#sigh gonna cry while drinking my milkshake and sit in the corner in the dark

[reddamselette]

was craving a burger and milkshake and then thought abt forever partners jean and neil so enjoy a drabble as i eat my burger and drink my milkshake

“You said we were getting food,” Jean starts as he stands outside the entrance, eyes flicking around before settling on Neil looking at him expectantly. “What is this?”

“Food.” Neil pulls the door open, holding it for Jean and tilts his head, urging the other to walk inside.

It’s late, nearing midnight on a Friday night. Neil wasn’t at all keen on cooking, the laziness weighed down on his bones and he’s hungry. It’s not ideal to stand around and wait for the food to heat up and season and the like so, with a craving for bubbly soda and burgers, he bothered Jean until he got an answer.

As they stand in line waiting, other locals having the same idea or a penchant for fast food, he watches as Jean surveys the brightly lit menu hanging on the wall. He didn’t tell Jean exactly where he was taking them to eat, already knowing the complaints and comment he’d get if he told the truth.

It isn’t a lie, really. But rather, simply hiding something from the man.

“Neil,” Jean murmurs and turns to him with a deadpan expression. A furrow to his brows that nearly makes Neil want to smile. He really does enjoy messing with him. “This is junk.”

They step forward in line as Neil shrugs. “No. Junk is chips and chocolate. What we have here is burgers, sandwiches, and fries.”

“I will hit you.”

“Hit me after we order and sit down.”

After several minutes of waiting—with Jean muttering a line of colorful threats in French and Neil all but unaffected—they finally order their meals.

Or rather, more accurately, Neil orders for Jean seeing as he refused countless times and stubbornly glared at the poor cashier. Although, he knows better. With each time Jean glanced at the menu, gray eyes always found the drink section and if Neil had to guess, it was most likely the milkshakes. Sugary sweet vanilla with whipped cream and an added cherry to top it off.

Once it’s paid for and they grab their trays, he and Jean move towards a booth near the window. Jean sits on the other side as Neil takes the seat facing the door.

Neil breaks the straw through the paper, placing it on the corner of his tray as he sticks the straw into his soda that clinks with ice. As he sips his drink, Jean is staring at the wrapped food in front of him, a thin line of his lips like he’s unsure what to eat first or where to start.

“Jean,” Neil says around the straw. “Your food is going to get cold if you keep staring at it.”

“I know that. I am..thinking.”

“Mm,” Neil hums in response and takes a mozzarella stick from a bag on his tray. He reaches over the table, an elbow supporting his weight and used as leverage.

Jean’s eyes flit up at Neil then at the piece of food he’s holding. “This is not remotely healthy.”

“You’ll run it off. Take a bite.” Jean sighs, shoulders slumping forward as if he’s asking himself what deed has he done to be cursed with Neil’s existence. Neil persists and says again, “Jean. Just take one bite. It’s not going to kill you.”

“I truly, deeply, hate you.” Jean leans forward and does as he’s told, a soft crunch fills the atmosphere and he sits back as he chews.

Satisfied, Neil sits back as well and opens up a little packet of marinara sauce to dip the rest of the piece and pop it into his mouth. “Sorry. I think I’m obligated to tell you that you’re not the first person to hate me.”

They settle into a silence after that. They each eat through their burgers, dip fries or mozzarella sticks or onion rings into sauces as people come and go.

Neil is halfway through his soda when Jean picks up the straw to idly twirl around his fingers.

“It’s going to melt.”

“Not if you drink it, stupid.”

“I would’ve been fine with water.

Neil shakes his head and takes the straw from Jean’s fingers to break the paper and slide it into the lid of the cup. He pushes it towards him, using the internal struggle of the other man to clean up whatever mess they made. By the end of it, he nudges Jean’s foot with his own. “I don’t want you to be just fine. You can have something you want, you know.”

Jean surrenders easily with that, taking a sip of his milkshake. “Not always.”

“Who’s telling you that?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, glancing out the window to watch the cars pass as it becomes later and later. “No one.”

“If you want something, tell me. Or don’t. I’ll always get it for you.”

Jean doesn’t look at him, too focused on the world outside by Neil feels Jean’s foot hook around his ankle. A silent gesture of a thank you and Neil leans back against the leather seat, taking his cup of soda into his hand.

