] Like the back of a dolphin, my back. I am slick. The butt part of my pants is a little damp a lot and I don’t think it’s anything serious… but isn’t it, though? And… I’ll be sitting at a restaurant and I’ll get up and I’ll be like, “What did I sit in?” And it was me. I’m gross now. I’ve been talking through burps. I never used to do this. When I was a kid and I wanted to burp, I’d be like, “Silence!” Blagh! Now I’m trying to push ’em down and muscle through ’em. I’ll be at dinner, just doing the bread and the seltzer, filling up like a hot air balloon, and then I’m like… [belches] “Did you say you were going to Italy? Because we have a travel– She has a travel agent if– [exhales] I’m going to the kitchen, does anyone need anything? From the… [belches] Anyone need anything?” Just take a pause, John! I’m gross. I have hair on my shoulders now. I don’t even have a joke for that. That’s how much I hate that shit.

[audience laughing]

I was sitting up in bed a few weeks ago like… [groans] You know, life. And my wife was rubbing my shoulders, which was very nice of her, but then she started singing to herself. “Monkey, monkey, monkey man.”

[audience laughing]

“Monkey, monkey, monkey man.” Not at me. Not to be mean. This was a song from deep in her subconscious. I don’t even think she was aware she was singing it. But it was certainly not the first time she had sung it. I don’t know what my body is for other than just taking my head from room to room.

[audience laughing]

And it’s not getting any better. I’m 35, but I’m still like, “Hey, when am I going to get big and strong?” This is it. It’s just going to be this. I’m like an iPhone, it’s going to be worse versions of this every year, plus I get super hot in the middle of the afternoon for no reason. As I get older, it’s tough to not get grumpy. It’s tempting. I get grumpy about some things. Like, I can’t listen to any new songs because every new song is about how tonight is the night and how we only have tonight. That is such 19-year-old horseshit. I want to write songs for people in their 30s called “Tonight’s No Good, How About Wednesday? Oh, You’re in Dallas on Wednesday? Okay. Well, Let’s Just Not See Each Other for Eight Months And It Doesn’t Matter at All.”

[audience cheering]

I’m trying to stay nice though, because when I was a kid, I was raised that you should be nice to everyone in every situation because you never know their story. But now, at the end of my life, I don’t know, because a lot of people don’t seem that nice and they seem to be doing fine in the world. Or maybe they have different definitions of what it means to be nice. That’s something you figure out as you get older and meet new people. Not everyone thinks the same things are nice. You learn that especially when you get jobs. I had a very weird job in my mid-20s for about four and a half years. I was a writer right across the street over at  Saturday Night Live. It was very exciting. Yeah.

[audience cheering]

It was great. I loved it. If you haven’t seen the show, you gotta check it out.

They have a host and a musical guest. Oh, my God, you’re going to love it. Real quick tangent. Okay, my favorite host ever introducing a musical guest was this. The host was Sir Patrick Stewart, the great Sir Patrick Stewart, and this is how he introduced the musical guest. “Ladies and gentlemen, Salt-N-Pepa!”

[audience laughing]

Like he was surprised by Pepa. Like minutes before they’d been, “Sir Patrick, we can’t find Pepa anywhere.” And he’s like, “If we must go on with Salt alone, we will go on with Salt alone!” And they were like, “Three, two, one,” and Pepa burst through the door and he’s like, “Ladies and gentlemen, Salt and… what’s this? Pepa!”

Famous people are weird as shit. They’re all weird. Your suspicions are correct. And they would all come in to Saturday Night Live and they’d have to meet with me because I was a little rat writer and they’d have to talk about the sketches. They’d sit on my office couch that had like bed bugs and stuff. It was great. Like, they were famous, but it was my couch. It’d be like if you went into your childhood bedroom and Joe DiMaggio was sitting there. Yeah, he’s Joe DiMaggio, he’s a legend, he had sex with Marilyn Monroe, but only you know where the bathroom is.

[audience laughing]

Everyone always wants to know if famous people are nice. Like Mick Jagger. He came in to host the show. My friends were all like, “Is he nice?” No! Or maybe he is… for his version of life. Because he has a very different life. He’s Mick Jagger. That’s his name. He’s played to stadiums of 20,000 people cheering for him like he’s a god for 50 years. That must change you as a person. If you do that for 50 years, you’re never again going to be like, “Um, does anyone have a laptop charger I could borrow?” None of that bullshit way we all have to talk to get through life. [in plaintive voice] “Hi. Knock, knock. Sorry.” That’s how I walk into rooms. I am 35 years old, I am six feet tall. I lower myself, I go, “Hi. Knock, knock.” I say “knock, knock” out loud. Mick Jagger didn’t talk like that. Mick Jagger talked like this. He’d go, “Yes! No! Yes!” I pitched him a joke and he went, “Not funny!”

[audience laughing]

I mean, people say that on the internet, but never to your face does a British billionaire in leather pants go, “Not funny!” I spent two hours alone with Mick Jagger that week. We were writing song lyrics, it was for a fake song in a comedy sketch. And he was sitting there, and we came to one point and he goes, “All right, ‘Let’s all go to the picnic, let’s all have a drink.’ Let’s see, what rhymes with drink?” And I said… “Think?” And Mick Jagger said, “No!”

[audience laughing]

And then I said, “Sink?” And Mick Jagger said… “Yeah!” And I was like, “Motherfucker, is this how you write songs? Just one word at a time with verbal abuse?” “All right, ‘I can’t get no…'” -Happiness? -“No!” -Satisfaction? -“Yeah! All right! Next sentence! Space bar. Indent. Space bar.” Mick Jagger would go like this, “Diet Coke!” And one would appear in his hand. Now that’s not nice, right? The way I was raised, you’re supposed to say, “May I please have a Diet Coke, please?” And then maybe you will get one. And I bet all of you were taught to say please and thank you. But if all of us could go, “Diet Coke!” and one would appear in our hand, we’d do it all day long. Even if you don’t like Diet Coke, you’d just summon ’em so you could chuck ’em at oncoming cars.

