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31 August 2010 @ 12:11 pm
August drabble dump, other SPN pairings & gen edition  

He's a thousand surprises a day, and that's why Sam has to double-check every time he has a new idea.

Today's new idea has a history in Gabriel's world, so Sam definitely has to double-check.

"How is that even going to work?" he says. "You barely reach my shoulder."

"Maybe I'll wear three-inch heels. Stilettos, even."

OK, he walked into that one. "You do and you can forget it."

"Come on, Sam. Don't be a spoilsport. Dance with me!" And Gabriel's arms are around his waist, grin gleaming up at him, chin digging (rather sharply) into his sternum. "It'll be fun. When was the last time you danced with anybody?"

Sam doesn't have a good answer to that. And his hands have already come up to hold Gabriel by the waist. "OK," he says guardedly, "but this better not be one of your alien abduction jokes."

Gabriel's eyes light up. "I'd forgotten about that!" he says. "Oh, Sam, you do care." He nuzzles Sam's chest in a way that reminds Sam very eerily of Lilith when she was walking around in an eight-year-old. And from nowhere, truly embarrassing music pops on.

Sam immediately drops his hands. "I'm not dancing to Barry White."

"Killjoy," says Gabriel. He snaps his fingers and the music changes. Now it's something cheesy off the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, and Sam doesn't even need to say anything, just press his lips together in a flat line, and Gabriel gives a weary sigh.

The third thing that comes on is Sinatra, and while it might not be ideal slow-dance music, Sam can live with it. "OK, come on," he grumbles, holding a hand out.

Gabriel is weirdly light in his arms, and the height difference doesn't seem so bad when there's a hot head resting on his chest. Sam finds himself bending forward, dropping his chin to rest his cheek on the top of Gabriel's head. Their breaths are in unison for a few moments there, and when Gabriel slowly tilts his head up to look at Sam, he doesn't pull back but allows their faces to drift close to one another.

Just then, Frank Sinatra sings Darling, kiss me, and Sam does.

He expects a crack, or for the candid cameras to come out. But Gabriel's just smiling at him. And Gabriel waits, demurely, for Sam's lips to brush his again.

"You're a romantic," he teases Gabriel. "I'm surprised."

There's no mischief in Gabriel's eyes, even as he says, "I'm full of surprises."

This he is. He's a thousand surprises a day, and that's why Sam keeps him around.


They're watching some procedural cop drama on TV, and it starts out like any other night... at least, any other night in this weird domestic existence they've settled into. Gabriel's head is tucked into Sam's shoulder; they're sitting on the floor in front of the couch because the couch is too damn soft. Gabriel's making persnickety comments at the screen. Sam's nodding, slowly drifting off to sleep as people wearing sunglasses at night spout cliches.

Gabriel's fingers drift across Sam's side, a gentle touch, and Sam stiffens. The reaction wakes Gabriel up a bit, and he tilts his head up to look at Sam's face. "The hell?" he murmurs, and repeats the motion. This time he sees it for sure: a snicker, stifled.

Oh, this is too good to be true. Gabriel slides a slightly firmer touch against that area, notes the lack of reaction, and then wiggles his fingertips against Sam's skin. This time there's a full-fledged sputter before Sam squelches it, and that's just it. Gabriel sits up straight and declares, "You're ticklish!"

Sam looks terrified. "No, I'm not," he says, with a dismissive tone that's a whole lot more convincing on his brother.

"You are! Sam! You've been holding out on me. How long we've been sleeping together and you didn't say?" Gabriel slides his fingers across that spot on his side again.

"Stop that!"

"No way. Too interesting." But Gabriel withdraws his hands, if only to slide them between the buttons of Sam's shirt. "This requires further investigation." Sam tries to protest, but then Gabriel's lips are at his neck, sucking slightly, and he gives a groan. Gabriel already knows his hot buttons far too well. Once he knows his ticklish spots, Sam's done for.

Then again, he was pretty much done for when he first gave in to Gabriel's advances, so he should have given up the ghost a long time ago.

