Previous Entry Share Next Entry


Last night was great. You drank, you gambled, you ran around naked, you hooked up with a girl/guy or three-- too bad you can't remember it. Waking up in a hotel bed isn't so bad but...

Who the hell is that person next to you?

And why does your mouth taste like cotton and dish cleaner?


  • 1

Betty Winchester (Supernatural demi-OC)

Hope you like cuddly ex-cars, whoever's getting snuggled into by Betty.

Had to. He'll kill me in the morning. What else is new?

[Oh, he might like it very much, if he had any idea it was happening, but he's still out cold. Stirring a little, though, and this is gonna be interesting when realization dawns.]

There might also be a perfectly innocent explanation for this. Maybe.

Knowing these two, probably not.

In any case, Betty just burrowed herself closer, grumbling softly, sounding altogether too much like an idling engine.

Mmm, he did like that sound and Dean's hand slid down her side and pulled her closer as his eyes blinked open. Whatever he'd had to drink last night, he should've had about three less of 'em. Something about a drinking contest?

Those two things didn't really go together, he thought hazily, an engine at idle and a soft, warm body against his.

"...Oh crap," he whispered.

She knew that sound, and she knew it was usually bad news. Which was why one hand groped beneath the pillow for the gun she usually kept there, only blinking when she didn't find it. It took a moment or two for things to fall into place in her mind, and she was pretty sure she was still missing pieces, "Dean?"

Dean's eyes slid over to a tumbled mass of dark curls and lots of details were starting to get noticed. Like the way his thoughts were forcing their way through cotton, and oh yeah, their complete lack of clothes.

"...Yeah. Uh. Baby?" He sounded stunned, but not enough to move back or let her go. He was going on pure reflex, and no reflex of his would let that happen.

"...yeah?" She looked as confused as he sounded, but at least she sounded rational enough, though that was probably because only the barest minimum of realization was sinking in through the headache.

She'd noticed the lack of clothes, but considering that she only wore them as a necessity anyway, it wasn't that much of a surprise to her. Other things were more pressing, such as why Dean was also naked, and actually being kind of cuddly.

Dean pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing, squeezing his eyes closed and then opening them again. Nope. Definitely still real. His arm loosened from around her waist as he kept really still, because some things didn't change and Dean's reaction to waking up in bed next to a hot naked chick was one of them.

Even if the hot naked chick was technically his car. "Did we, uh...d'you remember anythin' from last night?"

She blinked blearily, stretching and ruffling a hand through her hair as she tried to think through what felt like soggy insulation, "No?" She shook her head before deciding that was a bad idea since it made the room tilt distressingly, "Tried to outdrink each other. I think. Celebrating."

"Well, we celebrated the hell out of it, whatever it was," Dean groaned, lying back and staring at the ceiling. "Just wish I could remember it," he added in an undertone, eyes flicking to Betty and away again quickly.

No one had cursed the Trickster more than he had when...well, when Betty had happened, but he wouldn't be himself if he hadn't, once or twice, thought about it.

"Birthday." She said with a decisive nod, eyes closing again, not completely, just enough to block out most of the light, she remembered that much at least.

A grumble then, rolling over completely onto her stomach, dragging the pillow down under her head again, "Where the hell are we?"

Dean snorted, grinning under the arm he'd thrown across his eyes. "Shoulda come up with that myself. Had enough of 'em now to remember that." Where were they, he thought, that was a real good question and he sat up. "I got no idea. Some hotel somewhere."

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one hand. "Listen," he said awkwardly after a few moments, "I don't know what happened, but I'm guessin' I made an advance I shouldn't have."

She scoffed at that, though her eyes were still closed, "If you did I wasn't exactly unwilling. We wouldn't be here otherwise, yeah?" Made sense to her at least.

"Good point." Now that that was out of the way, Dean was free to wonder how they'd gotten here, where this was, and if this would end up being weird. And whether his hangover was bad enough to search out something else to drink.

And if all of that could wait for a second run without it being more weird.

She twisted over onto her back, dragging most of the blanket with her as she did, leaving her covered from the waist down at least, "So, birthday, drinking. I won at darts." She shook her head, "More drinking and theeeeen... nada."

That got Dean's attention and he leaned forward before he caught himself and rolled onto his back as well, staring fixedly at the ceiling. "Yeah. Ugh, shots. Sticky ones. I think they were green."

Then there was a pause and he turned his head to look at her. "You won at darts? I'm awesome at darts, how'd you get so good at darts?"

"Ugh, the green ones." She shuddered, shaking her head, though she replied with: "Because." A slight shrug, "Same reason I'm so good at anything, osmosed it from you, somehow."

Dean grinned, tucking a hand behind his head. "That's my girl," he said far more cheerfully than should have been legal, considering their dual hangovers.

She actually laughed at that, but it turned into a groan a moment later as movement of any sort just made her dizzy all over again, "Ugh."

Dean half-smiled and reached out to run a hand over her forehead. "Don't worry, baby. It'll get better. C'mere." He held out an arm to let her press against him again.

She pouted at the first, and she really did have quite a spectacular pout, rolling over to curl up against his side once more, using his shoulder as a pillow, even if it was a little lumpy.

Dean's arm slides strongly around her waist as she presses against him again, and after a few moments he rests his chin on her head and closes his eyes. He isn't in the habit of doing this, especially not when hungover, but this isn't just some waitress. This is Betty.

He can feel himself dozing off again, but he's okay with it. Yeah, it's a little weird -- okay, a lot weird -- but more comfortable than he might have figured.

If he wasn't going to argue it, neither was she, because clearly somebody had had some fun the night before, and she was pretty sure it was them.

  • 1

Log in