May Drabble Dump
May. 31st, 2010 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tiptoe39New layout to celebrate the June 11 impending release of the Baking Angel, yay <3
Back Seat
Her hair tumbles to the seat before the rest of her, and he can't keep his eyes off the way it curls, tangled and complex, the way she thinks and the way she talks. He's simple, he's straightforward, and she's like a work of art sometimes, unfathomable. She should be too good for him. Or too something for him. But she reaches up and grabs either side of his coat, white hands biting into the zipper, and pulls him down on top of her. White sandwiched between the dark shadow of his body and the even darker seats, she looks like a dying bird, a delicate creature, and he fears he's crushing her. But he's seen her crushed, and it doesn't take his shadow to do it. No, in his shadow she reaches out and curls around him, her paleness luminous and very nearly radiating its own light. "Take me, John," she whispers, but what he hears is Take me away.
L'Chaim
Here's to Yaakov Zimmerman.
Poor sop wasn't even a bad guy. Seriously, I could have tempted him with every beauty the world had to give and he'd tell me an honest living was as fine as any riches. I can't count the number of times he'd say to me "Mr. Crowley, my friend, let me tell you what the Torah says." At which point I'd roll my eyes and try not to be sick to my stomach, but that's the point, he was that kind of fellow. I never even thought of trying to wheedle his soul. He was Kosher, for God's' sake. Kosher!
And in the end they thought it would be funny to mount him on a rack of bacon with an apple in his mouth. Poor Yaakov. All he ever wanted was to study his holy books, sew his fine clothes and tell me I looked like a mensch. So here's to you, Yaakov. I'd say L'Chaim, but, well... that'd be a little too cruel even for me.
Oh, who am I kidding. L'chaim, you great bloody holy jumper you.
Make Up
"No," Dean said, hiding his head beneath one of the musty motel-room pillows. "No way in hell. I refuse."
"Dude, I thought you would enjoy it!" Sam was pretty horrified himself, but that didn't mean he couldn't tease Dean relentlessly. "Come on. We know it's a youma. And there's only one way to take on a youma."
"I am not going to wear that thing."
"They are kind of itchy, aren't they?" Sam shrugged. "Look on the bright side. Nobody's gonna be able to tell it's you anyway. And you'll have killer legs."
"Won't do it. You go."
"Great." Sam said. "Well, I guess the rest of this town will have their energy drained, too. Including that girl at the bar, what was her name? Brittany?"
Dean burst up out of the bed and stood. "Fine, fine," he said. "But don't think I'm gonna like it."
"It's not my favorite thing, either, Dean." Sam tossed him the magical compact, picked up his own, and held it above his head.
"Winchester Power... Make Up!"
A few hours later, the girl who stood over the body of the dead youma tossed her hair and said, "I do have some killer legs, though, don't I?"
"I knew you enjoyed it deep down." Sailor Sam tugged on her skirt. On the plus side, they'd saved a town. But yeah, the uniforms really were quite itchy.
And starring Morena Baccarin as female Castiel
She was waiting outside the motel room when they got back, all lush, dark, curly hair and serious mouth. Dean thought she looked like something out of a movie that included turbans and hot sand, a desert beauty, and despite the rain, boy, was he thirsty for that kind of oasis.
"Dean." She stepped forward.
He adjusted the collar of his jacket. "So you know my name," he said with a cocky little smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Dean." The woman didn't smile. "It's me."
"Yeah, sure is you," Dean began, and then he looked her up and down. And saw the rumpled trenchcoat. "Wait. Cas?"
"How--" Sam stepped forward. "How did this happen?"
Castiel looked up.
It took Dean a minute. "You're telling me the rain did this to you?"
"It's a certain kind of rain," she said. Her eyes were as bright and fierce as Dean knew them to be, and at once Dean couldn't believe he hadn't recognized her on sight. "It has a unique effect on angels. It's different for all of us."
"Damn," Dean said. "I kinda wish it was always raining."
"It's Gabriel's fault," Castiel said. "He was a trickster even in heaven. He mixed some of his own magic in with the rain. It serves him right that he's had to spend the last few thousand years affected by his own spell. Isn't that right, Gabriel?"
Sam and Dean whirled. In the middle of the parking lot sat a huge panda, holding up a sign that said I don't know what you're talking about. I like it!