[impala-dreamer]

Busted

SPN FanFic

~ You stumble home drunk one night with plans for the younger Winchester, but your stomach, and his feelings, have other ideas...~

Reader x Sam (ish), Dean

2,581 Words

Warnings: Excessive drinking, Cussing, A Wee Bit O'Angst, Vomit, Fluffy Finish.

A/N: This is my entry for Ang's 1K Celebration! @atc74​ Congrats Ang! My prompt was a line from one of my fave songs, "We've Got Tonight" by Bob Seger. It's in bold.

 It was late. Or possibly it was early. It really depended on how you looked at it and on which side of sleep you found yourself. All you knew as you walked up the hill towards the Bunker entrance was, the sun hadn't come up yet so there was a good chance you would find your friend tucked into a big, dusty book in the library.

The bar had been a bust. You’d gone out in search of a few drinks and a strapping lad to spend the night with. The drinks you had definitely found, in large quantity, but the choices on the male front had been less that appealing. After the fourth not so nice guy had grabbed your ass on the dance floor, you’d given up and set off back home. For some reason you couldn’t get your key to fit into the lock on your car, so you decided that walking was a better idea. It was a long walk back and most of it uphill, but the air was fresh and warm and you were drifting in a cloud of drunken happiness, swinging your arms and dancing most of the way home in the dark.

You were still feeling a little frisky though, and thoughts of the younger Winchester blossomed in your tequila soaked mind about all the ways you could release some tension with him. OK, so you’d never done more than flirt with Sam, but he was hot, and you were hot, maybe tonight you could be hot together. Hell, it was worth a shot.

You tried to be quiet, but the big metal door seemed a thousand pounds heavier tonight and it slammed shut behind you, knocking into your butt and pushing you forward.

“Y/N?”

Busted. But maybe not… Sam’s voice echoed up to you as he appeared in the archway separating the Library from the War Room. Damn he looks good. Classic plaid shirt that you couldn’t tell at the moment if it was gray or blue, and slightly baggy faded blue jeans that hung low on his hips… Perfect.  

“Sam!” You greeted him and leaned over the balcony railing, giving him a nice peek at your cleavage. Totally wore the right bra for this. Score.

“You OK?” He asked, smiling up at you, his eyes obviously lost in the valley of your breasts.

You winked, “I’m fantastical.” Sam laughed and shook his head as you turned with a twirl and made your way clumsily down the curved metal stairs. Midway down you missed a step, but caught yourself before your arrival was a total disaster. A princess gliding gracefully into the ball, you were not.

Sam met you at the landing, holding his hand out to help you. “Fun night, huh?”

“Nah, it was a bust.” You hopped down the last two steps and lost your balance yet again, tumbling into his arms. Blue shirt, my fave. He looked down at you and smiled shyly; your bodies were pressed together perfectly and his warmth radiated into you. For too long you stayed there, just looking up into his handsome face. “You’re pretty, you know that?”

His hands gripped your shoulders, making sure you were steady before he backed up slightly. Damn it.

“You are. You’re like a sunflower.” A what? Sam gave a tiny laugh and backed up some more. Don’t blow this Y/N! “I mean, not a sunflower, a lion. Yeah.” Stop talking. Now.

“You’re wasted,” he said as he released you and turned away. Fuck.

“I’m not that wasted Sam.” All or nothing, right? You reached for his arm, running your hand up over his big muscles and across his shoulder to rest against his neck. You moved to stand in front of him, not letting him turn away again. He looked back, his eyes filled with sadness suddenly. Say something good Y/N or he’s gone. Anything. Just say something!

“Sam, I know it’s late. I know you’re weary, I know your plans don’t include me…” Really? This is what you came up with? “Still, here we are!” You smiled, pumping as much emotion into your words as you could muster. “Both of us lonely. We’ve got tonight, dude… why don’t you… stay?” Classy Y/N, classy.

The look that appeared on Sam’s face was one that you had never seen before, nor would you be likely able to describe. His lips twitched. They seemed to be unsure whether to smile or not, so they bounced at the corners awkwardly; his jaw doing that tight clenching thing that made your knees weak. His eyebrows rose and fell rapidly, confused and amused and hurt all at once.

“Y/N,” he said softly, taking your hand and pulling it away from his neck, “I think you should get a glass of water and head to bed.”

