Only Half Bad (ON HOLD)

Android Detective?

Hello! I'm so glad you decided to check this story out, and I'm excited to write it! One of the challenges of Wattpad is making something original. Something new. This story came straight from my brain and my obsession with another fandom that leaked into this one, and, well, I hope it's new. Everyone wants something fresh and unheard of every once and a while! Either way, enjoy!

~Nighticus

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I let out a sigh as I step up to the neon lights of the bar. 'Jimmy's bar' it read in huge glowing letters. Rain was pounding down from the sky, assaulting me with pellet after pellet. It almost hurt. My raincoat was already soaked through, the material it was made out of not helping much in that regard. I could feel rain deep into my clothes.

Now, don't think wrong of me for standing in front of a bar. I don't drink. Alcohol was the furthest thing from my mind at this point. No, I wasn't at a bar for that. Instead there was a person hanging heavy in my mind. A person I had called five times to no answer. A person I knew would either be here with a bottle of booze in his hand or at home with a gun pressed against his forehead. Either way I was needed.

Help Hank

The glitched words were hard to see, hanging in the air for little more than a moment before they disappear in a flash of nothing. Those damn words... those damn commands.

With a huff I step forwards and push open the door. As soon as I step inside I am rewarded with a gust of warm air against my chilled skin. I welcome the feeling with open arms and a smile. I had never enjoyed rain, and even if I was entering a bar to speak to a suicidal friend it was a blessing to get out of the cold wet thing.

The bartender smiles to me with a nod, his hand in a cup with a rag around it. Cliche bartender move. I had always made fun of him for it.

"Nice timing, he's working on his sixth." The bartender spoke with his gruff voice, nodding over to the man in question. I offer a nod before shuffling over to the stool he had pointed to.

"Thanks Jay." I mutter softly as I sit beside my friend. He was hunched over as usual, a beer clutched in one hand as the other was holding his nose. Another bad day at the station, I had guessed. Recently these little visits had seemed to only multiply. It was like his grief of working backwards. After the death of his son he had fallen apart. He had gotten a home only a few yards from mine and tried to forget everything. To do this he drowned himself in his work, which worked for a while. But, as the months passed, Hank slowly became worse and worse. One time a month at the bar turned to two, then three, then once a week, then twice a week. My friend was falling deeper and deeper into something I never wanted him to ever face. From experience, it sucks.

Help Hank

My eyes barely flash over the words before I reach out and take the drink in Hank's hand. With little pause I was chugging the glass and slamming it down on the wooden table. An 'ah' leaves me as I close my eyes for a moment. It was only a moment, as I had expected it to be. Hank didn't take too kindly to drinks being taken from him.

"What the hell (Y/N)! Every damn time with you..." Hank glares at me in anger before motioning to the bartender for another. Jay looks up at me, sees me shake my head, and offers Hank an apologetic smile.

"Sorry Hank, you know (Y/N) takes control of your drinks when you're here." With that he turns and walks away, probably to avoid the next step in this process. It was a process, as it always repeats and repeats and repeats.

Hank turns to me with anger in his eyes, his hand raising to point directly at me. I lean back in my seat as to not be poked by a drunk Hank. He had never been too good at depth perception when he had had a few drinks.