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#nightmare menu please! devil's diner
girlucifer · 2 years
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the way he's canonically like this in the food service industry
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katymacsupernatural · 4 years
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When Normal’s Not Enough
Dean Winchester x Reader
2000 Words
Summary: After a hunt goes bad, Y/N runs from her life. But it catches back up with her.
Warnings: Angst at first, then fluff
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You should have been happy. Sitting there, on your porch, a glass of freshly brewed iced tea in your hands, everything should have been perfect. However, you found yourself remembering that fateful night that had changed everything, your heart aching as if it had happened yesterday.
A hunt had taken a turn for the worst. Your best friend, Amanda, had been overtaken by the pack of hungry werewolves, torn to shreds in front of your eyes. And that’s when you knew, your hunting days were over.
Dean had taken your news the hardest, just as you had expected he would. Not only had you left hunting, but you were leaving behind everything that went with it, including the man you loved.
“Please Dean, don’t follow me,” you had pleaded. “Let me go. Fade away into the normal. Away from this...pain.”
“Away from me?” He had asked, his mossy green eyes were full of pain.
“I’m sorry,” was the last thing you had said to him before fleeing. Away from hunting and the bunker. Away from the best people you had ever known. To this life. A very normal life. 
That had been three years ago. Three long years. You had found the most normal town you could think of. Got a job as a waitress. Found a small little bungalow that was all yours. Everything you would have normally done before hunting had gotten in the way. 
But hunting had seemed to follow you, as much as you would let it. Your front door mat had a devil’s trap painted below. Containers of salt were carefully placed in every room, along with iron. Along with a couple of guns carefully hidden, that’s as far as you let hunting follow you.
“Morning Y/N!” Your neighbor Suzie called out. She was pushing a smart-looking pink stroller down the sidewalk. “What a beautiful day for a walk. Want to join me and this little cutie?”
“No, that’s all right,” you answered back and she kept on moving. 
Sighing, you sat down your glass of tea, just as your phone rang. “Hey Stevie,” you answered, your coworker on the other end.
“Listen, I know you’re off today, and I was wondering,” She started. “This morning sickness is kicking my butt. Do you think you could take my shift tonight?”
You had really been looking forward to having the night off. Especially after working every day for the past 6 days. But you couldn’t say no to Stevie. “Sure,” you answered.
“Thanks, Y/N! I owe you!” She exclaimed before hanging up.
Dropping the phone on the cushion beside you, you stared out at the tranquil street. Your neighbor across was out watering her prize-winning roses. Across from her was an older couple sitting on their porch. He was reading the newspaper while she sipped on her tea. 
People walked up and down the pristine sidewalk, many pushing baby strollers. Everyone was smiling. And it was starting to drive you crazy.
It shouldn’t have been. It’s what you had so desperately wanted, no needed after that dreadful hunt. You had wanted everything normalcy could bring you. But it didn’t feel right. Sure, the people were nice, but you still felt like an outsider. Living a fake life, watching as their lives blossomed. They fell in love, started families. And you? You hadn’t been able to force yourself to move on yet. Not after everything. 
Being here, forcing yourself to smile while everyone had no idea what you had been through. It was harder than you expected, and sometimes you picked up your phone, staring at his name. Wishing you were brave enough to press the green button. But you had burned that bridge, and he would probably never want to hear from you again.
A couple of hours later you were tying your apron on, getting ready for another day at work. The place was packed, as usual after the college’s baseball game. The owner, Karen was barking orders while the cook Steve tried to keep up. Pasting a fake smile on your face, you pushed past the swinging doors, stopping immediately.
There he was. Dean Winchester. The man that had haunted your dreams ever since you had moved to this tiny little town. He was looking down at the tattered and stained menu in his hands. His grey flannel shirt rolled up to show those strong forearms. His hair seemed a little longer than you remembered, and there were more lines on his face. But it was him.
Your knees shaking slightly, you did the only logical thing you could think of. Turning around, you pushed back through the doors, pressing your back against the wall. “Y/N!” Karen exclaimed. “We’ve got a full house out there today. There’s no time for dawdling.”
