Fic: "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes" (Dean/Veronica) PG
"Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometimes"
By halfway2home
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Supernatural” or “Veronica Mars.” Eric Kripke and Rob Thomas would be your guys. The title comes from a song of the same name by Beck.
Word Count: 2031
Rating: PG
Pairing: Veronica/Dean (from Supernatural)
Setting/Spoilers: Future fic. No real spoilers, but through both shows' finales if you want to be super careful.
Summary: “And that is how their routine goes: diner, banter, movie (or channel surfing when the video store closes early).”
Author’s Note: To kerfect and rubykatewriting, for their encouragement and betaing.
He notices her right away when she enters. There aren’t that many slight, petite blondes who come this way. She looks around, a little dazed, before coming up beside him at the bar.
“Hey there, little lady,” he says, smiling charmingly. “Can I get you a drink?”
She looks at him with this expression that says, “Are you out of your mind?” before turning away without a word.
“Hey, do you have a phone I could use?” she asks, leaning over the bar.
“By the bathrooms,” the bartenders answers, nodding in that direction.
She walks away and he has to admit it. Okay, that hurt a little.
He watches as she makes a quick phone call and thinks about going over to her and apologizing, trying to make another go at it, but she leaves the bar as soon as she hangs up.
He finishes his beer instead, sipping at it slowly. When the bartender starts to pour him another glass, he holds out his hand. “Not today.”
Outside, it’s getting dark now and soon you won’t be able to see anything with the lack of street lighting in this neck of the woods. It’s nice if you want to hide from the world.
He’s about to get into his car when he sees her sitting on the trunk of her rusty, old -- What is the hell is that? A freakin’ Le Baron?
“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself at night.”
She looks up suddenly, eyeing him with scrutiny. For a moment, he feels exposed under her gaze until he remembers that she can’t see anything. She’s just a girl.
“I’m fine,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m just waiting for the tow truck.”
He walks over to her, sitting down beside her silently. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
“So this old rust bucket broke down on you, huh? What a shock,” he says, hoping to break the silence.
“That’s quite a fossil you have yourself,” she replies, nodding at his Impala.
“Hey, that’s a restored classic.”
“This is a neo-classic,” she bites back and he has to smile because she almost loves her car more than he loves his. Almost.
When the tow truck finally comes, he offers her a ride to a motel and she looks wearily between him and where the burly guy is chaining her car to the truck before nodding hesitantly.
They pull up to a small motel across from a diner in the center (“I know, it’s hard to believe.”) of town.
“I’m in room two-fourteen, if you need anything,” he says.
“I’m not having sex with you,” she replies bluntly.
He smiles. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Okay,” she says, before stepping out of the car.
“I’m Dean, by the way,” he yells, leaning out the window.
She looks at him with that appraising gaze again. “Veronica.”
---
There’s a knock at his door and when he opens it, he finds her standing there, shifting nervously, with a pile of vendor machine food perched in her arms.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says and he nods, opening the door wider for her to come in. “I’m still not having sex with you.”
He laughs as she dumps the food onto the bed. “You’re breaking my heart, Veronica.”
She smiles at him sweetly. He sits down beside her on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and begins flipping through the TV channels. When he pauses at an old movie, he feels her sit up straight beside him.
“Can you change the channel?” she asks.
“Not a fan of ‘The Long Haul,’ are you?” he jokes.
“Not a fan of Aaron Echolls. Period.” There’s something in her tone that’s a little hard, but he lets it go.
They finally stop on a Nick at Nite rerun, settling back into the pillows comfortably. She’s almost asleep by the time the show is over. He’s about to cover her with a blanket when her eyes drift open.
“I should go back to my room,” she says through a yawn.
“You can stay here, if you want.” He raises his hands in the air. “No funny business, I swear.”
“No, I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. “But thanks.”
When she leaves, Dean thinks that the bed feels empty without her.
---
In the morning, he invites her to breakfast at the diner across the street. She orders a mountain of pancakes (“Damn, do you have an elastic stomach or something?”) and he gets his eggs white and coffee black.
“How long are you in town for?” she asks.
“Don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it,” he answers, shrugging, as she douses her pancakes in strawberry syrup. “How about you?”
“Just until the Le Baron is fixed, I guess. They have to order some parts.” She pauses for a moment, before adding, “I was only passing through.”
“Where are you going?”
She smiles. “Don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it.”
After they’re done with breakfast, he walks her back to her motel room and he thinks that this is probably the closest he’s ever gotten to walking a girl home, so he leans down and presses his lips against hers.
“Dean…” she breathes out when they pull apart. “I…I can’t.”
And then she disappears into her room.
---
He thinks he should be used to Veronica showing up at his door, but he’s still surprised when he finds her there, biting her bottom lip nervously. He half-expected her to pack up her stuff and leave town without a word.