His shirt catches on the watch he's taken to wearing (a symbol of his normal life, he says, though Gabriel insists nobody wears watches anymore) and nearly frays - Sam has to help him get it off; he needs that shirt. It's a work shirt. Oh, God, he has work these days. How far he has come from demon blood. And he has Gabriel to thank for it.

That's the good news. Bad news is, Gabriel is now covering his body with light touches, leaving no stone unturned. "Are you ticklish here? How 'bout here?" and Sam's losing his self-control, starting to giggle and then outright cackle when Gabriel gets him on his stomach, his side, the inside of his arms. He can't hold back, Gabriel's playing him like a violin.

And then Gabriel starts kissing everywhere he's been touching, light tiny dots of kisses, and Sam's still laughing but along with the laughing he's now starting to sigh. And gasp. And -- oh God, Gabriel's lifting up his wrist and kissing beneath the watch and--


Gabriel gets him three places at once and Sam loses it, hysterical laughing, can't get it together. His stomach hurts like hell but he still can't stop, not for minutes, or hours, it feels like. And Gabriel laughs with him.


Somewhere, from the land of nonexistence, Uriel is vindicated.

He wants to wipe that stupid city off the map. He's not allowed. The Horsemen decimate the population of the United States. His would have been the smaller of the body counts.

He wants to destroy Anna. The stupid sops stop him. Anna goes on to try to kill them both, and Uriel-in-the-past watches her die at the hands of brother Michael. What an inefficient way to die.

He despises the humans. Castiel tells him he's mistaken. Humans raise Lucifer, kill each other at War's hands, kill themselves at Famine's, and cause more carnage in the meantime than Uriel could possibly have caused. And they allow the Gulf oil spill. "Mud monkeys" is far too kind a term.

He wants to allow the seals to fall. Castiel and Anna stop him, fight him, kill him. Then they realize that's what Heaven wanted all along.

And Uriel is the bad angel? If he were still alive, he'd laugh.

Lovers in League...

Only Lilith knew. That was the safest way. And Lilith had an entourage, protectors, people who would see them meet. God, it was hard. Ruby hungered for her like Sam hungered for demon's blood, harder. Sometimes watching him crave it was the only relief she had from her own burning need. And sometimes it just made it harder.

They made it work, though. When Ruby felt soiled from playing turncoat, when she'd been beaten down by her own kind and devoured by the human in her clutches, she lay flat on a meadow far away and waited for soft lips to suck the scent of Sam off her, the bite of devilish teeth to reopen the closed wound where his mouth had taken her blood. Lilith had chosen a vessel with silklike hair, with curves and endless legs, and Ruby could almost love humans when this one was filled with such delicious darkness. Together they were glorious, moving within their chosen bodies and melding beyond them, soft gasps and sighs rising into the night as Lilith made her feel like a demon again.

Once in the darkness after their passion had risen and fallen again, Lilith whispered her final command in Ruby's ear. Ruby cinched their bodies tightly together, but she didn't cry, didn't protest. Just nodded. She'd always known the purpose of their alliance. Their passions were incidental to the point.

The Charles Atlas Seal of Approval

At first Dean refused. There was no way it couldn't be a joke. Castiel seemed to take his brother's wishes seriously, but Castiel could be... obtuse sometimes. Especially when it came to human modesty.

"I understand it," he'd said with his impeccable poker face. "It's an expression of openness. Two beings are becoming one flesh before God, and as witnesses we must be equally willing to bare ourselves to the Lord."

"No," was Dean's immediate and repeated response. "I am not going to my brother's wedding in my underwear."

He was damn determined to hold out, but as usual, when Sam cornered him and said "Please, Dean, it means a lot to me," what was Dean going to do, really?

