Vodka Confessions - PG-13
Title: Vodka Confessions
Fandoms: Supernatural, Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dean/Jack, implied Jack/Rose/9
Summary: After 'Asylum', Dean goes for a much-needed drink and finds something else instead.
Warnings: Slash, spoilers for 'Asylum' and 'Parting of the Ways'
Notes: My first foray into the fandom of 'Supernatural'. I hope I did it justice. Kudos to estel_willow for the beta.
-----
Dean had barely sat down at the bar when a generously-filled shot glass was placed in front of him. This was something of a surprise as he hadn’t actually managed to order yet.
He looked suspiciously at the guy beside him who’d placed it in front of him. The guy, a well-built man with black hair, grinned at him, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Don’t worry, kid. It’s not poisoned.” As if to prove it, the guy knocked back his own shot and reached for the vodka bottle at his elbow. “Just thought you could use a drink, since you look like I feel.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, still watching his companion, but throwing back the shot anyway. “If I look like I feel, then you must feel like shit.”
“I’d say that sums it up pretty nicely,” the guy held out his hand and Dean took it, noticing the firm handshake despite the impressive depletion of contents in the vodka bottle. “Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Dean Winchester,” he turned back to the bar as Jack filled up both shot glasses again and clinked them together in a mock toast. “Captain of what?”
“Now? Not much,” Jack frowned at the mirror over the bar, as if he didn’t quite recognise his own reflection. “But couple of years ago? Lots of things.”
“What happened?” Dean asked, curious.
The other man let out a slightly hollow laugh.
“If I told you, you’d never believe me,” he assured Dean. “What about you? What’s driven you to these hallowed walls?” Jack waved an ironic hand at their dingy surroundings and took another shot.
Dean watched him and thought back over everything. It seemed such a long time ago that Sam hadn’t been trying to shoot him. Had it only been that morning? Strange how something like that could make the rest of the day seem utterly insignificant.
“If I told you, you’d never believe me,” he mimicked with a small, wry grin. Jack studied him for a moment.
“Try me,” he said.
“How much have you had to drink?” Dean asked dryly.
“It’s one of those stories is it?” Jack grinned at him. “My favourite kind.”
Dean watched, impressed, as Jack turned and charmed another bottle of vodka out of the barmaid and, gesturing for Dean to grab the nearly empty bottle, he scooped up his shot glass and pushed away from the bar, strolling over to the pool table in the far corner of the room with a surprisingly steady gait.
“Come on, Dean Winchester,” he called over his shoulder. “Come tell me a story.”
Dean watched him with raised eyebrows. He glanced at the barmaid, who was staring after Jack with a besotted expression, and grinned.
-----
“A Demon hunter?” Jack asked with a grin, taking a swig directly from the new bottle of vodka, having discarded both his shot glass and the other empty bottle. He held it out to Dean and wandered around the pool table, sizing up his shot. Dean couldn’t work out how this guy was still standing, never mind being perfectly in control.
“Sort of,” Dean said, watching him. “Although we deal with other things. Ghosts and stuff.”
“And you hate it so much it’s driven you to the drink?” Jack flashed him another Hollywood grin and Dean wondered whether he was being hit on.
“No. I love it,” Dean waved the bottle vaguely. “But, y’see, my brother kinda tried to shoot me earlier.”
“For any specific reason, or just because he could?”
“He’d had his head messed with by a psycho ghost-shrink,” Dean explained, grinning as Jack missed his shot and reached for the vodka bottle again.
“Oh, that old story,” Jack chuckled.
“You believe me?” He couldn’t quite process it. People only ever seemed to believe him when their lives were in immediate danger.
“Sure. I’ve seen stranger stuff.”
Oh yeah. This guy’s supposedly ‘unbelievable’ past.
“What about you, then?” Dean asked finally.
“What about me?” Jack quipped cheerfully, reaching for the Vodka.
“I told you mine,” Dean said, holding the bottle out of Jack’s reach. He placed his hand on the other man’s chest to hold him back, while his other arm stretched out behind him with the drink. “You tell me yours.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at him, a look of amusement on his face. Dean was surprised to find that he was the same height as Jack. The man projected a confidence that made him seem taller, but finding himself standing eye-to-eye with him, on even footing, put Dean more at ease.