Famous people are often rude because they’re used to getting things really quickly. I bet a lot of us are pretty polite. But as soon as we get things quickly, we start to get ruder and ruder. Look at technology, it’s faster than ever and we’re ruder than ever. People walk around on the phone now, “Hello? You still there? Lost him.” And that’s it. No follow-through with that guy. Fifty years ago, if you were on the telephone with your friend and suddenly the line just went dead, that meant your friend was murdered. The phone used to be a big deal. It was a long, polite process. Back in the 1940s, the phone was like a wood box… with a thing on it. I don’t know. It had its own room. You’d go, “That’s the phone’s room!” And it was expensive. You’d wait all week to make your call. “It’s almost Tuesday!” And then you’d take the cup on the string or whatever… There weren’t even numbers. You’d just go, “Hello? Anyone? [yells] Anyone in the world?” Then you’d go, “Operator, ring me Neptune 5-117.” And the operator was a real person that you had to be nice to. She’d be like, “One moment, please. I’m putting wires into a board filled with holes to move the voices around, ’cause it is the ’40s.” And it took like 90 minutes. Now people just drive around screaming at their phones like… -Call home! -“Calling the mobile for Tom.” Not fucking Tom! [imitating Mick Jagger] Not funny!

[audience laughing]

Everything was slower back in the old days ’cause they didn’t have enough to do, so they had to slow things down to fill the time. I don’t know if you read history, but back then people would wake up and go, “God, it’s the old times.”

[audience laughing]

“Shit, I gotta wear all those layers. There’s no Zyrtec or nothing. Okay, we gotta… We gotta think of some weird slow activities to fill the day.” And they did. Have you ever seen old film from the past of people just waving at a ship? [audience laughing] What if I called you now to do that? Hey, what are you doing Monday at 10:00 a.m.? All right, there’s a Norwegian Cruise Line leaving for Martinique. Here’s my plan, you and me get very dressed up, including hats, and then we wave handkerchiefs at it until it disappears over the horizon. No, I don’t know anyone on the ship.

[audience laughing]

Everything is too fast now and totally unreasonable. The world is run by computers, the world is run by robots and we spend most of our day telling them that we’re not a robot just to log on and look at our own stuff. All day long. May I see my stuff, please? [grumbles] “I smell a robot. Prove, prove, prove. Prove to me you’re not a robot. Look at these curvy letters. Much curvier than most letters, wouldn’t you say? No robot could ever read these. You look, mortal, if ye be. You look and then you type what you think you see. Is it an “E” or is it a “3”? That’s up to ye. The passwords of past you’ve correctly guessed, but now it’s time for the robot test! I’ve devised a question no robot could ever answer. Which of these pictures does not have a stop sign in it?” Fucking what?

[audience cheering]

You spend most of your day telling a robot that you’re not a robot. Think about that for two minutes and tell me you don’t want to walk into the ocean.

I just like old-fashioned things. I was in Connecticut recently, doing white people stuff.

[audience cheering]

Yeah. One day… Well, it doesn’t matter why, but I was sitting in a gazebo, and…

[audience laughing]

there was a plaque on the gazebo and it said, “This gazebo was built by the town in 1863.” That is in the middle of the Civil War. And the whole town built a gazebo. What was that town meeting like? “All right, everyone, first order of business, we have all the telegrams from Gettysburg with the war dead. Let’s see here. Okay, everyone’s husband and brother and… everyone died. Okay. Josiah, you had something?” “Yes, I do. How’d you like to be indoors and out of doors all at once? Ever walk into the park with your betrothed and it starts to rain, but you still want to hold hands? Well, may I introduce you to, and my condolences again to everyone, the gazebo!” [audience laughing] Building a gazebo during the Civil War, that’d be like doing stand-up comedy now.

[audience laughing and applauding]

Yes. Thank you for clapping at my political gazebo material. I’m very brave.

I’ve never really cared about politics. Never talked about ’em much. But then, last November, the strangest thing happened.

[audience laughing]

Now, I don’t know if you’ve been following the news, but I’ve been keeping my ears open and it seems like everyone everywhere is super-mad about everything all the time. I try to stay a little optimistic, even though I will admit, things are getting pretty sticky.

Here’s how I try to look at it, and this is just me, this guy being the president, it’s like there’s a horse loose in a hospital. It’s like there’s a horse loose in a hospital. I think eventually everything’s going to be okay, but I have no idea what’s going  to happen next. And neither do any of you, and neither do your parents, because there’s a horse loose in the hospital. It’s never happened before, no one knows what the horse is going to do next, least of all the horse. He’s never been in a hospital before, he’s as confused as you are. There’s no experts.

[audience cheering]

They try to find experts on the news. They’re like, “We’re joined now by a man that once saw a bird in the airport.” Get out of here with that shit! We’ve all seen a bird in the airport. This is a horse loose in a hospital.

When a horse is loose in a hospital, you got to stay updated. So all day long you walk around, “What’d the horse do?” The updates, they’re not always bad. Sometimes they’re just odd. It’ll be like, “The horse used the elevator?”

[audience laughing]

I didn’t know he knew how to do that. [audience laughing] The creepiest days are when you don’t hear from the horse at all. [audience laughing] You’re down in the operating room like, “Hey, has anyone…”

[audience laughing]

“Has anyone heard–” [imitates clopping hooves] Those are those quiet days when people are like, “It looks like the horse has finally calmed down.” And then ten seconds later the horse is like, “I’m gonna run towards the baby incubators and smash ’em with my hooves. I’ve got nice hooves and a long tail, I’m a horse!” That’s what I thought you’d say, you dumb fucking horse.

And then…

[audience cheering]

Then… Then you go to brunch with people and they’re like, “There shouldn’t be a horse in the hospital.” And it’s like, “We’re well past that.” Then other people are like, “If there’s gonna be a horse in the hospital, I’m going to say the N-word on TV.” And those don’t match up at all. And then, for a second, it seemed like maybe we could survive the horse, and then, 5,000 miles away, a hippo was like, “I have a nuclear bomb and I’m going to blow up the hospital!” And before we could say anything, the horse was like, “If you even fucking look at the hospital, I will stomp you to death with my hooves. I dare you to do it. I want you to do it. I want you to do it so I can stomp you with my hooves, I’m so fucking crazy.” “You think you’re fucking crazy, I’m a fucking hippopotamus. I live in a fucking lake of mud. I’m fucking crazy.” And all of us are like, “Okay.” Like poor Andy Cohen at those goddamn reunions. “Okay.” And then, for a second, we were like, “Maybe the horse-catcher will catch the horse.” And then the horse is like, “I have fired the horse-catcher.”

[audience laughing]

He can do that? That shouldn’t be allowed no matter who the horse is. I don’t remember that in Hamilton.

