mine: the americans

bending too far backwards to say i didn’t try

Fandom: American Gods
Pairing: Mad Wife
Rating: Idk, T?

AN: Anyway, I misunderstood the prompt physical hurt/comfort from an anon and wrote this for them. Like, i 100% misread the ask lmfao I’m sorry. Also, this is just kind of pointless banter? But whatever, I wrote this at work (shh) and it’s half-assed, anyway. I owe you a proper one, anon!


It’s twenty below in Michigan and the ice cream truck’s AC is blasting. Sweeney shivers in the passenger seat, body shaking, teeth chattering, glaring at Laura with enough heat it could melt the snow bank they’ve crashed into.

She doesn’t pay him any mind. Her attention is glued to a point in the distance, to a beacon of something Sweeney has yet to see for himself. Laura calls it Shadow and love and her newfound reason for living. Sweeney calls it a pain in his ass, and that’s on the good days. On bad days, Laura pinches his lips between her fingers so hard he can’t speak ill of anyone, much less her husband, for the next two weeks.

“We can walk there,” says Laura, still fixated on the horizon. “It’ll only take, what? 6 hours?”

“You’re out of your skull if you think I’m leaving this ice cream truck to prance through a fucking blizzard.”

“If we don’t, we’re stuck here. All night. Probably all of tomorrow. Until this snow clears. Do you get how much time we’ll be wasting?”

“Oh, I get it.” Sweeney tugs the blankets swaddled around his body tighter. “I got it when you insisted your puppy needed us to go after him again,” he snarls. “I got it when you turned the air on in the dead of winter because you felt the meat sliding off your bones. I get that you have no regard for my life whatso-fucking-ever. But this, I refuse to get. Walk your six hours in this hell storm all you want, Dead Wife. I’m staying here.”

"You’re such a fucking wimp,” Laura sighs. She falls against the back of the driver’s seat, her fight on the backburner for now. “It’s not even that cold.”

“Tell that to my snowballs.”

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