last night i read a fic where character a was bleeding out and was going to the hospital. character b was only mildly worried about their dumbass s/o cause this happens pretty often. in their delirium character a said “marry me.” character b was taken aback until character a said “hospital visitation rights. they won't let you see me we’re not family” and character b almost slapped character a in the face.
my thought process (in order) was:
1. holy shit this is so funny
2. holy shit why haven't i thought of this before
3. holy shit this is peak ralbert
4. holy shit could this be spies?
5. holy shit do i need to write a whole au about this?
6. holy shit this is the best freaking idea ive ever seen i need to steal it
Yes, I’m back with another one of these abominations, starring our favorite red team leader. AO3 link is here.
Sarge finds love at the local Walgreens.
Part 1
Sarge and Tucker pull into a parking spot at the local Walgreens.
Tucker works the occasional weekend for a program assisting elderly folks who don't have access to a car for one reason or another. Unfortunately, his schedule coincidentally keeps lining him up to drive around the same crazy veteran, even though he tried to change up his times to avoid getting the old geezer again and again.
Tucker walks around to open the passenger door, then places his hand on Sarge's arm to help him out of the car.
"Just 'cause they won't let me drive don't mean I can't walk! Hands off, ya dirty blue!" Sarge bellows as he swats the younger man away.
"The hell? You're the Walmart greeter wearing blue all the time, gramps," Tucker says with a smirk, having learned that mentioning this color for some reason pisses the dude off to no end.
Sarge ignores the comment so he doesn't have to deal with being completely in denial about this fact. Instead, he occupies his mind with daydreams about the local Target having an open position so he can work for a business that has good taste in corporate colors.
The routine is the same as always: Tucker wanders through the aisles to investigate discounted previous holiday's candy and decorations, while Sarge shuffles to the pharmacy area to pick up his prescriptions.
What wasn't the same was the pharmacist behind the counter today. And gosh darn if Sarge had ever seen a sight as beautiful as her. Raven hair with stunning silver streaks in a loose bun, a sleek white coat accentuating her form, and a face that would make a boy hit puberty right then and there if he hadn't already. But thankfully, Sarge wasn't a boy. And he was ready to show this fine lady what a man he was.
"'Scuse me, miss?" he says, smoothing out his normally gruff voice. She cocks her head with a large smile, responding with bright excitement, "Why, hello there! Oh, oh, please, tell me, do you have an extremely rare and life-threatening disease and not a completely boring ailment like pneumonia? That would just make my day!"
God bless America-- Sarge was in love.
"I think you have somethin' for me, little lady," he continues with a chuckle. Sarge leans against the counter and flexes his arm to show how swole he was despite his age. He couldn't see it at first since he isn't wearing his bifocals, but now that he's closer, he squints to read the angel's name tag on her uniform: Dr. Emily Grey.
Dr. Grey's face falls, seemingly disappointed. "Oh, you called ahead to order the... Beano? You know, you can get that over the counter."
"Oh, nope! Must've heard me wrong! Dang phones, right? Yep, heh, I'm, uh, I meant to say, uh-- Viagra!" Sarge scrambles for an excuse to sound like an adequate partner, and hopes that it's sufficient.
Dr. Grey raises an eyebrow, but her smile brightens. Heh. Knew it would work. The lovely doctor turns to retrieve the product from a shelf behind her.
"Yep, normally Sarge Jr. has no problems, but a good soldier is always prepared!"
"That's very proactive of you,” she offers cheerfully, “especially given that most men your age tend to have a fairly active libido but not enough manpower to satisfy it!”
"Heh, well, once ya give me that magic little pill there, I'll be able to do a lotta satisfying. At least for four hours, anyway-- then I'll have to call ya to help me out." Sarge winks. Dr. Grey giggles as she pulls up his account on the pharmacy's computer.
"You'd need my number for that... Sarge?" She tilts her head quizzically. "Oh, there must be a data entry error, it looks like they only entered your surname--"
"No error there, gorgeous! Name's Sarge but you can call me daddy." Ha, he's on a roll, smoother than he'd ever been, age be damned!
"So how does a fella go about gettin' those digits, Ms. Emily Grey? Is your middle name murder? 'Cause I've got a boner for you." He earns another giggle from this heavensent being.
"I have no idea what you mean by that, but I would love to psychoanalyze you to find out!"
"Hey Sarge, d'ya get your fart meds? What's the hold up?" Tucker asks, carrying a bag full of Valentine's Day candy even though it was nearing Halloween. He approaches the two as Sarge finishes punching her number into his Jitterbug flip phone.