[audience laughing]

Sometimes, if you make fun of the horse, people will get upset. These are the people that opened the door for the horse. I don’t judge anyone. But sometimes I ask people. I go, “Hey, how come you opened the door for the horse?” And they go, “Well, the hospital was inefficient!” [audience laughing] Or sometimes they go, “If you’re so mad at the horse, how come you weren’t mad when the last guy did this three and a half years ago? You’re beating up on the horse when the last guy essentially did the same thing five years ago.” First off, get out of here with your facts. You’re like the kid at the sleepover who, after midnight, is like, “It’s tomorrow now!” Get the fuck out of here with your technicalities. Just ’cause you’re accurate does not mean you’re interesting. That was fun when we watched Beetlejuice tonight. “Don’t you mean last night? It’s after midnight.” Why don’t you get your sleeping bag and get out of my house! Take your EpiPen, take your goddamn EpiPen and get out of my house!

But when people say, “How come you were never mad at the last guy?” I say, “Because I wasn’t paying attention.” I used to pay less attention before it was a horse. Also, I thought the last guy was pretty smart, and he seemed good at his job, and I’m lazy by nature. [audience cheering] I’m lazy by nature too. So I don’t check up on people when they seem okay at their job. You may think that’s an ignorant answer but it’s not, it’s a great answer. If you left your baby with your mother tonight, you’re not going to race home and check the nanny cam. But if you leave your baby with Gary Busey…

[audience laughing]

And now there’s Nazis again.

[audience laughing]

When I was a kid Nazis was just an analogy you would use to decimate your child during an argument at the dinner table. [audience laughing] Now there’s new Nazis. I don’t care for these new Nazis and you may quote me on that. These new Nazis, “Jews are the worst, Jews ruin everything, and Jews try to take over your life.” It’s like, “You know what, motherfucker? My wife is Jewish. I know all that, how do you know all that?”

[audience laughing]

I’m allowed to make fun of my wife. I asked her and she said yes. [audience laughing] I’ve been married for about three and a half years now -and I was going out on tour…

[cheering]

Thank you very much. And I love and respect my wife very much. So I said to her, “We’ve been married for three and a half years.” And she knew that. I said, “Do you mind if I still make fun of you on stage? And my wife said, “Yeah, you can make fun of me. But just don’t say that I’m a bitch and that you don’t like me.” I was like, “The bar is so much lower than I ever imagined. That’s it?” Also, I wouldn’t say that. What kind of show would that even be? Hello. My wife is a bitch! And I don’t like her! That’s like a support group for men in crisis, with keynote speakers Jon Voight and Alec Baldwin.

[audience laughing]

Also, I would never say that, not even as a joke, that my wife is a bitch and I don’t like her. That is not true. My wife is a bitch and I like her so much.

[audience cheering]

She is a dynamite, five-foot, Jewish bitch and she’s the best. She and I have totally different styles. When my wife walks down the street, she does not give a shit what anyone thinks of her in any situation. She’s my hero. When I walk down the street, I need everybody, all day long, to like me so much. It’s exhausting. My wife said that walking around with me is like walking around with someone who’s running for mayor of nothing.

[audience laughing]

My wife and I went to Best Buy to get a TV. We didn’t end up getting the TV. I was afraid that the Best Buy guy was going to be mad at me, so I bought an HDMI cable.

[audience laughing]

I go to the register with Anna, my wife’s name Anna, she’s standing next to me, I hand the guy the HDMI cable. He takes it, he scans it, he says, “Do you have a Best Buy Rewards card?” And I said, “No, I wish!”

[audience laughing]

And then my wife said, “Jesus Christ!” And fully walked away from me. Walked all the way to the laser printers and just stood there, Blair Witch style. And I’m still up at the register like…

[audience laughing]

And the guy goes, “Do you want a Best Buy Rewards card?” And I said, “No.” Even though I had just said it was my greatest wish in life. I was hoping he’d believe me, that it was secretly my great wish but that I’m in an abusive marriage with little Miss Jesus Christ over here so I can’t ask for the things I want in public but at home, at night, we argue about it and I’m like, “You’ll see! One day I’m going to leave you and I’m going to get that Best Buy Rewards card.” She’s like, “Jesus Christ, you’re never going to get that Best Buy Rewards card!”

My wife is Jewish, as I said, I was raised Catholic. We have differences in our religious upbringings and we realized this recently. Not with our kids, because we don’t have any kids. People always ask us, “Are you going to have kids?” and we say no. And then they go, “Never? You’re never going to have kids?” Look, I don’t know “never.” Fourteen years ago, I smoked cocaine the night before my college graduation. Now I’m afraid to get a flu shot. People change.

[audience laughing]

But we don’t have any kids now and it’s great. We have a dog though. We have a four-year-old French bulldog. Her name is Petunia.

[audience cheering]

The idea of people applauding for that little monster. Just… I mean, I would never tell her that you applauded. It would go right to her ego, that little monster who just rubs her vulva on the carpet while staring at me in the eye. [imitates dog snarling] I know her vulva itches and she needs to rub it, but the thumping of the back paws… It’s upsetting. I’m just kidding. I love Petunia very much. She’s one of my most favorite people I’ve ever met in my life. Petunia likes to be very social but she can’t walk very far because she has a flat face, so she can’t breathe by design. But she wants to go out and meet people but we can’t walk her for that long. Anyway, this is a long-winded way of saying that we bought a stroller for our dog.

[audience laughing]

My wife and I walk around New York City pushing Petunia the French bulldog in a stroller, and it’s a big stroller and it has a big black hood. And people lean in to see the baby.

[audience laughing]

And instead they see a gargoyle breathing like Chris Christie. [imitates dog snarling] Her paws are sweating. We’re like, “He’s sick.” [chuckles]

But religion came up with Petunia recently. My wife and I were talking about cute things that Petunia could be involved in. And I said, “What if we got like a Biblical painting done with Petunia in it?” And my wife is like, “That would be so cute. We should do like The Last Supper.” And I was like, “Oh, my God, that would be so cute. We should do all different French Bulldogs as the different Apostles.” And my wife was like, “We should have Petunia in the middle where Jesus is, in front of the turkey.” And I was like, “Wait, what did you just say?”

[audience laughing]

“Did you say the turkey?” And my wife said, “Yeah, why?” And I said… I said, “Would you just answer me one question? Do you think that in da Vinci’s The Last Supper that Jesus of Nazareth is sitting in front of a turkey?”