Taking a deep breath, you stepped back into the dining area. Dean was still staring down at the menu, his mossy green eyes staring down. He was alone, his brother nowhere to be seen which surprised you. 
He was on your side of the restaurant, which didn’t surprise you. Of course, fate would throw you back together once again.  Your hands shook slightly as you stepped up to the booth. “Double cheeseburger, fries, and a slice of apple pie?” You asked, knowing exactly what he normally would order.
“How the hell do you know my...Y/N?” His green eyes were wide with wonder, his plump lips parted in shock. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here,” you answered. You could feel Karen’s eyes burning into the back of your neck, and you knew you needed to move on to the next customer soon. “So, did I get the order right?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah, of course, you did. You always knew what I liked.”
You scribbled it down on the order form. “It will be a couple of minutes.” Turning to leave, he reached out and grasped you by the wrist.
“Don’t go. Please,” he pleaded.
“I have to work,” you argued, even though it felt so good to see him again. You wanted to sit with him, to be with a person who understood everything you’ve gone through. That’s seen the same craziness that you have. 
You pulled away, steadying yourself as you handed off his order. “He’s handsome,” Karen came over, snapping her gum, her bright red hair piled high on her head. “And you’re not getting any younger.”
You rolled your eyes. “Thanks. But he’s just an old family friend, passing through town. That’s it.”
“Honey, I don’t think you believe that. And he can’t keep his eyes off of you.”
Winking, she pulled a couple of plates from the warmer. Her words rang true, you could feel Dean’s gaze hot on your back. You wanted to turn around but refused to. You had work to do, and you had no idea how you were going to handle him. 
You didn’t have to worry about that for now. With the place being packed, you were kept on your toes, feeling drinks, taking orders. But the whole time you could see Dean watching you, his expression unreadable. 
When his order was ready, your hand shook slightly as you brought it over to him. “Extra bacon, on the house,” you told him, setting down the burger in front of him. Reaching down, you snatched a fry from his plate, tossing it into your mouth.
“You’re the best,” he exclaimed before shoving his mouth so full of the burger his cheeks bulged. “Y/N, I want to talk to you,” he mumbled, his words hardly recognizable with his mouth so full. 
You shook your head. “Not here. Later. Come by my house.”
You took a slip of paper, writing your address on it, and slipped it to him. When reaching for the paper, his hand grasped yours. “It’s really good seeing you again.”
Tears started to fill your eyes, and you quickly turned away. If he saw those tears, well he was Dean Winchester after all.
The rest of the evening rushed by. Dean had left quickly after you had passed the paper, taking his burger and pie for the road. 
The crowd thinned out, and Karen let you leave early. Your house was within walking distance, and it gave you time to think. Think about what you were going to say to Dean. Wonder what he was doing in town. You had kept your eye on the news, and nothing had seemed suspicious. But you had seen how surprised he had been at the diner. So you were completely confused.
The familiar black Impala was parked out front, and Dean was leaning against the passenger door. Suzie was watering her flowers. There were puddles underneath as she stared curiously at Dean.
You waved at her, letting her know it was okay. “Nice house,” Dean said as he pushed away from the car. “Seems like you’re doing well.”
“It’s a rental,” you offered as you pushed the door open. “It’s nice, and it came furnished.”
“Hmm,” he answered, peering around. “Seems like a pretty nice setup. You must be happy here.”
You ignored that comment, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and pouring a glass for each of you. Sitting down on the edge of your armchair, you got right to it. “Dean, what’s up? Why are you here.” 
He sat across from you, the glass resting in his hand but he made no move to drink. Swirling the liquid around, he finally glanced up at you. “It was the best damn coincidence I’ve ever had.”
“Huh?”
Dean chuckled, setting the glass down. “Y/N, I did everything in my power to let you go. You deserved all of this and more. I hunted with Sam. But you were on my mind every single day. Then imagine my surprise, as I was stopping on my way back to the bunker, to see you. For the first time in years.”
“Bunker?”
“You’ve missed out on so much,” he replied. “But tell me the word, and I’ll be gone. Leave you to...whatever this life holds for you.”
You gave him a half-smile. “What word?”
