![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alchemyaliceTitle: A Progression of Arguments
Author: Alchemy Alice
Rating: PG-13
Total Word Count: ~1,700
Genre and/or Pairing: Does banter count as a genre? Also Sam/Gabriel, mention of Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Up to Changing Channels
Warnings: Nothing, except swearing. And Nazi clowns. Also, this might just be a really stupid and silly story, so just...be aware.
Disclaimer: Riffing on stuff that isn't mine. I mean no infringement.
Summary: In which Sam bitches, and Gabriel makes increasingly ridiculous gestures.
Sam is beginning to become aware of the fact that he seems to have a weakness for small adorable things that can also kill you. Like Ruby. Or the killer rabbit from Monty Python.
…not that he’s calling Gabriel adorable. Because that would be weird.
But you know what? It’s totally not his fault if he might have had that very fleeting and not at all meaningful thought. It’s Gabriel’s fault. Because Gabriel is the one showing up in his dreams all the time.
And no, not in that way. Jesus Christ.
“Blasphemy is no way of getting me on your side,” Gabriel tuts.
Sam glowers. “I wasn’t trying to.”
This is a very large lie. Sam would really like it if Gabriel, a fully powered archangel, would man up and take their side in this stupid Apocalypse. Because it is stupid, and therefore Gabriel should loathe it like he loathes stupid humans. He should be playing pranks on the Apocalypse, not encouraging it.
“How precisely does one play pranks on a concept?” Gabriel wonders, cocking his head. "If you find out, will you let me know? Because that would really be too much fun."
"Stop reading my thoughts," Sam says. Though whether Gabriel's reading it or not, Sam is clearly losing his mind. "What I meant was that I don't see why you insist on showing up here, when you clearly know where we are and could just show up in person," he adds in annoyance.
Gabriel stares at him. "But then I'd have to deal with Dean."
Right. And Gabriel and Dean get along like two tomcats trying to work the same alley. Sam would suggest getting out the rulers already, but he's vaguely terrified that they would actually do it. As if he hasn't had enough need for brain bleach in his life.
"Then could you at least choose more appropriate dreams? Like, I don't know, that dock one that Castiel's always contacting Dean in?" he complains.
"Docks are boring!" Gabriel says expansively. "Besides, this place is fun, what's not to like about it?"
Sam glares at him. Because he's currently sitting in a lecture hall at Stanford, where a large elk is talking about tax law to a class entirely populated, with the exception of Sam, by a disturbing crossbreed of clowns and Nazis. Sam's subconscious had been about to start a major shit fit about whether to stay and get the notes he needed or run for dear life when Gabriel had waltzed in.
To applause no less. Sam really hates him.
"I'm impressed with your subconscious creativity, to be honest. Nazi clowns! I'm sure I could work that into something suitably poetic. Though tax law, Sam? I hope this was a required class or something, because believe me, tax law is a real snooze. I killed a tax lawyer once just to prove animals had feelings too, and he was practically grateful for the reprieve."
"Shut up. Just shut up. Why are you here?"
"I thought you just told me to shut up. How can I tell you why I'm here when you've told me to shut up?"
"I hate you. Answer the question."
"Just checkin' up," Gabriel smirks. "How're things going? Michael talk to Dean yet?"
"He does. Continuously. With much the same level of respect for personal boundaries that you have," Sam bitches.
"That's how we roll," Gabriel observes wisely.
Sam sighs. "Can we please at least leave the classroom full of my worst nightmares?"
There's a pause in which Sam takes in the implications of what he just said, and then Gabriel is suddenly closer and colder.
"You have Lucifer on your tail, and this is your worst nightmare?" he asks.
Sam looks at him, his jaw jutting forward. "Yes. Lucifer is terrifying, but I can always say no to him."
Gabriel studies him for a long moment, eyes piercing and otherworldly. "Hmm," he says.
Then he places one finger very delicately on the tip of Sam's nose. And prods it.
Sam wakes with a start.
Right. Adorable things that can kill you, and also are skilled in turning the profound into the infuriating. Sam needs a shrink.
***
Dean has started looking tired all the time. Michael is a hell of a lot more civilized than Zachariah is, but he's still kind of a asshole, and still wants to wear him like a three-piece Hugo Boss, so there's that. Dean's switched from black coffee to triple-shots of espresso, and it's making him jumpy.
"Dude, calm the fuck down," Sam says, when Dean nearly kills the waitress for offering him ketchup a little too stealthily. "I'm supposed to be the spaz here."
"You are the spaz," Dean retorts. "I'm just being careful."
"You're being ridiculous, and you're going to give yourself heart palpitations. Where's Cas?"
"Looking for God. Give him a break."
"No, he needs to give you one, because you're driving me batshit. Take some sleeping pills to get out of the dreams or something, it works for me."
