Fanfic - Supernatural
Jan. 31st, 2007 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
e_julianaTitle: Dean and Sam meet Fernet
Author: e_juliana
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, assorted miscreants
Disclaimers: Not my characters, no spoilers, yes I'm on crack, have some Fernet.
Thanks:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smonsterbite, luluminion, la_perkins, minim_calibre all beta'd (and laughed like loons). Time to switch to whiskey, y'all.
Dean hated San Francisco. The city was too narrow, too hemmed-in, with water on three sides and nowhere to run. And it was too close to Stanford. Sam didn’t mope every time they had to go into California any more, but Dean could still feel him tighten up as they went past Palo Alto.
The lead they had been following turned out to be a bust, so Dean insisted on finding a bar for a few beers. He chose what looked like a decent hole in the wall and waved Sam’s protestations of sleep & food being more desirable away.
“C’mon, Sammy. We need a couple beers, and they say they have Bud in the bottle. I’m tired of this PBR-in-a-can shit, like everyone in Frisco’s a hipster tryin’ to act like a redneck.”
Sam let out a sigh. “Dean, no one says ‘Frisco’. It’s just stupid.”
“Hmmmph.” Dean had noticed the Harleys outside the bar, so he wasn’t inclined to press the point as they walked in and were greeted with… karaoke?
The last thing Dean was expecting in this grungy wanna-be roadhouse was karaoke. Bad jukebox, sure. Worse band, definitely. But frickin’ *karaoke*?
On the other hand, the tattooed chick behind the bar was one of the best things he’d seen all night--dark hair, big smile, blue eyes. She was giving him a look from those baby blues like he wasn’t too bad, either. Maybe this had potential.
“Two Buds in a bottle, sweetheart.”
She popped them open, set them on the bar, and then asked, “You guys want some shots, too? We’re running a special on Fernet tonight - two bucks a shot.”
“What the hell is Fernet?” Dean looked at Sam, thinking maybe he had heard of it down at Wuss U., but Sam shook his head. “Is it pretty popular around here?” Behind him, some dude was doing a not-bad impression of Neil Diamond.
The girl gave him a grin like she had the keys to the fuckin’ kingdom. “San Francisco is responsible for 80% of American Fernet consumption. Yeah, it’s pretty popular around here. It’s a digestive--kinda like Jagermeister. Wanna try?”
Dean looked at Sam, who rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said as he turned back to the bartender and her low-cut shirt, “we’ll both do a shot of Fer… whatever.”
The bartender’s smile was starting to resemble a shark’s. She plopped down two shots of some intense-smelling brown liquid and two backs of… “What the hell is this?”
“Ginger ale backs. Most rookies need ‘em.”
“Screw that.” Dean and Sam toasted and threw their shots down. Sam promptly started choking and reaching for the ginger ale. Dean, not wanting to look like a total pussy in front of the girl (or Sam, for that matter), grinned around the damn near unspeakable taste in his mouth and took a big swig of Bud.
“Holy hell,” Dean finally managed to speak without feeling like he was going to choke. “What are you trying to do, poison us?”
The bartender kept grinning and picked up the bills Dean threw down. “Just wait. The buzz is nice.” With that, she sashayed off to ring their drinks up and no doubt lure some other poor sucker into the torture shots.
Sam finally regained his breath. “Dude, that was… foul. That was worse than, well, anything.”
Dean felt the warmth of the shot hit his stomach. “Yeah, but it’s starting to grow on me.” He ignored Sam’s squinchy face, preferring to focus on a hot chick in tall black boots who was belting out “Son Of A Preacher Man”. “That one’s sorta gothy. Sammy, you could read her your poetry and get her all hot’n’bothered.”
“Blow me, Dean.”
“In your dreams, Sam. Miss? Could I get another two shots of that… stuff?”
The bartender came back with two more shots, one Bud, one ginger back, and a wink for Dean.
Dean was starting to warm up to San Francisco.
~~~~
A couple shots, a lot of flirtation, and one bellowing sing-along to “You Never Even Called Me By My Name” later, Dean decided that it was time.
“C’mon Sammy. I hear you singing in the shower all the time.”
“Dean, no way. I am not making a fool out of myself tonight.”
“Aw, c’mon!” This was the bartender showing up to bring them another round. “That’s part of the fun of karaoke. You can make an ass out of yourself and no one cares. Just choose a fun song. Besides, you can’t be any worse than ‘White Chocolate’,” and here she nodded at the skinny white dude massacring the Clash up at the mic.
The pretty Aussie student next to Sam spoke up, “Yeah! We’re not good,” she waved a drunkenly expansive arm toward the group of youth hostel kids she was with, “but we’re having fun. Sing it, cutie!”
Sam blew his hair out of his eyes, looking even grumpier. “Fine, fine. Just pick a song I know, okay? And, Dean? I’m gonna kill you.”