Dean’s eyes watched you closely. “I just want to know you’re happy. Tell me that, and mean it, and you’ll never see me again.” You could see how much the words cost him, but you were grateful he was giving you the chance. A chance at a normal life, away from monsters and death, and horrible things that crept up in your nightmares. 
But was it what you really wanted? To live with only every day worries. To make small talk with your neighbors at the grocery store. To wait tables for the rest of your life. To not have Dean Winchester in your life?
You had missed the stubborn man with your whole heart, and seeing him here made this decision even harder. 
A tear slipped down your cheek, giving away your answer. Instantly he was pulling you to your feet, wrapping you in those arms you had missed so much. “Damn it Y/N, why didn’t you call?” He ground out, his hold on you almost crushing. 
“I almost did. Each and every day I would pull your name up on my phone. But this is what I had thought I needed. That if I just gave it a little more time,” you sniffed. “But it didn’t erase the memory of Amanda. And I missed you. So freaking much.”
“Come home with me,” he offered, using the back of his knuckle to wipe away your tears. “Sure, there’s still hunting, and with that comes pain. But it’s different now. We have a home, a place we belong. And you belong there too.”
All it took was a nod from you before Dean was swirling you around the room. Within an hour your life here was packed up, placed in the back seat of the Impala. You tossed the keys over to Suzie, knowing she would help you out. She clutched them tightly, winking your way as you settled in the passenger side of the Impala. It finally felt like you could breathe. That everything was going to work itself out.
Dean reached over, threading your fingers through his. “Best pit stop ever,” he exclaimed, and you had to agree. Dean had just saved you from a normal life, and you couldn’t be more grateful.
Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278   @bi-danvers0  @cap-just-said-language @colette2537   @deansgirl215  @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller  @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk  @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420  @screechingartisancashbailiff   @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666
Forever Tags:  @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing  @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting​ @sgarrett49​ @spnbaby-67​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @spnwoman​   @superbadassnatural​ @thatcrazybookwormgeek​   @thewinchesterchronicles​ @vvinch3st3r​  @whimsicalrobots​ @winchester-writes​ @zombiewerewolfqueen​
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fic-xation · 4 years
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Motel Walls Are Made To Be Soundproof - a GEAH fanfic
Welp. I've officially fallen down the rabbit hole of Netflix's Green Eggs and Ham series. C'est la vie. Because we were ROBBED of this classic shipping scenario towards the beginning of episode ten, I took it upon myself to correct that fatal blunder. Hope you enjoy~! ❤️️❤️️
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"Uh-oh! Sorry, but I've only got one room left. You'll have to share."
"Perfect! Slumber party!"
If Guy's extensive, miserable life has taught him anything, it's that the universe loves throwing him a curve ball whenever possible. And the clerk, (why did he look so familiar?) seemed only too pleased to oblige.
~~
The motel room was nothing short of standard. Beige, unassuming walls, mass-produced inoffensive factory artwork, a television, and twin, bland lamps framing a -
"... Single bed," grumbled Guy, letting his briefcase topple to the hardwood floor. "Figures."
His travel companion, however, approached the subject with his usual flair of obnoxious optimism.
"Hey! Single bed, double the snuzzles, amiright?" Gleefully, Sam elbowed at Guy's belly, before turning his attention to the warbling attaché. "What say we let you stretch your feathers, huh, buddy?"
"Sam, wait-!"
Too late.
Before Guy could get another word in edgewise, Sam flicked at the double latches, and with a caw of delight, Jenkins exploded into the room like a firecracker, crowing and bouncing with all limbs a-gaggle.
“Gyah-!” Guy yelped, stumbling onto his backside. Lucky for him, there was little in the room that could warrant an outrageous destruction fee…
… The noise on the other hand…
“Yeaa-aaah, Mistah J!” Sam whooped, bounding atop the lone bed like the sugar-addled child he was. “Talk about a party animal!”
Guy, however, was far from impressed.
"WILL you two keep it DOWN?!" he hissed, making a mad swipe for the Chikaraffe’s leg. With a playful squawk, however, the bird merely hoisted the elder Knox into the air, before catching him roughly by the scruff of his collar.