UST
First came the dizzy awareness they'd been teleported somewhere. Second, the unsettling realization they were locked in place. But the third omen of doom was the real clincher: Gabriel's singsong voice. "It's plaaaaaaaaytime!"
He appeared then, between Dean and Sam, filling out the awkward foursome. They were stuck sitting, Indian-style, on a bare floor in a room that would be nondescript if it weren't for the confetti scattering the floor and the balloons bobbing on the ceiling. "You know something," he said, "I've been trying to figure you weirdos out for a while and I think I know why you're such party poopers."
"Oh, well." Dean rolled his eyes. "Do explain."
"Ust," Gabriel said.
"Ust?"
"You-ess-tee. Unresolved sexual tension."
Castiel twitched. Sam's eyes got wide. "Unresolved WHAT?"
"Mm-hm." Gabriel pointed one finger at the center of the circle and at once an empty beer bottle appeared, its neck pointing in Dean's direction. "Want to start us off, Dean?"
Dean growled at him. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly, big boy. Come on. Take a chance."
"Forget it."
"Wrong answer."
Gabriel snapped his fingers, and at once Dean was moving forward despite himself. "Cut this shit out, you sick pervert!" he complained, but his hands landed on the bottle and gave it a twist. It rattled around on the floor, and when it came to a stop, the neck was pointing toward Castiel.
"Well!" Gabriel applauded. "Go on, then. This I gotta see." He leaned forward, leering. Dean felt the restraints on his movement lift.
Castiel locked eyes with Dean. He was bright red. "Just do it."
"We all know I was forced into this. Right?" Dean stared at Sam pleadingly. "Right?" But Sam was trying-- and failing-- to repress a gleeful grin.
Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm surrounded." He crawled across the circle and stared at Cas. "Close your eyes," he said. "I'll make it quick."
But when his lips met Castiel's, something happened. Dean would later claim that Gabriel had frozen him in place again. But that only explained the length of the kiss. It didn't explain the moan that flew from his mouth, nor his hands coming to rest on Cas' face. And it certainly didn't explain how they were both flushed and panting when it finally ended, their eyes locked together, and their bodies trembling.
Luckily enough, though, nobody asked him to explain.
Prom
It was the stupidest possible place for a demon hive.
While Sam was clearing the boys in their tuxedos and the girls in their taffeta and sequins out of the gym, Dean faced off against the prom king and queen, or, rather, the things that were living inside them. They teased him a bit about never getting to go to his own prom, but Dean scoffed at them. "Then dance with me now," he said, and pulled them inside a devil's trap hidden behind the balloons and nets full of confetti lining the ceiling.
After the exorcism, Sam looked at Dean. "So do you regret it?" he asked. "Not going to your prom."
Dean shrugged. "Nah. Why, do you?"
"A little." Sam walked toward the corner of the room, where a rope was hanging from the ceiling. Just before he tugged on it, he said, "Wanna have one now?"
Dean looked up in time to see the confetti fall from the ceiling in a multicolor mist. It landed on his hair, on his lips, his shoulders and arms, thick as rain, filling his vision with bright spangles.
"Aw, geez, Sammy, how am I supposed to get this off--"
Then he saw Sam, equally covered in rainbow fragments shining dully in the dim light. Smiling at him.
He held out his hand. "Sure," he said. "Let's have a prom."
Temptation
"I'm not going to pass."
"Shut up. You so are." Sam swung over the back of the couch, bowl of Doritos in hand, and settled in close to Brady. "Come on, stop pouting about it. It'll be like a party. We'll study, eat, drink, you'll pass out on top of your book, and all the answers will sink into your head while you're unconscious."
"Oh, that's your idea of a study technique?"
"Stranger things have happened," Sam said with a shrug. Two grins, and two simultaneous thoughts... You really have no idea how true that is.
The coffee table on which they opened their books was stained with the imprints of beer cans and ramen cups from many a previous all-nighter. "So you want me to quiz you? Or should we go through the chapter first?" Sam said. Brady shrugged, looking at him shyly. He got a grin for his trouble. "All right, I'll help you speed-read it. It's all about picking out the most important words. Come look over my shoulder."
Brady inched closer to him. "Hey, Sam?" he said, shoulder just barely nudging Sam's.
"Hmm?" Another innocent smile.
"How come you're doing all this for me? I mean, I haven't exactly done anything to deserve it. I've been a pretty lousy friend."