You shook your head, “I’ll go to bed Sam,” you cooed, batting your lashes at him, “If you come with me.” Nice one. You placed your hand on his chest and leaned up, reaching for his lips with yours. He hesitated, bending his neck down towards you for a second before stumbling backwards and turning away again. Oh, shit! “Sam!” You reached for his hand but he waved you away and stalked out of the room without a word. You spun around, watching him leave, a band of hurt wrapping around your heart.

“God fucking damn it!” You barked, tossing your head back to yell at the ceiling. The lights flickered down at you as if to laugh at your mistake. You growled back at them, your wordless cry echoing into the emptiness.

“You alright Y/N/N?” Dean was just passing through, making his way back to bed with a midnight snack clutched in his hand. He stopped not far from you and looked you up and down.

“No. I’m an idiot,” you confessed and threw yourself down into a chair. Your shoulders slumped and you caved in on yourself, trying to hide like a scolded child.

Dean sighed and set his sandwich down on the table, taking the seat across from you. “What happened?”

You looked over at him, eyes narrowed, trying to decide whether or not to divulge your failed attempt at hitting on his brother. Why not? “I kinda… made a pass at Sam and he ran away.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, “I see.”

“Yeah, so there’s that. Fuck, I shoulda just stayed at the bar. Now shit’s gonna be awkward.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean laughed, sitting back in his seat. He crossed his arms and smiled at you, filled with some secret information you couldn’t guess at.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” You picked at your a fingernail, peeling away a bit of chipped polish. Why do I even bother getting fancied up? Makes no difference.

Dean shrugged, “He’s in love with you.”

I even put on mascara. I never do that. Maybe it’s smudged - Wait, what? Your ears and brain finally reconnected, and you looked up at Dean in shock. “Sam likes me?”

“Yeah, that’s included in the being in love with you part Y/N/N.” Dean smiled and picked up his sandwich, taking a bite while your brain turned over the new information.

“Sam likes me.” Whaaa? “Like, he likes me likes me likes me?”

Dean laughed, “What’s the third ‘likes me’ for? Yeah, he likes you, likes you. Has for a while. You didn’t notice?”

“Uh, no!” You tilted your head and looked around, your eyes darting into the void, trying to remember anything that would make you believe Dean was telling the truth. Sure, Sam was flirty with you, but that’s just how he was, wasn’t he? Kind and sympathetic, a good listener, helpful, always finding a way to touch your hand if he could, always smiling when you walked into the room… Holy. Shit. You really are an idiot Y/N. This whole damn time…

“But...OK, if he likes me then why did he run away?” You tried to stand up, but the room spun around a little bit and you sank back down into the hard chair. “I was gonna give him a little taste of my milkshake,” you finished with a pout.

Again Dean laughed at you, “You are the most ridiculous drunk, you know that?”

You whined, bouncing in your seat and frowning, “Yeah, but why? Where’d he go? I want the Sam.”

“He probably didn’t want his first night with you to be while you’re three sheets to the wind.”

“I’m not sheets, you’re sheets in the... I want… I hafta…” You tried to protest but a bubble was forming in your stomach, churning in your gut. Oh no. “But, love me? He loves me?”

Dean nodded, taking another bite and talking while he chewed, a bit of peanut butter clinging to his lip. “Yeah, like he talks about you constantly, wants to whisk you away to Paris and slip a ring on your finger, quit hunting and knock you up a few times loves you.”

That was a long sentence. “Quit hunting?”

“That's what you took away from that?” He shook his head, grinning at you.

The bubble was growing bigger and bigger and slowly it made its way up your throat, popping from your mouth in a very unladylike belch. Yuck. “I don't speak French, Dean.”

“So you like him too?”

You nodded, “I do. I do Dean!” You rose to your feet again, this time with amazing balance. Everything was clicking into place, Sam liked you, you realized you liked him. It was perfect. You paced around the table, your head in the clouds, a giant smile on your face. “I can’t believe how happy I am right now. I mean…” Another rumble echoed through your stomach, this one far worse than the first. Oh boy. Just ignore it, it’ll go away… “I always thought he was pretty, so pretty, ya know, like... he’s like a… like a….” Oh god, please no… Your throat closed, gagging you as a bit of sludge made it’s way up your esophagus. You took a deep breath to settle yourself.  