“This isn’t the sharing corner,” Jack said. “If you want that, go to an AA meeting.”
“Tell me,” Dean insisted.
“Kiss me,” Jack retorted.
Dean blinked, a little thrown.
“What?”
“Kiss me,” Jack said, bringing his hand up to lightly grip the hand on his chest. “And I’ll tell you.”
“Hate to tell you this, but it’s not that kind of bar.”
“If you don’t want to know…”
Dean studied Jack’s face for a moment, trying to read through the emotions he couldn’t quite see. Of all the things he’d done today, he thought, this would be by far the easiest, and he was curious, and heading towards pretty well drunk. Of course, that didn’t stop him from taking a generous swig of the vodka before he shifted his grip on Jack’s shirt and pulled him forward into a hard kiss.
The kiss lasted longer than he’d intended as Jack surged forward to meet him, his hand coming up to curl round the back of Dean’s neck, holding him in place, and there were lips and teeth and tongues, which Dean certainly hadn’t intended, and despite the fact that Jack was hard in places where Dean generally preferred soft, he was doing things with his mouth that meant that he couldn’t really regret it, just try to give as good as he got and hold on tight as a very enjoyable feeling spiralled through him.
When they pulled back, Jack stayed close for a moment, grinning at Dean, his eyes hot and holding promises and Dean almost forgot the reason he’d kissed him in the first place.
Then Jack stepped away, taking the vodka with him.
“Your shot,” he said. Dean didn’t care.
“Tell me,” Dean replied with a grin. “That was the deal. Who are you?”
Jack leaned on the pool table and sighed, letting his head drop for a moment - the most weakness he’d shown Dean all evening, despite being a good three quarters of a bottle of vodka ahead of him.
“I’m - I was a time traveller,” he said. “From the Fifty-first century.”
“If you’re going to kid around, I want my kiss back,” Dean said.
“I’d be more than happy to give it back with interest,” Jack looked up at him, a look of vague sadness written over his face. “But I’m not kidding.”
“Alright, say I buy it,” Dean moved around the pool table to where Jack was. “If you’re from the Fifty-first century, why come here? What’s so special about the twenty-first?”
“’Cause that’s where-” Jack stopped himself. “That’s where I can pick up the best looking guys to get drunk and molest.”
That wasn’t what he’d been about to say. It didn’t take a genius to see that.
“You’re getting drunk too,” Dean pointed out. Jack raised his eyebrows at him.
“Wanna bet?” He held up the half-empty bottle. “This is my third bottle. I’m sober as a judge.”
“Prove it,” Dean challenged, although somehow, probably because he’d seen the way Jack drank, he could tell it was the truth.
“You work as a demon hunter and you still need proof to believe what you hear?” Jack shot him a wry grin. He shrugged and folded his arms.
“Humour me.”
Jack lifted the vodka bottle again and, breaking eye contact with Dean after an immeasurably long moment, began to drain it. Swallow after swallow, he didn’t take the bottle from his lips until it was empty and tossed it to Dean for him to inspect. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, taking a deep breath.
“Want me to stand on one leg and recite the alphabet backwards now?” He asked. “Or shall we go find a cop and demand a breathalyser test? It’ll only show half a unit, if that.”
Dean set the bottle on the pool table, impressed.
“How?”
“Genetically engineered micro-organisms,” Jack explained. “The people I used to work for - sort of a Time police - injected them into the blood stream of every recruit. Meant if we had to drink on a mission our effectiveness wouldn’t be jeopardised. They speed up the breakdown of alcohol.”
“You can’t get drunk?” Dean tried to imagine that. It wasn’t a nice prospect.
“Sure I can. Eventually,” Jack picked up one of the balls from the pool table and tossed it hand-to-hand idly. “Always a lot poorer afterwards, though.”
Dean ‘hm’ed thoughfully. That explained the ‘Captain’ bit, at any rate.
“So why’d you quit? I assume you quit…?”
“They stole two years of my memories,” Jack’s face was the studious kind of blank that Dean used on all sorts of occasions, most of them bad.
“What, so - ”
“Big gap. Two years of nothing.”
“What then?” He couldn’t help it. This guy was interesting. And he almost made Dean’s life seem normal.
“Nothing I’m proud of," Jack laughed hollowly. “At least, not until…”
“…Until?” Dean prompted.