"What's got your wockets in a bunch?" Sam sneered, already making himself comfortable against the freshly laundered pillows. Guy, meanwhile, could only dangle helplessly from the smiling beak as he glared towards the wannabe bon vivant.
Thrashing his arms, he managed to free himself before collapsing to the mattress like a sack of cement.
"I don't know if you've noticed, or you're just too crazy to care-" Guy snarled, rising to his knees. "But we are up to our eyebrows in witnesses! Do the words noise complaint mean anything to you?! Or, better yet, search warrant?”
Valid concerns to be sure, but naturally, Sam shot him down with no more than a shrug.
"Chill-AX, my S.O.O.M.D.B... Stressed-Out-Over-Minor-Details-Buddy!” Reaching into the bedside drawer, he began to poke about curiously, evidently looking for something. “Motel walls are made to be soundproof! I mean, heaven forbid ya let the whole building know you n’ your partner are havin’ sweet, wonderful-”
“SAM!” Flushed and flabbergasted, Guy clapped his hands to Jenkins’ ears. (Or, at least, where he assumed ears would be.)
Innocently, Sam tilted his head to one side. “… What? I’m just sayin’, no one wants to have cereal with everyone listening in. Call me old fashioned, but I think slurping and crunching should be done behind closed doors only… Ooh! Speaking of which-”
Unsurprisingly, Sam was quick to find the room service menu. Wasting no time, he began to rifle through the cardboard pages, feigning a look of pseudo-concentration.
“… Let’s see…” he murmured, scratching his chin.
Guy, dumbstruck, could do nothing more than release Jenkins’ head with an aggravated grumph of embarrassment, clumsily shifting his hands into the pockets of his fur.
Why did he get the feeling Sam's… suggestive phrasing was all too deliberate?
"… Look-" he said at last, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just do me a favor, and keep the nonsense to a minimum tonight, okay?"
"Roger-dodger, Captain Cantankerous!" Sam proclaimed, posing his hand in a jolly salute. "Me n' Mr. J'll be the very models of good behavior! ... Won't we, boy? Huh?"
Jenkins, with an excitable gobble, swiftly rolled onto his back.
"Ooooh-” Sam cooed. “Looks like someone is croakin’ for a strokin’!”
With reckless abandon, he launched himself towards the bird, eagerly combing his hands along the soft, feathery belly. “We're gonna be good, wholesome tenants for this good, wholesome establishment. Aren't we? Aren't we, ya silly-willy-nilly-boy...!"
Even Guy couldn’t help but smile slightly, quietly succumbing to a gentle pet along the downy fuzz of the Chikaraffe’s neck.
The power of Sam’s smugness, though, was certainly enough to ruin the moment. With a jerk of his hand, Guy hastily withdrew, and crossed over to the phone atop the T.V mantle.
“Ah, gettin’ the midnight munchies, are we?” Sam smirked, flopping onto his stomach.
“… Sam, it’s seven-thirty.”
“You say tomato, I say ketchup.” He shrugged, propping himself against his elbows. “Oh, but ya know what tastes great in a motel room paid for by identity theft? Couple a’-!”
"If you say the words, 'eggs,' or 'ham,' or 'green,' in any particular order, I'm dumping you off at the diner where I found you." Guy warned, his brows derisively furrowed.
"... Questioned rescinded!" Sam chirped, though something in his expression seemed to have faltered a bit.
... Or, maybe it was just Guy's imagination.
"In any case-" Guy's furry finger trailed the length of the rotary dial. "I'm not callin' room service. I'm just gonna ask the front desk to send up a cot."
Sam chuckled, impishly turning to his back as he kicked at the air. "A cot? … Honestly, Guy, you spoil this bird silly! But there's really no need, I mean, this goofball should be fine with just a sheet or two-"
"It's not for Jenkins." Guy said stoutly. "It's for me."
… Sam’s feet ceased their flexing. Pouncing back to his knees, he stared at Guy with eyes like saucers.
"... For you?" He repeated dumbly. "Ya mean you're not-"          
"No." Guy huffed. "I'm not." Shifting his shoulders, he fidgeted slightly with the coil of the phone. "... It... It’s just for comfort's sake. I-I'd feel better if we weren't... If I-" He cut himself off, practically tangling the cord between his awkward joints.
