hey sing tumblr. why do people ship jimmy x buster /genq i need to know.
may i kindly offer some alternative ships to enjoy.
height difference: buster x eddie
personalities (but this time they’re foils and bring out the best in each other): buster x eddie
gay: buster x eddie
enemies to lovers let’s be honest there’s really no coming back from hating someone so much u attempt to kill them multiple times thus giving them permanent trauma so let’s just scratch this one and choose a more wholesome trope
childhood friends !!! (they grew up together and saw each other grow, supported each other through everything): buster x eddie
+ bonuses: - cute asf ship name (noodlemoon) - content of them being actually gay in the first movie (eddie’s introduction was them literally on a date) - proof that eddie is someone buster can feel comfortable around and depend on (seen multiple times in the first movie) - both of them r just silly wholesome lovers who do not attempt to murder each other - and so much more
i’m going to be completely honest here, make a disclaimer first and i will not sugarcoat it—johnny will die in this fic. it’s a one-chapter thing, haven’t been able to get it out of my head since forever, and now i’ve finally written it. posting it on tumblr as well as ao3 (archive of our own).
summary: johnny tries to risk his life to save jimmy crystal in a fire and ends up in peril on the verge of death.
this story contains major character death, rather graphic descriptions of wounds, the works (not too graphic since i’m bad at descriptions). have fun! (apologies in advance for doing this, uh…)
There were screams and that was all that they could hear.
They didn’t know much about how it had started—but their speculation was that the fire props from Johnny’s performance had gotten a bit out of hand, causing the stage to erupt into flames and sending huge crowds of people into a spiral of panic as they rushed for the doors.
The Crystal Theater was burning, burning, burning—tendrils of flame rose into the night as they challenged to swallow them whole and completely. Firefighter trucks and ambulances had already lined up in front of the building, flashing their red and blue lights and roaring their sirens.
“Is everyone all here?” Buster called out frantically as he skidded to a stop on his little feet in front of the burning building, looking around as he counted the members of his theater crew. “Johnny, Meena? Ash? Rosita?”
“We’re here, Mr. Moon!” Meena’s familiar voice broke out from amongst the panicking crowd and Buster turned to the side in relief to see Meena, Johnny, Ash, Rosita, and Gunter hurrying towards him, Johnny holding Ms. Crawly—not too far away at their heels were Johnny’s dad and uncles. Their new addition Porsha was also amongst them, and so was Johnny’s new friend Nooshy. Even Clay Calloway was with them. They all seemed out of breath, terrified, and some of them a tiny bit worse for wear, but they were fine. Unharmed.
Buster let out a sigh of relief. “You’re all safe.”
“We managed to make it out through the back door before everyone started trampling each other.” Ash blurted out, a smudge of char on her face.
“Rosita, your piglets?”
“Everyone’s here.” Rosita said, shaking but the small look of relief reflecting across her dilated pupils. “Norman and I counted them, I sent them back to a safer place.”
“So we’re all here, right?” Everyone nodded at Buster’s words, and he nodded back. “Good, good—we need to go, now, the fire department will take care of this and make sure the fire’s out—”
Johnny silently counted everyone in his head—everybody was there, alright. But there was someone missing. Someone that he hadn’t even considered adding to his count, but still there enough to acknowledge. Then it hit him.
Crystal. Jimmy Crystal.
“Mr. Crystal’s still in there!” Johnny’s words pierced through everyone like a knife, although barely heard amongst the screams and the cries and the earsplitting roaring of the flames.
“Daddy!” Porsha cried out in realization and Rosita grabbed onto her for support as she burst into sudden tears. “M-my daddy’s still in there!”
Johnny then turned to the lot of them. “You guys hurry on and get to the hotel, wherever it’s safe—I’ll be right back.” He then turned around and started towards the burning building.
Marcus grabbed his arm and held onto him with a vice grip. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
“Dad, I have to save him.” Johnny said, his voice growing more desperate by the minute. “I—”
“You listen here, I saw cracks starting to form in the main lobby on the way out just now.” Marcus growled. “That damned building is going to collapse any second soon, and I am not going to stand here acting stupid enough to let you go in there!”
“But dad—”
“He tried to kill Moon, you saw that. He tried to kill Moon and who knows what he might have been plannin’ to do with the other lot of you—to you.” Marcus’s heart thumped wildly inside his chest. “Don’t be an idiot, son.”
“Dad, I know he did the most terrible things—but me knowin’ that he’s still in there and not makin’ any attempts to try and save him would just be stoopin’ down to his level.” Johnny said, all in a rush of words but firm and clear enough to understand.
“Johnny.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to live with tha’, dad.”
“Johnny—”
“I’ll be back in just a quick second, I promise.”
“Johnny, you’re crazy.” Ash spat out, almost angrily, as she made his way up to him. “This is Jimmy Crystal we’re talking about—if anything, he deserves this for everything he’s tried to do to us.”
“Nobody deserves to die, Ash.” Johnny replied, his tone soft but firm before looking back up at his dad. “Dad, I’ll be back as soon as I go, I promise you. Just give me a chance.”
Marcus didn’t reply, and the hold he kept on his son didn’t relax.
“Dad,please.”
“…”
“Dad, he’s goin’ to die!”
“… if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m goin’ in there to find you.” Marcus growled as he let go of his grip on Johnny’s shoulder pad of his costume. “Hurry. Be careful.”