“I met a girl.” Pause. “And a guy.”
It took Dean a moment to fully understand the implications of that.
“Both of them?”
“Yep.”
“…At the same time?”
“Yep.”
“…And that’s normal where you come from?”
“No. No they weren’t normal. They were never - ” Jack pushed away from the pool table and ran a hand through his hair. “They were incredible. I mean, the Doctor, he was bad enough, but you’d expect it from a guy like him - a walking myth! He just…And Rose, oh God Rose…She was from this time. Everything was so…She was so…They…” He made a strangled noise and kicked the wall.
Most of that had made no sense to Dean, but he’d grasped enough to work out why Jack was here.
“What happened?” He asked quietly. He could see the tension in Jack’s back.
“I died,” Jack said. “I know I was dead. But then…I wasn’t. And they were gone. Going. I missed them by seconds.”
Dean licked his lips and looked away.
“You know,” he said. “Guys in my job…Don’t generally take it well when dead people start walking around.” He gave a small grin and glanced back at Jack, who turned and grinned at him with heat in his eyes and no trace of the grief from a few moments before.
“Oh I’m alive,” he said smoothly, moving towards Dean in a way that made his mouth go dry. “Would you like me to prove it?”
In the end, Dean didn’t take that much convincing. Jack proved it a few times anyway, just so he was sure.
-----
“Where were you last night?” Sam asked as Dean shoved his clothes in his bag.
“I was out, Mom,” Dean glanced up at him. “Why?”
“Out where?”
“At a bar,” Dean zipped up his bag. “I met a guy, played pool, realised that however screwed up this life is? It could be worse.”
He flashed Sam a grin and hoisted his bag up, leading the way out the door.
“This wasn’t about…y’know, yesterday, was it?” Sam followed behind him.
“If I’m honest? Yeah. A little,” Dean tossed his stuff in the car, Sam following suit. “Come on, it’s not every day your bro… y’know. Let’s go.”
“Dean-”
“Look, it’s cool,” he waved it off. “Like I said. It could be worse.” He shot Sam a reassuring smile and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Sam paused for a moment.
“Dean? Is that an assprint on the hood?”
Fandoms: Supernatural, Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dean/Jack, implied Jack/Rose/9
Summary: After 'Asylum', Dean goes for a much-needed drink and finds something else instead.
Warnings: Slash, spoilers for 'Asylum' and 'Parting of the Ways'
Notes: My first foray into the fandom of 'Supernatural'. I hope I did it justice. Kudos to estel_willow for the beta.
-----
Dean had barely sat down at the bar when a generously-filled shot glass was placed in front of him. This was something of a surprise as he hadn’t actually managed to order yet.
He looked suspiciously at the guy beside him who’d placed it in front of him. The guy, a well-built man with black hair, grinned at him, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Don’t worry, kid. It’s not poisoned.” As if to prove it, the guy knocked back his own shot and reached for the vodka bottle at his elbow. “Just thought you could use a drink, since you look like I feel.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, still watching his companion, but throwing back the shot anyway. “If I look like I feel, then you must feel like shit.”
“I’d say that sums it up pretty nicely,” the guy held out his hand and Dean took it, noticing the firm handshake despite the impressive depletion of contents in the vodka bottle. “Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Dean Winchester,” he turned back to the bar as Jack filled up both shot glasses again and clinked them together in a mock toast. “Captain of what?”
“Now? Not much,” Jack frowned at the mirror over the bar, as if he didn’t quite recognise his own reflection. “But couple of years ago? Lots of things.”
“What happened?” Dean asked, curious.
The other man let out a slightly hollow laugh.
“If I told you, you’d never believe me,” he assured Dean. “What about you? What’s driven you to these hallowed walls?” Jack waved an ironic hand at their dingy surroundings and took another shot.
Dean watched him and thought back over everything. It seemed such a long time ago that Sam hadn’t been trying to shoot him. Had it only been that morning? Strange how something like that could make the rest of the day seem utterly insignificant.
“If I told you, you’d never believe me,” he mimicked with a small, wry grin. Jack studied him for a moment.
“Try me,” he said.
“How much have you had to drink?” Dean asked dryly.
“It’s one of those stories is it?” Jack grinned at him. “My favourite kind.”
