Henry Stickmin Oneshots And More!

Guess Who's Back, Mothertruckers?! (Also angst lol)

Yep! I'm back! This is probably temporary, not gonna lie. But I skimmed through a few other fandoms before I accidentally tripped back into this one. And, being myself, started making content for it.

So. Welcome back. How about a oneshot, yeah?

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Reginald was a classy man.

There was no denying it. Even his greatest enemies agreed- Reginald Copperbottom had style. He was the greatest thief in the world (and hopefully, soon enough the solar system), and he acted the part. Confidence bordering on cockiness, lightning fast reaction and scarily sharp observation skills, and a mind always jumping from one plan to the next, planning and scheming the Next Big Thing. He was, no doubt, one of the best Toppat leaders the Clan had ever seen.

Coincidentally, he was also one of the longest lasting.

Reginald, for his part, knew how highly the rest of the Clan thought of him. Even the ones who were secretly planning to overthrow him grudgingly admired him. So he made sure to act like the confident, classy, virtually invincible chief they wanted to see.

He made sure to look it, too. A crisp black suit and tie, never so much as smudged, even after the most difficult raids. Black gloves that added pizazz and also left no fingerprints. His golden chain, no necessarily as a part of his image so much as a sentimental item that accidentally helped his look seem even more impressive. He was a businessman and a thief, and he made sure he couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

Only one part of his attire didn't quite match his impeccable classiness. Not a lot of businessmen wore heavy, lace up combat boots, after all.

The boots were the only part of his outfit that weren't perfectly crisp or neat. They were pretty old (from his days before being part of the Clan, actually), and it showed. The leather was scuffed and the color faded, the soles worn to the point where there was no real recognizable footprint. They didn't match his professional look pretty much at all.

But damn it, Reginald wasn't stupid. He may be flamboyant and overdramatic sometimes, but he wasn't an idiot. Dress shoes were flimsy and impractical.

And when your job is to rob high-security places for a living, impracticality could mean a death sentence.

Reginald hummed quietly to himself, leaning back in his seat and resting one foot up on the control panel. He took care not to bounce his leg or snap his fingers repeatedly, even though doing so would help release some of his restless energy. He was professional and classy. He did not fidget- at least, not in front of his Clanmates.

Instead, he fixed his gaze on a cloud in the horizon, trying to count how many seconds it would take to pass it. He lost track a few times, but it was a relatively easy and harmless distraction.

Chestershire and Oldmin were having a conversation near the front window, but Reginald wasn't particularly paying attention to them. Something about reports or files or something.

Was that a Government helicopter?

... Was that a giant hamster ball?

Reginald stood up, glancing at Wright. His second-in-command had seen the odd projectile as well, stepping forward and gesturing for Reginald to move back.

"Ah, yes, let me have a look," Chestershire said, holding out a hand to take the papers. Reginald started to yell a warning, but the window imploded before he could say a word.

A man in a giant hamster ball. Almost funny, if it weren't so terrifying.

"Go, go!" Wright called, waving for Reginald to run. "I'll 'old 'im off!"

Reginald didn't like the idea of running while this absurd intruder fought Wright, but staying would only give his Right Hand Man more things to worry about, and such a distraction could prove to be lethal. So he turned and ran.

There were a couple moments where Reginald thought he was going to die. When the intruder could have reached out and grabbed his collar. A few seconds where he forgot how to breathe. He would have tried grabbing his gun from its holster and shooting the intruder, but be the time he pulled it out he would have already been caught.

The worst part was glancing back as the intruder pulled out a chainsaw against Wright.

No. No, the worst part was when the doors opened, and the intruder appeared instead of Wright. Blood-covered. A determined expression on his face.

Reginald wasn't an idiot. The dots were easy to connect.

Even as the intruder held him by the gold chain, damn near strangling him. Even as the cargo bay doors opened and a Government helicopter hovered nearby. Even as he stared death and imprisonment in the eyes, Reginald felt numb.
Why fight back? Wright was dead.

"-surrender the airship to you," Reginald found himself saying. He hadn't consciously registered his offer in his own head before he noticed the garrote at his neck loosening the slightest bit as the intruder hesitated.

The stranger was wearing tennis shoes. There was blood splattered on them.

Abruptly, a white-hot anger filled his vision. How dare this intruder come here? He'd killed Wright. There was no way in Hell Reginald would reward that with his own fucking position!

Go to Hell, you bastard.

Reginald slammed his boot down, his heel crushing the soft ligament on the intruder's ankle. The stranger cried out, releasing Reginald and doubling over to clutch ihs foot. At the same time, Reginald spun around, using momentum and brute force to punch him in the face.

After that, it only took a kick to the chest for the intruder to overbalance, toppling out the cargo bay with a scream.

Reginald all but punched the close door button with the side of his fist before the Government could fire at them.

Silence. Then a bit of uncertain mumbling.

"Everyone back to work!" Reginald snapped. He hated how much his voice shook, with both anger and barely repressed tears. "Any one of you idiots with enough experience to steer this thing, get to the cockpit and set course for the North Sea."

A pause. Some shuffling and nervous looks.

"Well?" Reginald roared with a fury he didn't even know he could possess. "GET ON WITH IT!"

Everyone snapped into motion immediately, at least five of them scrambling to get to the cockpit. Hopefully at least one of them had the sense to not crash into a mountain.

He himself didn't have time to make sure they knew left from right. He ran back through the airship, retracing his steps until his worn, faded leather boots landed in a puddle of blood.

The rest of the day was a blur. Was it days? Weeks? Hours? All he remembered was seeing Wright in front of him, deathly pale and with a coin toss as to whether or not he was actually still breathing.

There was still blood on his gloves. His suit, normally painstakingly taken care of, was wrinkles and filthy. Normally, he wouldn't be caught dead in any such state.

Reginald was normally a very classy man.

But normally his Right Hand Man was standing by his side, too.

👏 Let 👏 Reginald👏 Be 👏 A 👏Badass

Also, he's neurodivergent bc I'm neurodivergent and I say so.

Well, that's it for now! I'm glad to be back!

Hope y'all have a wonderful day/night, and I'll catch y'all later!