"Oh, come on." Sam laid a warm hand on his back. "You had some personal trouble. And if you can't bounce back from that, well... let's just say I'm probably hopeless too."
"You?" Brady stared at him. "I can't believe that."
"Trust me," Sam said, a low note in his voice. "I didn't exactly have your typical childhood."
Sam had kept his hand on his back as Brady had turned in to stare, and now his arm was curled in a soft embrace. When Sam became aware of that, he blushed and withdrew -- but he couldn't quite take his eyes off of Brady's face. His heart was jackhammering in his chest.
Brady pushed further. "You really think I'm a good person, Sam?"
"Of-- of course I do," Sam said. His voice sounded muffled beneath the frantic beating of his pulse in his ears.
Brady smiled. "That means a lot to me." He turned away. "Now, back to our finals fest," he said, taking a crunchy mouthful of Doritos and secretly listening to the sweet sound of Sam's temptation.
Halfway There
Sam said yes, and Lucifer proceeded to not destroy the world.
"I don't get it," Sam said from the tiny hole of consciousness the lord of hell had allowed him. "Why the hell are you just walking around like this?"
"Like I told you, Sam, I've been misunderstood," Lucifer said with a lecturing tone. "You should enjoy this. I've made you more powerful than you ever were before. Come on, haven't we had fun today?"
Sam had to admit that. He couldn't control his body, but Lucifer was still allowing him his senses -- and making the most of them. The lasagna had been good, and the girl had been even better. And what's more, Lucifer had treated her like a princess the whole way. There was not a drop of demon blood consumed, not a horrific scene of slaughter that had ensued in the wake of Sam's fateful acquiescence. Sam was basically free to be Sam, just with better luck and a slightly different vantage point.
"I don't trust you," he informed Lucifer pointedly.
"Well," Lucifer said, smiling with Sam's mouth. "Rome wasn't burned in a day."
~
Sam hadn't meant to fall asleep. He couldn't trust Lucifer in his body one second when he wasn't monitoring. But he could tell he was dreaming because he was in control of his muscles again. He could make the sign of the cross, which he was pretty sure Lucifer couldn't manage.
The completely dead archangel standing next to him was also a good sign.
"Why am I dreaming about you?" were Sam's first words.
"Shh." Gabriel looked around, nervous. "Let's not wake the Big Bad Wolf. Come on, you and I need to have a talk."
"Talk about what? Aren't you dead?"
"Yes and no." Gabriel smoothed back his hair. "Look, what Lucifer said to you was right. You're way more powerful now than you ever were before. Any of that mojo you used to pull when you were under the influence -- you can do it without breaking a sweat."
"That's great," Sam said, "but I sort of don't have control of my body to do anything."
"You can do one thing," Gabriel said. "And you're doing it now."
It took Sam a minute. "What? Dreaming?"
"Do you remember, back in the day? How you dreamed?" Gabriel stared at him intently. "You were like a mini-prophet. A P.I.T, if you will. But you had control over those events. You could shape them. Change them. Think about what you could do now, with his power."
Sam shook his head. "I wouldn't know how."
"Then go with what's natural," Gabriel said. "You're dreaming of me. Keep it up, champ, and what do you think will happen?"
Sam's eyes widened. "You're saying I could dream you... back to life?"
"I'm saying," Gabriel said, "you're halfway there already."
Hug
He was back at Bobby's house after using that last speck of angel to nick Pestilence's ring, looking much the worse for wear and still sort of feeling like he was about to hurl all over everything. Castiel didn't much like feeling this way, and the fact that he could do nothing to make himself healthier sure didn't help. Exhausted, his head in his hands, he sat in the corner of the room, breathing shallowly and trying to keep down that lunch he'd been inexplicably hungry for earlier today.
"Dude, you really look like you're about to blow chunks," Dean said from the other end of the room.
Castiel grimaced. "Don't say that. It makes me feel worse."
Dean chuckled. Castiel didn't have to look up to tell that Dean's hands were slung into his pockets, that he was approaching with a lopsided grin on his face. "Man," he said. "I don't mean to rub it in, Cas, but... how the mighty have fallen."
"Thanks." Castiel snapped. "You're so understanding."
"Sorry, sorry." Dean's voice was singsong, evasive.
Castiel stood. "What do you want?" he asked tetchily.
Dean gazed at him, and there was a levelness in his eyes that surprised Castiel. "Honestly?" he said. "I just kind of wanted to say I'm glad to see you again. We worried about you."
