Who: Cuddlefishes (Neal, Garrus, and their bromance). And Regina, in the end. What: Doing a run for groceries and beer leads to getting run over. But they waste beer not. When: Tonight! Where: Generic Grocery Store Rating/Warnings: Mild violence, blood, language, beer. Status: Complete!
A thrilling trip to the grocery store, that’s how Neal was spending his evening with Garrus. Mostly, the objective was BEER RUN scrawled out in neon letters, but his brofessor also had to pick up a few items here and there for the lady. Which was fine, Neal understood. He’d happily gone to the bakery to con himself a free cookie or two while Garrus filled the basket with tofu, vegetarian chicken nuggets, and lots of random fruit like...clementines, or whatever. Not too many items but enough to help fill Cindy’s fridge, and Neal only managed one ‘don’t forget the condoms and lube’ quip before going about on his way.
The checkout line was kind of long, but by the time they got through it, Neal had the cases of beer and Garrus had the rest of the groceries. Out back to the parking lot and this? This was actually kind of normal. This was good. He wasn’t even thinking about what a quagmire his head was, since having his father in there sort of wrecked the place like a Category 5 hurricane would. A moment of peace was appreciated.
“Where’d we park again?” he asked, squinting out toward the rows of cars. How come it was so easy to forget?
By now he knew Cindy’s food selections like the back of his hand - they were often so bizarre that he couldn’t forget, and while Garrus was horrible in the art of romancing with ‘smooth moves,’ he was known for good memory and an eye for detail. He knew the quirks, the habits, the peeves, and the likes of his deadly lady friend.
Because obviously the bag of meatballs and meaty pizza rolls were for him, alright? Manly snacks for a manly night.
“Back there,” Garrus said, motioning his head over to the back row - it was getting late, not a lot of cars were in the lot anymore, and his new ride (something a little dinky, but the glass was bulletproof) was in the distance. With his fingers hooked through the plastic bags, he led the way - the coast was clear at first. “Bet you missed something as boring as groceries, didn’t you?”
A black SUV turned the corner sharply, headlights off to avoid immediate attention - but the wheels screeched against the cement, rubber burning, as it went for the two men, full-force.
“Actually, I kind of did,” Neal chuckled ruefully, fingers curling tighter around the handles of the beer cases. “I feel like I need to make an extra run to the store, to help re-stock Regina’s fridge. She has hungry piranhas eating all her food, though at least the magic brigade is gone from downstairs.” Still. He wanted to repay her somehow, and not just by doing her boring paperwork or fixing her toilets. Like, legit do her a favor and -
Something was weird. Years and years of criminal life taught him how to watch both his front and his back at the time same, which was why a sixth sense of doom was sort of tripped even before he heard the screech of tires. Without thinking, he dropped the beer (god, did it bust open?? Hopefully not!) and acted on instinct, giving Garrus a hard shove out of the way - but it was too late for Neal.
The car slammed into him with force that knocked the air from every limb and his lungs, rib-fracturing force, and he was on the hood before being flung off - not really much he could do against something that weighed a ton or so, literally. Because that SUV was a weapon, and it definitely struck its target. He went flying, meeting the pavement with a crunch that rattled everything - and he smelled blood, lots of blood, a mess of cuts and road rash and broken things. Multiple things.
“Are you fucking kidding me,” he groaned, mostly so he knew he was still alive and could actually form words.
Some of the impact didn’t escape him - a crippling slam to his side, hitting a (hopefully) unimportant organ somewhere under the skin. Garrus met the cement unpolitely, skidding against the rugged, uneven surface and out went the groceries. Food spilled, bags broke, tofu nuggets rolled around out of their plastic prison until the laws of physicals caused them to stop.
He had skid plenty, clothes ripped from the friction and scrapes were felt against his skin, on the side of his face. A feeling that burned and bled some, but let’s just say Garrus was likely in a more better condition than Neal, who was the goddamn idiot that played hero and heroically tried to keep him away from harm.
Because they’d just gotten run over. Literally. The SUV’s headlights finally flashed on, and with another screech it sped away before anyone could even take a glance at the license plate.