[audience laughing]

And my wife said, “Yes, I do,” and I said, “Thank you for your honesty. Would you just– Just one more follow-up question. So then what do you think they’re celebrating?” [audience laughing] “What do you think… those guys are celebrating?” She said, “Okay, I don’t get this shit because I wasn’t raised Catholic and I’m fucking glad I wasn’t because it’s a fucked-up organization.” I said, “No. We all know that.”

[audience laughing]

“But what do you think those guys are celebrating?” And my wife looked at the floor. And then she looked at me and said, “Thanksgiving.”

[audience laughing]

My family went to church every Sunday when I was a kid. My wife cannot believe this. She’s like, “You went every Sunday?” -“Yes.” -“What if you were out of town?” I was like, “They have them out of town.” I don’t know if you grew up going to church and now you don’t, but it can be a weird existence. Because I like to make fun of it all day long, but then if someone like Bill Maher says, “Who would believe in a man up in the sky?” I’m like, “My mommy, so shut the fuck up!”

[audience cheering]

“Stop calling my mommy dumb.” If you grew up going to church and you have adult friends that didn’t, they have a lot of questions. “Wait, so they forced you to go?” Yeah, I was five, I was forced to go everywhere. No kid is just going to church. Riding by on his Huffy, like, “Whoa! What’s this place? A weird Byzantine temple with green carpeting where everyone has bad breath and I wear clothes that I hate on one of the mornings of my two days off? Let’s do this.”

[audience laughing]

But people get very suspicious. They’re like, “What did they say in there? What do they do? What did they tell you?” I don’t know, it was an hour. That should be the slogan for the Catholic church. “It’s an hour!” It’s a few stories, normally about a guy with a crazy name whose wife has a normal name. “In that town lives Zepheriuses and his wife Rachel.” How come she gets to be Rachel? “On their way to Galilee, Jesus met Enos and Barak and their wives, Kylie and Lauren.” And you’re like, “What? That’s the same joke twice.”

[audience laughing]

Then there’s the homily. If you’re not Catholic, the homily is when the priest does a book report that is also stand-up comedy.

[audience laughing]

It normally begins with a charming anecdote that is fake and never happened. “A woman was at a shopping mall with her young son.” What was the woman’s name? Hey, Father, what was the name of the shopping mall? Your story doesn’t have a lot of details. You only had a week to work on it and you’ve had the book for 2,000 years.

[audience laughing]

And then there’s some songs normally sung by an usher. One of these ushers that opens the door for you and gives you the pamphlet and they all look like Marco Rubio.

[audience laughing]

That guy will get up and sing into the microphone. He’s not a singer… ’cause he’s not good at it. But he tries. He sings the Psalms. Remember the Psalms? They’re not songs ’cause they don’t rhyme and they’re not good. They’re perfectly named, they’re not quite songs, they’re Psalms. It’s a word you’re meant to mishear. “I’m gonna sing a Psalm today.” What’s that? You’re gonna sing a song? “Yeah. It’s a Psalm.” And then these guys get up in front of everyone and they’re like…

♪ The bread of God is bread ♪ ♪ He will bring us bread ♪ ♪ No one but the one from Jericho ♪ ♪ Can bring bread to bread ♪

And then the guy goes like this. [audience laughing] And that means we’re supposed to sing our lines, except we don’t know our lines for shit. Where’s that pamphlet? Where’s that pamphlet they gave us? Move the jackets. Ah-ha-ha!

♪ The bread of bread is bread ♪ ♪ Bread is God is bread ♪

It’s just dads singing so loud, thinking that’ll somehow get their kids to sing.

♪ Bread is God is bread ♪ ♪ Is God is bread ♪ ♪ Is God is bread… ♪

“Sing, goddamn it!” My dad once grabbed me by the shirt and lifted me up during church and said, “God can’t hear you.”

[audience laughing]

Goodnight, New York. Thank you very much.

[audience cheering]

[“Lithium” playing on organ]

[organist and audience singing “Lithium” chorus]

[audience cheering]

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 4 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating:  Hmm.  Maybe PG-13?

Warnings:  Adult language. 

Characters/Pairings:  Daryl Dixon, Dwight, Axel, Oscar, Big Tiny, mention of the Morales family, mention of Sherry, Merle Dixon, mention of Carol Peletier and Sophia Peletier, and a couple of other little Easter eggs for those of you paying attention, lol. 

 Don't mind me.  Just having some fun remixing these characters.

 Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter.  Work kicked my ass and took some names this week and it took me all day yesterday to pull said ass out of my all-consuming exhaustion.  Hence, I'm posting today instead of yesterday when I really wanted to. 

 Anyway.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  Off to work on the next one.  Fingers crossed I get it finished in time to post later tonight. 

   Waltzing’s for Dreamers

    More than six years after Vegas.  Early Summer. 

      “90 degrees in the fuckin’ shade out there,” Dwight mumbles around his nub of a cigarette. 

  Beneath the hood of the Morales’ Suzuki, Daryl inwardly sneers.  I’ll match the sweat rings around your scrawny neck and raise you a couple of stank-ass armpit rings, Asshole.  The words never leave his lips, though.  All he gifts the sonofabitch with is a noncommittal grunt.  In the interest of keeping things civil, of course.  Axel’s okay by him, handed over the keys to this Bakersfield shithole like it weren’t nothing and gave him and Merle a chance to start over when they’d up and moved themselves clear across the country trying to outrun the demons of both their pasts.  The man’s harmless, not much left knocking around in his pharmaceutical soaked brain, but his piece of shit cousin is another story altogether, and it’s really too bad they have to keep pretending to coexist peacefully because Daryl can’t really put his finger on it but something about the guy makes his skin crawl.  Oscar’s too, apparently. 

  “Man, put your shirt back on.  You lookin’ like some starved feral ass cat.” 

  Big Tiny stops swaying with the oscillating fan in the corner of garage only long enough to snicker an agreement.  “Oscar ain’t wrong.” 

  “Probably is,” Axel puts in his two cents, his handlebar mustache twitching with each word.  “Starved,” he elaborates, as if anybody had any lingering doubts.  “Sherry don’t like to cook.  Can’t say as I blame her considerin’ she only sees daylight from the inside of that diner.  Poor woman,” he shakes his head.  “Works her pretty little fingers to the bone.” 

