Comment fic fill - Dean's DUI
Here’s a comment-fic fill for the h/c meme at hoodie_time. Dean gets arrested for DUI. Possibly implied Wincest if you’re wearing your goggles, but basically gen.
Sam was genuinely unsurprised at the phone call.
“Come get your friend out of the drunk tank, Campbell.”
The town was small enough that the sheriff knew them, at least, the ‘them’ that existed now. Sam Campbell and Dean Young, two thirty-something men sharing an apartment near the tiny downtown area. Most people thought they were gay. Which…well, whatever. Not of consequence right now.
Luckily, they lived close enough that Sam could make the walk easily. They still only had the one car.
Which, by the way, had been impounded.
The sheriff and deputies were easy enough to handle. Sam was relieved that they’d just sat him in a cell without even fingerprinting him. The night court judge released Dean into the custody of his friend and scheduled him a court date for a week later. His license had been automatically surrendered once he blew that 1.1 into the breathalyzer.
Could have been worse, Sam thought. Dean got pulled over for driving erratically and sent immediately to a cell. He hadn’t crashed the car, hurt himself, hurt someone else.
Dean slept it off the next day while Sam attended to the practical matters. $250 to get the car out of impound. There goes that new TV they’d been planning to buy this month.
A week of angry Sam and apologetic Dean and awkward silences and that push and pull for them both; forgiveness, love, being fed up with the bullshit, feeling ashamed, knowing making up for this mistake would be a long, hard road.
And then court. The judge wasn’t nearly as wink-nudge-sorry, dude as the deputies had been. No lawyer. Dean pled guilty and apologized (for the 4,158th time, but only for the first time to the court).
As a first offender, his sentence was fairly light, relatively speaking. In exchange for voluntarily surrendering his driving privileges for ninety days, Dean was fined $500 (which could be paid in increments, thank Christ) and ordered to wear a continuous transdermal monitoring band around his ankle for those same ninety days. That was going to cost them another two hundred bucks or so. And to add a little icing to the DUI-sentencing cake, there were classes. Four one-hour classes which must be attended so that Dean could have someone teach him why it was stupid to drive when you’re drunk.
Which he already knew, Sam was well-aware. On account of having gotten busted doing it, and landing in a world of shit. But he would take the classes, because he had to. Oh, and of course the classes cost money too. Fifty bucks each. Awesome.
Luckily, Dean had an incredibly sympathetic boss who didn’t fire employees who’d been arrested for drunk driving. Because he was already so fucking humiliated over the whole ordeal, and still waiting for his brother to forgive him for real. And, of course, also because he’d have to beg for as much overtime as he could get because this was a really expensive (monetarily and otherwise) fuckup on his part.
Overtime he’d have to walk to and from, or be driven to and from, like a fucking kid. He didn’t want Sam to have to adjust his own work hours to accommodate him, either, because Sam was having to work extra hours too now.
Dean hadn’t even felt like he was drunk when he left the bar that night. Maybe a tiny bit buzzed, sure, but not drunk. Even when he saw the blue lights flashing behind him, his first thought was that maybe he had a busted tail light or something.
The worst part was that as scary as it all was - Sam’s anger, the legal ramifications, the money, not being able to drive - none of it terrified him as much as the thought that he would be unable to ingest a single damn drop of alcohol for three months. No easing off, no cutting back, just cold fucking turkey, no booze, right the hell now.
For the first couple of days, his hands shook, he felt anxious and panic-y most of the time, and humiliatingly, cried himself to sleep at night. What the hell had he done? When did he turn into that guy?
Luckily for him, though, Sam came through, like he always did. Maybe he was still angry, but he still loved Dean, and clearly couldn’t stand to see him suffer like that. The chill started to thaw, and Dean once again could take comfort in his brother’s assurances; they were going to get through this, everything would be all right, maybe once the monitoring time was up Dean would be used to not drinking and not want to start again. And yeah, Dean could hear the almost-stifled hope behind those words, and he felt it himself, too.
He hated it, every second of it. Every stupid fucking class, every dollar they had to give up because of his monumental mistake, every day he had to be driven to work or get stuck walking because he couldn’t even be trusted to drive his own damn car. More than anything else, though, he hated feeling like he’d let Sam down, he’d done something so dumb that it was disrupting this peaceful life they’d made together in this nice little town.
Dean was determined, though. He was going to make this up to Sam. Make it up to anyone else who he could possibly have hurt while he was impaired on the road that night. It was so much easier to do when Sam was trying to help. Whatever it took, he was going to earn back his brother’s trust and convince himself he was worthy of the comfort Sam was willing to give him even though he didn’t really deserve it.