“Are you gonna tell him?” Dean asked, unaware of your impending tequila evacuation.  

“Mmmhmm. I should. Definitely...Ooh…” You swayed a bit on your feet, covering your mouth with one hand. Don’t do this. I beg you.

Dean stood up, coming towards you, concern filling his face. “Are you ok?”

You shook your head quickly, only making your situation worse. “I’m gonna puke.”

Dean cringed and backed away slowly, “Please don’t.”

You swallowed hard and took another calming breath, pushing down the bile. “I’m good, I’m good.” Phew! “You know what? I’m gonna go tell him right now. I’m gonna march down…” Oh crap…not again. Another loud burp manifested and tore through your closed lips. “I’m gonna march down that hallway…”

Dean held his hands out, ready to catch you as you swayed violently. “How much did you have to drink?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know like twelve thingies.” That’s a lot, right? Too much.

“That’s too much Y/N. Sit down, let me get you some water.” Dean tugged at your elbow, trying to lead you back to the chair.  

“Bachelorette parties drink for free on Wednesdays.” You said defensively, pulling your arm away from him.  

“You weren’t at a bachelorette party,” he said, placing both hands on your shoulders and trying to move you again.

You laughed and winked at him, “Yeah, but they didn’t know that.” A massive wave of sick passed over you and you bent at the waist, grabbing Dean’s arm for support as you sucked in a deep breath. Do not puke.

“I think I’m gonna go lay down,” you said finally, thanking Dean with a pat on his arm. “Good night dude.”

He said something in reply, something about bringing you some food, but you couldn’t hear him over your own thoughts as you rushed into the hallway towards your bed. Your mind raced between images of you and Sam running away together into the sunset and visions of you with your head resting against a toilet seat. You should go puke. You’ll feel better.

You agreed with yourself and changed course, heading for the bathroom instead of your bed. As you rounded the corner, you came face to face with the man himself, almost knocking into Sam in your haste.

“Hey,” he said, his voice was low and apologetic. “Listen, I wanted to… are you OK?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to silence your screaming insides and nodded, “I’m fine.” Stay cool Y/N.

The pained look on your face and the slightly green tinge of your cheeks gave you away. Sam sighed, concerned, but decided to continue anyway. “Can we talk? I need to tell you something.”

Of course you do. I love you too, Sam. You smiled and opened your mouth to reply, but the rolling tidal wave in your stomach was too much. You couldn’t wait any longer. “I need to tell you something too, but…” Mayday! “Right now…” Just run away, he’ll understand. You cannot puke in front of him! Not now. “I have to go.”

With a faint smile you twirled around him and took off for the bathroom. The booze was on it’s way up and you had to race to make it in time. Thankfully you held back until you reached the toilet and fell to your knees, expelling the burning liquid with painful heaves.

Just great. You sat back, wiping your mouth with a rolled up ball of paper. Of all nights to get wasted. But then again, if you hadn’t been so lubricated, you might not have tried to kiss him, and that’s what had set everything into motion. So, maybe twelve shots of tequila was a good thing. Nope. Never again.

The door opened with a faint creak and you looked up to see Sam coming in with a glass of water in his hand. Just perfect. How could this get any worse?

He came in and knelt down on the cold tile, holding the glass out to you. “Drink.”

You looked at him with the most pathetic expression on your face. “I’m sorry I jumped on you.”

He chuckled, “It’s OK. I’m kinda glad you did.” He pushed the glass at you again and you took it, taking a long sip of the cool water.

“Dean told me,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyes grew wide and he looked away, shaking his head. “Of course he did.”

You put the glass down beside you and lay your hand on his knee. “Me too,” you said simply.

 OK, so it wasn’t the most romantic way to express your feelings for each other, but it would make for quite the story down the road. Sam stayed with you for the rest of the night, holding your hair back and rubbing your shoulders as you let loose into the porcelain bowl. He practically carried you to bed, sweetly tucking you in and forcing another glass of water down your throat. He kissed your forehead and sat with you until you fell asleep, drifting off into a dream of a better day.

Tomorrow would be better. You’d probably have a massive hangover and cringe-worthy regrets of the things you said, but it would be better. Because you and Sam would finally get to have a little chat.  

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