A very brief smile—a very quick and small one but a smile nonetheless—broke across his face as he took several steps back to the building, towards the flames. “Thanks for believin’ in me, dad.” And with that, before Marcus could tell him that he changed his mind or say anything else, Johnny darted back towards the building, leaving his friends crying out with distress for him in his wake. Marcus didn’t miss Buster yelling, crying out for his son for him to come back, that it was dangerous.
Marcus then realized that this had been a grave mistake.
Johnny pushed past the broken glass sliding doors and ran straight to the fire while the other continued to run past him towards the direction that he had come from. The smoke from the fire hit him almost immediately, as soon as he took his first step into the theater. It was clouding in his vision, making it hard to see anything ahead of him. His eyes began to water as the smoke began to burn his lungs. Johnny couldn’t help but choke out a few coughs before ducking lower to try and avoid the smoke as much as possible. He hid his own nose and mouth in the corner of his elbow, blinking to get rid of the useless tears.
He stumbled his way over some bigger chunks of debris and wires, supposedly fallen from the ceiling, looking for the white wolf. He clasped his hand over his mouth because his elbow wasn’t doing anything at this point, and his lungs felt like they were on fire.
“Mr. Crystal!” He called out, his voice cracking under pressure. An acrid, almost toxic smell pierced his nose. “Mr. Crystal, where are you?”
He knew he was being stupid by not moving around at a lower height, but he had noticed in seconds that it would just completely hinder his speed and movement. It would be fine as long as he just didn’t breathe in too much spoke. Another life came first.
A loud groan that resonated within the building, echoes like a monster and bouncing off the walls made Johnny nearly freeze to the floor but he forced his rigid body to move. Bits of debris rained down on him like hail and he brought his arm up over his head as he stifled a coughing fit.
Just then, he heard loud cracks above his head and something fell right at his head, cutting against his eye as it dropped—he put both hands over his right eye with a cry as his back slammed back against one of the marble pillars from his stumbling feet. Johnny pulled his shaking hands back and noticed blood on his palm. Luckily, it was only his eyelid. With a pained grunt, he gathered his senses again and set back off deeper into the building to look for Jimmy Crystal.
Flames and fire tendrils licked at the ground underneath him—the building continued to groan loudly, bits of debris and dust raining down on him wherever he went. He really couldn’t see much ahead of him anymore, although it had just been mere minutes since he had entered the theater, his vision blurred and somewhat foggy. Everything was glowing a dangerous, deadly red. Paintings on walls were burning and falling apart, giving off a pungent, acrid odor. Breathing was getting more difficult every second,
Johnny then, out of the corner of his eye, noticed a familiar flash of white—he urged his feet to move and to his relief, found Jimmy Crystal near one of the theater entrances from the lobby, struggling under a piece of debris. Crystal lifted his head to spot Johnny and waved his hand over, coughs wracking his sentence. “Well, don’t just stand there—get me out of here!”
Johnny hurried over and dropped to his knees beside the wolf, apologizing profusely for no actual reason found as he grabbed the chunk of debris and began to lift it up, groaning with effort. The intense heat thundering around him was slowly starting to make him feel sick and nauseous, making his head pound and his stomach churn. His insides felt unnaturally hot as if someone had shoved a burning rock down his throat. The flames licked at his arms and burned his fur and his skin, and Johnny coughed and sputtered.
He finally threw the cement debris off with a cry as soon as Jimmy Crystal managed to crawl out from underneath it. “Help me up.” Jimmy demanded and Johnny did so, knowing that his attitude was the least of his problems. He helped Jimmy Crystal up to his feet and began back towards the exit—the loud cracking that thundered around the building was telling him that their time was almost up.
“The exit’s right ahead, c’mon!” Johnny called out over the earsplitting noises, helping Jimmy Crystal along with his limp, trying not to breathe in as much smoke as possible. He knew he had done the right thing, and he was happy that he did—and Johnny knew that once he reached those doors, he’d get to see his dad and his uncles and his friends again, and everything would be fine.
His breaths grew shorter and his coughs got worse with every step he took through the smoke, his lungs feeling as if they were choking him, something heavy lodged in his throat. Blood flowed from above his brow over his eye, and everything ahead of him just seemed like a complete blur.
The sounds of a loud crash just above his head gave him just about enough time to look up and notice big chunk of concrete falling towards them at breakneck speed from the ceiling—Johnny’s eyes widened in terror and he just managed to shove Crystal out of the way.
But it wasn’t enough time for him to get out of the way himself.
The concrete fell right onto Johnny, crushing him, and he heard the terrible sounds of bones snapping and a searing pain shot through his lower body like a fire as he let out a scream. It exploded in his head like a blinding whiteness. The pain was like needles that had been dipped into alcohol had been jammed through his skin, like his legs had been replaced with ice and electricity wired straight into his spine.
Through his blurring vision, he noticed Jimmy Crystal slowly getting back onto his feet, and grasped onto that tiny bit of hope. He tried to get his elbows underneath him but his chin crashed back onto the rubble in vain, and a tortured groan escaped through his throat.
“Mr. Crystal—” He gasped out, clawing helplessly towards the wolf’s feet, bits of rock and cement cutting into the skin of his palms. A whimper burst out from between his lips as he begged. “P-please, help—”
The wolf stood still in his ragged, burnt suit, did nothing; it was almost as if the smoke wasn’t hurting him at all.