The statement came so far out of left field that Castiel actually twitched. He'd seen this sort of thing before, heard that sort of line, but never from Dean. He wasn't quite sure whether this would play out as expected, and finally, he just decided to ask. "Are you going to... hug me now?"
"What? No." Dean let out a derisive breath, waving away the idea. Then his eyes darted back toward Cas. "Why? ...Do you want me to?"
"No!" Castiel declared reflexively. But he was fixating now on Dean's hands.
"Good," Dean said. He looked away.
"Good," Castiel echoed.
They stood, not looking at each other, for a long beat.
"Aw, shit." Dean opened his arms. "Don't tell Sam about this, OK?"
"I won't if you won't," Castiel muttered, shuffling forward. The minute Dean's arms closed around him, the minute their forms locked, he forgot everything but how warm it all was. He pushed in and toward Dean with vigor, his arms closing around Dean's back, and his chin jutted into Dean's shoulder. It was just so unbelievably warm.
"Not a word," he declared after they finally, mercifully parted.
"No." Dean stomped away. "Of course not."
Castiel waited until he'd left the room before allowing himself to grin like an idiot.
Short Guys
"Gabriel."
"Nnng."
"Gabriel, get off."
"Just did. Sleeping now. Mm-hmm."
"I have to take a leak."
A finger pointed at his stomach. The sensation in his bladder vanished. "And now you don't."
"Gabe!"
For that he got nuzzled. "Have I mentioned how much I love when you call me that?"
"Gabe." A slow burn. "How the hell can you be half my height and still weigh me down? Are archangels denser than normal human beings or something?"
"Good physics problem. Go on pondering it. Cause I'm not letting go."
Sam grumbled. He at least had the use of his hands, so getting his cell phone out of his pocket was possible. He held it up above his head (and Gabriel's, which was stuffed in the crook of his neck) and started to tap out a message to Dean.
"I like it when your arms are around me," Gabriel murmured into his neck. "Even if it's to text your brother complaining about me."
Sam let out a little noise of exasperation and kept on typing.
i've got to stop sleeping with short guys. they always turn into stage 5 clingers
But now Gabriel was snoring lightly in his ear. With a grumble of defeat, Sam tossed his phone aside and clung right back.
Back Seat
Her hair tumbles to the seat before the rest of her, and he can't keep his eyes off the way it curls, tangled and complex, the way she thinks and the way she talks. He's simple, he's straightforward, and she's like a work of art sometimes, unfathomable. She should be too good for him. Or too something for him. But she reaches up and grabs either side of his coat, white hands biting into the zipper, and pulls him down on top of her. White sandwiched between the dark shadow of his body and the even darker seats, she looks like a dying bird, a delicate creature, and he fears he's crushing her. But he's seen her crushed, and it doesn't take his shadow to do it. No, in his shadow she reaches out and curls around him, her paleness luminous and very nearly radiating its own light. "Take me, John," she whispers, but what he hears is Take me away.
L'Chaim
Here's to Yaakov Zimmerman.
Poor sop wasn't even a bad guy. Seriously, I could have tempted him with every beauty the world had to give and he'd tell me an honest living was as fine as any riches. I can't count the number of times he'd say to me "Mr. Crowley, my friend, let me tell you what the Torah says." At which point I'd roll my eyes and try not to be sick to my stomach, but that's the point, he was that kind of fellow. I never even thought of trying to wheedle his soul. He was Kosher, for God's' sake. Kosher!
And in the end they thought it would be funny to mount him on a rack of bacon with an apple in his mouth. Poor Yaakov. All he ever wanted was to study his holy books, sew his fine clothes and tell me I looked like a mensch. So here's to you, Yaakov. I'd say L'Chaim, but, well... that'd be a little too cruel even for me.
Oh, who am I kidding. L'chaim, you great bloody holy jumper you.
Make Up
"No," Dean said, hiding his head beneath one of the musty motel-room pillows. "No way in hell. I refuse."
"Dude, I thought you would enjoy it!" Sam was pretty horrified himself, but that didn't mean he couldn't tease Dean relentlessly. "Come on. We know it's a youma. And there's only one way to take on a youma."
"I am not going to wear that thing."
"They are kind of itchy, aren't they?" Sam shrugged. "Look on the bright side. Nobody's gonna be able to tell it's you anyway. And you'll have killer legs."