  “Might be you should take some pointers from her,” Oscar suggests dryly.  “That wagon ain’t gonna up and fix itself and the way I remember it, those two flower children be thinking they’re getting it back first thing tomorrow.”   

  “Might be,” Dwight spits as he jerks his arms back through his dingy, oil stained shirt, “you can mind your own goddamn business for once.”  He skulks back to his designated corner of the shop, grumbling beneath his breath with every step. 

  “What bug done crawled right up his skinny ass?” 

  The question is drawled right into his ear, and Daryl nearly jumps out of his skin.  Swears and rubs at the bump he can already feel forming on the back of his head.  Slams the hood of the Suzuki shut and scowls at his brother, who brandishes a popsicle in his hand like it’s some kind of sword.  Or a peace offering of sorts.  “What the hell?” Daryl growls, snatching the damn thing and ripping the wrapper impatiently.  “How ‘bout a fuckin’ warning next time?”   

  “Used to be, you didn’t need no warning,” Merle pointedly reminds him, sucking his own orange popsicle back between his lips as only he could, in a manner bordering on the obscene. 

  “Got any more of those?” Big Tiny asks longingly. 

  “Why?” Merle leers with a wink.  “Ole Merle makin’ you hot?”  

  Flustered, Big Tiny groans.  “You nasty.  Anybody ever tell you that?” 

  “See now,” Merle trots out his trademark coat hanger grin.  “That’s all a matter of opinion.  The ladies don’t seem to think so.  In fact…”

  Before he can go any further, Oscar interrupts him, “Little E on deck.” 

  It’s not a moment too soon, and Daryl’s grateful for the reprieve.  His brother might have come a long way, kicked his own drug habit and put his life in some sort of order.  All thanks to a little rude awakening and the kid that’s joined them, bearing a whole box of sweating popsicles like a gift from the Man Upstairs on this sweltering summer day.  But the one thing he ain’t cleaned up is his mouth, especially when it comes to women and his supposed prowess with them.  And he’s far from the only one in this establishment could grow weeds out of his mouth with as filthy as it is, Daryl’s own included.  He gives Oscar a subtle nod of gratitude and leans against the Samurai’s bumper, takes in the scene with an air of wistfulness he couldn’t shake if he wanted to, and damn.  Does he want to. 

  Big Tiny relinquishes his primo spot in front of the fan to lumber over to arguably one of his favorite people—and not just at the moment.  “Got one of those for me, Angel-face?”

  “Grape?” 

  “There any other kind?” 

  Daryl smirks.  Watching when his niece presents the big man with his preferred flavor popsicle and he bows clumsily at the waist in thanks, getting himself a coat hanger grin in response that’s undeniably reminiscent of the one his brother wears much more often these days, although the kid’s is much harder won.  The irony don’t escape him.  Couldn’t if it wanted to.  If somebody’d told him have a dozen years ago Merle would find his happiness just as Daryl’s own life went to absolute shit, he’d have accused them of bald-face lying.  That’s what he would have done.    He don’t begrudge him, though, because God and the Devil both know.  If circumstances were different, if he weren’t such a no-good fuck-up not worth the heartache he knows he’s done caused Carol and her little girl, well.  He don’t resent his brother a moment.  Not at all. 

  “Thank you kindly, Little Miss,” Axel charms as he receives his own popsicle.  “Need me some of them there boots you’re wearing,” he says, openly admiring the black combat boots that are about the biggest things on the eleven-year-old’s ever-growing feet. 

  “Them’s ass kickers,” Merle crows proudly.  “For my ass-kicking girl.” 

  Daryl huffs out a laugh and crumples up his wrapper when his brother’s version of praise earns him a sassy purple tinged tongue, tosses it in the general vicinity of the trash can.   

  “Still like ‘em,” Axel shrugs his skinny shoulders.  “Might even go find me some.” 

  Oscar’s lips twitch before breaking into a grin full of shark-like teeth.  “Man, you couldn’t even kick your own ass.” 

  “Might be you’re right,” Axel agrees amiably.  “Just sayin’, though.  Them’s some mighty fine boots.” 

  “Yes, Ma’am, they are,” Big Tiny chimes in.  Holding out his mammoth paw, he bashfully bargains, “If I show you the car your uncle’s been working on, you think there might be another grape popsicle in it for me?”

  “All that’s left is cherry.” 

  “Cherry just happens to be my second favorite,” Big Tiny tells her as his palm all but swallows up her small hand.  “It’s a ’67 Impala.  Like the one in that show you like so much with the brothers.  He’s fixing it up for the coach at the high school.  Be glad you haven’t met him, Angel-face.  Man loves to hear himself talk.” 

  “You look at that,” Merle remarks as the unlikely pair disappear into the back of the garage, Oscar and Axel trailing not far behind them.  “Girl’s got him wrapped around her little finger.” 

  “Ain’t the only one,” Daryl points out as he bends to retrieve the garbage that’d fallen just short of its mark and drops it into the can.  “Reckon you’re going to be lost without her when her and her mama move to Jacksonville come the end of July.” 

  “About that, Baby Brother.” 

  Merle scratches absently at the prosthetic on his right arm in a gesture that makes Daryl straighten and study him with a more critical eye.  “Merle.” 

  “I should have told you a long time ago.” 

  “Told me what?” 

  “When that girl leaves?  I’m going with her.  And I want you to come with me.  It’s high time, Boy.  High time.” 

[1989dreamer]

Everything You Had Got Destroyed

AO3

Summary: The funeral of the Hales, through Laura's eyes.

General Kate Argent warning. Also, this story does not place Deaton in a good light. Searching for title, settled on a line from Beyonce's If I Were a Boy. Full tags and warnings available at AO3 link.

                                                                                                                              --

The ceremony is lovely. The mayor makes speeches about the accomplishments made possible by the generosity of the Hales, people applaud, cry, and hug the remaining Hales, and Laura hates it with her whole being.

She keeps a hand on her brother’s back, feels the minute tremors racing through his muscles. She can’t even comfort him because all the townspeople keep coming, empty words falling from their lips while the cool wind of a mild January blows across their faces.

Derek is wrapped in Dad’s jacket, left in the Camaro after another dumb argument about his mid-life crisis. Laura has a coat handed to her by a nurse from Emergency Care. She finds a pack of gum tucked inside a hidden pocket and squeezes it to pulp when the sixth grade class stumbles over Amazing Grace.

The whole thing lasts three hours. Eleven eulogies. Eleven laid to rests. Eleven “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.” Derek breaks his own hand when the priest won’t shut up.