Dean's gaze sharpens abruptly and Sam winces. "'Works for you'? Who's been hijacking your dreams lately?"
Sam tries to act casual and roll his eyes. "Gabriel. Surprise, surprise."
"Oh yeah? What's that douchenozzle got to say for himself?"
"He likes whatever dreams horrify me the most."
Dean grins knowingly. "Nazi clowns?"
"Shut the fuck up I hate you."
***
They're tracking down Pestilence when Dean gets blindsided on the road by a drunk driver with a giant pickup, and the Impala makes a horrific shrieking noise when she's suddenly lifted off the ground and placed delicately a half a mile away, in a cornfield. There's no horrid crush, no scraped metal on her doors. Dean freezes, arms braced between the steering wheel and the headrest, and Sam's no better.
"Um, what?" Dean says, after a long moment.
"Gabriel," Sam says, very definitively.
Dean digests this, and then says, "You owe your angel a blowjob. Or maybe I do, seeing as he saved my baby."
Sam punches him in the arm, hard. He doesn't know whether it's out of outrage, or some sort of possessiveness. He really prays it's not the latter.
Dean cackles.
***
Things start showing up around Sam. Surprisingly useful things. Like the right book in the library is behind the counter, newly returned, when he asks for it. And the photocopier is mysteriously just broken enough to do everything for free. Bizarre herbs and ancient animal carcasses show up at the motel, which is totally gross except that when Sam looks them up, they turn out to be components for extra-awesome hex bags and anti-demon weaponry. It's all rather obvious.
"Dude, your boyfriend's proving his usefulness," Dean says, setting his bag on the counter and wrinkling his nose at the neatly collected albatross feet. "But he's not exactly being too romantic."
"Maybe because it's not meant to be romantic, Dean," Sam grits out. They've been over this. A lot.
"Uh huh. Sure buddy."
"Why, does Cas leave you random useful things?"
Dean leers. "He's left me a lot more than that."
Oh god. Sam did not need to know that. "Dammit, Dean!"
"What, you asked!"
***
Sam forgets to take sleeping pills one night. And of course, Gabriel shows up.
"No Nazi clowns!" Sam snaps, as soon as he spots him.
"You act like they were there because I asked them to be. It's your twisted subconscious, not mine. Jeez."
"What do you want?"
"To bother you."
"It's working."
"Then you're making it too easy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sam snaps.
"Apology accepted."
"I hate you so very much."
"Do you?" Gabriel cocks his head. "I've been trying to change that."
Sam huffs, and throws himself down under a tree. There's a nice sunset going on, filtering through trees he remembers from slower days in Washington state when John had saw fit to stop for a few months and actually be a dad. And if Gabriel would shut up for it, Sam might actually enjoy it.
"So I notice you haven't said yes yet."
Right. Gabriel shutting up was like the oceans not being wet. An impossibility at the molecular level. Sam briefly--very briefly--considers duct tape and its merits.
"I'm not going to say yes. I'm never going to say yes," he says, with as much conviction as he can muster.
"I might actually believe you."
Sam looks over sharply. Gabriel's face is impassive.
After a long pause, Sam says, "Was it the Nazi clowns?"
Gabriel snorts. And then that snort turns into laughter. And Sam kind of likes his laugh.
***
"Dude, you suck at heroic gestures," Sam bitches.
Gabriel makes a muffled noise that Sam interprets correctly as 'fuck you'.
"We've taken on demons before, you know. Demons more powerful than that. And getting stabbed with an angelic blade for us is just getting stabbed, it isn't near death, like it is for you. Jesus Christ."
"Don't...blaspheme."
Sam shot him a look that could fell elephants. "You do realize you've picked a side now."
"Beginning to regret that, yes," Gabriel manages.
"You're an idiot."
Gabriel assents with a grumble. His left wing stings like a motherfucker. It had been a clean slice, but it managed to burn out a few tendons when the cursed sigils in the metal made contact, so now there's a whole network of pain shooting across the base of his primaries. He doesn't have the energy to fold it away, so it just flops over the edge of the motel bed in a mess of feathers and blood. Sam can't see most of it, but the wound itself flickers in and out of the physical plane like some sort of ghostly wound in the time-space continuum.
Gabriel had just been worried. A demon like Azreoth is nothing to sniff at. He's blaming this on Sam Winchester completely.
He also must have said that both aloud and intelligibly though, because the bed dips next to him and then Sam's face is close to his own.
"You're a complete idiot," Sam says. "It's a good thing I like you."
Gabriel opens his eyes. Sam quirks a smile at him before lying back and looking up at the peeling pebbled ceiling.
"By the way, my brother says I owe you a blowjob, so you should get better soon for that," he says conversationally.
Gabriel growls. "I will hold you to that so hard that as soon as I stop bleeding you won't even know what hit you."
