For sunday_reveries--What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas
For sunday_reveries, using this picture prompt.
If any Chucks read this, this is not binding to any Chuck ever. Except for my mental Chuck. Poor guy.
P.S. Thank you to winchesterjerk and winchesterbitch for being awesome beta readers.
“Grace? Where the hell are you?”
Grace winced, even though she had been expecting that. “It’s good to talk to you, too, Dean.” She decided that, at that moment, she’d never hated phones more in her life.
That just seemed to make matters worse. “You’ve been gone for a week, you haven’t called, and that’s all you have to say?”
“I’m calling now?” She offered, and knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. Dean got mad when she didn’t call when she was gone for a night; she didn’t want to imagine what it must be like to be in the same room as him right now. Not to mention the silence on the other end of the line was starting to freak her out. She could take yelling. Silence, not so much. She hesitated before she started speaking again. “…um. Dean?”
“What?” The reply was short. That? Was not good.
Grace facepalmed. She had a feeling she knew what was going to happen as soon as she said what she needed to say. “I need some help.”
“You need some help.” It wasn’t a question, and it was spoken in almost a monotone. “Imagine that. My sister disappears for a week, doesn’t call me to tell me she’s okay, and then, when she finally does call me, she needs my help.”
“If you’re not going to help me, give the phone to Sam.” Grace sighed, even though she knew she deserved what she was getting. And she had a feeling it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Sam probably wouldn’t be much better, but she had a feeling she could get more words in with him.
After a few seconds and some rustling noises, she heard Sam sigh and quietly ask “what?”
Grace took a deep breath and told him what she needed. Sam didn’t say anything, but she knew he was either taking mental notes or writing everything down, or both. When she finished, she thanked him, said bye, and they both hung up. She groaned, and rubbed her eyes with her hands, careful not to smudge her makeup.
“So?”
She stopped rubbing her eyes, turned around, and looked at Chuck, who was sitting at the honeymoon suite’s desk. “They’ll do it. They’re not happy, but they’ll do it.”
He gave a sigh of relief. “So they’re not going to kill me. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“Considering the last piece of news we got today was ‘yes, it is legally binding in all fifty states,’ I’d say so.” Grace grabbed a popsicle from the freezer, sat on the counter, and ate it. “Besides, Mr. Prophet, I don’t remember you saying anything about my brothers killing you in the dream you had of this.”
Seven days earlier
“Do you ever have any fun? Grace was standing at the prophet Chuck’s door with her hands on her hips, staring at the bathrobe-clad man who clearly needed to shower. He just blinked at her, and she sighed. “I know it’s hard work being a prophet and all, but if they ever make a major motion biography movie of the life of Chuck, the Prophet of the Lord, it’s going to go straight to TV and DVD or whatever they use in the future, because nobody will pay to watch it in theaters if it’s just you walking around in your boxers all day.”
It took Chuck another minute to get his thoughts in order. “Where are your brothers?”
Grace shrugged. “I dunno. Eating or picking up girls or doing other, you know, guy stuff. I don’t really keep track. Probably because I don’t want to know. They’re big enough to wear big boy undies, they can handle themselves.”
“….so. Um…why are you here?” To say he was confused would be an understatement. Sure, he may have already seen this happening (it was, admittedly, one of the better dreams he’d had. Ever. Even if the details were a little fuzzy.), but seeing it happen and experiencing it were two entirely different things. Especially where Grace Browning-Winchester was concerned.
“Because, Chuck, I can’t let you go straight to TV or DVD. You deserve more than that. Not to mention the fact that you’re so damn depressing. Not that I blame you.” She started to pull him up the stairs. “Come on, let’s pack. We’re going on a trip. You can’t say no. I’ve already bought you a bus ticket.”
Chuck let himself be pulled up the stairs, and into his room. “Grace? Why? I mean, not that I’m not grateful or anything-“ She started to pull clothes out of his dresser and hand them to him. “….oh, okay. That’s a lot of clothes, Grace. And that’d be my underwear. ….how long are we going to be gone?”