“Hey,” she says, looking everywhere but at him. She slips in under his arm and begins walking the room in circles.
“Who’s this?” she asks, pausing at a photograph. Damn. He knew there was a reason why people like him didn’t put out photographs.
“That’s my brother.” She looks at him over her shoulder because they both know there’s more to it. “He’s gone.”
She nods, looking down at the ground. “My boyfriend died two months ago.” It’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and he’s surprised by how much he means it.
“I couldn’t stay there any longer -- at home -- so I got in my car and started driving.” She takes a seat in the chair by the small corner table. “That was almost three weeks ago.”
Suddenly, Dean has a whole new set of questions surrounding Veronica, but he doesn’t care if he never finds the answers.
Not when she’s kissing him.
---
They go to the diner at least once a day and talk about nonsense like how Dean needs to be a better tipper (one of the few pieces of information he gets out of her is that she used to be a waitress) or what movie to rent (she blanches when he suggests “The Pursuit of Happiness” and he remembers later that it stars Aaron Echolls). They never talk about where they’re from or about their families because the past is history and neither one of them want to drudge it up now.
Veronica’s in the restroom when one of the other patrons recognizes him from the bar and says that he’s surprised he hasn’t seen him around there lately.
“You used to be a regular,” the guy says.
“Well, now I’m a regular here,” he replies.
Veronica comes back from the restroom, sliding into the booth, across from him. The guy winks knowingly, walking away.
“What was that about?” she asks curiously.
He smiles cheekily. “He thinks we’re doing it.”
She snorts in response, smiling slightly. “As if.”
And that is how their routine goes: diner, banter, movie (or channel surfing when the video store closes early). It’s a good routine, especially if you throw in when she kisses him in the Impala. So yeah, Dean would say that it’s all good.
Until she starts asking him about Sam.
“What was he like?”
“He was…Sammy,” is all he can think of to say.
“How did he die?”
“It was an accident,” he lies. “A freak accident.” Well, there was definitely something freakish about it.
He sits down on the bed and runs his hands through his hair. Suddenly, she’s standing in front of him, sweeping her hands over his face as he lets out a deep breath.
Veronica may have healing hands, but her kiss is even better, he thinks, as she slides her lips down from his temple to his chin. She swings a leg over his thighs, straddling his lap.
“I thought you weren’t going to have sex with me,” he says into the hair shading his face.
“A girl reserves the right to change her mind.”
---
“You remind me of him,” she says afterwards, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Logan, my boyfriend.”
He smirks. “That’s just what every guy wants to hear after sex.”
“See, that right there,” she says, smiling up at him. “That’s Logan.”
---
This is how their routine goes now: diner, banter, movie (or channel surfing when the video store closes early), sex.
One guess what Dean’s favorite part is.
---
He never asks what Logan was like. He’s already playing the part.
---
“I talked to the guy at the front desk. He says you’ve been staying here for months. Ever since your brother died.”
“God, you’re nosey,” he says, shaking his head.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she replies with a proud smile. “You can’t stay here forever, Dean.” She takes his hand in her small one and he so desperately wants to believe in something so little. “He’s not coming back. You have to move on.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” she ask defensively, dropping his hand.
“At least I’m not running away, driving all over the country to nowhere. Maybe you should stop running and just deal,” he says, his voice growing louder with each word. “Hell, did you ever think that maybe I’ve just been waiting for something to come along?”
Waiting for someone like you.
She looks at him, her eyes wide, as he attempts to calm himself by pacing the small motel room.
“Come with me,” she says suddenly, grabbing his hand.
He wants to say, “Yes!” so badly and ride off in his Impala (hell no, they’re not taking the Le Baron) with her. But he can’t, not in good consciousness and since when did he develop such a stringent sense of right and wrong?
“I’m not him, Veronica. I can’t be him for you.”
“I’m not asking you to be!” she exclaims and he can see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“You don’t have to,” he replies softly.
---
Dean thinks it’s not fair that the day Veronica finally packs up her car, it’s sunny and beautiful outside. He can barely see her as he squints against the sun.
He loads her bags into the trunk before coming around to the driver’s side door. She smiles at him wistfully when he pushes her hair back behind her ears.
“Don’t try to use that ‘hey there, little lady’ pick-up line again. We girls don’t like it when you call us ‘little lady.’”
“It worked on you, didn’t it?” he says, grinning.
“You got lucky.”
“Yeah,” he nods.
They’re quiet for a little while and Dean will never tell her that sometimes he can’t think around her because she takes all the air out of him.
“You’ll call me, if you ever come to California?”
He nods. “You bet.”
He’s heard California is nice in the summer. A little sun and ocean couldn’t hurt him. Maybe she’ll be ready then.
Maybe he’ll be ready.
