FIC: Two and a Half Angels (2/?)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing: (none as of yet)
“So, wait, is there gonna be a laugh track and everything?” Adam asked, performing a final scrub on the bar, standing behind it.
“I dunno,” Cas replied as he situated the glasses on the cool upper dangly thing, or whatever it was called. Adam made a mental note to learn the proper names of all the furniture in the bar.
“And how long are we gonna be here?”
“Up to Gabe,”
“And there’s nothing you can do? And since when are we on nickname status? And why don’t I have a nickname?”
“You’ve already had some, haven’t you?”
“Just some white wine… and Jack Daniels.”
Castiel sighed.
-----
In a few hours, the bar was filled with hipsters. Actually calling the bar Two and a Half Angels had apparently evoked the desperate-to-appear-ironic lobe in them, and they were thus drawn to it. Adam was pretty sure that if he saw another shirt with Obama’s face on it he would puke out one of the daughters. Hopefully Sasha. Malia looked like an uppity bitch. Sasha was definitely the fun, talented one; the Lindsay to Malia’s Ali.
Adam shook his head to keep his vision straight. He was not meant to work in a bar. He’d purposefully never kept alcohol in his home, because he knew he’d just drink it. Same went for weed, Cosmo brownies, and stickers. He just couldn’t prevent himself from smoking it all, eating the whole box, and plastering every Lisa Frank sticker to his face.
Adam shook his head again and poured yet another Jagerbomb.
-----
Gabe came downstairs dressed like a mob boss. Adam and Cas exchanged a glance and said nothing. Gabe scanned the room, and a look of disdain began sinking on his face. He stormed up to the bar.
“What the fuck is this?”
“What?” Cas groaned, rolling his eyes.
“What are all these Urban Outfitters douchebags doing in my bar?”
“I thought it was our bar. Two and a Half Angels, remember?”
“Does that mean the bar’s only half mine?” Adam said, probably trembling his lip too believably.
“Adam, stop talking.” Cas said.
“No! It’s not! And this bar is supposed to be filled with colorful residents of Boston, not people who buy fucking doughnut Christmas tree ornaments!”
“Then, perhaps opening the bar in the middle of Manhattan was a mistake.”
“We’re moving to Boston then.” Gabe said, turning around.
“B-but,” Adam said, “The only notable thing to come out of Boston was the American Revolution, including but not limited to the Boston Red Sox and the New England Patriots!”
In any other bar in the world, that statement would have elicited gasps of horror and maybe get Adam punched in the face. However, here, no one seemed to care. Adam looked around, at all the checkered scarves and skinny jeans and beards.
“Yeah, okay,” he finally said, “Let’s go to Boston.”
“See, I told ya it would be fine in a few minutes.” Cas said to Gabe.
“Wait, you guys were talking?”
“…Adam, give me the beer.”
“…yeah, alright.”
Rating: PG
Pairing: (none as of yet)
“So, wait, is there gonna be a laugh track and everything?” Adam asked, performing a final scrub on the bar, standing behind it.
“I dunno,” Cas replied as he situated the glasses on the cool upper dangly thing, or whatever it was called. Adam made a mental note to learn the proper names of all the furniture in the bar.
“And how long are we gonna be here?”
“Up to Gabe,”
“And there’s nothing you can do? And since when are we on nickname status? And why don’t I have a nickname?”
“You’ve already had some, haven’t you?”
“Just some white wine… and Jack Daniels.”
Castiel sighed.
-----
In a few hours, the bar was filled with hipsters. Actually calling the bar Two and a Half Angels had apparently evoked the desperate-to-appear-ironic lobe in them, and they were thus drawn to it. Adam was pretty sure that if he saw another shirt with Obama’s face on it he would puke out one of the daughters. Hopefully Sasha. Malia looked like an uppity bitch. Sasha was definitely the fun, talented one; the Lindsay to Malia’s Ali.
Adam shook his head to keep his vision straight. He was not meant to work in a bar. He’d purposefully never kept alcohol in his home, because he knew he’d just drink it. Same went for weed, Cosmo brownies, and stickers. He just couldn’t prevent himself from smoking it all, eating the whole box, and plastering every Lisa Frank sticker to his face.
Adam shook his head again and poured yet another Jagerbomb.
-----
Gabe came downstairs dressed like a mob boss. Adam and Cas exchanged a glance and said nothing. Gabe scanned the room, and a look of disdain began sinking on his face. He stormed up to the bar.
“What the fuck is this?”
“What?” Cas groaned, rolling his eyes.
“What are all these Urban Outfitters douchebags doing in my bar?”
“I thought it was our bar. Two and a Half Angels, remember?”
“Does that mean the bar’s only half mine?” Adam said, probably trembling his lip too believably.
“Adam, stop talking.” Cas said.
“No! It’s not! And this bar is supposed to be filled with colorful residents of Boston, not people who buy fucking doughnut Christmas tree ornaments!”
“Then, perhaps opening the bar in the middle of Manhattan was a mistake.”
“We’re moving to Boston then.” Gabe said, turning around.
“B-but,” Adam said, “The only notable thing to come out of Boston was the American Revolution, including but not limited to the Boston Red Sox and the New England Patriots!”
In any other bar in the world, that statement would have elicited gasps of horror and maybe get Adam punched in the face. However, here, no one seemed to care. Adam looked around, at all the checkered scarves and skinny jeans and beards.
“Yeah, okay,” he finally said, “Let’s go to Boston.”
“See, I told ya it would be fine in a few minutes.” Cas said to Gabe.
“Wait, you guys were talking?”
“…Adam, give me the beer.”
“…yeah, alright.”