“Please—”
And then, Jimmy Crystal burst into a laugh, a maniac one—and the last bit of hope Johnny had been holding onto for dear left just vanished on the spot.
“Oh, kid.” Crystal shook his head as he brought his shoe down onto his outstretched hand, beginning to twist the sole of his shoe and put a lot more pressure onto it than Johnny had expected—the bones of his fingers cracked under the weight and Johnny let out a pained cry, his arm jerking in fruitless attempts to move his hand out from under it. “I can’t do that.”
“Wh-wh—”
“It’s just something I have unfinished between me and your little boss, Moon. A complete, utter nobody, I’ll make him regret every scandal he attached to my name.” Jimmy stood up straight and wiped the back of his hand against his snout, dragging a smear of striking red blood across his white fur, matted with ash and soot. He brushed the dust off of his suit. “You wouldn’t understand—it’s just business. Don’t take it personally.”
He finally removed his foot from Johnny’s hand and it instantly moved to flex it and try and rid itself of the pain—instead, burning agony shot up his arm and he had to clench his teeth not to scream. His hand shook uncontrollably.
“Just know that this? This isn’t my doing.” He gave Johnny a casual, rather sickening smile. “Blame Moon—that loser is the one who ruined everything I had.”
“Mr. Moon—” He managed to gasp out, and felt the small move of his chest briefly heaving out for breath send the feeling of a thousand knives stabbing into his body like white, searing torture. “—is m-more of a hero… th-than you’ll ever be.” His shaking hand trembled as it slowly clenched into a weak fist.
“… let’s see if you still think that once you’re dead and gone.” Crystal then turned and leaving Johnny crushed underneath the wired concrete, ran off, limping and stumbling towards the still-open exit.
Johnny had never been more terrified in his life—he whimpered as he tried to move himself out from under the crushing weight to no avail, his nails burying themselves into the rubble and dirt underneath him as he struggled—his back hurt so bad, felt like a beast clawing and tearing at his insides, as if something sharp had impaled his body.
Coughs and wheezes tore through his torso and limbs, sending stabs of agony like a searing, hot knife. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe—
He was going to die.
…
For Marcus, it was the longest five minutes of his entire life.
He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance of the theater, surrounded completely by flames at this point, his heart almost beating out of his chest. Stan was the one barely holding him back from running inside and finding his son.
His son.
“It’s been a whole five minutes and he’s not back.” Marcus blurted out—he barely heard Meena sobbing in the background, some of them brokenly calling out for Johnny, others actually trying to fight to get in there.
“H-he should have been back by now.” Buster said, the panic rising his voice to the edge. “Why isn’t he back—”
“I need to get in there, goddammit—” Nooshy cried out as Ash held her back as much as she could. “He’s going to die in there if he’s not back soon!”
The theater building dangerously groaned and more glass and debris came raining down onto the pavement, sending everyone screaming once again. Everyone had managed to evacuate at this point, all except for Johnny and Jimmy Crystal, who were both nowhere to be found.
“There! There’s Jimmy Crystal!” Someone—a tiger, he presumed—shouted and pointed at someone emerging from the flames, limping along on his two legs. Paramedics rushed to him immediately.
“… where’s Johnny?” The words left Marcus as nothing above a whisper, feeling suddenly numb and dumbfounded. If Johnny had gone in to save Crystal, but Crystal had come back out on his own without him, then—
A deafening crash interrupted his thoughts and everyone looked up to see the bottom of the building crumbling into pieces, massive cracks cascading over the marble walls with lightning speed—the cracks gave in the walls began to break, bringing the entire theater down with them as the flames erupted from the doors and windows, thundering the grounds around them. The smoke rushed towards them like a sandstorm and everyone held onto each other, eyes screwing shut as they turned their heads away from the explosion that echoed terribly like a god’s cry of anguish, the heat beating at their faces.
There was a terrible ringing and for a short second, Marcus couldn’t hear anything—but then it started to clear, little by little, and he caught sounds of sirens, shouts, cries, screams, and sobs. Animals around them were huddled about, staring at the horrendous scene ahead of them. Marcus looked too… and his heart dropped.
What used to be Crystal Theater was now a massive pile of rubble and debris, dust clouding and flames engulfing the mess that stood instead in its place.
“… Johnny. Johnny!” He inhaled sharply and near burst into a coughing fit from the sudden mass of hot air that burned his throat, which he managed to stifle. ”Johnny!”
“Everybody, stand back!” An officer was saying, trying to hold everyone away from the fallen, burning wreckage—but Marcus couldn’t care. He didn’t care about his own safety, or others, for that matter, more than he cared about his only son’s.
His only son, who was buried somewhere in all those ruins—battered, burned, bruised, wounded, or maybe even…
“My son’s in there!” He blurted out, his voice cracking as he forced himself forward, pushing past the crowd. “Get outta the way, my son’s in there!” He could feel the chill in his blood, coldness bringing the synapses of his brain to a stand still. He was almost hurting from the consistent thundering of his heart in his chest and it was becoming almost unbearable—and he knew it wasn’t something that would subside unless he found Johnny.
Thanks for believin’ in me, dad.
Those words that Johnny had said to him with the tiniest smile before disappearing into the theater.
He really had meant it, hadn’t he?
He remembered back to the days when he wanted his own son to grow up to be just like him, just like his uncles—it had been late when he realized how much of a terrible person he actually was, and how even more terrible he must have been in Johnny’s life as a father.
