(no subject)
Title: A Simple Choice
Prompt: 227 - vodka
Character/Pairing: Jimmy Novak/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.
Word Count: 642
Rating: T
Warnings: Boykisses, fluff, alcoholism.
Summary: You can't leave him alone for five minutes.
Note: I meant for this to be a higher rating, but the muses didn't want it to go that way.
He’d only left him alone for a few minutes, just so he could run down to the gas station and grab them something to snack on. Dean didn’t expect to come back to…this mess.
Somewhere in the five or ten minutes, Jimmy got into the stash of liquor Dean had hidden from him and drank ninety percent of the bottle of vodka he had. Thank god he didn’t get to the whiskey, but that was beside the point.
“Jesus Jimmy,” Dean mumbled as he shut the door to their room behind him, instantly putting down the plastic bag of food and bee lining to the man. He took the mostly empty bottle with a frown and said, “What the hell were you thinking? You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“Doing what?” Jimmy asked, eyes squinting as he moved closer into Dean’s personal space. He always reminded Dean with the little movements and mannerisms on occasion; this one only more so.
Shaking his head and putting the bottle down, the hunter observed the other man. He was missing the hoodie he was borrowing from Sam, along with his shoes and hair looked a mess. Jimmy look so normal in the black t-shirt and jeans that Dean would’ve never guessed the guy had been through the ringer these past days. Dean took a seat next to the once vessel on the worn couch, sighing petulantly.
“’S’wrong? Why d’you sound all sad? What’s wrong?”
Green eyes flicked to the side at the feeling of a hand on his cheek, finding Jimmy staring at him with full worry and concern written all over his face. “What’s wrong? I’m worry about one of my only friends drinking himself to the point of alcohol poisoning, that’s what!” He didn’t mean to yell at him, he really didn’t. That was just how it came out.
Jimmy inched closer and took Dean’s face in his hands, getting him to look at him fully and nodding. “But I’m fine. I’m fine. All fine, Dean.” He attempted a smile, but Dean wouldn’t have it. The guy never got it in his thick skull. Speaking from experience, Dean knew how hard things were and that the best way to deal was to numb everything, but this… Jimmy always jumped to extremes.
Plus, the guy was a total lightweight and always dealt with massive hangovers the following day.
“Look,” Dean lowered his voice to a softer tone, “I get it. I really do and this is the pot calling the kettle black, but…”
He didn’t get a chance to finish because Jimmy silenced him with a kiss, one that tasted like vodka straight from the bottle. Instinct told him to push Jimmy away. And he was going to, he really was. But if Dean had a choice of Jimmy drinking himself into stupors until he blacked out or letting him kissing him after he was drunk… The latter was always the choice he’d make.
Lips moved against lips a bit sloppily while Dean felt Jimmy’s hands fisted into his shirt, trying to pull him closer even though there wasn’t a way for it to be possible. A moment of Dean rubbing the back of the ex-vessel’s neck got him to back up a little bit, parting and leaning his forehead against Dean’s to catch his breath.
“’S’okay Jim. It’s okay…” The soothing mutters from Dean and kisses went on the rest of the night until Jimmy finally slipped into sleep. Dean, not having the heart to move the worn out man that fell asleep halfway sitting in his lap with his head on the hunter’s shoulder, let him stay there.
And Sam didn’t say a word when he walked in the next morning to see the two curled up together on the couch, only smiling faintly to himself before leaving them in peace.
Prompt: 227 - vodka
Character/Pairing: Jimmy Novak/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.
Word Count: 642
Rating: T
Warnings: Boykisses, fluff, alcoholism.
Summary: You can't leave him alone for five minutes.
Note: I meant for this to be a higher rating, but the muses didn't want it to go that way.
He’d only left him alone for a few minutes, just so he could run down to the gas station and grab them something to snack on. Dean didn’t expect to come back to…this mess.
Somewhere in the five or ten minutes, Jimmy got into the stash of liquor Dean had hidden from him and drank ninety percent of the bottle of vodka he had. Thank god he didn’t get to the whiskey, but that was beside the point.
“Jesus Jimmy,” Dean mumbled as he shut the door to their room behind him, instantly putting down the plastic bag of food and bee lining to the man. He took the mostly empty bottle with a frown and said, “What the hell were you thinking? You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“Doing what?” Jimmy asked, eyes squinting as he moved closer into Dean’s personal space. He always reminded Dean with the little movements and mannerisms on occasion; this one only more so.
Shaking his head and putting the bottle down, the hunter observed the other man. He was missing the hoodie he was borrowing from Sam, along with his shoes and hair looked a mess. Jimmy look so normal in the black t-shirt and jeans that Dean would’ve never guessed the guy had been through the ringer these past days. Dean took a seat next to the once vessel on the worn couch, sighing petulantly.
“’S’wrong? Why d’you sound all sad? What’s wrong?”
Green eyes flicked to the side at the feeling of a hand on his cheek, finding Jimmy staring at him with full worry and concern written all over his face. “What’s wrong? I’m worry about one of my only friends drinking himself to the point of alcohol poisoning, that’s what!” He didn’t mean to yell at him, he really didn’t. That was just how it came out.
Jimmy inched closer and took Dean’s face in his hands, getting him to look at him fully and nodding. “But I’m fine. I’m fine. All fine, Dean.” He attempted a smile, but Dean wouldn’t have it. The guy never got it in his thick skull. Speaking from experience, Dean knew how hard things were and that the best way to deal was to numb everything, but this… Jimmy always jumped to extremes.
Plus, the guy was a total lightweight and always dealt with massive hangovers the following day.
“Look,” Dean lowered his voice to a softer tone, “I get it. I really do and this is the pot calling the kettle black, but…”
He didn’t get a chance to finish because Jimmy silenced him with a kiss, one that tasted like vodka straight from the bottle. Instinct told him to push Jimmy away. And he was going to, he really was. But if Dean had a choice of Jimmy drinking himself into stupors until he blacked out or letting him kissing him after he was drunk… The latter was always the choice he’d make.
Lips moved against lips a bit sloppily while Dean felt Jimmy’s hands fisted into his shirt, trying to pull him closer even though there wasn’t a way for it to be possible. A moment of Dean rubbing the back of the ex-vessel’s neck got him to back up a little bit, parting and leaning his forehead against Dean’s to catch his breath.
“’S’okay Jim. It’s okay…” The soothing mutters from Dean and kisses went on the rest of the night until Jimmy finally slipped into sleep. Dean, not having the heart to move the worn out man that fell asleep halfway sitting in his lap with his head on the hunter’s shoulder, let him stay there.
And Sam didn’t say a word when he walked in the next morning to see the two curled up together on the couch, only smiling faintly to himself before leaving them in peace.