Sam observed his friend for a moment or two, before smiling easily with a flash of his hand. "Say no more, Pally O'Malley. You need your sleep-space, and I respect that. So!” He leapt to his feet. “What d'ya say we pull the ol' switcheroonie, and trade spots, huh? Let ME take the cot, and you can help yourself to the king-size!"
He then made an exaggerated gesture across the bedspread, like a gameshow host parading a new car. Needless to say, Guy was a little more than surprised.
"... Are... are you sure?"
"Of course! A lil' guy like me doesn't need this much room, anyway. Besides-” Slowly, Sam tucked his hands behind his back, sheepishly shuffling at his feet. “… After all the confuzzlement I've put ya through, this only seems fair."
… Sam was certainly a lot of things, (the words 'dope,' and 'nimrod' generally came to mind,) but every once in a while, he showed a certain level of autonomy Guy didn't think was possible. Briefly lost for words, Guy stared, slightly slack-jawed, before inevitably coming to his senses with a shake of his head.
"... Er... Thank you." He mumbled quietly.
~~
After everything that Guy’d gone through within the last two days, (ranging from breakneck bean-recovery, to adversarial avalanches,) he would’ve happily sacrificed his own appendix for a good night’s rest.
Unfortunately, (but not unsurprisingly,) he had no such luck.
At first, it’d been Jenkins vying for his attention, whining softly as he prodded his beak to Guy’s shoulder.
“… Mr. Jenkins… No… It’s sleep-time…” Guy murmured drowsily, his face half-hidden behind the mound of pillow. If Guy had to guess, he’d wager the big fella was just restless, or hungry… But there was something to his chirping that felt more… desperate. Like he was actively pleading for Guy’s attention. Against his better judgement, Guy finally arose with a groggy grouse, rubbing his palm to the grittiness of his sleep-starved eyes.
“Alright, buddy, wassa matter?” he mumbled with a yawn. Looking over to the creature, Guy expected him to be pecking at the windows, or, (heaven forbid,) scratching at the door… But, to his surprise, Jenkins’ attention was not pointed at the room…
But to Sam.
Sam, who was curled like a boiled shrimp against the suspended canvas of the lightweight cot, quivering pitifully…
… Oh, Dillikins, is he sick?!
Frantically, Guy flicked at the adjoining lamp, scrambling to Sam’s side.
“Sam! Sam, what-”
“… M’sorry…”
Sam’s voice came in feebly; so feebly, in fact, that Guy wasn’t even sure he’d really heard it. Brow furrowed, he gingerly knelt to the floor.
Sam was… sorry?
… Sorry for what?
It was then that Guy realized – Sam wasn’t sick, he was dreaming… Then again, judging by the violent twitches, maybe nightmare would be the better word…
"Sam... Sam, c'mon, wake up-" Guy whispered, hopelessly jostling at his partner’s shoulders… but to no avail.
"... M'sorry..." Sam mumbled again. Guy couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about his voice was... unnerving. It lacked his devil-may-care smoothness and bravado... It sounded weaker, smaller... younger, even. “I… I promise I'll be good... I won't be a burden, Mom, please-"
Without warning, Sam’s rubbery arms twisted themselves around Guy’s unsuspecting midsection like a snake. He reeled, flustered and shocked, but there was no prying the little man from the surprise embrace. He seemed glued to Guy’s stomach, murmuring pathetically all the while,
“Don’t leave… Don’t leave, I’ll be good… I swear I’ll be good…”
It was not the monstrous storm of a boisterous sob, but instead, something quieter... and, all together sadder. It rattled in Sam's ribcage, shaking him from the inside-out. Against his friend, he shivered like a pup, huffing and panting and gulping for air, as his tears dampened the weathered, oak-colored coat.
Guy was all too familiar with the type of nightmare Sam was having, even if the specific context was lost on him. More than once, he’d woken up to an exhausted morning after a fit of grief-filled sleep; his face so ludicrously wet with tears, one would think it'd been raining indoors.
"SAM!" Guy hissed, rustling at his partner’s arms like a maraca. Still murmuring his ghostly pleas, Sam head merely bobbed lifelessly.
