#bo doesnt know whether to be a good brother or a cockblock lol

[meat-husband]

I think you reblogged something like this, but what about drunk Vincent? I just can’t imagine what he’s like drunk because he seems to quiet! Female reader please, maybe taking care of him while he’s tipsy?

I meant for this to be cute but it just spiraled into sadness :(

—

You weren’t sure what had led up to it - you had only just arrived home, tired from the long trip into town - but clearly, you had just interrupted some sort of party. There didn’t need to be much of an occasion to bring out a bottle or two, but this seemed to be more than just having a few drinks. There was no shortage of booze around the house, half full bottles in every cabinet in the kitchen like it was a staple food. Although that wasn’t exactly untrue - you had never seen Bo sit down for dinner without a glass of amber liquor next to his plate. Now, though, nearly all of those bottles had been brought out and emptied, joined by a small collection of cheap beer cans that you were sure belonged to Lester.

You stand in the kitchen doorway, watching from a distance as the twins have a heated discussion from either side of the little table. Bo is loud, red faced but smiling, clearly drunk and teasing his brother about something. Vincent is always soft spoken, so you can’t hear his side of the conversation, but it doesn’t seem as though they’re arguing.

The small kitchen was crowded and noisy, but you smiled at the thought of finally seeing them all together without a fight breaking out. It was a simple thing, but it was rare enough to get the twins into the same room for any length of time, let alone all three brothers at once.

“There you are,” Lester says, slipping up from behind. “Thought maybe you’d finally run off on us!”

“No, some asshole parked his truck right in the middle of the driveway,” you returned, glaring daggers at the youngest brother. “Sideways. I had to park at the bottom of the hill and walk up here.”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.”

Lester doesn’t give you an excuse, although you would have loved to hear what bullshit he would have come up with this time. He shrugs, grinning at you in the loose, easy way of someone who is far too drunk to care. It’s annoying, but you can’t stay mad at him, so you roll your eyes and drop the subject.

“What’s going on?” You question, looking around at the cans and bottles.

“Vincent’s wasted,” Lester says with a grin, looking far too happy to be ratting out his older brother. “He can’t drink for shit. Makes him get all chatty, then he and Bo end up picking on each other until someone gives up.”

You already know the answer, but the question still makes your face twist into a grin that isn’t entirely a happy one. “Bet it ain’t ever Bo that gives up, huh?”

He doesn’t reply, instead sliding past you and back into the kitchen. You elect not to join them, listening to the noise as you watch from the doorway. It’s strange to see, but there is no mistaking the relaxed, dazed look on Vincent’s face - and for once, it actually is his face. He was standing, holding onto the kitchen table like it was the only thing keeping him upright, face bare and unmasked. It was still nearby, sitting on the table with finger marks pressed into the chin and jaw as though it had been handled roughly when it was removed. He didn’t seem at all concerned by his bare face, wobbling on his feet as he stood. His already quiet voice was slurred and incoherent, too low to hear from where you stood, but clearly whatever he was saying was amusing.

“Shut up,” Bo says, but he’s grinning up at his twin from his seat across the table. “You’re gonna be embarrassed in the morning, sayin’ all this shit.”

“‘S not embarrassing,” Lester interrupts, stepping past you with a wink and coming to his brother’s defense. “I think it’s sweet.”

Bo scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Both of you are drunk idiots.”

You listen to their bickering for a moment longer, happy to see that they are capable of getting along, even if it takes alcohol to make it happen.

“What are you all talking about?”

Your interruption causes them all to pause for a moment, radically different expressions on each face. Bo looks only vaguely irritated, a small frown on his face as he squints at you. Behind him, Lester is struggling to keep from laughing, holding onto the counter for support as he giggles.

Vincent is the most surprising, turning towards you clumsily, a little more unsteady without the table to keep him balanced. It takes him a moment to catch up with what is going on before he finally greets you with a happy, but incoherent, mumble. He’s a mess, jacket sliding off one shoulder and a tangle of hair in his face, but seemingly very pleased to see you.

“You’re home,” he rasps, reaching forward and tugging at your shirt sleeve. “Missed you.”