"Won't do it. You go."
"Great." Sam said. "Well, I guess the rest of this town will have their energy drained, too. Including that girl at the bar, what was her name? Brittany?"
Dean burst up out of the bed and stood. "Fine, fine," he said. "But don't think I'm gonna like it."
"It's not my favorite thing, either, Dean." Sam tossed him the magical compact, picked up his own, and held it above his head.
"Winchester Power... Make Up!"
A few hours later, the girl who stood over the body of the dead youma tossed her hair and said, "I do have some killer legs, though, don't I?"
"I knew you enjoyed it deep down." Sailor Sam tugged on her skirt. On the plus side, they'd saved a town. But yeah, the uniforms really were quite itchy.
And starring Morena Baccarin as female Castiel
She was waiting outside the motel room when they got back, all lush, dark, curly hair and serious mouth. Dean thought she looked like something out of a movie that included turbans and hot sand, a desert beauty, and despite the rain, boy, was he thirsty for that kind of oasis.
"Dean." She stepped forward.
He adjusted the collar of his jacket. "So you know my name," he said with a cocky little smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Dean." The woman didn't smile. "It's me."
"Yeah, sure is you," Dean began, and then he looked her up and down. And saw the rumpled trenchcoat. "Wait. Cas?"
"How--" Sam stepped forward. "How did this happen?"
Castiel looked up.
It took Dean a minute. "You're telling me the rain did this to you?"
"It's a certain kind of rain," she said. Her eyes were as bright and fierce as Dean knew them to be, and at once Dean couldn't believe he hadn't recognized her on sight. "It has a unique effect on angels. It's different for all of us."
"Damn," Dean said. "I kinda wish it was always raining."
"It's Gabriel's fault," Castiel said. "He was a trickster even in heaven. He mixed some of his own magic in with the rain. It serves him right that he's had to spend the last few thousand years affected by his own spell. Isn't that right, Gabriel?"
Sam and Dean whirled. In the middle of the parking lot sat a huge panda, holding up a sign that said I don't know what you're talking about. I like it!
UST
First came the dizzy awareness they'd been teleported somewhere. Second, the unsettling realization they were locked in place. But the third omen of doom was the real clincher: Gabriel's singsong voice. "It's plaaaaaaaaytime!"
He appeared then, between Dean and Sam, filling out the awkward foursome. They were stuck sitting, Indian-style, on a bare floor in a room that would be nondescript if it weren't for the confetti scattering the floor and the balloons bobbing on the ceiling. "You know something," he said, "I've been trying to figure you weirdos out for a while and I think I know why you're such party poopers."
"Oh, well." Dean rolled his eyes. "Do explain."
"Ust," Gabriel said.
"Ust?"
"You-ess-tee. Unresolved sexual tension."
Castiel twitched. Sam's eyes got wide. "Unresolved WHAT?"
"Mm-hm." Gabriel pointed one finger at the center of the circle and at once an empty beer bottle appeared, its neck pointing in Dean's direction. "Want to start us off, Dean?"
Dean growled at him. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly, big boy. Come on. Take a chance."
"Forget it."
"Wrong answer."
Gabriel snapped his fingers, and at once Dean was moving forward despite himself. "Cut this shit out, you sick pervert!" he complained, but his hands landed on the bottle and gave it a twist. It rattled around on the floor, and when it came to a stop, the neck was pointing toward Castiel.
"Well!" Gabriel applauded. "Go on, then. This I gotta see." He leaned forward, leering. Dean felt the restraints on his movement lift.
Castiel locked eyes with Dean. He was bright red. "Just do it."
"We all know I was forced into this. Right?" Dean stared at Sam pleadingly. "Right?" But Sam was trying-- and failing-- to repress a gleeful grin.
Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm surrounded." He crawled across the circle and stared at Cas. "Close your eyes," he said. "I'll make it quick."
But when his lips met Castiel's, something happened. Dean would later claim that Gabriel had frozen him in place again. But that only explained the length of the kiss. It didn't explain the moan that flew from his mouth, nor his hands coming to rest on Cas' face. And it certainly didn't explain how they were both flushed and panting when it finally ended, their eyes locked together, and their bodies trembling.
Luckily enough, though, nobody asked him to explain.
Prom
It was the stupidest possible place for a demon hive.
