William had been in the back of the bank looking at his private lock box that not even his parents knew about. He kept his head down and even put headphones in, trying to make himself almost invisible to the world so no one asked what he had there.
Unfortunately for William, he had always been one to play his music loudly, to the point where he didn’t realize the shouting happening in the background and he had chalked the lights going out up to a black out and nothing more. He was counting his lucky stars that someone grabbed his wrist and began guiding him away from the crime transpiring just yards away.
Well, at least, he would have been if he didn’t think he was being tugged away by some stranger for no apparent reason.
“Hey, what are you doing? Hey! Stop!” he argued, ripping his headphones out as the moved through the threshold of the bathroom. The sounds of shouting finally echoed in his ears and he realized there were more questions that he had no answers to.
As he was pushed into the stall and had a finger shoved to his lips, William finally shut up.
He swallowed thickly and actually looked at the man for the first time, eyes widening slightly in recognition. “Sylvester?” he breathed, using the other’s full name as they’ve only met on a formal basis.
“What’s going on?” he questioned in a hushed tone. Though, as the other asked him to be quiet, he nodded a confirmation.
The fact he was recognised was, in a way, far more surprising than the robbery going on. How many robberies had he stopped in his career up to this point? Given he’d been a hero for more than a decade now, it was almost impossible to figure it out.
But William Murphy remembering him? Totally a once in a lifetime thing. He almost wanted to ask a million questions like how do you remember me and did I make an impression on you man and did I look as obsessed with Nirvana as I was?, but now was clearly not the right time.
When he found his words, they came out in a whisper, and only after he nodded his head to confirm that he was, in fact, the idiot grunge kid with the unfortunate 1940′s name. “Yeah, it’s me. Hi.
“But uh, right now the bank’s being robbed.” He crinkled his nose. “Sorry. I should’ve led with that. But you gotta” -- moving around, Syl brought the cover to the toilet seat down and gestured at it -- “I need you to crouch on this and be as quiet as you can. I’m gonna pretend I’m alone, and you just stay in here and be as calm as possible.
“...just trust me, okay? I got this.”
And with that, he was out of the stall. As predicted, the bathroom was picked at, a gruff voice called out to them, and Syl took in a deep breath before the sound of the door opening was heard. He pretended to be scared, stumbling over his words as he made up this bullshit story about how he was all alone, he swore, but he did hear the shouting, and it was so scary, he swore!
A pair of boots appeared in the gap between the stall walls and the floor, and it was evident that the stall was being checked for anyone being inside. Syl kept rambling, but all the same the door opened a half-inch...
Then there was the sound of a fist meeting someone's jaw, the sound of the gun clattering to the floor, and a heavy thud as the man's body fell onto the floor. There was some shuffling noises, and in the end Syl was picking the gun up and tucking it into the back of his trousers (hesitantly). Then he knocked twice on the stall door. “All right, it’s safe. Come on outta there.”