“What is he, comatose?!" Guy seethed, shooting Jenkins a thunderstruck look. "I can't get him up!"
Mr. Jenkins whimpered helplessly, glancing between his two adopted papas dads like a frightened toddler. Just then, his face lit up, and, (in what Sam would no doubt classify as a lightbulb moment,) he snapped his powerful jaws at the little man's leg.
… Sam was certainly awake then. His eyes popped open like two jack-in-the-boxes, and with an exaggerated breath, Guy knew a scream was bound to follow. Reeling, he hastily clapped his hands to his partner's open mouth, but not even that was enough to stifle the shriek of pain.
"Shh- be quiet, just be quiet!" he urged, not troubling to temper his own volume as he wrestled the writhing Sam. It proved to be more difficult than one would think, (after all, he was no bigger than their luggage to begin with,) but in his twisting arms, Sam squirmed and thrashed a weasel.
“You're fine, you're okay, just be quiet, please!"
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!
There came a harsh hammering from the opposite wall, rattling the headboard and lamps in its wake.
“Hey-!” cried a muffled, male voice. “Put a cork in it over there!”
“Yeah!” resounded a second, unfamiliar, (but equally masculine,) voice. “Some of us are tryin’ to eat cereal here!”
Red-faced with effort as well as embarrassment, Guy bit at his lip.
… So much for soundproof walls…
“S-sorry!” he stammered, hurriedly gesturing for Jenkins to hush. “My, uh… my buddy here just stubbed his toe! … We – we promise to keep it down!”
“Yeah, you better!” growled the first voice. “Cause if I hear one more peep outta either a’ you, I’m filin’ a complaint!”
Guy swallowed. “… D-duly noted…” Briefly, he paused, wondering what else to say. “Er… Sleep tight!” he added, with a gawky sort of grin.
“I wouldn’t count on it!” giggled the second voice.
Finally, after a moment of strained silence, Guy let out a breath.
“You know, those two sound so cute together.”
With a strangled yap, Guy glanced down towards Sam. He’d all but forgotten about his partner, now perfectly conscious as he lounged within the incidental cradle.
“I gotta say-” Sam continued, casually resting his hands behind his head. “In spite of the blinding pain in my leg, this is a pretty nice way to wake up.”
With a noise of disgust, Guy hastily tossed Sam to the bed like one unloading a bag of trash.
“For your information-” he snapped. “I was trying to wake you up before you got us thrown out on our furry duffs! You were caterwauling like a Pandog with a Spork in its spleen!”
… Okay, so, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Even Jenkins shot Guy an accusatorial glare.
Sam’s smile, however, was dropped almost at once. “… You… You heard all that?”
Guy blinked, a little stunned. He’d been expecting a laugh, or a dismissive hand-wave, but… Sam looked almost afraid, sitting back against his knees as he anxiously wrung at his hands.
“… Er… Not too much-” Guy mumbled, suddenly feeling as fretful as Sam looked. There was something so off-putting about seeing such a plucky spirit look so apprehensive… Sheepishly, he rubbed at his arm, glancing towards the ground. “… I-I mean… You mentioned your mom once, but-”
Guy looked up, suddenly noting the subtle twitch in Sam’s seemingly blank eyes.
“… Sam…?” he ventured cautiously.
All at once, Sam’s voice broke out in a crooked sort of chortle.
“BOY-!” he proclaimed, in an unsettling parody of his usual swagger as he hopped to the floor. “I sure could go for a swim right now! Did ya know this place even had a pool? I was shocked, I mean, talk about luxury! Did I remember to pack my swim-trunks? Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter; I mean, I only got the one shirt anyway, right? Do ya think they got pool floaties? Gee, I hope they got pool flo-”
“Sam.”
The little vagabond was already halfway towards the door when Guy’s hand came to rest at his shoulder. Visibly cringing, Sam risked a glimpse, and found his partner’s expression rather… uncharacteristically compassionate.
"... Heh... No beatin' around the bush with you, huh?” Chewing his lip, Sam looked back down.  “… L-look, it... it's nothing! We all have our weird dreams, it's nothin' to get all flibberty-gibbet about!"