While Sam was clearing the boys in their tuxedos and the girls in their taffeta and sequins out of the gym, Dean faced off against the prom king and queen, or, rather, the things that were living inside them. They teased him a bit about never getting to go to his own prom, but Dean scoffed at them. "Then dance with me now," he said, and pulled them inside a devil's trap hidden behind the balloons and nets full of confetti lining the ceiling.
After the exorcism, Sam looked at Dean. "So do you regret it?" he asked. "Not going to your prom."
Dean shrugged. "Nah. Why, do you?"
"A little." Sam walked toward the corner of the room, where a rope was hanging from the ceiling. Just before he tugged on it, he said, "Wanna have one now?"
Dean looked up in time to see the confetti fall from the ceiling in a multicolor mist. It landed on his hair, on his lips, his shoulders and arms, thick as rain, filling his vision with bright spangles.
"Aw, geez, Sammy, how am I supposed to get this off--"
Then he saw Sam, equally covered in rainbow fragments shining dully in the dim light. Smiling at him.
He held out his hand. "Sure," he said. "Let's have a prom."
Temptation
"I'm not going to pass."
"Shut up. You so are." Sam swung over the back of the couch, bowl of Doritos in hand, and settled in close to Brady. "Come on, stop pouting about it. It'll be like a party. We'll study, eat, drink, you'll pass out on top of your book, and all the answers will sink into your head while you're unconscious."
"Oh, that's your idea of a study technique?"
"Stranger things have happened," Sam said with a shrug. Two grins, and two simultaneous thoughts... You really have no idea how true that is.
The coffee table on which they opened their books was stained with the imprints of beer cans and ramen cups from many a previous all-nighter. "So you want me to quiz you? Or should we go through the chapter first?" Sam said. Brady shrugged, looking at him shyly. He got a grin for his trouble. "All right, I'll help you speed-read it. It's all about picking out the most important words. Come look over my shoulder."
Brady inched closer to him. "Hey, Sam?" he said, shoulder just barely nudging Sam's.
"Hmm?" Another innocent smile.
"How come you're doing all this for me? I mean, I haven't exactly done anything to deserve it. I've been a pretty lousy friend."
"Oh, come on." Sam laid a warm hand on his back. "You had some personal trouble. And if you can't bounce back from that, well... let's just say I'm probably hopeless too."
"You?" Brady stared at him. "I can't believe that."
"Trust me," Sam said, a low note in his voice. "I didn't exactly have your typical childhood."
Sam had kept his hand on his back as Brady had turned in to stare, and now his arm was curled in a soft embrace. When Sam became aware of that, he blushed and withdrew -- but he couldn't quite take his eyes off of Brady's face. His heart was jackhammering in his chest.
Brady pushed further. "You really think I'm a good person, Sam?"
"Of-- of course I do," Sam said. His voice sounded muffled beneath the frantic beating of his pulse in his ears.
Brady smiled. "That means a lot to me." He turned away. "Now, back to our finals fest," he said, taking a crunchy mouthful of Doritos and secretly listening to the sweet sound of Sam's temptation.
Halfway There
Sam said yes, and Lucifer proceeded to not destroy the world.
"I don't get it," Sam said from the tiny hole of consciousness the lord of hell had allowed him. "Why the hell are you just walking around like this?"
"Like I told you, Sam, I've been misunderstood," Lucifer said with a lecturing tone. "You should enjoy this. I've made you more powerful than you ever were before. Come on, haven't we had fun today?"
Sam had to admit that. He couldn't control his body, but Lucifer was still allowing him his senses -- and making the most of them. The lasagna had been good, and the girl had been even better. And what's more, Lucifer had treated her like a princess the whole way. There was not a drop of demon blood consumed, not a horrific scene of slaughter that had ensued in the wake of Sam's fateful acquiescence. Sam was basically free to be Sam, just with better luck and a slightly different vantage point.
"I don't trust you," he informed Lucifer pointedly.
"Well," Lucifer said, smiling with Sam's mouth. "Rome wasn't burned in a day."
~
Sam hadn't meant to fall asleep. He couldn't trust Lucifer in his body one second when he wasn't monitoring. But he could tell he was dreaming because he was in control of his muscles again. He could make the sign of the cross, which he was pretty sure Lucifer couldn't manage.
The completely dead archangel standing next to him was also a good sign.
"Why am I dreaming about you?" were Sam's first words.
"Shh." Gabriel looked around, nervous. "Let's not wake the Big Bad Wolf. Come on, you and I need to have a talk."