Yet.
Sam was genuinely unsurprised at the phone call.
“Come get your friend out of the drunk tank, Campbell.”
The town was small enough that the sheriff knew them, at least, the ‘them’ that existed now. Sam Campbell and Dean Young, two thirty-something men sharing an apartment near the tiny downtown area. Most people thought they were gay. Which…well, whatever. Not of consequence right now.
Luckily, they lived close enough that Sam could make the walk easily. They still only had the one car.
Which, by the way, had been impounded.
The sheriff and deputies were easy enough to handle. Sam was relieved that they’d just sat him in a cell without even fingerprinting him. The night court judge released Dean into the custody of his friend and scheduled him a court date for a week later. His license had been automatically surrendered once he blew that 1.1 into the breathalyzer.
Could have been worse, Sam thought. Dean got pulled over for driving erratically and sent immediately to a cell. He hadn’t crashed the car, hurt himself, hurt someone else.
Dean slept it off the next day while Sam attended to the practical matters. $250 to get the car out of impound. There goes that new TV they’d been planning to buy this month.
A week of angry Sam and apologetic Dean and awkward silences and that push and pull for them both; forgiveness, love, being fed up with the bullshit, feeling ashamed, knowing making up for this mistake would be a long, hard road.
And then court. The judge wasn’t nearly as wink-nudge-sorry, dude as the deputies had been. No lawyer. Dean pled guilty and apologized (for the 4,158th time, but only for the first time to the court).
As a first offender, his sentence was fairly light, relatively speaking. In exchange for voluntarily surrendering his driving privileges for ninety days, Dean was fined $500 (which could be paid in increments, thank Christ) and ordered to wear a continuous transdermal monitoring band around his ankle for those same ninety days. That was going to cost them another two hundred bucks or so. And to add a little icing to the DUI-sentencing cake, there were classes. Four one-hour classes which must be attended so that Dean could have someone teach him why it was stupid to drive when you’re drunk.
Which he already knew, Sam was well-aware. On account of having gotten busted doing it, and landing in a world of shit. But he would take the classes, because he had to. Oh, and of course the classes cost money too. Fifty bucks each. Awesome.
Luckily, Dean had an incredibly sympathetic boss who didn’t fire employees who’d been arrested for drunk driving. Because he was already so fucking humiliated over the whole ordeal, and still waiting for his brother to forgive him for real. And, of course, also because he’d have to beg for as much overtime as he could get because this was a really expensive (monetarily and otherwise) fuckup on his part.
Overtime he’d have to walk to and from, or be driven to and from, like a fucking kid. He didn’t want Sam to have to adjust his own work hours to accommodate him, either, because Sam was having to work extra hours too now.
Dean hadn’t even felt like he was drunk when he left the bar that night. Maybe a tiny bit buzzed, sure, but not drunk. Even when he saw the blue lights flashing behind him, his first thought was that maybe he had a busted tail light or something.
The worst part was that as scary as it all was - Sam’s anger, the legal ramifications, the money, not being able to drive - none of it terrified him as much as the thought that he would be unable to ingest a single damn drop of alcohol for three months. No easing off, no cutting back, just cold fucking turkey, no booze, right the hell now.
For the first couple of days, his hands shook, he felt anxious and panic-y most of the time, and humiliatingly, cried himself to sleep at night. What the hell had he done? When did he turn into that guy?
Luckily for him, though, Sam came through, like he always did. Maybe he was still angry, but he still loved Dean, and clearly couldn’t stand to see him suffer like that. The chill started to thaw, and Dean once again could take comfort in his brother’s assurances; they were going to get through this, everything would be all right, maybe once the monitoring time was up Dean would be used to not drinking and not want to start again. And yeah, Dean could hear the almost-stifled hope behind those words, and he felt it himself, too.
He hated it, every second of it. Every stupid fucking class, every dollar they had to give up because of his monumental mistake, every day he had to be driven to work or get stuck walking because he couldn’t even be trusted to drive his own damn car. More than anything else, though, he hated feeling like he’d let Sam down, he’d done something so dumb that it was disrupting this peaceful life they’d made together in this nice little town.
Dean was determined, though. He was going to make this up to Sam. Make it up to anyone else who he could possibly have hurt while he was impaired on the road that night. It was so much easier to do when Sam was trying to help. Whatever it took, he was going to earn back his brother’s trust and convince himself he was worthy of the comfort Sam was willing to give him even though he didn’t really deserve it.
Yet.