The sheriff standing next to him looks stricken and unsure while a deputy on the other side adopts a stormy glare directed at Father Donovan’s head.

The wake. They should have had a wake instead of this bullshit circus.

Not a dry eye around them except her brother and herself. But, Laura’s all cried out, doesn’t have the liquid available and Derek…Derek seems broken, small and withered, like he was in the flames too.

The ceremony is lovely and lasts too long and Laura can’t be grateful enough when it ends after she and Derek each toss eleven handfuls into the single plot that will house the bare remains of what used to be eleven people.

The crowd disperses quickly after they, one by one, offer condolences that mean nothing to Laura (Laura only because Derek isn’t listening, hunched down and breathing harshly through his mouth).

Finally, the only ones left are the sheriff and his deputy, the veterinarian Mom liked to take stray animals to, the priest, and Derek and Laura.

Sheriff Calhoun is the first to say anything, and it’s just to jam his hat back on his head, stroke his handlebar mustache and grunt, “Rain’s coming.”

Laura wants to yell at him, scream obscenities because no shit, rain’s coming, she can fucking smell it.

Father Donovan agrees with a simple nod of his head before he claps Derek on the shoulder (and Laura glares at him for startling her brother enough that he jerks and lets out a gasp).

“I wish it was a better time,” he says, absently, and Laura stares at him in horror.

The deputy hustles him away, saying, “Father Jacob, why don’t you go back inside for now?” Then he comes back and leads Derek away, one hand hovering over her brother’s back while they head deeper into the cemetery, no doubt heading for the deputy’s wife’s headstone.

The vet steps up next, offering Laura a hand. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” he offers. Laura thinks his name is Deepo or something. “I used to work with your mother.”

“Right,” Laura says, because what else is she supposed to say? Mom loved saving those strays, usually ones that had been struck somewhere close to Hale property and then either dragged themselves to the porch or were found by Derek or Cora (oh, god, Cora, the only thing left of her little sister was the bows Laura had braided into her hair the morning of the fire).

“I’m Dr. Alan Deaton,” the man offers. His gaze is perfectly sympathetic, and Laura tries to shake the unsettling feeling his bright eyes inspire. He glances dismissively at Derek in the distance before turning back to Laura. “I worked with your mom,” he stresses. “I was her emissary.”

Laura stares at the man before her. Only recently had Mom started explaining what Laura would need to know when she took over the mantle of alpha. An emissary is an advisor, someone trusted who can offer an objective viewpoint and counsel should an alpha require it. Mom had said only the alpha knew who the emissary was to ensure that the emissary would be safe in case of another pack attacking.

Deaton’s heartbeat is steady, his scent unchanged.

He’s not lying.

“You were my mother’s emissary?” Laura confirms, and Deaton nods. “Why are you offering to be mine?”

Deaton holds up a hand, curled as if scooping water. “Your mother did not have time to set up the contacts necessary for you to find your own emissary so I am merely offering my services until such a time that you no longer require them.”

A sudden blip in his heartbeat makes her ears perk. “But?” she says.

Deaton’s eyes dim and his mouth sets in a grim line. “But, I refuse to be emissary of your pack as long as your brother is part of your pack.”

“And why would I kick him out?” Laura asks.

“Because,” Deaton leans closer, sharing a secret, “he is the reason your family is dead.”

Laura draws back, angry.

Deaton holds up his hand again, cupped in the same way. “Kate Argent orchestrated the fire but she received the information about how to get into the house from Derek. They were in a relationship and Derek revealed himself to her. To an Argent.”

Laura finds where Derek is curled down by another headstone, the deputy holding onto him as Derek sobs loudly. The first time he’s broken since that night. Laura’s heart clenches painfully, skin itching with the need to go to her beta, soothe his pain.

“And when did this Argent approach my brother?” Laura has been at college the last few months—she’s going for a degree in child psychology since there aren’t enough therapists in the know. Maybe that was her mistake, leaving her future betas alone for so long.

“A few weeks ago,” Deaton answers.

“And you watched this ‘relationship’ grow without mentioning it to his alpha, my mother?”

Deaton’s heartbeat rises and settles quickly, but it’s his tell—that and the overwhelming stench of guilt rolling off him.

“Excuse me, my beta needs me.” She pushes past the vet, and he grabs her wrist.

“Don’t,” he says, eyes boring into hers. “Don’t push away your best contact.”

“My best contact?” she says icily, jerking her hand free. “My best contact failed to mention that an adult was seeking out an illicit relationship with my underage brother.” A sudden, horrifying thought occurs to Laura and she freezes. Faintly, through the blood rushing in her ears, she can hear Derek whining, reacting to her distress.

“Did you let my family die because you wanted to punish Derek?”

Now it’s her turn to grab Deaton’s wrist. The man barely winces in pain as Laura squeezes his wrist, the bones cracking under her fingers.

“Get the fuck away from us. Don’t ever offer your brand of help again.”

Derek crashes into her back and wraps his arms around her waist. He’s been a whole head taller than her for almost a year now, but he shrinks into her warmth, face pressed against the back of her neck.

Deaton uses the distraction to pull away, his broken wrist cradled to his chest. The deputy watches him go, a knowing look on his face.

“You kids doing all right?” He winces as soon as he speaks and stammers an apology.

“It’s okay,” Laura tells him and only means it a little. As long as she has Derek with her she knows they will be okay even if it isn’t okay right now.

Besides, she can smell the alcohol on his breath, faded, like he hasn’t had a drink in hours, but still there. He’s still grieving his wife. He at least understands where the Hales are at mentally.

“We can’t stay here. Not with that still here.” Laura could probably run Deaton out of town, make sure he never works as an emissary again. Of course, the best solution would be to kill him, but Laura doesn’t think she could do that to her beta. In fact, she isn’t sure she even wants to expand her pack. It wouldn’t feel right. Their family hasn’t even been dead a week yet. She’s not ready to take in new people, train them while she’s still new to her control, to her grief.

Derek tightens his arms around her, his tears soaking through her coat, leaving indelible marks on her skin.

“I understand,” the deputy says. “I hope you find your peace without losing too much of yourself.” He eyes his patrol car sadly, and Laura sees a spindly boy sitting in the front passenger seat. She recognizes him from Cora’s class, from the choir.

“I hope you don’t lose more of yourself,” she offers to the deputy. “And thank you, for all you’ve done for us.”