And Gabriel had actually put on his uber-serious face and explained the whole thing. Humans got married in spiritual temples; angels got married in physical ones. It was about them accepting their flesh, becoming one in body as well as mind, and the closest thing to a physical temple in this day and age was a gymnasium. And because a human/angel wedding was an unequal power share, Gabriel explained patiently, he would be wearing clothing to symbolize his mastery over his supplicant ("Supplicant?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow at Sam, who just shrugged), and Sam would be wearing something that symbolized both his worth to his new master/husband/whatever ("Don't want to know," Dean said, covering his ears) and his mastery of the physical form.

But it wasn't until he and cas were there, in their tighty whities, that Dean really realized what was going on.

They were in their underwear. With gym equipment everywhere. And Gabriel was wearing a corset and carrying a whip. And Sam stood up, his expression unreadable, and removed the tarp that had been covering him to reveal...

Dean's shout could be heard three blocks away.

"This is Rocky fucking Horror!!!"

And, on cue, the music started up. Gabriel could barely keep his giggling in check long enough to sing about Sam's hot groin and biceps. And by the time Dean had broken out of his paralyzed moment of horror and realized this really was all one big fucking prank, Gabriel had jumped onto Sam like a hyper koala, the two of them had disappeared giggling behind a curtain, and even Cas had disappeared just in time to avoid Dean's fist.

Damn it, the whole world just wanted nothing more than to fuck with him!


Enough of this shit.

That was the thought that went through Adam's head again and again. As Zachariah talked to him about the Winchesters and fate and the Apocalypse; as he woke up again and was told the truth about his father and his half-brothers, as he was pulled this way and that and back again, all he could think was enough of this shit!

He was an only son of a single mother. He was not the discarded third wheel in a family more important than his own. And he was sure as hell not the understudy in some ancient melodrama.

He had his own memories, his own dreams. He had his own last name.

And in the end, the only reason he said yes to Michael was to get it over with.

Hashtag's Revenge

"#thisisnotcool," Dean said, brushing away the bots that had clung to his ankle. "Thought the Internet would be a little... IDK, cleaner."

"We're in Twitter," Sam said, hacking through a bunch of @ replies with his knife. "It's kind of the dregs."

"yeah, but a swamp?" Dean smacked a DM that had just bit him in the cheek. "snot that bad, rite? i mean, a message board i could see as a swamp but Twitter's got all kinds of ppl."

"Well, we're also in a reality invented by this thing," Sam said with a *shrug*.
"It's kind of fascinating, don't you think? That a creature can spawn right out of an information and data network and create a physical repr"

He stopped short. His mouth was still flapping, but nothing came out.

"d00d," Dean said, >:Ding. "u ran out of characters."

Sam had a few things decided about the Trickster.

One, he loved to see people suffer. Two, he thought he was better than everyone else. Three, there had to be a way to kill him that he wouldn't come back.

When the Trickster was revealed as Gabriel, Dean was angry as hell. But Sam couldn't stop staring. The light in Gabriel's eyes, the yearning for his family to stop their fighting, for the ravages of fate to release their hold on him. The way he'd dealt with that knowledge and solitude, all these years. Sam was wrong, the Trickster didn't love to see people suffer. He was just, in his own way, yearning for justice in a world bereft of it.

Sam didn't know until he was sharing headspace with Lucifer, until he could see the devil's memories and his experiences from his prison inside his own body, just what Gabriel had said at the end. Because Dad was right. They are better than we are. There went expectation number two. And Sam felt his heart move. Gabriel could change. After all those millennia worth of hatred and waiting and fear, Gabriel could see the truth. Sam wished they'd had a chance to fight on the same side.

But it was too late for that now, wasn't it? Gabriel was dead. And Sam was stuck in hell for eternity anyway.

Until there was a shining light, and a quirky smile, and a hand held out to him.

"What?" Gabriel said, shrugging. "You think Cas was the only angel who got a pass on the reincarnation bus?"

As Sam reached out, in control of his own body again for the first time in what felt like centuries, he could only think: So much for number three.

As they fled from Hell, returning to a world Sam was sure he'd never see again, Sam hurriedly formed a whole new set of assumptions about Gabriel. Some of them had to do with the heart he'd discovered, some of them with the life and heaven he'd returned to. And one of them, to Sam's own surprise, had to do with the taste of his lips.

