Jane Doe (A Dylan O'Brien Fanfic)

A/N: Hey guys! It's MacKenzie (otherwise known as Gregariousowl, Dylanodammit, the notorious writer of Killer, and other embarrassing nicknames that I've been called) here to bring you my newest fanfic about my long time obsessive crush on Mr Dylan O'Dork, himself.

It's probably (most definitely) different from the other stories that I've posted, but I hope you O'Dork lovers enjoy it anyway.

On to the prologue, I guess.

Or this might just be chapter one.

I'm not sure.

I'm gonna stop rambling now and just write.

Bye.

-

It had all happened on accident. Everyone had been on his ass all day and Britt wasn't there to cheer him like usual because she had her own career - her own issues to deal with and Dylan really didn't want to be that guy that dumps all his problems on his fiancée. So he did what anyone else in his position would do.

He went to Cold Stone Creamery.

"Welcome to the Cold Stone Creamery! How may I help you?"

Dylan let his eyes roam over the plethora of icecream flavours even though he already knew what he was gonna order, "Can I get a large cup of chocolate icecream with brownies, butterfingers, caramel, heavy with the fudge, a shit ton of gummy bears, and m&ms, some crushed oreos, and just a little dollop of whipped cream?"

The girl behind the counter immediately began fixing up his order. It was silent between them for a total of three seconds before the employee cleared her throat, "So, you either have a major sweet tooth or you're feeling really down."

"What gave you that idea? All the chocolate or that fact that cartoon storm clouds are practically hovering over my head?"

He instanteously felt bad. It wasn't the girl's fault for his shitty day afterall. She was just paid to serve him icecream and she really didn't need a douche bringing her down too. Dylan opened his mouth to apologise, but was interrupted by a loud laugh.

"It was more or less the fact that you've been pouting since you've walked in that gave it away."

His cheeks pinked and he let out a small laugh, "That's embarrassing."

"Nah, it's adorable. You looked like a five year old who was told he can't have a cookie."

"Well, shitty days at work do that to you."

Ah, there he goes again. Blurting out shit to bring others down with him. Dylan absentmindedly wondered when he had picked up that trait. Probably from working with Colton or Ian - both of them were such drama queens (or kings. Whatever floats their boats.)

Boats.

Maybe I should go fishing, Dylan thought to himself. Be that guy who goes floating out in the water for some alone time and gets this sudden realisation that maybe being an islander with a long ass white beard and a loin cloth was more of a life for him than this big fancy city life.

But then again, that was so unrealistic, it wasn't even funny. He wasn't made for anything that wasn't the city.

It'd be just his luck that he'd become some unknown species new chew toy because of some revelation he came up while fishing.

No thanks.

"You talk out loud. I don't think I've ever met anyone who actually does that."

If Dylan's cheeks had been pink before, they were on fire now. Jesus, he probably sounded psychotic.

Oh God, he was becoming one of those psychotic celebrities like Brittany Spears or Amanda Bynes.

Was this actually his life?

"Uh," Dylan shifted his weight from one foot to the other and watched as she scooped his chocolatey mess into the cup. "Sorry, I just - I dunno, I ramble a lot. And my thoughts are everywhere."

"I can see that - or at least, hear that."

Dylan laughed a little and pulled out his wallet, "So how much will this cost me?"

"Probably like $5.67 . Lemme check."

The cost was $5.73 .

"Impressive," Dylan grinned, just a little more than already. "Hey, since no one is really here--"

"Because the place closes in like three minutes..."

"Because the place closes in like three minutes," Dylan mocked with a quirk of the mouth. "Why don't you come sit with me because I need someone to complain to and you seem pretty cool and I'll leave you a big ass tip so what do you say?"

The girl, who he noticed wasn't wearing a name tag (or maybe she was and he just couldn't see it), stared at him like she was trying to figure out his intentions. Eventually, she shrugged and stepped from behind the counter.

"Lead the way,"

Dylan picked a table in front of the window facing the parking lot and begun recounting his day starting from how he overslept this morning so the director was pissed at him from the start and then he had kept forgetting his lines because he didn't have a time to do anything, but skim over them the night before before he had passed out to the fact that they had ran out of his favourite potatoes O'Brien during lunch (and it wasn't his favourite just because of his last name. okay?) to the traffic on the way to this damned icecream shop in the first place.

It was therapeutic, Jesus. Just talking it out.

And the whole time, the girl just sat there and nodded and threw in sarcastic and sassy comments whenever she found fit.

It was nice.

By the time he had finished ranting, it was like an hour past closing time and the girl didn't even look annoyed.

"You're right," The girl stood up and stretched, "You had a really shitty day - and I'm off the clock now so I can swear all I want."

Dylan laughed and stood up with her - immediately going to throw away his cup, "Thanks for listening. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Free of charge. Take this as a free icecream therapy session of something."

Dylan laughed and nodded, "Yeah? Alright. I've got to go now, I guess. Do you need any help closing this place down, at least? It's the least I can do."

The girl whose name he still didn't know shrugged him off, "Go. Get some sleep before you oversleep again tomorrow. I got this."

Dylan nodded and headed towards the door, all the while feeling a 1000 times better.

(Before he left, howbeit, he slipped a twenty dollar bill on the table because no matter what his icecream therapist said, he was no cheapskate and anyone willing to listen to him for an hour deserved a little extra money.)