End
II. Edge of the Ocean
III. Chosen Family
IV. Hospice
By halfway2home
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Supernatural” or “Veronica Mars.” Eric Kripke and Rob Thomas would be your guys. The title comes from a song of the same name by Beck.
Word Count: 2031
Rating: PG
Pairing: Veronica/Dean (from Supernatural)
Setting/Spoilers: Future fic. No real spoilers, but through both shows' finales if you want to be super careful.
Summary: “And that is how their routine goes: diner, banter, movie (or channel surfing when the video store closes early).”
Author’s Note: To kerfect and rubykatewriting, for their encouragement and betaing.
He notices her right away when she enters. There aren’t that many slight, petite blondes who come this way. She looks around, a little dazed, before coming up beside him at the bar.
“Hey there, little lady,” he says, smiling charmingly. “Can I get you a drink?”
She looks at him with this expression that says, “Are you out of your mind?” before turning away without a word.
“Hey, do you have a phone I could use?” she asks, leaning over the bar.
“By the bathrooms,” the bartenders answers, nodding in that direction.
She walks away and he has to admit it. Okay, that hurt a little.
He watches as she makes a quick phone call and thinks about going over to her and apologizing, trying to make another go at it, but she leaves the bar as soon as she hangs up.
He finishes his beer instead, sipping at it slowly. When the bartender starts to pour him another glass, he holds out his hand. “Not today.”
Outside, it’s getting dark now and soon you won’t be able to see anything with the lack of street lighting in this neck of the woods. It’s nice if you want to hide from the world.
He’s about to get into his car when he sees her sitting on the trunk of her rusty, old -- What is the hell is that? A freakin’ Le Baron?
“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself at night.”
She looks up suddenly, eyeing him with scrutiny. For a moment, he feels exposed under her gaze until he remembers that she can’t see anything. She’s just a girl.
“I’m fine,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m just waiting for the tow truck.”
He walks over to her, sitting down beside her silently. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
“So this old rust bucket broke down on you, huh? What a shock,” he says, hoping to break the silence.
“That’s quite a fossil you have yourself,” she replies, nodding at his Impala.
“Hey, that’s a restored classic.”
“This is a neo-classic,” she bites back and he has to smile because she almost loves her car more than he loves his. Almost.
When the tow truck finally comes, he offers her a ride to a motel and she looks wearily between him and where the burly guy is chaining her car to the truck before nodding hesitantly.
They pull up to a small motel across from a diner in the center (“I know, it’s hard to believe.”) of town.
“I’m in room two-fourteen, if you need anything,” he says.
“I’m not having sex with you,” she replies bluntly.
He smiles. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Okay,” she says, before stepping out of the car.
“I’m Dean, by the way,” he yells, leaning out the window.
She looks at him with that appraising gaze again. “Veronica.”
---
There’s a knock at his door and when he opens it, he finds her standing there, shifting nervously, with a pile of vendor machine food perched in her arms.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says and he nods, opening the door wider for her to come in. “I’m still not having sex with you.”
He laughs as she dumps the food onto the bed. “You’re breaking my heart, Veronica.”
She smiles at him sweetly. He sits down beside her on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and begins flipping through the TV channels. When he pauses at an old movie, he feels her sit up straight beside him.
“Can you change the channel?” she asks.
“Not a fan of ‘The Long Haul,’ are you?” he jokes.
“Not a fan of Aaron Echolls. Period.” There’s something in her tone that’s a little hard, but he lets it go.
They finally stop on a Nick at Nite rerun, settling back into the pillows comfortably. She’s almost asleep by the time the show is over. He’s about to cover her with a blanket when her eyes drift open.
“I should go back to my room,” she says through a yawn.
“You can stay here, if you want.” He raises his hands in the air. “No funny business, I swear.”
“No, I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. “But thanks.”
When she leaves, Dean thinks that the bed feels empty without her.
---
In the morning, he invites her to breakfast at the diner across the street. She orders a mountain of pancakes (“Damn, do you have an elastic stomach or something?”) and he gets his eggs white and coffee black.
“How long are you in town for?” she asks.
“Don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it,” he answers, shrugging, as she douses her pancakes in strawberry syrup. “How about you?”
“Just until the Le Baron is fixed, I guess. They have to order some parts.” She pauses for a moment, before adding, “I was only passing through.”
“Where are you going?”
She smiles. “Don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it.”
After they’re done with breakfast, he walks her back to her motel room and he thinks that this is probably the closest he’s ever gotten to walking a girl home, so he leans down and presses his lips against hers.
“Dean…” she breathes out when they pull apart. “I…I can’t.”
And then she disappears into her room.
---
He thinks he should be used to Veronica showing up at his door, but he’s still surprised when he finds her there, biting her bottom lip nervously. He half-expected her to pack up her stuff and leave town without a word.