Sam grins. "Looking forward to it."
Author: Alchemy Alice
Rating: PG-13
Total Word Count: ~1,700
Genre and/or Pairing: Does banter count as a genre? Also Sam/Gabriel, mention of Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Up to Changing Channels
Warnings: Nothing, except swearing. And Nazi clowns. Also, this might just be a really stupid and silly story, so just...be aware.
Disclaimer: Riffing on stuff that isn't mine. I mean no infringement.
Summary: In which Sam bitches, and Gabriel makes increasingly ridiculous gestures.
Sam is beginning to become aware of the fact that he seems to have a weakness for small adorable things that can also kill you. Like Ruby. Or the killer rabbit from Monty Python.
…not that he’s calling Gabriel adorable. Because that would be weird.
But you know what? It’s totally not his fault if he might have had that very fleeting and not at all meaningful thought. It’s Gabriel’s fault. Because Gabriel is the one showing up in his dreams all the time.
And no, not in that way. Jesus Christ.
“Blasphemy is no way of getting me on your side,” Gabriel tuts.
Sam glowers. “I wasn’t trying to.”
This is a very large lie. Sam would really like it if Gabriel, a fully powered archangel, would man up and take their side in this stupid Apocalypse. Because it is stupid, and therefore Gabriel should loathe it like he loathes stupid humans. He should be playing pranks on the Apocalypse, not encouraging it.
“How precisely does one play pranks on a concept?” Gabriel wonders, cocking his head. "If you find out, will you let me know? Because that would really be too much fun."
"Stop reading my thoughts," Sam says. Though whether Gabriel's reading it or not, Sam is clearly losing his mind. "What I meant was that I don't see why you insist on showing up here, when you clearly know where we are and could just show up in person," he adds in annoyance.
Gabriel stares at him. "But then I'd have to deal with Dean."
Right. And Gabriel and Dean get along like two tomcats trying to work the same alley. Sam would suggest getting out the rulers already, but he's vaguely terrified that they would actually do it. As if he hasn't had enough need for brain bleach in his life.
"Then could you at least choose more appropriate dreams? Like, I don't know, that dock one that Castiel's always contacting Dean in?" he complains.
"Docks are boring!" Gabriel says expansively. "Besides, this place is fun, what's not to like about it?"
Sam glares at him. Because he's currently sitting in a lecture hall at Stanford, where a large elk is talking about tax law to a class entirely populated, with the exception of Sam, by a disturbing crossbreed of clowns and Nazis. Sam's subconscious had been about to start a major shit fit about whether to stay and get the notes he needed or run for dear life when Gabriel had waltzed in.
To applause no less. Sam really hates him.
"I'm impressed with your subconscious creativity, to be honest. Nazi clowns! I'm sure I could work that into something suitably poetic. Though tax law, Sam? I hope this was a required class or something, because believe me, tax law is a real snooze. I killed a tax lawyer once just to prove animals had feelings too, and he was practically grateful for the reprieve."
"Shut up. Just shut up. Why are you here?"
"I thought you just told me to shut up. How can I tell you why I'm here when you've told me to shut up?"
"I hate you. Answer the question."
"Just checkin' up," Gabriel smirks. "How're things going? Michael talk to Dean yet?"
"He does. Continuously. With much the same level of respect for personal boundaries that you have," Sam bitches.
"That's how we roll," Gabriel observes wisely.
Sam sighs. "Can we please at least leave the classroom full of my worst nightmares?"
There's a pause in which Sam takes in the implications of what he just said, and then Gabriel is suddenly closer and colder.
"You have Lucifer on your tail, and this is your worst nightmare?" he asks.
Sam looks at him, his jaw jutting forward. "Yes. Lucifer is terrifying, but I can always say no to him."
Gabriel studies him for a long moment, eyes piercing and otherworldly. "Hmm," he says.
Then he places one finger very delicately on the tip of Sam's nose. And prods it.
Sam wakes with a start.
Right. Adorable things that can kill you, and also are skilled in turning the profound into the infuriating. Sam needs a shrink.
***
Dean has started looking tired all the time. Michael is a hell of a lot more civilized than Zachariah is, but he's still kind of a asshole, and still wants to wear him like a three-piece Hugo Boss, so there's that. Dean's switched from black coffee to triple-shots of espresso, and it's making him jumpy.
"Dude, calm the fuck down," Sam says, when Dean nearly kills the waitress for offering him ketchup a little too stealthily. "I'm supposed to be the spaz here."
"You are the spaz," Dean retorts. "I'm just being careful."
"You're being ridiculous, and you're going to give yourself heart palpitations. Where's Cas?"
"Looking for God. Give him a break."
"No, he needs to give you one, because you're driving me batshit. Take some sleeping pills to get out of the dreams or something, it works for me."