This time, he wasn't wrong.

Team 'Free Will'

First of all, the name. Piffle. They only think they've got free will. We're all as much a slave to our own personalities as we are to the whims of angels and their ken. Nobody's will is free, not even mine. So let's put that canard to rest. They're Team Human. Which is funny in its own way. But I'll leave that for now.

Dean Winchester's all right. And by all right I mean he's a sniveling, shortsighted, overconfident punk of a kid who acts like he's still in college. Think about it for a second. Getting drunk, having one-night-stands, and then whining about how the weight of the world is on your shoulders. How is this not a typical college routine?

But he's head and shoulders above his brother. And yes, I realize what an awkward metaphor that is, given... well, you know. But I digress. Sam is problematic at best. At worst, my head would be smashed in and I wouldn't be here to tell you how problematic he is. That should say it all.

Don't ask me about the angel. I don't know him, I don't care to. He doesn't seem as though he'd be much fun, though. Don't you get that impression?

All in all? Not the people I'd've chosen, not by a long shot. But you throw your lot in with the team that's got the best chance of achieving your goal, and as embarrassing as it is, those three don't only have the best chance, they have the only chance.

Imagine Whirled Peas

Oh, how the hunter had fallen.

It used to be that Mary spent her weekends keeping herself alive - barely - while salting and burning the bones of a spirit that was trying to rip her head off. It used to be that she and her dad would track the prints of a she-beast that had abducted a dozen local men with aims that couldn't be printed in the filthiest magazines, and would fire rounds into her belly. Once upon a time, she had on her person at all times the means to decapitate a vampire, to skin a shapeshifter, to shoot a werewolf and exorcise a demon.

Used to be. Now she was out of luck and out of options. Dean wouldn't eat his peas.

"Yummy," she said, "Here, look, even Mommy likes it!" She forced herself to take a taste of the admittedly foul puree, a big smile pasted on her face.

Dean gave a crabby shout and continued to look hungrily across the table at the burger John was downing. Mary shot him an equally crabby look. "Do you have to eat that here?"

"You already told me not to eat in the living room," John grumbled.


He swung to his feet and deposited the plate in the sink, carrying the burger out to the back porch with a loud harrumph and a louder slam of the screen door. Mary huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on now," she said, all sweetness and light, "here comes the airplane into the hangar, vroooom--"

The hangar spit pureed peas into her face.

Mary shook her head and sighed as she headed for the sink to wash off. This was the kind of monster she was facing now, and she had no idea how to defeat it. What a change.

But she still wouldn't trade it for the world.

In the Beginning

In the beginning was a boring opening. Screw that. How about "God was bored." Yeah. That works.

God was bored. God was dead bored. God hadn't even invented chocolate yet. Of course, God hadn't invented hunger yet, but that's a whole 'nother philosophical ball of wax. (Neither wax nor philosophy was on the scene yet either, but now we're getting into logic loops.) So God, handsome fucking devil that he was, figured he'd create some light. That way when he invented people, they could see what a stud he was and offer him free chocolate. And sex.

Now God was rambling. So he cut the speech down to Let There Be Light and then there was. Damn, God was good at this.

Right-o. Now that there was light there'd have to be something to see. How about, mm, a sky? And an earth to see it from. God created a bunch of them, racked 'em up on the celestial pool table, and broke. A couple went into the corner pocket and became black holes and whatnot, but the blue one was pretty. So He decided to shack up there.

Skip ahead a bit, God turned the cue ball into the sun, sprinkled a couple of stars around, and then started to get really creative. Little-known fact, first creature God created? Totally the platypus. The platypus was Nature's first joke. Then he decided to give some horses really absurdly long necks and make giraffes, then make some gray fat things with cravings for peanuts, and a couple of really, really dumb slippery things to swim around in the ocean, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam.

But you know what the universe was missing? Someone to play tricks on. So God created people.