She shrugged again. “However long it takes.” She didn’t specify what exactly her goal was. “Don’t just stand there. Pack.” She gestured at the duffel bag she’d taken out of his closet. She sighed when he still didn’t move. “There’ll be strippers.”
That got his attention, and he started to pack, while she smirked. “Where are you taking me?”
“Vegas.” She waved the bus tickets in his face. “You have five minutes. Don’t forget your toothbrush.” She started to walk out, then turned around. This time, she was the one with the confused look on her face. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”
Chuck shooed her away while he went to the bathroom to get his toothbrush. “I need to finish packing.”
Ten minutes later, they were seat buddies on a bus and on their way to Vegas. It took a few days, because the bus ticket she’d managed to get her hands on part of a cross-country tour that was aimed at senior citizens and stopped at every single little roadside attraction along the way, but by day four, they were finally in Vegas, and Grace was living up to her promise of making life more exciting. The promised strippers didn’t come until day six.
The fourth strip club was where the trouble started. It began with innocent drinking-well, as innocent as drinking in a strip club could get. Eventually, after all of the strippers started looking the same, and the one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor saying had been proven incorrect at least twice, one of them decided that it would be a good idea to have a drinking contest. Chuck won, and after that, the night’s events got a little hazy.
That was, of course, until the next morning when Grace woke up and was spooning with the man who just happened to be writing The Winchester Gospel. And not just spooning with him, but apparently drooling on him, too. She took a minute to wonder if drooling on a prophet was generally considered a bad idea before the initial freak out began. She sat up and shook him. “Chuck! Wake up!”
He sleepily tried to push her hands off, and finally opened his eyes when she threatened to pour water on him. “What?”
“Why the hell are we in bed together?” She was surprised at how calm she sounded, considering the fact that she was in bed with a prophet who was wearing nothing but some plaid boxers.
Chuck pulled a pillow over his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know we had a hotel room to begin with. We checked out of the last one.”
That made Grace stop and think. “….we didn’t. Why are we in one?” She pushed herself off of the bed, relieved to find herself mostly fully clothed, and started searching through her stuff for a receipt or anything else that could tell her how they ended up where they were. Going through her bag, she found key cards, and a receipt with her signature on it.
“Well?” Chuck’s question, muffled by the pillow, made her jump. She’d thought he’d gone back to sleep.
“I paid sometime around one in the morning,” she answered, throwing one of the keys at him. “We have a honeymoon suite.” She resumed looking through her stuff, finding more papers crammed in between the clothes. “Do you remember getting your picture taken with Elvis last night?”
She heard Chuck shake his head under the pillow. “Elvis?”
“Yeah, Elvis. It’s weird because it’s a poloroid and they don’t make the film for that anymore and I have flowers-“ she cut herself off when she found a very thick, official looking paper. When she spoke again, she could’ve sworn her voice went up at least an octave. “Chuck?”
“What?” His voice wasn’t muffled this time, and she guessed that he was finally sitting up. Her suspicions were confirmed when he asked about what she was holding. “That doesn’t look like a picture.”
Grace shook her head., then got up and handed it to him. “No, it isn’t.”
Chuck stared at the document, looked at her, then stared at it again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She shook her head, and he handed the paper back to her. “….is that really your real name?”
“I show you a marriage license, and that’s the first question you ask.” She stared at him, then took it back. “Not ‘why the hell did we get married?’ or ‘Is this valid outside of Vegas?’ No. It’s about my name.” Then she did a double take. “….you’ve written a good chunk of my life out on paper, and you don’t know my legal name?”
“I guess the whole thing was never really important. If you’d told your brothers about it, then maybe I would have known.” Chuck shrugged, then went rigid. “Oh, God. Your brothers. They’re going to kill me. Or seriously maim me. We have to get a divorce.”
“How do you think we’re going to go about doing that?” Grace asked, sitting next to him and sighing. “You have to go through courts and a lot more paperwork then you need to get the certificate. And I’m legally dead. Well. My legal name might not be, since they issued the marriage certificate, but going to the courthouse is different then going to the Las Vegas marriage office. They probably hand these things out like candy.”