Dean loved San Francisco.
~~~~
A few more shots later, Dean was discovering exactly how hard it was to sing Metallica.
It didn’t matter how many times Dean had played "Enter Sandman" in the Impala, singing it without James right in his ear was one of the hardest things he could think of, right up there with willingly getting on an airplane. On the other hand, the hot girl bartender was paying attention and smiling like the cat that got the cream, so it might have a payoff. Still, he was sweating like a whore in church.
"Exit light / Enter night / Grain of sand / Exit light / Enter night / Take my hand / We're off to never-never land"
And done. Damn. The hostel kids were screaming their fool heads off, and even Sam looked like he was mildly amused.
“Your turn, Sam. Go out there and try to match that, okay?” Dean took a long swing of his Bud, trying not to show how terrifying that had been. He’d rather go up against a pissed-off spirit than try that again. Hell, even a 747 was looking good.
“Fuck you, Dean.” The title card for the song Dean had picked out for Sam came up. “DUDE. NO. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Well, Sammy, you asked for a song you knew. I figured you’d be down for the wuss rock. From the hair, Sammy. Sing it from the hair.” Dean clenched his fists and gave his brother his best constipated look.
“Fuck. You.” With that, Sam turned his back on his brother and launched into REO Speedwagon.
"I can't fight this feeling any longer / And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow / What started out as friendship / Has grown stronger / I only wish I had the strength to let it show…"
By the time Dean finally pulled himself out of the laughing fit and headed toward the bar, the bartender already had a celebratory round out for the two of them. “It’s on me, cutie. You gave a good show, and your brother’s not too bad.”
Dean had to admit that she was right. The kid knew his wuss rock. Even the jaded goth chick looked impressed, and Dean’d bet the Impala that Sam could take any of the hostel chicks home after that performance.
Dean really loved San Francisco.
~~~~
A few more shots, and Dean and Sam were dueting on “Back In Black”. They were slurring their words like hell and having a grand old time, especially since they were surrounded by drunken young girls who were headbanging like they had actually been alive in 1980.
"Back in the back / Of a Cadillac / Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack"
Dean was on top of the world. Surrounded by rowdy women, his brother next to him, and his new best friend Fernet in his hand.
Life was good.
They finished up, and the KJ announced last call. The bartender had their drinks on the bar before they even made it up there. “It’s been fun having you boys here. You should come back.”
Dean grinned and said, “We’d love to stay a little longer, if that’s cool.”
“Nuh-uh sweetheart. The cops have been on our ass for noise violations. You all have to be out in 15 minutes.”
“Too bad. Can I at least get your number, look you up next time we’re through here?”
She rolled her eyes, but scribbled her number on a napkin and handed it to him. “Here. Now drink up. You’re lucky you’re cute.” With that, she was back down the bar, hollering, “Drink ‘em up! NOW!”
Sam finished up his conversation with the blonde who had attached herself to his waist and gently extricated himself from her grasp. “You ready to go, dude?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” They stumbled back to the cheap motel in the middle of Chinatown that smelled of ginseng and mothballs. Dean didn’t even bother to undress before he belly-flopped onto the thin hard bed, moaning. “That Fernet’s kicking my ass, man.” Sam’s snore answered him, and Dean rolled over and passed out, too.
The knocking of the maid woke him up. “Go’way!” and a thrown shoe against the door managed to get rid of her, but not much was going to get rid of the oddest hangover Dean had ever had.
“Mmmmph. Sammy, get up. Time to get moving.”
The room was still fuzzy, and Dean’s mouth tasted like a family of very aromatic mice had nested in it.
“Gah. What was that we drank? Frenhat? Furhead? Oh yeah, Fernet? I’m never drinking that shit again.”
Dean hated San Francisco.
~~~~
3 months later...
"What about this? Pictures fell off the wall all over town. Could be a group of poltergeists. What would you call that? A 'shake' of poltergeists?"
"Let me see that article... Dean. There was an earthquake. For the last time, we are not going back to San Francisco."
"Aw, but nowhere else has any Fernet!"
"You're insane. That shit is nasty."
“Yeah, but it's so good!”
Author: e_juliana
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, assorted miscreants
Disclaimers: Not my characters, no spoilers, yes I'm on crack, have some Fernet.
Thanks:
smonsterbite, luluminion, la_perkins, minim_calibre all beta'd (and laughed like loons). Time to switch to whiskey, y'all. Dean hated San Francisco. The city was too narrow, too hemmed-in, with water on three sides and nowhere to run. And it was too close to Stanford. Sam didn’t mope every time they had to go into California any more, but Dean could still feel him tighten up as they went past Palo Alto.
The lead they had been following turned out to be a bust, so Dean insisted on finding a bar for a few beers. He chose what looked like a decent hole in the wall and waved Sam’s protestations of sleep & food being more desirable away.