Marcus had tried to do everything to force him to be something that Johnny didn’t want to do, kept him shadowed from what he had the potential to do this whole time…
Albeit, Johnny had fought his way out of that shadow on his own and without Marcus’ help, had come this far to become a shining star.
Marcus should have believed in him sooner.
He watched through a blur as the fire slowly died down from the spray of hoses onto the broken, dust-settled debris, the heat dying down as Marcus approached the rubble, pushing forcefully through the crowd of animals. He noticed the rest of the Moon theater cast following behind him, right on his tail, just as desperate as he was.
The police and paramedics failed to keep them back from the rubble any longer, and the search for Johnny finally began—they all began digging within the debris, piece by piece and wire by wire, huge fragments of walls lifted and disposed of. Marcus’ hands were cut, scraped, abraised, but he couldn’t care any less.
Hours and hours of searching went by, and yet the center of the city still glowed with red and blue flashing lights, and the screams of powerful sirens. The search crew had been looking for Johnny’s body, dead or alive, for too long for comfort. The group continued to search for them, hoarse voices calling for his name, broken and throats swollen.
“Oh god, oh god, I found him, h-he’s here—” Meena’s wail alerted everyone in less than a second—Marcus had never moved so quickly from one place to another.
“Where is he? Where’s Johnny?” He barked out as he pushed past a couple of Johnny’s friends and stopped beside Buster Moon; the sight in front of him tore him to pieces.
There Johnny was, completely motionless with his eyes glazed and glassy, sprawled underneath a huge chunk of concrete of what seemed to be what once was the lobby ceiling, a mess of blood absolutely everywhere. The show makeup and the paint he had had on his face was matted and erased here and there, lines of crimson across the skin and fur in their wake—burns and charred fur covered his cheeks and the arms outstretched at the sides of his head. One of his hands seemed clearly crushed and broken, half-folded fingers bruised and bloody.
He looked dead.
He looked dead and it was terrifying.
Marcus wasted no time in grabbing the huge piece of debris, hooking his fingers onto the bottom of it as he tried his utter best not to spiral into a panic. He grunted as he lifted it—the others soon joined in without a word, the shock of seeing their friend in such a state having struck them to the core.
Without too much effort, all of them together managed to lift the piece of the ceiling off of him and Marcus threw it completely aside with a loud groan. He then immediately dropped down to his knees beside his son onto the earth, soot, and dust underneath him, coloring his community service clothes a charcoal black. A burnt odor filled his nose as both his hands hovered helplessly over Johnny’s battered, motionless body, unknown of what to do.
There had been a jagged piece of steel wire that had completely impaled Johnny’s side near his back—and now was the white jagged end of a broken bone, presumably a rib, cutting through the skin and blood having run in thick scarlet rivers over his side. The wound was sliced in the flesh of his lower stomach, heavily having oozed out blood, some of it already having crusted in his clothes and the ground beneath him. One of his legs seemed twisted into an angle that just wasn’t supposed to be. His clothes were charred and burnt. The blood stained his cheek and his costume, his hands, trailed down from the corner of his lip—red, red, red.
An invisible hand clasped over Marcus’ mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline pierced his heart, unloading in an instant. He felt his ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate his lungs. His head was a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing his mind into blackness. He wanted to run; he needed to freeze. Sounds that were near felt far away, like he was no longer in the body that sat almost paralyzed on the bloody earth.
“Johnny.”
His shaking hand finally moved to rest against, gently, on top of his son’s head, touching what was once soft, glistening fur now a matted, blood-tangled mess. He stroked his hair, thumb briefly brushing over his ear, which was also painted crimson.
“Johnny, get up. I know you’re still there somewhere.”
No response.
“Johnny…”
“… da…”
Marcus froze—Johnny’s eyes, which had been glazed over earlier, were wearily looking up towards him without any focus. Unshed tears were running down from his eyes across his cheek, which were now threatening to close with each jittered blink.
“Johnny, y-you’re alrigh’—you’re, you’re—” Marcus carefully cradled Johnny’s head in his hands, careful not to accidentally hurt him. “—thank god, I-I was startin’ to think you were—”
“Da, i-it hurts…”
“I know my boy, I know—help is comin’, the paramedics are on their way here right now, just hold on a lil’ longer—”
But it was almost as if Johnny couldn’t hear him; the little focus that had previously been there had started to fade away, the small light in his eyes starting to die.
He was fading away.
“…no, no, wait, Johnny, listen to me—” Marcus looked around at the others surrounding them for help. Nooshy, bursting into a broken, choked sob, hurried away to get to the paramedics who were busily trying to unfold a stretcher. Meena followed her suit. “Johnny, y-ya can’t do this to me, y—” He choked on his words and tears started to blur his vision as he turned his head. “Get here quicker, ya bloody fuckin’ paramedics, what the hell is takin’ you so long—”
“Marcus.” Buster’s gentle voice didn’t do anything to deter him. “Marcus—”
“Johnny, Johnny, don’t do this to me, don’t you—” Marcus swallowed the huge lump in his throat, begging, praying that whatever god was up there kept his son alive. Whatever it takes, whatever it takes. It could be him instead, just please…
Whatever it takes.
His son was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.
So without uttering another word, he gently cradled Johnny in his arms, watching as the life slowly drained out of him little by little. Watching him fade away from the world that had raised him to be the deserved star and hero he had grown up to be, and Marcus couldn’t help but hear that inner voice, screaming at him continuously, incessantly—
—that it should have been him.