He looked looked even more confused than he had a few minutes earlier. “So….what?”
Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket. “We have to call my brothers.”
Chuck yanked the phone away from her. “No we don’t. Because if they find out, they won’t be happy, and I don’t feel like watching an archangel smite them or whatever archangels do.”
“They won’t kill you.” Grace yanked the phone back, and dialed Dean’s number. “If they kill anyone, it’ll be me.”
Later
Grace should have been intimidated. Chuck was, and left as soon as the boys arrived. Sam and Dean, as giant and scary-looking as could be, were standing in front of her, and she knew that one of them, probably Dean, was going to let her have it any minute. Instead, she sighed, and crossed her arms.
“Are you ever going to explain?” She swore that if Dean had the power to ground her to her bedroom for the rest of her life, he would. “Because this got to top the list of stupid things you’ve need my help to get out of.”
“Oh, come on, there has to be worse on the list.” No, she wasn’t going to explain. Mostly because she still had no clue. She thought about it for a minute. “….you might have a point.”
Dean rolled his eyes at her. “Of course I have a point. I usually do, when it comes to you. It’s one of the perks of getting your ass out of trouble as many times as I have. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking.” It was the answer he wanted to hear, and for once, it was the truth. “I know I screwed up. I wouldn’t blame you if you made me stay Mrs. Chuck Shurley and didn’t clean up after me this time.
“You’re not going to stay Mrs. Chuck Shurley.” Sam got out some papers. “Chuck just needs to sign these when he gets back and everything will be taken care of. You’re welcome.”
“Like we’d let you stay married to Chuck.” Dean still didn’t look happy, but he sounded better now that everything had been taken care of. “I mean, he’s a step up from what you usually end up with, but come on, Grace, it’s Chuck. There have to be some rules about going to Vegas and marrying the prophet that’s writing the gospel of us.”
Grace looked at the ground, then up at her brothers. “Thanks for saving my ass. Again. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dean rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, well, Grace Samantha Shurley sounds stupid. We couldn’t let you live with that. Don’t get all sappy about it.”
If any Chucks read this, this is not binding to any Chuck ever. Except for my mental Chuck. Poor guy.
P.S. Thank you to winchesterjerk and winchesterbitch for being awesome beta readers.
“Grace? Where the hell are you?”
Grace winced, even though she had been expecting that. “It’s good to talk to you, too, Dean.” She decided that, at that moment, she’d never hated phones more in her life.
That just seemed to make matters worse. “You’ve been gone for a week, you haven’t called, and that’s all you have to say?”
“I’m calling now?” She offered, and knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. Dean got mad when she didn’t call when she was gone for a night; she didn’t want to imagine what it must be like to be in the same room as him right now. Not to mention the silence on the other end of the line was starting to freak her out. She could take yelling. Silence, not so much. She hesitated before she started speaking again. “…um. Dean?”
“What?” The reply was short. That? Was not good.
Grace facepalmed. She had a feeling she knew what was going to happen as soon as she said what she needed to say. “I need some help.”
“You need some help.” It wasn’t a question, and it was spoken in almost a monotone. “Imagine that. My sister disappears for a week, doesn’t call me to tell me she’s okay, and then, when she finally does call me, she needs my help.”
“If you’re not going to help me, give the phone to Sam.” Grace sighed, even though she knew she deserved what she was getting. And she had a feeling it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Sam probably wouldn’t be much better, but she had a feeling she could get more words in with him.
After a few seconds and some rustling noises, she heard Sam sigh and quietly ask “what?”
Grace took a deep breath and told him what she needed. Sam didn’t say anything, but she knew he was either taking mental notes or writing everything down, or both. When she finished, she thanked him, said bye, and they both hung up. She groaned, and rubbed her eyes with her hands, careful not to smudge her makeup.
“So?”
She stopped rubbing her eyes, turned around, and looked at Chuck, who was sitting at the honeymoon suite’s desk. “They’ll do it. They’re not happy, but they’ll do it.”
