American Gods Oneshots

The Hanged Man: Mad Sweeney - American Gods

Mad Sweeney x friend!reader, platonic

Sweeney comes to you for a chat and you give him a wake-up call.

Part of dragon430′s Tarot Troop on Tumblr, editing by her as well.

CW: Disillusionment, maybe some hints at depression, and mentions of death.

Word count: 1.4+ K

The town and bar are real places in Michigan. If you ever get the chance and are in Michigan, stop by the place. The food's good and the people are cool.

•

Slow days were pretty common on weekdays. Any bartender worth their shoulder towel can tell you that. Compared to Fridays and Saturdays, the rest of the week, especially where you worked, were slower than molasses going uphill in winter.

Working at a bar in small towns is either Hell on Earth because it's pretty much the only place around, or it's Heaven on Earth 'cause the town is so small. Your place, the North Bar, was a small, albeit popular, place in a village nestled in a valley. Every major place was on one street right through the middle. Like something out of an Old Western movie, but that's just how small towns are. The North Bar got busy some nights and not so much on others. Best food around (not that that is saying much), and everyone makes sure that there is something to do, like Karaoke nights, corn hole tournaments, or pool. There's always something, even if it's not fun or popular with people.

A cousin of yours called your little town the "Lakeside of Michigan". You couldn't say whether or not that was true, but you preferred to call Lakeside the "Luther of Wisconsin".

You wiped some crumbs into a trash bin as you cleaned a table. The Lunch "Rush" was over, and no one but you, the regulars like Chuck, and the other employees were here. It's not like there were many of you, just one or two servers, the cook, dishwasher, and another bartender. Plus the owner, but she was busy in the back.

Good ole Chuck mulled about in a drunken state before sitting at the bar. You tossed your towel over your shoulder and shook your head.

"Come on, Chuckie boy. I think it's about time you head on home now. You've been here since we opened and had plenty," you said.

The old, balding man grumbled.

"Don't make me call your daughter." You crossed your arms. "Cause I can, and I will."

He muttered som protests but after a hard glare from you, he stumbled up and out.

It's not like you wanted to kick him out, but, hey, last time you let him drink to his heart's desire, you ended up having to call the Sheriff. You liked Chuck too much to let him spend any more time down at the jailhouse. He'd come back later anyway.

As you got back behind the counter, the other bartender, Joan, nudged you.

"Can I take off? You ain't gonna need me here till later, anyway," she said, gesturing to the now dead bar.

You shrugged. "Sure. I ain't gotta problem with that."

"Thanks!"

Once upon a time, you were much like Joan, ready to get the fuck out as soon as you could. Nowadays, it wasn't too much like that. To you, there wasn't a point in running off seeing as how, from all the years you'd been working, things never changed. Well, not for the town anyway. For you? You lost that enthusiasm that Joan had. Wasn't the big of a loss anyway.

You'd been working here since before the North Bar had changed hands. Hell, you'd been here since the place was first takin' root. And before it, you worked at the Grocers. And before that, at the wood mill. Course, if anyone asked, you'd say it was your ancestors who'd gone and done all that. You took after your cousin like that.