“C’mon, Sammy. We need a couple beers, and they say they have Bud in the bottle. I’m tired of this PBR-in-a-can shit, like everyone in Frisco’s a hipster tryin’ to act like a redneck.”
Sam let out a sigh. “Dean, no one says ‘Frisco’. It’s just stupid.”
“Hmmmph.” Dean had noticed the Harleys outside the bar, so he wasn’t inclined to press the point as they walked in and were greeted with… karaoke?
The last thing Dean was expecting in this grungy wanna-be roadhouse was karaoke. Bad jukebox, sure. Worse band, definitely. But frickin’ *karaoke*?
On the other hand, the tattooed chick behind the bar was one of the best things he’d seen all night--dark hair, big smile, blue eyes. She was giving him a look from those baby blues like he wasn’t too bad, either. Maybe this had potential.
“Two Buds in a bottle, sweetheart.”
She popped them open, set them on the bar, and then asked, “You guys want some shots, too? We’re running a special on Fernet tonight - two bucks a shot.”
“What the hell is Fernet?” Dean looked at Sam, thinking maybe he had heard of it down at Wuss U., but Sam shook his head. “Is it pretty popular around here?” Behind him, some dude was doing a not-bad impression of Neil Diamond.
The girl gave him a grin like she had the keys to the fuckin’ kingdom. “San Francisco is responsible for 80% of American Fernet consumption. Yeah, it’s pretty popular around here. It’s a digestive--kinda like Jagermeister. Wanna try?”
Dean looked at Sam, who rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said as he turned back to the bartender and her low-cut shirt, “we’ll both do a shot of Fer… whatever.”
The bartender’s smile was starting to resemble a shark’s. She plopped down two shots of some intense-smelling brown liquid and two backs of… “What the hell is this?”
“Ginger ale backs. Most rookies need ‘em.”
“Screw that.” Dean and Sam toasted and threw their shots down. Sam promptly started choking and reaching for the ginger ale. Dean, not wanting to look like a total pussy in front of the girl (or Sam, for that matter), grinned around the damn near unspeakable taste in his mouth and took a big swig of Bud.
“Holy hell,” Dean finally managed to speak without feeling like he was going to choke. “What are you trying to do, poison us?”
The bartender kept grinning and picked up the bills Dean threw down. “Just wait. The buzz is nice.” With that, she sashayed off to ring their drinks up and no doubt lure some other poor sucker into the torture shots.
Sam finally regained his breath. “Dude, that was… foul. That was worse than, well, anything.”
Dean felt the warmth of the shot hit his stomach. “Yeah, but it’s starting to grow on me.” He ignored Sam’s squinchy face, preferring to focus on a hot chick in tall black boots who was belting out “Son Of A Preacher Man”. “That one’s sorta gothy. Sammy, you could read her your poetry and get her all hot’n’bothered.”
“Blow me, Dean.”
“In your dreams, Sam. Miss? Could I get another two shots of that… stuff?”
The bartender came back with two more shots, one Bud, one ginger back, and a wink for Dean.
Dean was starting to warm up to San Francisco.
~~~~
A couple shots, a lot of flirtation, and one bellowing sing-along to “You Never Even Called Me By My Name” later, Dean decided that it was time.
“C’mon Sammy. I hear you singing in the shower all the time.”
“Dean, no way. I am not making a fool out of myself tonight.”
“Aw, c’mon!” This was the bartender showing up to bring them another round. “That’s part of the fun of karaoke. You can make an ass out of yourself and no one cares. Just choose a fun song. Besides, you can’t be any worse than ‘White Chocolate’,” and here she nodded at the skinny white dude massacring the Clash up at the mic.
The pretty Aussie student next to Sam spoke up, “Yeah! We’re not good,” she waved a drunkenly expansive arm toward the group of youth hostel kids she was with, “but we’re having fun. Sing it, cutie!”
Sam blew his hair out of his eyes, looking even grumpier. “Fine, fine. Just pick a song I know, okay? And, Dean? I’m gonna kill you.”
Dean loved San Francisco.
~~~~
A few more shots later, Dean was discovering exactly how hard it was to sing Metallica.
It didn’t matter how many times Dean had played "Enter Sandman" in the Impala, singing it without James right in his ear was one of the hardest things he could think of, right up there with willingly getting on an airplane. On the other hand, the hot girl bartender was paying attention and smiling like the cat that got the cream, so it might have a payoff. Still, he was sweating like a whore in church.
"Exit light / Enter night / Grain of sand / Exit light / Enter night / Take my hand / We're off to never-never land"
And done. Damn. The hostel kids were screaming their fool heads off, and even Sam looked like he was mildly amused.