"Talk about what? Aren't you dead?"
"Yes and no." Gabriel smoothed back his hair. "Look, what Lucifer said to you was right. You're way more powerful now than you ever were before. Any of that mojo you used to pull when you were under the influence -- you can do it without breaking a sweat."
"That's great," Sam said, "but I sort of don't have control of my body to do anything."
"You can do one thing," Gabriel said. "And you're doing it now."
It took Sam a minute. "What? Dreaming?"
"Do you remember, back in the day? How you dreamed?" Gabriel stared at him intently. "You were like a mini-prophet. A P.I.T, if you will. But you had control over those events. You could shape them. Change them. Think about what you could do now, with his power."
Sam shook his head. "I wouldn't know how."
"Then go with what's natural," Gabriel said. "You're dreaming of me. Keep it up, champ, and what do you think will happen?"
Sam's eyes widened. "You're saying I could dream you... back to life?"
"I'm saying," Gabriel said, "you're halfway there already."
Hug
He was back at Bobby's house after using that last speck of angel to nick Pestilence's ring, looking much the worse for wear and still sort of feeling like he was about to hurl all over everything. Castiel didn't much like feeling this way, and the fact that he could do nothing to make himself healthier sure didn't help. Exhausted, his head in his hands, he sat in the corner of the room, breathing shallowly and trying to keep down that lunch he'd been inexplicably hungry for earlier today.
"Dude, you really look like you're about to blow chunks," Dean said from the other end of the room.
Castiel grimaced. "Don't say that. It makes me feel worse."
Dean chuckled. Castiel didn't have to look up to tell that Dean's hands were slung into his pockets, that he was approaching with a lopsided grin on his face. "Man," he said. "I don't mean to rub it in, Cas, but... how the mighty have fallen."
"Thanks." Castiel snapped. "You're so understanding."
"Sorry, sorry." Dean's voice was singsong, evasive.
Castiel stood. "What do you want?" he asked tetchily.
Dean gazed at him, and there was a levelness in his eyes that surprised Castiel. "Honestly?" he said. "I just kind of wanted to say I'm glad to see you again. We worried about you."
The statement came so far out of left field that Castiel actually twitched. He'd seen this sort of thing before, heard that sort of line, but never from Dean. He wasn't quite sure whether this would play out as expected, and finally, he just decided to ask. "Are you going to... hug me now?"
"What? No." Dean let out a derisive breath, waving away the idea. Then his eyes darted back toward Cas. "Why? ...Do you want me to?"
"No!" Castiel declared reflexively. But he was fixating now on Dean's hands.
"Good," Dean said. He looked away.
"Good," Castiel echoed.
They stood, not looking at each other, for a long beat.
"Aw, shit." Dean opened his arms. "Don't tell Sam about this, OK?"
"I won't if you won't," Castiel muttered, shuffling forward. The minute Dean's arms closed around him, the minute their forms locked, he forgot everything but how warm it all was. He pushed in and toward Dean with vigor, his arms closing around Dean's back, and his chin jutted into Dean's shoulder. It was just so unbelievably warm.
"Not a word," he declared after they finally, mercifully parted.
"No." Dean stomped away. "Of course not."
Castiel waited until he'd left the room before allowing himself to grin like an idiot.
Short Guys
"Gabriel."
"Nnng."
"Gabriel, get off."
"Just did. Sleeping now. Mm-hmm."
"I have to take a leak."
A finger pointed at his stomach. The sensation in his bladder vanished. "And now you don't."
"Gabe!"
For that he got nuzzled. "Have I mentioned how much I love when you call me that?"
"Gabe." A slow burn. "How the hell can you be half my height and still weigh me down? Are archangels denser than normal human beings or something?"
"Good physics problem. Go on pondering it. Cause I'm not letting go."
Sam grumbled. He at least had the use of his hands, so getting his cell phone out of his pocket was possible. He held it up above his head (and Gabriel's, which was stuffed in the crook of his neck) and started to tap out a message to Dean.
"I like it when your arms are around me," Gabriel murmured into his neck. "Even if it's to text your brother complaining about me."
Sam let out a little noise of exasperation and kept on typing.
i've got to stop sleeping with short guys. they always turn into stage 5 clingers
But now Gabriel was snoring lightly in his ear. With a grumble of defeat, Sam tossed his phone aside and clung right back.