DRABBLE, "Good Advice," Supernatural, PG-13
Title: Good Advice
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, hurt!Dean (sort of), gen (Sam/Dean innuendo)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "The fight last night had gone worse than usual, and Dean felt grumpy and sore."
Disclaimer: I don't own, nor am I affiliated with, Supernatural.
The fight last night had gone worse than usual, and Dean felt grumpy and sore. He couldn’t move without limping, and his mouth and cheek were smashed up all to Hell-blossoming black and blue (and probably puffy as fuck by now, too) and Dean’s so out-of-it that it takes him a while to notice the waitress’s long, concerned looks.
“He do that to you?” she asks, nodding in Sam’s direction when the taller man walks off to visit the bathroom, and Dean says, “No, I-”
But he’s forgotten his cover story, and says, “I…fell,” and fuck it if the woman’s sympathetic grimace doesn’t make Dean feel like some abused wife on Lifetime.
“Listen, hon,” she says-and Dean nearly groans; he doesn’t know whether to laugh or walk away-“you don’t let nobody get away with doing that to you, okay? I don’t care how much you think you love him, or how much he tells you he can change. Men like that never do. Nobody got the right to take a hand to you. Nobody. Some of us just got to learn that the hard way, but, trust me-it’s true. My advice is to leave the bastard while you still can.”
“Ma’am, I’m not-” says Dean, but by then Sam is almost back at the booth, and when he slides back in, the woman turns brisk and tells them, “So, what will it be?”
“Why was that waitress glaring at me?” asks Sam, when she’s taken their orders and is walking away, and Dean laughs, and says, “You really don’t want to know.”
“Come on, tell me,” says Sam, and the expression on his face when Dean complies is good enough to have Dean grinning for the rest of the day.
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, hurt!Dean (sort of), gen (Sam/Dean innuendo)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "The fight last night had gone worse than usual, and Dean felt grumpy and sore."
Disclaimer: I don't own, nor am I affiliated with, Supernatural.
The fight last night had gone worse than usual, and Dean felt grumpy and sore. He couldn’t move without limping, and his mouth and cheek were smashed up all to Hell-blossoming black and blue (and probably puffy as fuck by now, too) and Dean’s so out-of-it that it takes him a while to notice the waitress’s long, concerned looks.
“He do that to you?” she asks, nodding in Sam’s direction when the taller man walks off to visit the bathroom, and Dean says, “No, I-”
But he’s forgotten his cover story, and says, “I…fell,” and fuck it if the woman’s sympathetic grimace doesn’t make Dean feel like some abused wife on Lifetime.
“Listen, hon,” she says-and Dean nearly groans; he doesn’t know whether to laugh or walk away-“you don’t let nobody get away with doing that to you, okay? I don’t care how much you think you love him, or how much he tells you he can change. Men like that never do. Nobody got the right to take a hand to you. Nobody. Some of us just got to learn that the hard way, but, trust me-it’s true. My advice is to leave the bastard while you still can.”
“Ma’am, I’m not-” says Dean, but by then Sam is almost back at the booth, and when he slides back in, the woman turns brisk and tells them, “So, what will it be?”
“Why was that waitress glaring at me?” asks Sam, when she’s taken their orders and is walking away, and Dean laughs, and says, “You really don’t want to know.”
“Come on, tell me,” says Sam, and the expression on his face when Dean complies is good enough to have Dean grinning for the rest of the day.