“… da, I…”
“I’m here, Johnny boy.”
His chest painfully moved as he struggled to get the words out, straining with his breath every small inhale. Marcus waited, his heart being torn apart knowing the sound of what he knew to be Johnny’s last breaths more agonizing than any torture he’d ever been through.
“… ‘m sorry.”
And before Marcus could tell him that it was alright, that he forgave him, that there was nothing to be sorry for and that he had no fault and if there was anyone to blame it was his own self… the final exhale, the final breath left Johnny’s lips and his head slightly lolled to the side as his eyes completely glazed over, his body growing limp in Marcus’ arms.
A terrible chill ran up his spine and he felt numb, like someone had trapped him in a lake of ice. “… Johnny? Johnny.” Marcus slightly shook the boy in his arms.
“Marcus…” Buster’s voice said meekly from behind him, broken and sounding as if he were about to choke any second.
“Johnny, get up. Get up, Johnny.” He tried shaking his son one more time to no avail. “Johnny, Johnny—”
And then Marcus cradled his son’s dead body in his arms and sobbed, crying like he never had before, crying in a way he would have never dared to have done in front of Johnny for years, screams of bloody murder and anguish and grief and the rage and the sadness that was ripping his heart apart into shreds, tearing at his insides.
One last time, those brown eyes—his mother’s eyes—had opened. And one last time, Johnny spoke.
His Heart On His Sleeve (Johnny & Buster Hurt/Comfort Fic)
… or, buster finds johnny crying at the theater at night and offers him some useful advice along with a friendly reminder.
it’ll be my first time showing you guys any of my actual writing, but here it is! (by the way this is not a ship oneshot, nada, nothing like that. just some father/son bonding.)
also, i am currently dying for a good johnny angst prompt at the moment (really, any type of angst is fine) so if you guys have any ideas for one, please let me know?
Before everything, Buster Moon didn’t remember having many animals within his life.
He remembered his father — his kind, warm-hearted father — who had died several years after buying Buster the local theater with the money he had saved up, penny by penny through the carwash. That every penny, every car his dad ever washed, had been a step closer, a token for Buster’s dream-come-true.
For years after his father’s death, Buster had been hard at work within the show business; with the little money he had, he kept a wide smile plastered on his face and his feet running. Put on the shows he was just certain would be the breakthrough of his career. No matter how battered and bruised he got, he rose back to his feet in seconds. He strived to live up to the theater’s name. Strived to dream big dreams. Strived to make his dad proud.
And at the end of a long journey, he finally had.
Buster Moon sat at his desk inside his homey little office, the theater so eerily quiet as everyone had retreated home hours ago. The practice rooms and the stage were empty now, but there was a sense of comfort knowing that they would again light up with music tomorrow, and the day after.
Tonight, stars shone as sugar spilt over black marble, glistening in the sun. The night sky was such a welcome sight, appearing like magic at each sunset, promising to return as it faded in dawn’s first light. There were times in the daytime, under skies of blue, Buster would think of those faraway stars and how they’d return after the shadows blended into the dark.
They rose up from the dust every night and they shone like the stars they were born to be.
Buster stood on his tiptoes — and when that wasn’t high enough, did a little hop — to shut the lights off in his office and with his keys, safely locked the door with the help of a small stool sitting at the side. Humming a happy tune, he gave Ms. Crawly’s desk a fond look before turning the lights off in that room too.
Buster made his way down the flight of stairs that led to the entire backstage of a theater — a place he wouldn’t hesitate to call home, honestly. Sometimes he couldn’t really believe that he had managed to come this far; for years he had been labeled as “crazy, mad, a danger to society, a disgrace to the world of theater production”… now he was Buster Moon, named best showman and show producer of all of Calatonia. He couldn’t have been more proud of his cast and his new found family, they were everything to him and he couldn’t see himself being able to throw any of that away.
He hopped down the final several steps of stairs and checked the time: it was almost past twelve thirty and Buster knew he had to head back inside his living area above the theater soon for a “good night’s sleep and another great day’s work.” And he was just about to do that when his feet were stopped by the sound of an awfully familiar sob. And then there was someone sniffling and choking back their tears, and a weak cough.
Buster followed the sound, looking for the source of the noise — and as soon as he turned the corner towards the backstage rehearsal rooms, the sight he saw just simply broke his heart.
Johnny — kind, caring, talented Johnny — was sitting perched upon one of the wooden steps that led up to one of the rooms, his worn skateboard by his side, while hugging his knees to his chest and his cheek resting on top of it, seeming to try too hard to keep his sobs to a minimum. His shoulders were hunched and shaking, his whole form was trembling entirely. Between seconds he’d break into sobs before he caught himself again and tried to stop, but was having a hard time doing so.
“Johnny?”
The noises were immediately swallowed by an uncomfortable, forced silence. His broad shoulders stopped lurching with every sob but Buster could make out the frames of both his hands, slightly trembling in his wake.
“Johnny, is that you?”
“M-mr. Moon!” Johnny scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over one of the standing props, and Buster winced as his foot bumped against the metal costume rack on the side. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Ah, I was just about to shut her down for the night and return to my humble abode.” He gave one of the wooden pillars on the side of the backstage area a firm pat, the tiniest smile of pride on his face. “Johnny, I thought you left hours ago. It’s past midnight.”