He gave a sigh of relief. “So they’re not going to kill me. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“Considering the last piece of news we got today was ‘yes, it is legally binding in all fifty states,’ I’d say so.” Grace grabbed a popsicle from the freezer, sat on the counter, and ate it. “Besides, Mr. Prophet, I don’t remember you saying anything about my brothers killing you in the dream you had of this.”
Seven days earlier
“Do you ever have any fun? Grace was standing at the prophet Chuck’s door with her hands on her hips, staring at the bathrobe-clad man who clearly needed to shower. He just blinked at her, and she sighed. “I know it’s hard work being a prophet and all, but if they ever make a major motion biography movie of the life of Chuck, the Prophet of the Lord, it’s going to go straight to TV and DVD or whatever they use in the future, because nobody will pay to watch it in theaters if it’s just you walking around in your boxers all day.”
It took Chuck another minute to get his thoughts in order. “Where are your brothers?”
Grace shrugged. “I dunno. Eating or picking up girls or doing other, you know, guy stuff. I don’t really keep track. Probably because I don’t want to know. They’re big enough to wear big boy undies, they can handle themselves.”
“….so. Um…why are you here?” To say he was confused would be an understatement. Sure, he may have already seen this happening (it was, admittedly, one of the better dreams he’d had. Ever. Even if the details were a little fuzzy.), but seeing it happen and experiencing it were two entirely different things. Especially where Grace Browning-Winchester was concerned.
“Because, Chuck, I can’t let you go straight to TV or DVD. You deserve more than that. Not to mention the fact that you’re so damn depressing. Not that I blame you.” She started to pull him up the stairs. “Come on, let’s pack. We’re going on a trip. You can’t say no. I’ve already bought you a bus ticket.”
Chuck let himself be pulled up the stairs, and into his room. “Grace? Why? I mean, not that I’m not grateful or anything-“ She started to pull clothes out of his dresser and hand them to him. “….oh, okay. That’s a lot of clothes, Grace. And that’d be my underwear. ….how long are we going to be gone?”
She shrugged again. “However long it takes.” She didn’t specify what exactly her goal was. “Don’t just stand there. Pack.” She gestured at the duffel bag she’d taken out of his closet. She sighed when he still didn’t move. “There’ll be strippers.”
That got his attention, and he started to pack, while she smirked. “Where are you taking me?”
“Vegas.” She waved the bus tickets in his face. “You have five minutes. Don’t forget your toothbrush.” She started to walk out, then turned around. This time, she was the one with the confused look on her face. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”
Chuck shooed her away while he went to the bathroom to get his toothbrush. “I need to finish packing.”
Ten minutes later, they were seat buddies on a bus and on their way to Vegas. It took a few days, because the bus ticket she’d managed to get her hands on part of a cross-country tour that was aimed at senior citizens and stopped at every single little roadside attraction along the way, but by day four, they were finally in Vegas, and Grace was living up to her promise of making life more exciting. The promised strippers didn’t come until day six.
The fourth strip club was where the trouble started. It began with innocent drinking-well, as innocent as drinking in a strip club could get. Eventually, after all of the strippers started looking the same, and the one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor saying had been proven incorrect at least twice, one of them decided that it would be a good idea to have a drinking contest. Chuck won, and after that, the night’s events got a little hazy.
That was, of course, until the next morning when Grace woke up and was spooning with the man who just happened to be writing The Winchester Gospel. And not just spooning with him, but apparently drooling on him, too. She took a minute to wonder if drooling on a prophet was generally considered a bad idea before the initial freak out began. She sat up and shook him. “Chuck! Wake up!”
He sleepily tried to push her hands off, and finally opened his eyes when she threatened to pour water on him. “What?”
“Why the hell are we in bed together?” She was surprised at how calm she sounded, considering the fact that she was in bed with a prophet who was wearing nothing but some plaid boxers.
Chuck pulled a pillow over his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know we had a hotel room to begin with. We checked out of the last one.”
That made Grace stop and think. “….we didn’t. Why are we in one?” She pushed herself off of the bed, relieved to find herself mostly fully clothed, and started searching through her stuff for a receipt or anything else that could tell her how they ended up where they were. Going through her bag, she found key cards, and a receipt with her signature on it.