And after that, he was never bored again.

Becky Python and the Search for the Holy Grail


(Outside CARVER EDLUND's castle. BECKY comes riding up.)

BECKY: I am Becky, Queen of the Fangirls!

(CHUCK appears at the top of the tower.)

CHUCK: Are those coconuts?

BECKY: (looks at coconuts, which she has been grinding together to imitate a car's motor) What?

CHUCK: You want me to think you rode here in an Impala, but you're just grinding coconuts!

BECKY: Nonsense! Anyway! I seek the Holy Grail!

CHUCK: The Holy what?

BECKY: It's the book that proves that Sam and Dean are really... aw, never mind. *rides away*


(An LJ community, diseased and full of wank.)

MOD: Bring out yer fics... bring out your fics...

WIP: I'm not a fic yet!

(BECKY rides into town)

BECKY: I seek authors to help me find the Holy Grail!

MOD: She's a witch! Burn her!

BECKY: Wait, what? How do you know I'm a witch?

AUTHOR: She turned me into a het shipper!

(Horrified looks all around)

AUTHOR: I got better...

(CHUCK appears)

CHUCK: There is an easy way to tell if she is a witch.

(He proceeds to suggest they weigh her to see if she is the same weight as a duck, but BECKY pitches a fit and refuses to step on the scale, and the duck is busy pitching insurance anyway and can't be bothered.)

BECKY: That's it, you're coming with me. We need to seek the Holy Grail.

CHUCK: But I've already got one!

BECKY: Yeah, the guy at the French castle told me that too. Right before he started catapulting cows. Come on!


(Castle Annathrax. A beacon in the shape of a book is burning)

CHUCK: Um... we could try over th--

BECKY: Don't even think it.

(The beacon changes shape to that of naked Sam.)

BECKY: Then again..

CHUCK: *pouts*


(The wilds of MISHALAND.)

MISHAWIVES: We are the Wives who say Peen! And you will bring us... a unicorn!

BECKY: No way!


(They brandish Photoshopped pictures of Misha and his T-Rex Peen. Becky nearly hurls, and flees.)

CHUCK: (sings) Brave, brave, Sir Becky,
She bravely ran away...


(A mysterious cave)

ANCIENT HISTORIAN GUY: And after meeting with the Fandom Wanker (BECKY & CHUCK: It's got big teeth! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!) and the Fic Knight (who lost all his limbs until he was a Drabble Knight, then a Comment Fic Knight, and finally a Twitfic Knight), Becky and Chuck made it here to this place, where the Holy Grail was awaiting them. But had they learned the true lesson in their adventure, that what they really needed in life was not the Holy Grail but each other?

BECKY: Bull!

(She rams the ANCIENT HISTORIAN GUY through with a sword. He falls to the ground, dead, and she grabs the Holy Grail and starts to read.)

BECKY: The HELL? Why are they working in an office? What the hell is Sandover? And Sam's in tech support? That is so LAME!

CHUCK: I tried to warn you... aw, screw it. After Season 5, I'm outta here.


Laurenjabber_moose on August 31st, 2010 04:24 pm (UTC)
My insides feel all fluffy
Tiptoe39tiptoe39 on August 31st, 2010 04:36 pm (UTC)
Did you dream you were eating a giant marshmallow? When you woke up, was your pillow gone?
pandapandatini on August 31st, 2010 04:47 pm (UTC)
oh my god the monty python parody was priceless bb <3
Tiptoe39tiptoe39 on August 31st, 2010 04:49 pm (UTC)
Heeeeeee :D Glad you liked! :DDD
{ embracing the storm }: SPN: Cas: Just Calledmithrel on September 9th, 2010 09:35 pm (UTC)
OMG, THE TWITTER FIC! AND MARY TRYING TO GET DEAN TO EAT PEAS! (He totally would have preferred burgers to vegetables, even then.) These are all awesome!
Tiptoe39tiptoe39 on September 9th, 2010 09:54 pm (UTC)
i'm glad you liked them! heee!