“Oh, yeah, uh, I did, but… I-I left my skateboard down by the parking lot… and I didn’t want it to get lost.” Buster watched as Johnny’s eyes nervously darted away from his own, suddenly seeming very interested in the clock on the wall.
“… well, if you came to get your skateboard at the parking lot, how come you’re inside the theater?”
Johnny’s mouth opened as if to answer, but all that escaped past his lips was a sharp inhale and nothing else. Eventually he closed it without a word.
“… ‘s cold outside.” It seemed to be the best answer Johnny could come with at the moment.
“Is there a reason you’re upset?”
“Upset? Why would — why would you think tha’ I’m upset?” He nearly stumbled on his words and he slightly froze up when Buster fixed his eyes on him with a tentatively raised brow. “… just got sum’ dust in my eye, ‘s all.” He said, his voice barely a mumble as he gingerly lifted his arm to wipe his eye on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
Buster carefully made his way up to the much bigger mammal and sat himself on the empty seat beside him on the short flight of wooden steps. He gently patted the area next to him, and Johnny slowly sat back down. The stair slightly creaked underneath his bigger weight.
“So, why exactly are you upset, hmm?”
“But ‘m fine.”
“Johnny.”
The gorilla didn’t say anything for a long time, and Buster patiently waited. He wasn’t going to do anything else to pressure the poor kid, as he already seemed pressured enough by some sort of weight or burden he couldn’t make out. But he knew that whatever it was he had to get it out of Johnny, even if it took him the entire night.
“Mr. Moon,” Johnny finally said after what seemed like almost ten minutes, and Buster noticed the tremor in his voice. “… could you keep a secret?”
“Of course — swear it on New Moon Theater.”
Still, Johnny seemed to be hesitant to tell him whatever was troubling him so much — his brows were furrowed into a scrunched-up frown, almost as if thinking was hurting him, his finger tapping nervously against the knee of his worn jeans, lips pursed into a bit of a line. Occasionally he’d open his mouth slightly to chew down on his bottom lip, his canine poking against his skin.
Buster gently cleared his throat. “It’ll all be easier if you talk to me.”
“I know, I know that, but…” Johnny then groaned and put his hands over his face — it wasn’t long until Buster heard a quiet, restrained sniff from him and a silent mutter of ‘sorry’. And Buster gave him all the time he needed, sitting next to the gorilla who was much bigger than him in comparison but seemed so small at the moment, seen at his most vulnerable state.
“… before the concert and everything, well… something happened between me and m’dad.”
Johnny didn’t continue for a while and Buster patiently waited until he was ready to talk.
“… see, well, my dad — h-he’s not like most dads, he’s…” And then Johnny mumbled something barely under his breath, too quiet to hear even under the complete silence of the theater.
“What’s that, Johnny?”
“… a gang leader.” And then Johnny hung his head, looking as if he were about to cry, like a scolded child who had done the most terrible thing.
Buster thought back to the day of the theater flood disaster (a day he didn’t really want to recall but his mind made him anyway) and he thought of the front headlines of the newspaper Johnny had been holding, sitting on that very flight of stairs they were on right now—he had pretended not to notice back then, but the thing was… he had.
“GANG LEADER ARRESTED.” Big, bold letters printed across the very front page, right above a picture of a rather huge gorilla’s mugshot which took up about more than half the page. Of course, back then, Buster hadn’t given it much thought — but maybe he should have.
“So…?”
Johnny turned to him, the look instantly vanishing from his face to be replaced by one with complete confusion and what seemed to almost be frustration. “… so? Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”
Buster let out a quiet chuckle. “Johnny, give me one good reason why I should be scared of you.”
“Well, I did just admit to being the son of a mob leader, didn’t I?”
“And is that supposed to be the good reason?” In response, Johnny dropped his gaze to the ground almost shamefully and simply shrugged. “Johnny, if you believe that what you said is going to change my mind about what a brilliant kid you are, you might want to rethink that.”
“… really? And you’re not just sayin’ that to make me feel better?” Johnny asked carefully, moving his eyes off the wooden floorboards briefly towards Buster.
“I promise.”
For a moment, Buster could see the flash of a smile on Johnny’s face but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“… but I can tell that that’s not really the thing that’s troubling you here.”
“Well, it’s just…” Johnny lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, something Buster had noticed as a habit of his from quite a while ago. “… after my dad was, um, arrested —” He glanced at Buster and only slightly relaxed after Buster gave him a little nod. “— I’ve been tryin’ to work to get the bail money for him and my uncles. They told me it’s 50,000 dollars per person, a-and —”
“Woah woah woah, hold up.” Buster interrupted. “50,000 dollars per person? So —”
“150,000 dollars in total, yeah. At least, tha’s what they told me.” Johnny’s foot shifted uncomfortably against the wooden floor. “I-it’s quite much, I know.”
“It’stoo much.” Buster found his finger tapping nervously against his own knee. “And… how are you going to get all of that money?”
“I was initially plannin’ to use the 100,000 dollars for the singing contest if I could, but —” Johnny froze and stopped midsentence, noticing late what words had left his mouth. “… Mr. Moon, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to —”
“Hey, don’t — it’s okay. That… that’s a huge mistake on my side. Not one of my proudest moments, but… it’s what brought me here, isn’t it? I try to think of it that way.” Buster merely gave him a smile. “Anyways, go on.”