Dean's gaze sharpens abruptly and Sam winces. "'Works for you'? Who's been hijacking your dreams lately?"
Sam tries to act casual and roll his eyes. "Gabriel. Surprise, surprise."
"Oh yeah? What's that douchenozzle got to say for himself?"
"He likes whatever dreams horrify me the most."
Dean grins knowingly. "Nazi clowns?"
"Shut the fuck up I hate you."
***
They're tracking down Pestilence when Dean gets blindsided on the road by a drunk driver with a giant pickup, and the Impala makes a horrific shrieking noise when she's suddenly lifted off the ground and placed delicately a half a mile away, in a cornfield. There's no horrid crush, no scraped metal on her doors. Dean freezes, arms braced between the steering wheel and the headrest, and Sam's no better.
"Um, what?" Dean says, after a long moment.
"Gabriel," Sam says, very definitively.
Dean digests this, and then says, "You owe your angel a blowjob. Or maybe I do, seeing as he saved my baby."
Sam punches him in the arm, hard. He doesn't know whether it's out of outrage, or some sort of possessiveness. He really prays it's not the latter.
Dean cackles.
***
Things start showing up around Sam. Surprisingly useful things. Like the right book in the library is behind the counter, newly returned, when he asks for it. And the photocopier is mysteriously just broken enough to do everything for free. Bizarre herbs and ancient animal carcasses show up at the motel, which is totally gross except that when Sam looks them up, they turn out to be components for extra-awesome hex bags and anti-demon weaponry. It's all rather obvious.
"Dude, your boyfriend's proving his usefulness," Dean says, setting his bag on the counter and wrinkling his nose at the neatly collected albatross feet. "But he's not exactly being too romantic."
"Maybe because it's not meant to be romantic, Dean," Sam grits out. They've been over this. A lot.
"Uh huh. Sure buddy."
"Why, does Cas leave you random useful things?"
Dean leers. "He's left me a lot more than that."
Oh god. Sam did not need to know that. "Dammit, Dean!"
"What, you asked!"
***
Sam forgets to take sleeping pills one night. And of course, Gabriel shows up.
"No Nazi clowns!" Sam snaps, as soon as he spots him.
"You act like they were there because I asked them to be. It's your twisted subconscious, not mine. Jeez."
"What do you want?"
"To bother you."
"It's working."
"Then you're making it too easy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sam snaps.
"Apology accepted."
"I hate you so very much."
"Do you?" Gabriel cocks his head. "I've been trying to change that."
Sam huffs, and throws himself down under a tree. There's a nice sunset going on, filtering through trees he remembers from slower days in Washington state when John had saw fit to stop for a few months and actually be a dad. And if Gabriel would shut up for it, Sam might actually enjoy it.
"So I notice you haven't said yes yet."
Right. Gabriel shutting up was like the oceans not being wet. An impossibility at the molecular level. Sam briefly--very briefly--considers duct tape and its merits.
"I'm not going to say yes. I'm never going to say yes," he says, with as much conviction as he can muster.
"I might actually believe you."
Sam looks over sharply. Gabriel's face is impassive.
After a long pause, Sam says, "Was it the Nazi clowns?"
Gabriel snorts. And then that snort turns into laughter. And Sam kind of likes his laugh.
***
"Dude, you suck at heroic gestures," Sam bitches.
Gabriel makes a muffled noise that Sam interprets correctly as 'fuck you'.
"We've taken on demons before, you know. Demons more powerful than that. And getting stabbed with an angelic blade for us is just getting stabbed, it isn't near death, like it is for you. Jesus Christ."
"Don't...blaspheme."
Sam shot him a look that could fell elephants. "You do realize you've picked a side now."
"Beginning to regret that, yes," Gabriel manages.
"You're an idiot."
Gabriel assents with a grumble. His left wing stings like a motherfucker. It had been a clean slice, but it managed to burn out a few tendons when the cursed sigils in the metal made contact, so now there's a whole network of pain shooting across the base of his primaries. He doesn't have the energy to fold it away, so it just flops over the edge of the motel bed in a mess of feathers and blood. Sam can't see most of it, but the wound itself flickers in and out of the physical plane like some sort of ghostly wound in the time-space continuum.
Gabriel had just been worried. A demon like Azreoth is nothing to sniff at. He's blaming this on Sam Winchester completely.
He also must have said that both aloud and intelligibly though, because the bed dips next to him and then Sam's face is close to his own.
"You're a complete idiot," Sam says. "It's a good thing I like you."
Gabriel opens his eyes. Sam quirks a smile at him before lying back and looking up at the peeling pebbled ceiling.
"By the way, my brother says I owe you a blowjob, so you should get better soon for that," he says conversationally.
Gabriel growls. "I will hold you to that so hard that as soon as I stop bleeding you won't even know what hit you."
Sam grins. "Looking forward to it."