“Your turn, Sam. Go out there and try to match that, okay?” Dean took a long swing of his Bud, trying not to show how terrifying that had been. He’d rather go up against a pissed-off spirit than try that again. Hell, even a 747 was looking good.
“Fuck you, Dean.” The title card for the song Dean had picked out for Sam came up. “DUDE. NO. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Well, Sammy, you asked for a song you knew. I figured you’d be down for the wuss rock. From the hair, Sammy. Sing it from the hair.” Dean clenched his fists and gave his brother his best constipated look.
“Fuck. You.” With that, Sam turned his back on his brother and launched into REO Speedwagon.
"I can't fight this feeling any longer / And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow / What started out as friendship / Has grown stronger / I only wish I had the strength to let it show…"
By the time Dean finally pulled himself out of the laughing fit and headed toward the bar, the bartender already had a celebratory round out for the two of them. “It’s on me, cutie. You gave a good show, and your brother’s not too bad.”
Dean had to admit that she was right. The kid knew his wuss rock. Even the jaded goth chick looked impressed, and Dean’d bet the Impala that Sam could take any of the hostel chicks home after that performance.
Dean really loved San Francisco.
~~~~
A few more shots, and Dean and Sam were dueting on “Back In Black”. They were slurring their words like hell and having a grand old time, especially since they were surrounded by drunken young girls who were headbanging like they had actually been alive in 1980.
"Back in the back / Of a Cadillac / Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack"
Dean was on top of the world. Surrounded by rowdy women, his brother next to him, and his new best friend Fernet in his hand.
Life was good.
They finished up, and the KJ announced last call. The bartender had their drinks on the bar before they even made it up there. “It’s been fun having you boys here. You should come back.”
Dean grinned and said, “We’d love to stay a little longer, if that’s cool.”
“Nuh-uh sweetheart. The cops have been on our ass for noise violations. You all have to be out in 15 minutes.”
“Too bad. Can I at least get your number, look you up next time we’re through here?”
She rolled her eyes, but scribbled her number on a napkin and handed it to him. “Here. Now drink up. You’re lucky you’re cute.” With that, she was back down the bar, hollering, “Drink ‘em up! NOW!”
Sam finished up his conversation with the blonde who had attached herself to his waist and gently extricated himself from her grasp. “You ready to go, dude?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” They stumbled back to the cheap motel in the middle of Chinatown that smelled of ginseng and mothballs. Dean didn’t even bother to undress before he belly-flopped onto the thin hard bed, moaning. “That Fernet’s kicking my ass, man.” Sam’s snore answered him, and Dean rolled over and passed out, too.
The knocking of the maid woke him up. “Go’way!” and a thrown shoe against the door managed to get rid of her, but not much was going to get rid of the oddest hangover Dean had ever had.
“Mmmmph. Sammy, get up. Time to get moving.”
The room was still fuzzy, and Dean’s mouth tasted like a family of very aromatic mice had nested in it.
“Gah. What was that we drank? Frenhat? Furhead? Oh yeah, Fernet? I’m never drinking that shit again.”
Dean hated San Francisco.
~~~~
3 months later...
"What about this? Pictures fell off the wall all over town. Could be a group of poltergeists. What would you call that? A 'shake' of poltergeists?"
"Let me see that article... Dean. There was an earthquake. For the last time, we are not going back to San Francisco."
"Aw, but nowhere else has any Fernet!"
"You're insane. That shit is nasty."
“Yeah, but it's so good!”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 05:44 am (UTC)I'll have a shot, m'dear.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 05:45 am (UTC)(And okay, it's a Dark Angel icon, but still!)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 11:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 02:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:04 pm (UTC)(i feel the need to polish up that coda a bit. if'n i ever get around to it.)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 09:38 pm (UTC)FURHEAD.
So. Much. Love.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-03 05:07 am (UTC)And it's funny! Hah! Poor Dean and his love-hate relationship with SF...
no subject
Date: 2007-02-03 03:47 pm (UTC)Favorite lines:
Dean hated San Francisco. The city was too narrow, too hemmed-in, with water on three sides and nowhere to run. And it was too close to Stanford.
Aww, boys. *hugs them*
“What the hell is Fernet?” Dean looked at Sam, thinking maybe he had heard of it down at Wuss U.
“Wuss U”? LOL!
From the hair, Sammy. Sing it from the hair.”
*g* And of course Sam does just that. *pets emo!Sam*
"What about this? Pictures fell off the wall all over town. Could be a group of poltergeists. What would you call that? A 'shake' of poltergeists?"
"Let me see that article... Dean. There was an earthquake. For the last time, we are not going back to San Francisco."
*g* When Dean gets hooked on something, he really gets hooked, doesn’t he?
no subject
Date: 2007-02-04 02:44 am (UTC)This fic was awesome.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-04 02:09 pm (UTC)