Johnny didn’t seem too sure of himself but continued anyways, seeming to grow more nervous by the second. “… I opened up my dad’s car repair business again, it’s bringin’ me an occasional few hundred bucks every week, but I’m tryna pay for all the expenses and the food, and the water and electricity bill and it really isn’t leavin’ me with anythin’… so I figured that I would be able to earn a little more with a part-time job.”
“Johnny, you balance your dad’s car repair business and a part-time job with theater practice?”
Johnny bit back down on his lip. “Actually, it’s two jobs… one didn’t really make the cut.”
“Two part-time jobs — where?”
“… one at a bar as a waiter and the other as a cashier at the supermarket.”
“Johnny, I…” Buster was at a loss for words. One major job as a cast in the theater was enough. Maintaining a business along with that was tiresome. Another part-time job to that was gruesome. But another? Buster couldn’t possibly see Johnny getting any time to sleep or eat at all — was he even doing that? “… Johnny, this is way too much for you. You can’t balance three jobs and a garage business altogether — that’s just impossible.”
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Moon, I really shouldn’t have told you all this.” Once again Johnny was reduced into what seemed like a reprimanded child, suddenly looking down to avert Buster’s eyes altogether.
“No, Johnny, it’s just… how do your shifts go?”
“… I work as a cashier from seven to eleven thirty after I leave the theater.” Johnny quietly admitted. “And then I head over to the bar and work the night shift from twelve… until five.”
“Do you even get any time to sleep?”
Johnny drummed his fingers nervously against his lap for a while without answering before eventually he opened his mouth. “I mean, yeah… about two to three hours. B-but I have coffee and energy drinks every mornin’.”
Buster always greeted every one of his cast with the widest smile and sometimes the occasional hugs. Johnny had been no exception — but now that Buster took a better, more careful look at the young gorilla, he looked terrible; the skin of his face looked a tad bit clammier, lips chapped, and the dark circles underneath his eyes were quite clearly noticeable. It made Buster think if he had possibly been the last one to notice when he should have been the first — and he felt absolutely awful.
“Johnny, this… all this… you shouldn’t have to be doing all of it. It’s too much for you.”
“But, Mr. Moon… he’s my dad.”
“And you’re just a kid. You don’t need to work so hard to be earning any sort of bail money. That’s not something a kid should be doing.”
“But…”
“You shouldn’t have to be working more than one job to try and pay your bills and to free your dad and your uncles from jail — you should be going to school, getting good grades, making friends, going out with them with that skateboard of yours, going to parties and having fun and whatever kids do these days! This… this just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Mr. Moon…” Johnny swallowed, lifting his head to look ahead of him without much of a focus. “He might be a criminal and I know he is servin’ his sentence there in jail… but it’s too long. It’s gunna be years of me without him, and… a-and for almost forever, he’s really all I’ve had. I love ‘im, and… I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life in a cell. It scares me so, so much — thinking I’ll have to be… alone. Without my dad.” He again rubbed the back of his neck, but the touch seemed almost like an act of a cocked gun — ready to spring at a given chance. “… I just want to give ‘im a chance. I want him out, Mr. Moon. But…”
Johnny lifted his hand to move it over his mouth, as if trying to choke back on his own words. Buster then realized that there were tears gathering in Johnny’s eyes and they finally gave in, sliding down his cheek and eventually across his already-damp fur.
“It’s just so hard.”
His voice just broke right then and there, cracking with pressure — and it just tore Buster apart. “I feel like… like everything’s being ripped apart, and it hurts so bad that i-it’s like, like somethin’s tryna choke me.” He rambled on. “I’m tryin’, I swear, to try and make it alright, b-but sometimes I feel like something squeezing me and I just can’t breathe, a-and my hands don’t stop shaking, I try to stop but my heart just feels like it’s going to explode, and sometimes I get so scared because it just feels like I’m dying —” Johnny glanced sideways towards Buster, a look of a scolded child etched across his face and a glint of panic flashing across his features. “… I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m just really scared.” He released a very shaky breath, eyes downcast.
“Johnny, what is there to be scared of?”
The gorilla hesitated answering before opening his mouth to reply. “… of bein’ alone. Without family.” He sniffled again and wiped the corner of his eye. “Sorry.”
“… Johnny, we don’t apologize for being afraid.” Buster said quietly. “Being afraid isn’t something to be ashamed of — it’s what makes us strong enough to fight against what we face.”
He lifted his eyes from the floor. “Wh-wha’ do you mean by that?”
Buster stayed quiet for a little while. “… after my father passed away, I didn’t know what to do. Growing up, he was the only one who really believed in me.” He shrugged and gave Johnny a tiny smile — Johnny didn’t quite return it. “He was all I ever really had.”
Buster took out his old wallet from his back pocket (he ought to buy another one pretty soon) and carefully opened the folds of leather, slipping out an old photograph. Johnny finally removed his eyes from simply watching space as the photo caught his attention.
In the photo was a young koala being held by an older one, both of them wearing huge smiles on their faces. They both looked carefree. Happy.
“This was my father.” Buster said quietly, keeping the smile as he handed Johnny the photo, knowing he’d handle it with care — without a word, Johnny took the small photo from him and gingerly held it between both his thumbs and index fingers with both hands. “He was caring, and oh, so warm-hearted, made the worst jokes… but most of all, he was hardworking. Very diligent. Set his mind on something, there was no turning back. He wouldn’t stop until he had accomplished what he had decided to do. And for him, it was earning enough money for me to be able to call this place Moon Theater. A theater of my own.”