“Keep in touch, kiddo.”

Laura doesn’t respond, leading Derek, who still hasn’t relinquished his hold on her, to the Camaro. She can’t really say anything right now, still shocked and angry that Deaton, her mother’s emissary, would rather watch the whole family die than help Derek out of a situation that Laura is positive he was pressured in to.

It’s her job as his alpha to protect him, and she can’t do that in Beacon Hills.

There isn’t room to heal when they can’t go anywhere without reminders of their family everywhere. She doesn’t know how the deputy and his son have managed, but she knows it helps that they can’t smell where the people who no longer walk lived and breathed.

“We’re getting out of this town,” Laura tells Derek when he slides into the passenger seat. She reaches across him and buckles him in. Derek just stares at her.

“Peter?” he finally says.

“Do you remember Mom’s friend, Alpha Satomi? I’ll call her, have her check in on him. She’ll also take care of our territory while we’re gone.”

Satomi is the only nearby alpha her mother told her to trust. Ennis and Kali on the west and north sides are power hungry, more of an assembled family than one of blood, not that Laura thinks there’s anything wrong with that. And the Teller pack to the east is bloodthirsty and cruel even to their own pack members.

Satomi is their neighbor to the south, and she has had a long, respectable relationship with Talia. Satomi had offered to take them in for a time, but Laura couldn’t start her tenure as alpha in debt like that and had turned her down.

She wonders if it was the right call.

One way to find out.

She stops at the Quik-Mart on the way out of Beacon Hills, gets a full tank of gas and those chocolate crème things Derek used to like when he was ten. She also buys an atlas and a road map.

The farther they get from town, the easier it is to breathe until the windows are down, and Derek’s hanging out like a dog, sniffing everything new. Laura sometimes forgets that he hasn’t ever left home, a sheltered puppy just waiting to be plucked off the vine by a cruel, remorseless hunter.

Laura vows then, if she ever comes across Kate Argent, she’ll rip her throat out with her teeth.

For now, though, she laughs when Derek pulls his head in and scrapes bugs off his face. And it doesn’t hurt much.

                                                                                                                              --

[i-dont-have-gas-im-in-love]

Promise Me (Pt. Three)

PART ONE   PART TWO

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The Howling Commando’s go to take down Hydra; including capturing Zola on the train. Bucky works it out so you can go along.

Word Count: 2,225

Warnings: Bucky describes his torture

Bucky had left your tent before you had returned. The soldier with the handlebar mustache was a part of an elite squad called ‘The Howling Commandos’ which Bucky was also a part of. The Howling Commandos and the newly appointed Captain Rogers had gone out for drinks at a local bar. 

When they returned Bucky made a visit to your tent. You were just about to take your uniform off when the slightly intoxicated Sergeant pushed the cloth apart.

“Bucky!” you exclaimed quickly zipping your dress back up, “What are you doing??”

“Sorry (y/n), I didn’t think about knocking with it being a tent and all,” his smile was so devilish he could have gotten away with anything. You waited for him to come closer and it didn’t take him long.

“You’re drunk.” you could smell the alcohol on him.

“No I’m not” you furrowed your brow, “I have been drinking but I’m not drunk doll. My tolerance is pretty high.” He seemed to have his wits so you decided to believe him.

As you two stood a few feet apart, he told you that the Howling Commandos had decided that they were going to finish off Hydra. Track down each base and burn it to the ground. He was excited as he shared the plan but you didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. You hesitated to answer and he slid his right hand around your waist till he could push on your back to bring you closer. His lips parted every so slightly as your chests collided slowly. A warmth flashed over your cheeks as he brought his face closer to yours, “Tell me…” his voice was so low and soft it sent a shiver up your spine.

You considered remaining silent to see just how far he would go to encourage you to speak but his eyes turned sad and you couldn’t hold out any longer, “It’s just that you could go home…”

“Home?” he loosened his grip and distanced himself slightly; still holding on to your waste.

“Yes,” you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, “You were a prisoner of war Bucky; wounded in battle. That makes you eligible for an honorable discharge.”

He shifted his hold on you to reclaim the distance that had been made earlier. “I can’t leave. Not when the war isn’t over and especially not now that Steve is here.”

“He wouldn’t be alone you know. He’d have the Commandos!” you knew that wasn’t going to be convincing but you thought maybe.

“I’m apart of the Commandos. Besides, I could never leave Steve alone with this fight. I have to stay with him till the end of the line.”

“You could be safe though…” you were fighting the knot that was resting in your throat as your fingers started to wonder into his hair.

“I’ll be safe,” he pulled you all the way to him and embraced you warmly. His arms strongly wrapped around you almost made you believe him. “Besides, we have a super soldier on our side. Who could hurt us?” you pulled back so you could see the confident smirk on his face. He wore it so well.

His lips curved so perfectly and you imagined they’d have a soft touch. You felt like a child thinking that the stubble surrounding his mouth was so manly; but it was. Just before you could stand up on your toes to confirm all your suspicions, he spoke softly,

“Come with me.”

“What?” This time it was you who caused the distance.

“You should come with us. As we finish this.”

“I’m not a soldier Bucky; I’m a nurse!” you reminded placing your hands on his chest.

“Exactly! Come as part of our medical team!” he was smiling like a boy and you ate it up.

“The medical teams don’t follow the soldiers. We stay put and the soldiers rotate in and out.” you explained.

“I’m sure we could convince Colonel Phillips to arrange some kind of special system.”

“I doubt he would do that. He’s not very sentimental.”

“You’re right,” he laced his fingers together in the arch of your back. “Well maybe Steve could convince him.”

“Possibly.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” His words moved slowly and there was a pull that was forming. You pulled yourself up to him and he encouraged you along. As your eyes closed you could feel his breath and then just the edge of his lips. The two of you paused and drank in the tension.

“(Y/N)!” cried the nurse from the galley the other night, “Colonel… oh my god; I knew it!”

You moved to distance yourself from Bucky but he wouldn’t let you get very far, “What do you want?” you demanded.

She smirked, “I don’t want anything. Colonel Phillips is asking for you.”

“What about?” you managed to release Bucky’s hold.

“Beats me; maybe it’s about fraternizing with soldiers!” she giggled.

“OH shut up! I’ll be right there.” you said annoyed. Looking back at Bucky you saw that he was quite enjoying this whole scene; but of course he was. “I’m sorry about this.”