Guy groaned, wearily massaging at the corner of his eye. "Sam, a dream about two countries warring over butter is weird. You were having a sleep-paralyzing nightmare. It was…” He paused, suddenly feeling considerably warm. “… Disconcerting.”
"... Oh, Guy-" Sam's eyes wobbled with hyperbolic affection. "You do care!"
He lunged for a hug, but, per the norm, Guy was quick to rebuff.
"I just wanna get this resolved so I can get some sleep, okay?" he spat, shoving the Who to one side. Nevertheless, Sam remained as misty-eyed as a child coveting a Valentine's Day card.
"Okaaaay... ya big ol' softie-pants."
With an amorous giggle, he lightly tapped at Guy's knee, who just rolled his eyes.
“… Alright, c’mon you.” Decisively, Guy headed back towards the bed, helping himself to a seat along the edge. Turning his eyes, he tapped at the open space beside him, to which Sam gave his usual melodramatic gasp.
"You... you mean it?"
Reddening slightly, Guy scowled heavily. "Don’t go gettin’ mushy on me; my legs were just gettin' tired, and..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Look, just get over here before I change my mind."
With a hoot, and a tap of his heels, Sam was already in, burrowing beneath the blankets like a rabid Groundgopher. As tightly wound as a burrito, he poked his face out from the folds, and giggled huskily.
"I always say, heart-to-heart talks are always better when you're all snuzzled up under a blanket! Ooh, ya know what would make this even better? Hot choco-late!" Dreamily, he sighed, and smacked at his lips. "What do ya say we order ourselves a round to get started, and-"
“Sam, stop trying to change the subject and talk to me.” Guy interjected, swiveling in place as he crossed his legs. “… Is talking about your mother that much of a sudden sore spot for you?”
Even before the sentence was out, Guy knew he’d said the wrong thing. Sam lost all trace of mirth in his expression, slowly staring out towards the opposite wall like a man in mourning.
It then occurred to Guy this was probably the first Sam was ever reluctant to speak.
"... Look-" Guy sighed, resting his arms to his raised knees. "... I'm probably the last Guy to be givin' advice about family stuff, but... whatever the deal is, it seems to me like your mom really loved you... And I mean, look at you now. A certified wildlife protector-! A hero, risking life and limb to protect a helpless animal-"
With every word of praise, Sam seemed to sink further and further into the blankets. Sensing the obvious discomfort, Guy quickly switched gears.
"... Look, bottom line is, you got a lot for a mom to be proud of. That..." he glanced over his shoulder towards the briefcase housing his dismantled self-flyer, and sighed. "... That's more than a lot of people can say."
Despite the gentle words, Sam continued to stew in his self-imposed silence. Warbling softly, Jenkins reached out across the bed, and nudged his nose to Sam's shoulder invitingly. With a resigned sort of smile, Sam naturally obliged, stroking his hand along the bird's mop of magenta hair.
"... I can't say any of that, though..." he said quietly. More quietly, in fact, than Guy'd ever heard him. "My mom wouldn't be proud, ‘cause... she never knew me."
Silently, Jenkins withdrew his head, as Guy could only stare. "... What did you say?"
Surely he'd heard wrong.
"... I made it all up." Sam mumbled after a moment. "Everything I said about my mom... was a lie."
... Then... All those stories-
"But... But what about the juice incident?" Guy reasoned. "Or the stuffed animals, or - or-" briefly, he snapped at his fingers, desperately wracking his brain for any other examples. "Or your imaginary friend, Reggie? Who she pretended was real?"
Beneath the thick veneer of shame and guilt, Sam couldn't help but feel a soft pat of fondness for his gruffy companion.
... He really had been listening...
"Made up... Pretend... Non-existaroo." he listed hoarsely, staring up towards the ceiling. "I never told anybody this before, but... when I was very little my mom-" Sam's voice broke slightly, and he swallowed. "... Left me at an orphanage... It's always just been me. I mean-" he paused, smiling ever so faintly. "At least until I met you."
... Guy was stupefied. Practically since the beginning, he'd pegged his fellow felon as a fool; a clingy buffoon born with an undeserved silver spoon in his mouth... And now, come to find out... he'd been abandoned?