“Well?” Chuck’s question, muffled by the pillow, made her jump. She’d thought he’d gone back to sleep.
“I paid sometime around one in the morning,” she answered, throwing one of the keys at him. “We have a honeymoon suite.” She resumed looking through her stuff, finding more papers crammed in between the clothes. “Do you remember getting your picture taken with Elvis last night?”
She heard Chuck shake his head under the pillow. “Elvis?”
“Yeah, Elvis. It’s weird because it’s a poloroid and they don’t make the film for that anymore and I have flowers-“ she cut herself off when she found a very thick, official looking paper. When she spoke again, she could’ve sworn her voice went up at least an octave. “Chuck?”
“What?” His voice wasn’t muffled this time, and she guessed that he was finally sitting up. Her suspicions were confirmed when he asked about what she was holding. “That doesn’t look like a picture.”
Grace shook her head., then got up and handed it to him. “No, it isn’t.”
Chuck stared at the document, looked at her, then stared at it again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She shook her head, and he handed the paper back to her. “….is that really your real name?”
“I show you a marriage license, and that’s the first question you ask.” She stared at him, then took it back. “Not ‘why the hell did we get married?’ or ‘Is this valid outside of Vegas?’ No. It’s about my name.” Then she did a double take. “….you’ve written a good chunk of my life out on paper, and you don’t know my legal name?”
“I guess the whole thing was never really important. If you’d told your brothers about it, then maybe I would have known.” Chuck shrugged, then went rigid. “Oh, God. Your brothers. They’re going to kill me. Or seriously maim me. We have to get a divorce.”
“How do you think we’re going to go about doing that?” Grace asked, sitting next to him and sighing. “You have to go through courts and a lot more paperwork then you need to get the certificate. And I’m legally dead. Well. My legal name might not be, since they issued the marriage certificate, but going to the courthouse is different then going to the Las Vegas marriage office. They probably hand these things out like candy.”
He looked looked even more confused than he had a few minutes earlier. “So….what?”
Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket. “We have to call my brothers.”
Chuck yanked the phone away from her. “No we don’t. Because if they find out, they won’t be happy, and I don’t feel like watching an archangel smite them or whatever archangels do.”
“They won’t kill you.” Grace yanked the phone back, and dialed Dean’s number. “If they kill anyone, it’ll be me.”
Later
Grace should have been intimidated. Chuck was, and left as soon as the boys arrived. Sam and Dean, as giant and scary-looking as could be, were standing in front of her, and she knew that one of them, probably Dean, was going to let her have it any minute. Instead, she sighed, and crossed her arms.
“Are you ever going to explain?” She swore that if Dean had the power to ground her to her bedroom for the rest of her life, he would. “Because this got to top the list of stupid things you’ve need my help to get out of.”
“Oh, come on, there has to be worse on the list.” No, she wasn’t going to explain. Mostly because she still had no clue. She thought about it for a minute. “….you might have a point.”
Dean rolled his eyes at her. “Of course I have a point. I usually do, when it comes to you. It’s one of the perks of getting your ass out of trouble as many times as I have. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking.” It was the answer he wanted to hear, and for once, it was the truth. “I know I screwed up. I wouldn’t blame you if you made me stay Mrs. Chuck Shurley and didn’t clean up after me this time.
“You’re not going to stay Mrs. Chuck Shurley.” Sam got out some papers. “Chuck just needs to sign these when he gets back and everything will be taken care of. You’re welcome.”
“Like we’d let you stay married to Chuck.” Dean still didn’t look happy, but he sounded better now that everything had been taken care of. “I mean, he’s a step up from what you usually end up with, but come on, Grace, it’s Chuck. There have to be some rules about going to Vegas and marrying the prophet that’s writing the gospel of us.”
Grace looked at the ground, then up at her brothers. “Thanks for saving my ass. Again. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dean rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, well, Grace Samantha Shurley sounds stupid. We couldn’t let you live with that. Don’t get all sappy about it.”