Friends done Supernatural-style, Rated G, AU (altered reality), Crossover, Gen, Joey & Phoebe with mentions of Gunther and Bobby Singer, 576 words. Joey misses home but they have one more job to do. Written for baylorsr.
Title: Who Says You Can’t Go Home
Author: The Artful Dodger / dodger_sister
Fandom: Friends (Supernatural-Style)
Category: Altered Reality, Crossover(ish), General
Characters/Pairing: Joey & Phoebe, mentions of Gunther and Bobby Singer.
Summary: Joey misses home but they have one more job to do.
Word Count: 576 words.
Date Written: 12/22/2009
Disclaimer: Story title is from a song by Bon Jovi. I do not own these characters or the “Supernatural” concept. “Friends” belongs to David Crane, Marta Kauffman and NBC. “Supernatural” belongs to Eric Kripke and The CW. Not me. This story, however, is all mine, yet it generates me no money.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Author's Notes: So I was writing ‘if characters from other shows turned out to be hunters like on Supernatural’ fics for peoples for Christmas and this was the story that gave me the idea in the first place. Been thinking about this one since I started watching “Supernatural”. I mean, I totally buy that with all the things we saw on the show, Phoebe and Joey were out doing this when our TVs were off. The title is taken from a song by Bon Jovi. Also, I have no idea if you can actually see the Jersey shoreline from the turnpike. Completely didn’t want to look that up.
Author’s Note #2: If you are a “Supernatural” fan and don’t know “Friends”, this probably isn’t your fic as the two featured characters, Phoebe and Joey, are from “Friends”. However, if you watch “Friends” but not “Supernatural”, that’s okay. All you need to know is hunters drive around America, often living out of their cars and being away from home for extended periods, fighting supernatural beings and solving spooky cases.
Dedication: To baylorsr, the Phoebe to my Joey - or the other way around - I Love You and Merry Christmas (Yeah, I know it’s not a Christmas fic persay, but doesn’t Joey give you that warm-all-over-squishy-feeling-in-your-tu
He couldn’t believe they were that close and they weren’t going home.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was nodding into the phone, as if the person on the other end could see her. She strummed her fingers nervously on the steering wheel.
“ I understand…Of course. We’ll take care of it.” She snapped the phone shut.
“We’re not going home, are we?” he asked. She didn’t respond but he didn’t really need her to. He already knew the answer.
They were so close he could almost taste Frank’s Famous Meatball Sub, the sauce dripping off Frank’s slightly-over-grilled bread.
Joey was salivating.
Focus on the job, Joe, he told himself. “Was that Gunther?” he asked, pointing towards Phoebe’s phone.
“Bobby Singer,” Phoebe replied and guided the taxi cab onto the exit ramp.
“A big job?” he asked, shifting in his seat. He’d had to pee for an hour now but Joey had learned a long time ago not to trust the rest-stops along the New Jersey turnpike.
“Poltergeist,” Phoebe said and strummed her fingers on the steering wheel again. He noticed she did that when she was thinking something over.
It was just one of the many things Joey had noticed about Phoebe since they started doing this job together. He’d always thought he knew Phoebe better than anyone. But this, now, here, this was Phoebe.
And he loved her even more for it.
She was looking at him, one golden curl hanging down over her left eye, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards in her most Phoebe-of-smiles.
“We’ll go home soon, Joey. I promise.” Phoebe reached out and patted his cheek with the back of her hand.
He thought about home then; Chandler waiting for him, stretched out in his Barcalounger, beer in hand and a new episode of Baywatch ready in the VCR. Joey thought about his Barcalounger, patiently holding his spot for him, just in front and to the right of the TV.
God, he hoped Janice wasn’t sitting in it.
In his Barcalounger.
Sitting in his Barcalounger. Wrapped up in his mother’s quilt. Playing with his Etch-A-Sketch. Drinking his beer. Tipping his Pizza guy. And eating his Frank’s Famous Meatball Sub.
Phoebe reached over and popped open the glove box, snaking her hand inside and pulling out a candy bar. She immediately dropped it in Joey’s lap, as if she knew the mere thought of his beloved Frank’s had made his stomach cry out in hunger and the mere thought of Janice had left him needing to be soothed.
“Soon, Joey. I promise.”
And he knew she meant it.
Phoebe never promised anything she wasn’t prepared to deliver on.
Joey broke the candy bar in half and handed Phoebe the smaller piece.
He raised his half in salute and smiled. “To the open road.”
Phoebe returned the gesture and the smile. “To home.”
Joey looked around the taxi cab; at Grandma Buffay’s ashes in the backseat, Phoebe’s guitar resting against the cab’s dividing window, the double-bacon cheeseburger wrappers littering the passenger side floor, and Phoebe in the seat next to him.
The green-grey of the New Jersey shoreline mixed with the orange-purple of the setting sun to bounce off the curls that framed her face, her head tilting to the left as she hummed along with the tune playing somewhere only Phoebe could hear.
And Joey knew.
He was already home.