"Ain't no holdup, son!" Sarge hollers back, although his intended annoyance is dampened by his ear-to-ear grin. As they exit the store, Tucker lightly punches him in the shoulder with a proud smile. Sarge doesn't even think to berate or shrug off the whippersnapper, too distracted by his delight.
Sarge thinks on the battle won today. The battle… of love.
Part 2
"You're a DILF, sweetie, don't worry." Emily smiles at her husband of 19 years, rocking back and forth in the chair across from him on their porch.
"But he called me a GILF! I'm not a grandpa, Simmons doesn't even have kids! Him and that dirtbag haven't--"
"And even if they did, remember, you adopted him, so it technically doesn't have to count!" Emily disputes with her soft smile intact. She pats Sarge's hand lovingly. He huffs.
"Fine. Wait, what's all this hafta do with the Walgreens commercial we're doin', anyway? And why do they call it Walgreens? It would sound better if it was Walreds. Heh. At least it's not Walblues." Sarge shudders.
"Um, Mrs. Sharge? Could you shay the motto? My phone ish running out of battery," Jensen says anxiously, steadying her smartphone at the two. "Director Church won't be happy if I don't finish thish tonight!"
"Yer not even bein' paid, intern girl! Doesn't hafta be perfect!" Sarge grunts.
Emily rolls her eyes, then directs her line at the camera, "Trusted since 1901."
Soooo I wrote this thing for @squishysterek and @yoonseo its based off a prompt/post but I forgot which one so I’ll probs add that in later but who knows???? I sure don’t.
Anyhoo enjoy ya bastards!!!!
Read on AO3
Peter walked into Walgreens. His sister had sent him to pick up some photos because Talia decided she was into scrapbooking now. She wanted to document and memorialize everything the pack did, and if arts and crafts were her creative outlet, then who was Peter to judge? Although Peter had a suspicion that it would end up like most of her new projects, abandoned once it either took too long or she found out she wasn’t naturally born with said talent. Since Peter was going into town anyway, he offered to pick up the photos she had ordered at Walgreens.
He walked into the Walgreens, making his way back to the photo section. When he made it up to the counter, an early twenties guy was standing, looking bored as he played on his phone. He was on the paler side and had messy, rumpled, chocolate brown hair. Peter could see the smattering of moles on his face and arms. The man was what Peter would call beautiful in the way a fawn was. The man had an elegance to him but he never truly was standing still, since he was on his phone. He was additionally twirling a pen, occasionally tapping it.
Peter approached the desk, clearing his throat to get his attention. The man looked up, boredom and slight annoyance etched into his features.
“Yes?” The man asked.
“Hi, I had some photos printed through your website,” Peter told him.
“So…?”” The man, Stiles, as his name tag stated, drawled out.
“So get them for me,” Peter gritted out
Stiles turned back to his phone, “I’m kinda busy dude. Come back later.”
Peter looked around at the empty Walgreens and back at the young man texting and biting the end of his pen.
“You are not busy. No one is here,” Peter growled, getting more agitated.
“Fine. Name?” Stiles ground out as if Peter was causing him the inconvenience.
“Hale,” Peter gritted out between clenched teeth, finished with this conversation.
Stiles checked his phone and sent out a text before looking for Peter’s photos. He could not understand why this guy was being so unbelievably rude when he'd done nothing to warrant it.
An envelope landed in front of Peter.
“Here you go. Now can you leave,” He brushed Peter off, going back to his phone.
“What the fuck is your problem with me!” Peter demanded.
The guy behind the counter tensed, let out a watery chuckle, looking at Peter with fury.
“Listen, dude. You are about here,” he leaned down so his palm was two inches from the ground, “on my list of priorities. I wouldn’t even fucking be here if I didn’t have to. Right now my father is in surgery and he more than likely won’t make it, so I am so fucking sorry for my bad attitude.”
The younger man seethed, breathing hard. “You know what? Fuck this.”
He threw open the divider, shouting ‘I quit’ while storming out of the store.
Peter was stunned, walking out of the store, not seeing the younger man anywhere. Peter was grateful because he had some mixed emotions. He was pissed at Stiles for being so unbelievably rude when he didn’t deserve it. He could also understand where the young man was coming from, he was having a terrible day.
-----
A few days had passed and Peter pretty much forgot about his interaction with Stiles. He was in his apartment relaxing after putting dinner in the oven when he heard someone approach his door and knock.