“You really are in love with me,” was the first thing Garrus choked out with a wheeze of pain, grabbing onto his side. “Fuck.”
“Fuck you,” was Neal’s super eloquent response, as he laid there sprawled on his back and staring at the beautiful night sky. If he tried to consider what was potentially busted on him he’d break a blood vessel in his brain or something; as it was, the pain receptors were on overdrive trying to handle all this. “I need the beer. Where’s the goddamn beer?”
No, he wasn’t going to move to get it. Because, as stated, broken. A couple ribs, definitely his arm. He’d felt the snap of that one for sure, and not to mention the scrapes that were raw and bleeding like he’d been pounded with a meat tenderizer.
“We seriously just got run over in the grocery store parking lot.”
Whatever damage they received, they were still obviously talking, making light about the real situation they faced - that they just got run the fuck over in a grocery store parking lot. Did anyone else see that? No? Fuck you, Orange County.
A groan going up his throat and out his mouth, he pushed himself up some by his scratched palms and crawled over to the fallen treasure of the night; the beer they had specifically come back for. Good thing they resorted to cans instead of bottles this time, otherwise they would have been shattered and wasted, and he painfully rummaged through the shit until he took out two of them.
Still cold to the touch. Fuck, that felt nice.
“We got run over in a grocery store parking lot, and no one’s even noticed yet,” Garrus echoed, the idea of it kind of...hilarious, in a ‘fuck my life’ kind of way. “You look like shit, by the way.”
Who the hell was even going to notice? Besides other pedestrians. Customers in the store picking up last minute milk and bread. Anyone else. For real though, fuck you Orange County. Only in this stupid county would vehicular manslaughter be brushed off like it was just another Tuesday.
“I feel like shit,” Neal confirmed, and he lifted the arm that wasn’t broken to bravely attempt a grip on the beer can. Bloodied, torn up fingers made contact and he sighed with relief. “...can you just pour it down my throat? Please? Maybe call someone to scrape my ass off the pavement?”
For a second it appeared as though they conveniently had some peace to themselves. A hit and run scenario was one of the last things he’d ever thought that would happen, though whoever the fuck was responsible for it sure as hell didn’t come back to finish the job. Drunk driver, thief on the run - he’d know it was personal, if the son of a bitch decided to come around.
Garrus never had so much trouble popping up tabs before, but he managed finally. “Is it possible to break a spleen?” Or an appendix? Because fuck, did his side hurt. “Take it. Take the beer. Your ass can wait to be scraped off right now, let’s just…” With a wince, he held his can to his mouth. “Enjoy this.”
All fucks given were thrown out the window right now.
Enjoy this. Neal snorted a laugh, one that was more bitter than anything else, but he attempted to sit up so he could rightfully consume the libation he was owed. A miracle that a fractured rib or two hadn’t punctured any organs, and he just did his best to ignore the screaming pain in his arm as he situated himself so he wasn’t a broken mess stuck to the ground, needing the assistance of a spatula.
“Fuck, I can barely breathe,” he wheezed, as messed up ribs were a whole other world of pain - each intake of air, and the exhale, was like a thousand knives coated in lemon juice poking into him from all sides. But did that stop him from indulging in the beer? Hell no. He’d manage a few swallows before praying to the Gods of Technology that either he or Garrus’s phone still worked, and he could text Regina or someone who had healing power hookups to rescue the two damsels.
Ahh, a cold one never tasted so good. “We are two of the most awesome people, you realize.” Maybe that was why so many wanted Garrus dead. It was just too much to handle. Brofessors who get run over in parking lots stay brofessors for life.
“I actually don’t think it’s personal,” Garrus explained in pain, a wince that was following by another swing of his beer can. It tasted a shitload better when you were on the cement ground after being hit by a car, he was sure of it. “I think this--this is all our shitty luck.”
He was surprised Cindy hadn’t grown a grey hair yet because of it.
