Summary: You wake up with a giant hangover and a phone call from a very irate ex-boyfriend
Word Count: 629
Warnings: A very liberal use of the word “Fuck”
A/N: I swear, as soon as I complain about something, the universe opens a pathway to make the thing happen. As I was trying to figure out how to reinvent my muse, I stumbled across this prompt list and... well... this just kinda happened...
Version en Español: Debería Haber Dejado Que Saltara El Buzón De Voz
It was morning. How did I know that? Because I had a hangover the size of Mount Everest and my phone was ringing, AKA trying to kill me.
Why I answered it instead of letting it go to voicemail, I’ll never know.
I really should have let it go to voicemail.
“What the FUCK were you thinking last night?” Jonas screamed in my ear. Yup. Voicemail was a gift from the gods that I overlooked. “Where is my fucking car?!”
“Why the fuck would I know where your car is? We broke up a week ago, you douchebag.”
“I saw you take it on my security footage. You and those Winchester whores of yours. Or did you forget that I have cameras all over my property?” Man, Jonas sounded pissed. It was just too bad I didn’t give one fuck about him anymore.
Why was he mad at me anyway? He’s the slut who cheated on me with three other girls. “First off, dick, the Winchesters aren’t whores. You’re getting them mixed up with who you see when you look in the mirror. Second off, I didn’t steal your fucking car.”
“I have the fucking footage, Y/N. I called the police and they’re on their way over here. You’re fucking dead.”
“God, I wish I was. Then I wouldn’t have to talk to you anymore.” The bathroom door in the motel room opened and Dean walked out with wet hair and bright eyes. So whatever had happened last night when I got blackout drunk, he miraculously stayed sober. Interesting. “Look, dude, someone else probably stole your car because there was no way I was getting behind a wheel last night. You’re an asshole and I might be a bitch, but I’m not a fucking moron.”
“Are you stupid? I have the footage—”
“Will you shut up about the fucking footage? Look, I’m gonna hang up if you’re gonna keep throwing these wild accusations at me.”
A list of very creative explicatives erupted from the phone. Seriously, how had I dated this loser for an entire year? “The police are here. Don’t hang up because they’re gonna wanna talk to you. You know I can find you wherever you go.”
“’Cause that’s not fucking creepy at all,” I mumbled.
Dean plopped down next to me while I heard the dull noise of Jonas talking to the cops in my ear. “I’m assuming that’s doucheface?” I nodded. “You probably don’t want to say anything more about last night.”
Record scratch. “Wait, what? What happened?”
“She did fucking WHAT?” Jonas screamed. Then he obviously returned his attention back to his phone because his next scream practically burst my eardrums. “You set my fucking car on fire?! You’re a fucking crazy bitch!”
So maybe Dean was right. I turned to look at him with wide eyes and now my memories from last night started filtering back.
Getting drunk with the Winchesters as they rolled through town on a hunt. Blabbing on to them about what an abusive asshole Jonas was and how glad I was that I’d broken up with him. Sharing my secret wish to get revenge on him. Giving them directions to his house. The anger at seeing his precious car that I’d caught him and… Amelia? Gwen? Whatever her name was. Trying to drive off in it because the idiot kept a spare key in the wheel well. Sam pushing me to the passenger seat and taking the wheel. And…
Yeah.
I set his car on fire in the middle of the Nevada desert.
And now he was yelling and screaming in my ear and, okay, maybe I deserved some of it, but I still wasn’t going to confess.