“You’re not planning these little interruptions on purpose are you?” he asked coiling his arms around your waist once again.

Pretending to be upset, you let out a sharp gasp, “Of course not! Let me prove it to you,” you pushed up on your toes with much intent.

“Excuse me…” that nurse cried out just before contact was made, “I think it was rather urgent…”

“I’ll be right there!” you cried frustrated just inches away from Bucky’s face.

“And I’ll wait right here.” she said. You turned to see her standing with her arms folded just inside the tent.

“You better go.” Bucky said softly hoping the other nurse wouldn’t hear him. “I need to check about our plan anyway.” he was right but that didn’t make it any better. You fell back to your flat feet and rested your forehead briefly on his chest before you turned to accompany the other nurse to see what Colonel Phillips wanted; leaving Bucky behind.

Captain Rogers had been able to convince the powers at be to have a medical team follow their mission. Since The Commandos would be going to high risk areas, the medical team would follow a day behind. However, this elite squad was chosen for this assignment for a reason: they were the best. Therefore, they didn’t need any medical assistance; not so much as an aspirin. As much as you wished to see Sgt. Barnes you were ecstatic that they were being successful and safe.

They had finally been able to track down Arnim Zola (who was a Nazi scientist working for Hydra) and found out that he would be taking a train transporting Hydra soldiers the next day. A group would have to 'zipline' and fall onto the train as it was in motion. Because of the extra physical requirements of the mission, your medical team was called to make sure the soldiers were up to the task.

The soldiers taking on this mission were: Steve Rogers, James Barnes and Gabe Jones. You laughed to yourself as one of the doctors examined Steve. It seemed a little unnecessary. You assisted on Gabe Jones’s exam and he was cleared for the mission. When it was James’s turn, suddenly all the doctors were needed at once. One of the Commandos Timothy Dugan (or “Dum-Dum” Dugan as they guys affectionately called him) was suddenly in need of quite a bit of medical attention. The doctor asked if you could administer Sgt. Barnes’ exam. You readily agreed

He was sitting on a single stool; his ankles crossed and his hands folded in his lap. With all the power he possessed, he seemed meager as you got closer. Once he realized you were there he pushed off the stool and pulled his shoulders back. A show of strength that you saw through.

“Hey,” he said softly once you were close enough for him to reach out and touch you. But he didn’t; he kept his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hey,” you returned, “I hope your friend is okay.”

“Oh he’s fine.”

“But…”

“Well I may have mentioned that you were coming today and we were getting exams and he kind of arranged a little distraction so we could have some time alone.” Bucky explained.

You felt yourself grow warm, “Couldn’t he get in trouble for that?” you smiled stepping closer to the Sergeant.

“Probably. But it was all his idea. That’s why we call him ‘Dum-Dum’ Dugan,” he laughed slightly. “Affectionately of course,” he clarified when your eyebrow raised

“So what’s wrong?” you asked unable to avoid what you saw any longer.

“What do you mean?”

“Bucky something is troubling you.” He let out a heavy breath and pulled his lip between his teeth. “Talk to me,” you reached up and put your hand at the base of his neck. In response he took you by the waste and simply held you and you held him back. He overfilled your arms but you did your best to keep him secure. When he released you he slumped back onto the stool.

“I… I’m anxious about tomorrow.” he shared reluctantly.

“The train?” you asked stepping closer to him. “Are you worried when you drop onto a moving train you might fall off?” it was a concern that was causing you anxiety.

Bucky laughed pulling you into him, “No I’m not worried that I’m going to fall off the train.” he paused a moment to enjoy his amusement. “No it’s not that…”

“What is it then?”

“Zola…” his voice was so low you almost didn’t hear him.

“Zola? The Nazi scientist?” you asked for clarification. All he could muster was a nod. You knelt down on your knees so you could see his face that was turned downward. “Why?”

He didn’t answer you for several minutes and you let him have the silence. When he was ready to talk he made eye contact almost as a way to confirm he could trust you with what he was going to say. You gave the most reassuring smile you could with a slight nod. “When we got captured, I was separated from the others. Why me? I can’t figure it out.” his voice was frail as he spoke. “They injected me with something,” he rubbed his neck, you guessed that was where they did it, “and I lost consciousness. Next thing I know I’m strapped to a table. Lights everywhere and people with masks and gloves and then… Zola. The short balding man with round glasses and a bow tie. He shouldn’t be intimidating; let alone frightening. But he’s the one in my nightmares.” Your heart was breaking as Bucky explained. You put your hand on his knee to convey your support and he took it into both his hands. “I’m not exactly sure what he did, like what his goal was, but he administered several… experiments” You gave a pulse to his hands that he reciprocated. “They made me feel… different. More angry, more powerful, less in control, less like myself. I don’t remember doing anything? but those feelings; sometimes they start to rise up in me still. That scares me. So what if… what if something goes wrong? and somehow, he gets to me again?”

A tear fell onto your hands that were intertwined together. You pushed off the floor and wrapped your arms around him. Your force actually caused him to stand from the stool.

“Oh Bucky…” was all you could say for a good while. You could feel his body shake against yours and you let him cry; you cried too. There was nothing you thought of to say that would be any kind of comfort. So you said nothing; you just held him. “Have you told Steve?”

“No…” he answered pulling away to wipe his eyes.

“Why not?”

“How can I?” his tone was desperate, “All our lives I’ve been the tough one. I can’t just…”

“Bucky, you’ve been through hell. There is no shame in admitting and telling Steve that it’s affected you.” you tried to reason.

“I don’t want him to look at me differently.” he replied softly. Your heart fractured that much more.

“Steve respects you too much to look at you differently. I’m sure he can relate… maybe a little…” you didn’t know what to possibly say to bring Bucky any comfort. “I can take the blame…”

“What?” Bucky asked sharply.

“A mental examination is just as important as a physical one. I could refuse to deem you fit for the mission.” you explained.

“I can’t leave Steve alone.” he was firm.

“Alright then. You go on this mission,” you pulled him close again. He obliged, wrapping his arms around your waist while you pulled at his shirt with care, “You capture Zola, spit in his face, and then we go home; to Brooklyn. I’ll open my flower shop and we’ll be safe.”

“That sounds nice.”

“No. Promise me.” You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer. Pressing yourself up on your toes, your lips collided with Bucky’s and he instantly took charge. Power and gentleness, passion and control. Never would you ever be kissed like that again.

“I promise (y/n).” Bucky replied breathlessly.