“Hey,” she says, looking everywhere but at him. She slips in under his arm and begins walking the room in circles.
“Who’s this?” she asks, pausing at a photograph. Damn. He knew there was a reason why people like him didn’t put out photographs.
“That’s my brother.” She looks at him over her shoulder because they both know there’s more to it. “He’s gone.”
She nods, looking down at the ground. “My boyfriend died two months ago.” It’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and he’s surprised by how much he means it.
“I couldn’t stay there any longer -- at home -- so I got in my car and started driving.” She takes a seat in the chair by the small corner table. “That was almost three weeks ago.”
Suddenly, Dean has a whole new set of questions surrounding Veronica, but he doesn’t care if he never finds the answers.
Not when she’s kissing him.
---
They go to the diner at least once a day and talk about nonsense like how Dean needs to be a better tipper (one of the few pieces of information he gets out of her is that she used to be a waitress) or what movie to rent (she blanches when he suggests “The Pursuit of Happiness” and he remembers later that it stars Aaron Echolls). They never talk about where they’re from or about their families because the past is history and neither one of them want to drudge it up now.
Veronica’s in the restroom when one of the other patrons recognizes him from the bar and says that he’s surprised he hasn’t seen him around there lately.
“You used to be a regular,” the guy says.
“Well, now I’m a regular here,” he replies.
Veronica comes back from the restroom, sliding into the booth, across from him. The guy winks knowingly, walking away.
“What was that about?” she asks curiously.
He smiles cheekily. “He thinks we’re doing it.”
She snorts in response, smiling slightly. “As if.”
And that is how their routine goes: diner, banter, movie (or channel surfing when the video store closes early). It’s a good routine, especially if you throw in when she kisses him in the Impala. So yeah, Dean would say that it’s all good.
Until she starts asking him about Sam.
“What was he like?”
“He was…Sammy,” is all he can think of to say.
“How did he die?”
“It was an accident,” he lies. “A freak accident.” Well, there was definitely something freakish about it.
He sits down on the bed and runs his hands through his hair. Suddenly, she’s standing in front of him, sweeping her hands over his face as he lets out a deep breath.
Veronica may have healing hands, but her kiss is even better, he thinks, as she slides her lips down from his temple to his chin. She swings a leg over his thighs, straddling his lap.
“I thought you weren’t going to have sex with me,” he says into the hair shading his face.
“A girl reserves the right to change her mind.”
---
“You remind me of him,” she says afterwards, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Logan, my boyfriend.”
He smirks. “That’s just what every guy wants to hear after sex.”
“See, that right there,” she says, smiling up at him. “That’s Logan.”
---
This is how their routine goes now: diner, banter, movie (or channel surfing when the video store closes early), sex.
One guess what Dean’s favorite part is.
---
He never asks what Logan was like. He’s already playing the part.
---
“I talked to the guy at the front desk. He says you’ve been staying here for months. Ever since your brother died.”
“God, you’re nosey,” he says, shaking his head.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she replies with a proud smile. “You can’t stay here forever, Dean.” She takes his hand in her small one and he so desperately wants to believe in something so little. “He’s not coming back. You have to move on.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” she ask defensively, dropping his hand.
“At least I’m not running away, driving all over the country to nowhere. Maybe you should stop running and just deal,” he says, his voice growing louder with each word. “Hell, did you ever think that maybe I’ve just been waiting for something to come along?”
Waiting for someone like you.
She looks at him, her eyes wide, as he attempts to calm himself by pacing the small motel room.
“Come with me,” she says suddenly, grabbing his hand.
He wants to say, “Yes!” so badly and ride off in his Impala (hell no, they’re not taking the Le Baron) with her. But he can’t, not in good consciousness and since when did he develop such a stringent sense of right and wrong?
“I’m not him, Veronica. I can’t be him for you.”
“I’m not asking you to be!” she exclaims and he can see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“You don’t have to,” he replies softly.
---
Dean thinks it’s not fair that the day Veronica finally packs up her car, it’s sunny and beautiful outside. He can barely see her as he squints against the sun.
He loads her bags into the trunk before coming around to the driver’s side door. She smiles at him wistfully when he pushes her hair back behind her ears.
“Don’t try to use that ‘hey there, little lady’ pick-up line again. We girls don’t like it when you call us ‘little lady.’”
“It worked on you, didn’t it?” he says, grinning.
“You got lucky.”
“Yeah,” he nods.
They’re quiet for a little while and Dean will never tell her that sometimes he can’t think around her because she takes all the air out of him.
“You’ll call me, if you ever come to California?”
He nods. “You bet.”
He’s heard California is nice in the summer. A little sun and ocean couldn’t hurt him. Maybe she’ll be ready then.
Maybe he’ll be ready.
End
II. Edge of the Ocean
III. Chosen Family
IV. Hospice