Johnny spoke for the first time in a while. “He sounds like a wonderful person.”
“He was, he really was.” Buster watched as Johnny gently moved his thumb over the grayish worn image of his own father. “After he was gone, leaving me this theater… everything seemed so lost. I had had tons of plans on what I was going to do, what type of shows I was going to produce, what I’d do for the theater and how I’d improve on it for more and more shows… I had all planned it for him. With my father gone, it just all seemed fruitless… if that makes sense.” He let out a weak chuckle, and Johnny shifted uncomfortably at Buster’s side, holding the small photo loosely between his fingers on his lap.
“I mourned for a while, couldn’t really get back up on my feet. Believe me, I was a complete mess. The feeling of loss, it was just too much. The notion of having to go on without him, all on my own, it just really… really got to me, y’know? It scared me. He had been my guide my entire life, knew what the right decisions were — I didn’t know if I would be able to follow his footsteps and do the same. I was just… Buster Moon at the time. I wasn’t anything else.”
“But you are more than that, Mr. Moon.” Johnny said softly, the volume of his voice slightly raised than before. “You’re… you’re passionate, you’re enthusiastic, and you always see the best in us. Saw the best in all of us, didn’t you? I think…” He cleared his throat. “… I think you’re a millenia more beyond just your name.”
Buster couldn’t help but crack a smile at Johnny’s sincerity — he could see it through the kid’s eyes. “Thank you, Johnny. Means a lot hearing it from you, you know?”
Johnny offered Buster a tiny smile — small, but nonetheless a smile. It soon faltered, however, as a look of deep thought overcame his face, the canines biting into his lip again. “So… how did you overcome it?”
“Not gonna lie, Johnny… it was hard keeping my head on straight and trying to maintain the theater business, let it live up to its name. It was my pride, it was my father’s pride. Every day there would be instances where I had to avert what I didn’t want to face — things that I didn’t have the confidence to face on my own. Well, until…” Buster gave Johnny a little nudge against his arm, although it was nothing merely more than a small poke. “… until I had the greatest luck of being able to find the greatest, most talented cast members I could ever ask for.”
Johnny chuckled. “Really?”
“Yes, really — never thought I knew it, but… I guess all I needed was a new family to help me get by.” Buster hummed throughtfully. “It started with my father, of course. But after you guys came along? I’ve been the happiest koala in the history of koalas.”
Johnny smiled. “A found family.”
Buster nodded in return, placing his much, much smaller paw onto Johnny’s hand. “A found family. A found family that will support you no matter what, with anything you need. That’s what helps to overcome fear, Johnny. Because with people like us by your side? I can promise this — you’ll never be alone. Never in a million years. Because sometimes,” Buster nodded towards the photo, still in between Johnny’s fingers. “things that you think scare you, can become your motivation to find what you’ve lost. It’s always somewhere out there — you’re just not looking in the right places.”
The gorilla flicked his gaze downward towards the small photograph he had still been holding — he carefully handed it back to Buster. “I guess I haven’t really thought of lookin’.”
“Well, now you know where to start looking, don’t you? It’s like I always say — Moon Theater is the solution to every problem.”
“You never say that.”
“Eh, it’s worth a try.” Buster shrugged as he got to his feet, tucking his wallet back into his pocket and lightly dusting his suit before turning to the gorilla. “Johnny, I mean it when I say this — your health and well-being comes first. Two part-time jobs is just way too much, one seems more than enough.”
“But then what about the bail money —”
“Bail money comes after your health and well-being, of course. Johnny… you don’t have to do this all on your own, alright? Remember you have a family to look towards.”
Johnny shrugged and rubbed his arm with his other hand. “Well, I dunno…”
“I’m sure everyone would love to help you if you just get yourself to open up to them.”
“You mean… tell them about my dad?” Johnny slightly winced and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Yes, what else would it be?”
“But Mr. Moon, I-I don’t think it’s a good idea, I mean — Ash is still dealing with that ex-boyfriend of hers, Rosita is already busy with twenty-five kids, and I’m really sure Meena wouldn’t really like to know that I have a personal blood connection with a crimi —”
“Johnny, what you told me today hasn’t changed my view on you a tiny bit — there is not a bad bone in you whatsoever that tells me you’re anything close to a criminal… or any gang member, for that matter. You’re gentle, kind, caring and talented and soulful… kid, I could go on forever and ever. And knowing our cast,” Buster gave Johnny’s arm a gentle pat. “I’m sure they won’t think any differently.”
“… thank you, Mr. Moon. Really, I appreciate it. I… I really needed to hear all of this today.” Buster watched as Johnny’s tense shoulders finally seemed to relax, the look of relief spreading across his features. “Feels good to, y’know… be able to talk to someone.”
“Anytime, Johnny — now, promise me you’ll try to give yourself more time for yourself?”
“Yeah, promise.”
“Well, it’s getting late — do you maybe want a cup of hot chocolate before you go?”
The way Johnny’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas day at the mere mention of hot chocolate sent Buster into chuckles.
“Really, hot chocolate?”
“I bought an entire stash of it after I saw you kids last week emptying three thermos of it each in the rehearsal rooms.”
“… if it’s not much trouble, Mr. Moon —”
Buster laughed and set off to find Johnny a clean mug and the hot chocolate mix he had stowed away somewhere in his cupboard.