He opened the door and was surprised to see Stiles on the other side unable to meet his gaze, his scent guilty. Before Peter could ask why the younger man was there he started talking.
“Hey man, I came to apologize for the other day. You didn’t deserve that, no matter how shit of a day I was having,” Stiles shrugged, embarrassed.
“How do you know where I live?” was all Peter could say as a reply.
“My father is the sheriff,” Stiles replied, “So I kinda looked you up.”
Stiles shuffled, still not meeting Peter’s gaze.
“Well, I just put dinner in the oven, I guess you could be forgiven if you would join me,” Peter moved aside inviting the younger man in.
also inspired by a hot guy i saw at walgreens today
the walgreens chaos returns
______
ship: ralbert
genre: crackhead angst
words: who knows, not super long
warnings: mentions of a twine kink, easy cheese, concussions, walgreens, race thinks another guy is hot, uhhh, hot men in scrubs, minor bits of violence, new yorkers been new yorkers, albert is a dumbass, race is more of a dumbass
editing: nah
_____
Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese.
Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder.
Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do). So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere.
Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place.
With a violent shake of his head and one final spat, he was able to dislodge the duct tape.
“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?”
Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick. “Hmmmmmmm. No.”
“But-!” He wriggled around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!”
“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell.
“Can you at least untie me then?”
“No.” Albert even bother considering this time.
“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?”
In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists.
“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.”
“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.”
“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.”
“But-!”
“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face.
“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!”
Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.
Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all.
Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese.
In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs.
Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese.
“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when-
“Easy cheese? Really?”
Race whirled around to see Mr. Man Candy himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”
“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!”
Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese.
“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?”
“Yeah.”
“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.
“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!”
“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” Race was fuming but the time that he was done.
“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.”
Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick. “Buy some fucking vegetables!”
And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.
Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame.
He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert.
“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”
Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?”
Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.”
“Wait, you know him?”
“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.”
Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor. “And Al?”
“Yeah?”
“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.”
______
that was a ride
feedback is always appreciated hmm if you wanna be on the tag list
this be part two to that Terrible Cliffhanger from that damn walgreens au
________
ship: ralbert
genre: angst
warnings: death, sadness, a big oof, hospitals, death
editing: ha
words: 471 short boiii
________
“I love you Albert.”
It felt like Race had said those four words a thousand times. But, what else were you supposed to tell your boyfriend who was dying in front of you?
Well, he wasn’t really dying. Not yet anyway. What had been the words the doctor had used? Slim chance he would make it. That seemed so unlikely though. Albert always managed to pull through. Race would not let a dumb arrow claim the life of his boyfriend.
He squeezed Albert’s hand a little tighter in his. It was still warm and soft and familiar. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine that they were at home. But then his eyes opened and he was back in the room with the blinding lights, watching as Albert struggled to breathe through his oxygen mask, hearing the few and far between beeps of the heart rate monitor, wincing as he took in the wires and IVs keeping his boyfriend alive, looking away from the pristine white bandage wrapped around his stomach.
It was definitely easier with his eyes closed.
With the horrors of the hospital room shut out again, Race rested his head on the bare skin of Albert’s shoulder, drinking in all the physical contact he could before it was too late.
Flashes of the years they had spent together crowded Races mind. It had all been so wonderful. There was no way it could all go away within a matter of minutes.
Who would he talk to after a rough day? Who would stay up until 1:30 with him talking about nothing? Who would tell him long and elaborate stories just to make him laugh? Who would he cuddle with when he couldn’t sleep? Who would he make fun of? Who would he watch bad tv with?
Who would make his life worth living?
“C’mon Albie,” Race whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “Give me something, show me you’re going to be alright.”
At first he thought he had imagined it. But wait, there it was again: a faint squeeze of his hand. And the only person who was holding his hand was-
“Albert?”
Race’s eyes flew open, hardly believing his luck. For one glorious second, Albert’s eyes blinked open - a sight Race thought he would never see again - rich and dark and hazel, clouded with pain and medication, but hopeful.
But before he could even store the memory safely in his brain, Albert’s eyes shut almost as quickly as they had opened. Seconds later, Race’s ears began to ring.
It was only after a minute that he realized it wasn’t his ears ringing, but Albert flat lining.
Only then did race allow himself to cry.
______
well that was a fat Oof.
part 3 ??
feedback is always appreciated, hmu to be on the tag list