But to business, before someone came along and ruined their manly beer bonding with their frantic reactions of witnessing two men, clearly wounded, on the ground, surrounded by fallen groceries...drinking beers like this was a regular occasion. “Ambulance, or one of your magic people. Pick one.” Because while canned booze was an amazing reward for being alive, it was actually not a painkiller, and both were in pain.
At least they were in pain in good company. Cheers!
“You really don’t think it’s personal?” Neal, through the haze of agony, sounded like he didn’t believe a damn word of any of that. “The car came right for us. Just because it didn’t come back...I mean, it was just like a warning or something, yeah?” He refused to believe his luck was that shitty. Because if he did then he might sink into a quicksand pit of depression and then never come out.
His broken arm hung limply by his side, and with his road-burned hand he finagled for his phone, breathing still harsh and pained. “Magic people,” he said, because that meant Regina poofing here in a puff of purple smoke right away. The ambulance would take too many precious seconds.
Of course, the text was something like, heeeeeeeelp got run over followed by the name of the grocery store, but she’d get the point.
“And half-assed the job?” Garrus countered, finishing the first can and then crushing it in his hands. A bit of blood smeared the aluminum from his hands, but he boldly reached out for seconds. Another minute of trouble with the tab before it finally opened. “Because if this was personal, his boss is going to be real pissed that we’re still alive.”
Well, just because they were getting reamed with crime waves didn’t exactly always mean that every single person that categorized under ‘criminal’ had to be competent. The more incompetence, the easier it was to get through. But incompetence by numbers still took time to sift through.
Then Garrus witnessed what, to him, was the oddest sight. A flare of purple smoke and someone all too familiar emerging from it. Seconds after, a middle-aged woman walked through the automatic doors of the establishment, and quickly began spewing frantic words of concern. She didn’t quiet down until Regina slowly turned her head, flashed her a nasty narrow of her eyes, and held her hand up. “Calm down. I’ve got this under control. Move along now, miss.”
The words sounded polite but her look said otherwise, and then she glanced back at the two gentlemen before her. Regina didn’t know to be concerned or annoyed, but the expression she wore somehow conveyed both emotions strangely well. “You get run over, and the first thing you do is...drink beer.”
“Hey,” was Garrus’ simple greet with a smile. His cheek had skidmarks from the cement, and stretching his mouth was a lot more painful than he thought it’d be. “Thanks for coming.”
And here Regina thought she was getting too old for shit like this.
Neal made a noise that sounded like he was really a dying whale (it was probably on a nature CD somewhere), but what it actually meant was ‘thanks for coming, you’re the best.’ He was starting to hallucinate from the pain and just wanted to slip into a potential coma and not wake up until life didn’t suck.
Fuck, that sounded emo.
“Beer numbs the pain,” he attempted to explain. “Can we just...get the fuck out of here?” To infinity, and beyond. Or at the very least, to a soft bed and a bathtub of ice and vodka. Check, please.
Regina barely was able to understand whatever the hell that was that Neal said, but she got the gratitude part of it, and his miserable state made her sigh and put her hands on her hips. And do the whole headshake of motherly disappointment, because that’s what Regina felt like - a magical mother there to coddle and then spank the children that got into some bullshit trouble.
Soon enough she’d be drinking her problems away like every other Orange County citizen, but right now she stuck to the bitterness of blood red wine for every important meal of the day. And yes, at this rate, it did include breakfast. “We’ve got salves and potions left over from your memorable exorcism,” she said as she went to both of them. Garrus was easier to help up to his feet, and both of them teamed up to help Neal rise from the ground carefully. “I’ll take you to my place.”
“That sounds amazing,” Garrus breathed in relief, looking highly uncomfortable covered in the injuries he had. He knew shit to none about magic, but when someone healed with something of the magical nature, it was usually a quick fix. Which meant they wouldn’t look so goddamn pitiful for long, and he wouldn’t come home to Cindy and give her a heart attack. “Thanks. For the millionth time.” Because apparently he and Regina had a habit of really just interacting with each other when the other needed medical attention.
A hand motion and a cloud of violet smoke later, and they were gone from the lot, abandoning the vegan groceries.