You hear Bo hiss, “Oh, here we fuckin’ go,” but ignore him in favor of grinning back at Vincent. He was always quiet, and this was more talkative than you’d ever heard him before, but the admission that he’d noticed your absence from the house tugged on your heartstrings a little. Out of the three, you had spent the least amount of time with Vincent, and you often wondered if your occasional visits downstairs were even wanted - he seemed just as standoffish and uninterested no matter what you tried.

“Aw, that’s nice,” you reply, patting the hand that reached out to grip your sleeve. “I just -”

“Missed you,” he repeats, a heavy rasp in his words. “A lot.”

“Good luck getting him to shut up now.”

Bo sounds irritated, crossing his arms and frowning, but there’s still a look of amusement on his face.

“He always this friendly when he’s been drinking?” You ask with a laugh, holding Vincent steady as he sways in place next to you.

“‘Course not,” his twin answers. “He just likes you.”

Vincent nods in agreement, but his reply is lost in a haze of slurred words. The other two share a glance, something you notice with suspicion, but suddenly the subject seems to be dropped.

“Vincent, go on downstairs,” Bo says, waving towards the doorway. “Got lots of work to get done tomorrow, and you’re gonna feel like shit when you wake up.”

You give him a look, wondering at the sudden dismissal, but neither of the two brothers meets your eyes. You have the distinct impression that Bo is shutting things down to avoid something.

Vincent is unsteady, tilting side to side as he tries to make his way down the hall. It makes you worry, the way he shuffles and swerves, one hand outstretched to catch himself against the wall. One of his brothers should help him, you think, make sure he gets to bed safely without stumbling down the stairs. But you know how well that suggestion would go over, so you trail after him instead.

“Hey, Vincent.”

You greet him quietly and his head swivels towards you, a crooked smile visible on the good side of his face. He says something, but between his naturally low voice and the alcohol, you don’t pick up any of it.

“You trying to go to bed?” You question. “‘Cause you’re going the wrong way.”

You had caught him in the back of the house, nowhere near the door to the basement. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Vincent simply beams down at you, and you return it with an amused look of your own.

“Ok, come on,” you say, grabbing at his arm and gently tugging him towards you. “You can take my room tonight. If you fall down the stairs and break your neck, I’ll be stuck here with Bo by myself.”

You keep a hold of his arm, pulling him in the right direction and trying to steady his uneven steps. It’s a good thing you decided to intervene, you think, because you just know he would have managed to get himself turned around in the dark basement - assuming he even made it down the stairs to begin with.

Even with your grip on his arm guiding him, Vincent is easily distracted. He turns towards you, slurring words into your hair that you can’t understand, but the tone sounds happy enough so you let him mumble.

“Hey, hey,” you mutter, stopping your slow progress to gently pull him back on track. “Bed is this way, Vincent.”

It was a struggle to get him to walk in a straight line, which made the trip take longer than necessary. Finally dragging him through your doorway felt like a victory after the handful of minutes you had spent guiding his stumbling feet down the hallway. You pull him inside, tilting him towards the bed and letting him drop onto the mattress like dead weight, legs dangling off the edge.

Vincent huffs out a laugh into the crumpled sheets, hair in his face but too clumsy to swipe it away. You let him try for a bit, hands smacking at his face, before reaching over to do it yourself. His hair is lank, tangled and messy from his struggle, but you push it back with a few quick rakes of your fingers over his scalp.

“That better?” You ask, smiling down at his dazed expression, hand still petting his hair.

Vincent smiles back, eye focusing on your face, and you don’t look away. You’re sure there’s never going to be another chance to see him with such a genuine smile, so you take in the sight while you can. His lips are crooked, and so is his smile, pulled harshly to the side by his deformity, but his gaze is bright and warm, looking up at you through a haze of happiness.

“I love you.”

The confession catches you off guard for a moment. With a quiet laugh, you pat his shoulder, looking down at him with a grin.

“Bo was right, huh,” you say, watching his good eye flutter closed. “You do start getting real friendly when you’re drunk.”

He’s asleep before you make it to the door, still half off the bed, but tucked in and as comfortable as you could make him. You don’t think much of his words and if he’s anything like his brothers, then that’s probably not the wildest thing he’s said tonight.

You close the door behind you as you leave, starting back down the hall. The other two were still in the kitchen, making noise and clinking bottles, but you didn’t feel like joining them now.