Dean watched, impressed, as Jack turned and charmed another bottle of vodka out of the barmaid and, gesturing for Dean to grab the nearly empty bottle, he scooped up his shot glass and pushed away from the bar, strolling over to the pool table in the far corner of the room with a surprisingly steady gait.
“Come on, Dean Winchester,” he called over his shoulder. “Come tell me a story.”
Dean watched him with raised eyebrows. He glanced at the barmaid, who was staring after Jack with a besotted expression, and grinned.
-----
“A Demon hunter?” Jack asked with a grin, taking a swig directly from the new bottle of vodka, having discarded both his shot glass and the other empty bottle. He held it out to Dean and wandered around the pool table, sizing up his shot. Dean couldn’t work out how this guy was still standing, never mind being perfectly in control.
“Sort of,” Dean said, watching him. “Although we deal with other things. Ghosts and stuff.”
“And you hate it so much it’s driven you to the drink?” Jack flashed him another Hollywood grin and Dean wondered whether he was being hit on.
“No. I love it,” Dean waved the bottle vaguely. “But, y’see, my brother kinda tried to shoot me earlier.”
“For any specific reason, or just because he could?”
“He’d had his head messed with by a psycho ghost-shrink,” Dean explained, grinning as Jack missed his shot and reached for the vodka bottle again.
“Oh, that old story,” Jack chuckled.
“You believe me?” He couldn’t quite process it. People only ever seemed to believe him when their lives were in immediate danger.
“Sure. I’ve seen stranger stuff.”
Oh yeah. This guy’s supposedly ‘unbelievable’ past.
“What about you, then?” Dean asked finally.
“What about me?” Jack quipped cheerfully, reaching for the Vodka.
“I told you mine,” Dean said, holding the bottle out of Jack’s reach. He placed his hand on the other man’s chest to hold him back, while his other arm stretched out behind him with the drink. “You tell me yours.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at him, a look of amusement on his face. Dean was surprised to find that he was the same height as Jack. The man projected a confidence that made him seem taller, but finding himself standing eye-to-eye with him, on even footing, put Dean more at ease.
“This isn’t the sharing corner,” Jack said. “If you want that, go to an AA meeting.”
“Tell me,” Dean insisted.
“Kiss me,” Jack retorted.
Dean blinked, a little thrown.
“What?”
“Kiss me,” Jack said, bringing his hand up to lightly grip the hand on his chest. “And I’ll tell you.”
“Hate to tell you this, but it’s not that kind of bar.”
“If you don’t want to know…”
Dean studied Jack’s face for a moment, trying to read through the emotions he couldn’t quite see. Of all the things he’d done today, he thought, this would be by far the easiest, and he was curious, and heading towards pretty well drunk. Of course, that didn’t stop him from taking a generous swig of the vodka before he shifted his grip on Jack’s shirt and pulled him forward into a hard kiss.
The kiss lasted longer than he’d intended as Jack surged forward to meet him, his hand coming up to curl round the back of Dean’s neck, holding him in place, and there were lips and teeth and tongues, which Dean certainly hadn’t intended, and despite the fact that Jack was hard in places where Dean generally preferred soft, he was doing things with his mouth that meant that he couldn’t really regret it, just try to give as good as he got and hold on tight as a very enjoyable feeling spiralled through him.
When they pulled back, Jack stayed close for a moment, grinning at Dean, his eyes hot and holding promises and Dean almost forgot the reason he’d kissed him in the first place.
Then Jack stepped away, taking the vodka with him.
“Your shot,” he said. Dean didn’t care.
“Tell me,” Dean replied with a grin. “That was the deal. Who are you?”
Jack leaned on the pool table and sighed, letting his head drop for a moment - the most weakness he’d shown Dean all evening, despite being a good three quarters of a bottle of vodka ahead of him.
“I’m - I was a time traveller,” he said. “From the Fifty-first century.”
“If you’re going to kid around, I want my kiss back,” Dean said.
“I’d be more than happy to give it back with interest,” Jack looked up at him, a look of vague sadness written over his face. “But I’m not kidding.”
“Alright, say I buy it,” Dean moved around the pool table to where Jack was. “If you’re from the Fifty-first century, why come here? What’s so special about the twenty-first?”