"... Do you remember anything about your parents?" Guy ventured softly.
Sam looked away. "... I remember my mom... a little. Just... one thing."
"What?"
Even in the darkness, Guy could catch the faintest hue of rose blooming through Sam's pearly fur. Shuffling deeper under the covers, he mumbled sheepishly, "It's not important..."
Guy found himself leaning forward.
"Go ahead," he whispered encouragingly.
Though something told him he already knew what it was. Whimpering shyly, Sam drew the brim of his sleep cap over his eyes.
"... It's silly..."
"... Sam..."
Sam jolted slightly, looking out from under his hat. He'd known from the get-go that Guy was not a touchy-feely sort of Knox, and yet... he'd made a gentle reach for his partner's trembling hand, as seamlessly as though he'd been practicing for years. And even more puzzling, he showed no sign of regret, or awkwardness... He just stared with those lined, tired eyes, and squeezed.
Sam’s face went from white to pink… Then, smiling in defeat, he relaxed, and gazed up towards the ceiling.
"... She made me breakfast."
... Guy'd known it, without really knowing it... And even still, he couldn't think of what to say. How many times had Sam ordered that dish in their shared existence? ... And how many times did Guy gag, and shudder, and turn his nose up at it?
... How many times did he turn his nose up to her memory?
The guilt suddenly sagged in his stomach like a stone.
"... I bet hers-" he said after a beat. "... Were really good."
Sam chuckled sadly, finally turning onto his side, though he still avoided eye contact. With his free hand, he mournfully traced the swirling pattern of the bed sheet. "The best... Really green... Super eggy... I've been trying to find her all these years, so I could ask... why, ya know?" He blinked, and a tear lazily trailed along his fur. "... Why she gave me up..."
Guy wanted to say something... anything... but a saddened, desperate chuckle quickly interrupted.
"I-I'm sure it's a good reason, I just-" Sam's voice seem to thicken with grief, as his grip on Guy's hand only tightened. One by one, tear after tear splashed against the bedspread, but Sam was determined to carry on. "... I really wanna know... So I keep ordering them, and I keep trying them... But they're..." he struggled to swallow the burgeoning lump in his throat. "... Never hers..."
Sam I-Am and Guy Am-I had not been together for very long, but in their time together, there seemed to be one hard and fast rule.
Sam was always the first to instigate a hug.
Tonight, Guy broke that rule.
“… Keep trying, Sam …” he whispered, gently cupping Sam’s head to his chest. The gesture and confession proved to be too much for Sam, as he quickly dissolved into snuffles of catharsis, desperately clasping his Guy like a life preserver. Purring softly, Jenkins curled his elastic neck around the pair of them, encircling the two like a wreath of pure warmth.
"Here, blow." Guy said after a minute, plucking a tissue from the box atop the bedside drawers, and gingerly held it to Sam's button nose.
Unfortunately, the moment of tactile tenderness was quickly squelched, as, with a nasally Bronx cheer, Sam's thunderous mucus rocketed a stream of slime as green as his eggs. Quickly suppressing the urge to retch, Guy snagged at a fistful of tissues, hastily smothering them to Sam's sticky face.
"... Better?" he asked, swiftly tossing the snotty clump to one side.
Sam gave a shuttering sniffle, nodding weakly.
“… Y-yeah… Th-thanks, Guy…” Smiling wetly, he dragged his knuckles across his swimming eye before casting the discarded cot a look of drained submission. “I… I guess I oughta be gettin’ back to bed…”
He made to move, but was suddenly pulled back in by Guy.
“… You don’t have to leave…” he muttered, squaring his shoulders with a great show of shyness. Lowering his gaze, he buried his twisted mouth against the fluff of his tawny neckline. “… N-not… not if you don’t want to, I mean…”
“... For real?” Sam gawked. “… But… but what about your sleep-space?”
“Eh,” Guy shrugged, finally sliding in under the comforter, as Jenkins dutifully uncoiled. “I always sleep alone… So, maybe…” Shyly, he fluffed at his pillow. “… I could try it with a companion, for once… Who knows?”
Without realizing it, he’d shuffled in closer, making a second clasp for Sam’s feeble hand.
“… I might wind up liking it.”
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