“’Cause that’s where-” Jack stopped himself. “That’s where I can pick up the best looking guys to get drunk and molest.”
That wasn’t what he’d been about to say. It didn’t take a genius to see that.
“You’re getting drunk too,” Dean pointed out. Jack raised his eyebrows at him.
“Wanna bet?” He held up the half-empty bottle. “This is my third bottle. I’m sober as a judge.”
“Prove it,” Dean challenged, although somehow, probably because he’d seen the way Jack drank, he could tell it was the truth.
“You work as a demon hunter and you still need proof to believe what you hear?” Jack shot him a wry grin. He shrugged and folded his arms.
“Humour me.”
Jack lifted the vodka bottle again and, breaking eye contact with Dean after an immeasurably long moment, began to drain it. Swallow after swallow, he didn’t take the bottle from his lips until it was empty and tossed it to Dean for him to inspect. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, taking a deep breath.
“Want me to stand on one leg and recite the alphabet backwards now?” He asked. “Or shall we go find a cop and demand a breathalyser test? It’ll only show half a unit, if that.”
Dean set the bottle on the pool table, impressed.
“How?”
“Genetically engineered micro-organisms,” Jack explained. “The people I used to work for - sort of a Time police - injected them into the blood stream of every recruit. Meant if we had to drink on a mission our effectiveness wouldn’t be jeopardised. They speed up the breakdown of alcohol.”
“You can’t get drunk?” Dean tried to imagine that. It wasn’t a nice prospect.
“Sure I can. Eventually,” Jack picked up one of the balls from the pool table and tossed it hand-to-hand idly. “Always a lot poorer afterwards, though.”
Dean ‘hm’ed thoughfully. That explained the ‘Captain’ bit, at any rate.
“So why’d you quit? I assume you quit…?”
“They stole two years of my memories,” Jack’s face was the studious kind of blank that Dean used on all sorts of occasions, most of them bad.
“What, so - ”
“Big gap. Two years of nothing.”
“What then?” He couldn’t help it. This guy was interesting. And he almost made Dean’s life seem normal.
“Nothing I’m proud of," Jack laughed hollowly. “At least, not until…”
“…Until?” Dean prompted.
“I met a girl.” Pause. “And a guy.”
It took Dean a moment to fully understand the implications of that.
“Both of them?”
“Yep.”
“…At the same time?”
“Yep.”
“…And that’s normal where you come from?”
“No. No they weren’t normal. They were never - ” Jack pushed away from the pool table and ran a hand through his hair. “They were incredible. I mean, the Doctor, he was bad enough, but you’d expect it from a guy like him - a walking myth! He just…And Rose, oh God Rose…She was from this time. Everything was so…She was so…They…” He made a strangled noise and kicked the wall.
Most of that had made no sense to Dean, but he’d grasped enough to work out why Jack was here.
“What happened?” He asked quietly. He could see the tension in Jack’s back.
“I died,” Jack said. “I know I was dead. But then…I wasn’t. And they were gone. Going. I missed them by seconds.”
Dean licked his lips and looked away.
“You know,” he said. “Guys in my job…Don’t generally take it well when dead people start walking around.” He gave a small grin and glanced back at Jack, who turned and grinned at him with heat in his eyes and no trace of the grief from a few moments before.
“Oh I’m alive,” he said smoothly, moving towards Dean in a way that made his mouth go dry. “Would you like me to prove it?”
In the end, Dean didn’t take that much convincing. Jack proved it a few times anyway, just so he was sure.
-----
“Where were you last night?” Sam asked as Dean shoved his clothes in his bag.
“I was out, Mom,” Dean glanced up at him. “Why?”
“Out where?”
“At a bar,” Dean zipped up his bag. “I met a guy, played pool, realised that however screwed up this life is? It could be worse.”
He flashed Sam a grin and hoisted his bag up, leading the way out the door.
“This wasn’t about…y’know, yesterday, was it?” Sam followed behind him.
“If I’m honest? Yeah. A little,” Dean tossed his stuff in the car, Sam following suit. “Come on, it’s not every day your bro… y’know. Let’s go.”
“Dean-”
“Look, it’s cool,” he waved it off. “Like I said. It could be worse.” He shot Sam a reassuring smile and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Sam paused for a moment.
“Dean? Is that an assprint on the hood?”