ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2010-01-13 05:18 pm
ratherastory) wrote2010-01-13 05:18 pm
Entry tags:
Take Me Home —Part 1
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,635 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
*****
Part 1
Sam is sick to death of angels. Sick of angels, demons, the apocalypse, the whole nine yards. So now he's in a shopping mall with Dean, trying to sort through a giant mess of a case, but at least it's a regular case, a break from all the end-of-the-world crap that's hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. He's beginning to understand Dean's obsession with finding “normal” cases, the paranormal equivalent of two-point-five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence in the suburbs. So this case, in which people started dying in weird and creative ways, seemed like the way to go for a while.
Of course, it's a gigantic mess now: nothing about it makes any sense, because none of the deaths seem related except for the fact that they're all in the same mall, none of it hangs together, and whatever is responsible has a sick sense of humour. There's no wishing well in town, so it's not that. It's enough to make Sam wonder if they haven't stumbled across faeries, except that he's only ever heard of faeries in really old textbooks, and the odds are pretty slim. Faeries stick to the woods, not to shopping malls. In fact, if Sam didn't know better, he'd think it was some sort of ironic commentary on American consumer culture. Still, it 's a way to take their minds off all the death, all the suffering, the weight that's pressing down on them. Also, it takes them away from all the freaking angels, and Sam hasn't been this pleased to be doing something in months, possibly years at this point. Right now, the word “angel” is his least favourite in the dictionary.
Sure, there was a time when he prayed every day, at first, the way normal people do. Pastor Jim explained about prayer when Sam was very small, and it seemed like a great idea at the time: to appeal to a higher power for help, for guidance, and sometimes for a puppy (when he was five years old). Then as he grew older he prayed for a whole lot of things: for Dean, for his father, to get him out of hunting (please, God). The last few years, the prayers were more desperate: please, God, don't let Dean die. Please, God, give me back my brother. Please God. Please please please.
Then Sam met his first angel, and the angel looked at him as though he was something to be scraped off its shoe, didn't even want to touch him. Sam never felt so filthy in his life, tainted and sick and disgusting. He hasn't prayed in over a year now, stopped the praying the day the angels told Dean to go into a locked room and torture a demon. He's given up thinking that maybe angels are the way he first imagined them. Dean is right, they are douchebags. Meddling, sadistic pricks who don't actually care about God's creations at all. Between Uriel, Zachariah and Lucifer, Sam has had enough angels to last him a lifetime. Castiel is going a long way to earning back Dean's trust (if he ever even lost it), but he still won't come near Sam unless he absolutely has to, and so Sam avoids him as much as he can.
And speaking of sadistic douchebags, Sam has reserved a special place in his heart for Gabriel, whom he's known for so long only as “The Trickster.” He's pretty sure he hates him even more than Lucifer. Lucifer, at least, has tried to make nice to Sam in his own weird, twisted way. Sure, it's all a trick to seduce him into becoming a cheap suit, but at least it's a real attempt to seduce. Gabriel, on the other hand, has been going out of his way from the start to make Sam's life even more of a living hell than it already was.
It seems like his reasoning follows the same patterns: Dean is going to die? Awesome. You know what would be fun? Making Sam live his death over and over. Even more fun? Making Sam live without him for six extra months, just to see what will happen. For shits and giggles. You know what else is fun? Making him argue with Dean. Shoving them both into a make-believe TV land and tormenting them until they both decide to say “yes” to playing angel condom, because boo-hoo, little Gabriel wants his angelic brethren to get their little apocalypse over with. Gabriel, Sam has decided, is the worst coward of the lot: hiding behind his tricks and his pranks and his sadistic douchebaggery. Fucker.
“Oh, come now, I'm not that bad!”
Sam straightens up from where he's been looking at the statue of an overweight man, complete with dirty jeans and black t-shirt from Think Geek, XBox controller held in a death grip. It's a wax effigy, except that not five hours ago he was alive and well and arguing vociferously with someone else in the store about how lame the new reboot of Star Trek was.
“I knew it,” Sam is resigned. Can't bring himself to be surprised. “You're way too fond of irony for your own good.”
“What can I say? It's an appealing trope,” Gabriel smirks, hops up to sit on a glass display case full of Wii's and iPods, his short legs dangling ludicrously. He's wearing a really garish shirt, all big prints and loud colours, a leather bomber jacket over it, his hair slicked back with what might be water but looks more like Brillcreem.
“The Fonz called. He wants his wardrobe back.”
Gabriel pretends to be wounded. “Oh, Sam, always with the bon mot.”
“What do you want?”
“What, I can't just have some fun now and then? I'm taking care of some colossal assholes who think that their possessions are more important than their lives.” Gabriel crosses his legs, folds his arms across his chest, smirks at him. He looks around. “I've always hated malls. Let's take this little pow-wow outside, shall we?”
He snaps his fingers, and suddenly they're outside, Gabriel perched on the hood of the Impala instead of the counter. Sam straightens, rubs the back of his neck, tries to remember where he left Dean.
“Dean will kill you for doing that to his car.”
“He's welcome to try. I don't foresee him pulling holy oil out of your ass any time soon.” Sam snorts.
“You know what? I don't care. I know there's nothing we can do to stop you. Was there some new and interesting form of torture you wanted to inflict on me this week? How about skipping the preliminaries this time and just making me insane right off the bat?”
“Such a drama queen. I'm amazed Dean has put up with you for so long. That's the trouble, isn't it? That he puts up with you, I mean. Big brother, always looking out for little Sammy, no matter what kind of shit you pull. He's the soul of forgiveness, isn't he?”
Sam's fists clench at his side. “Just... shut up, would you? You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, I think I do. It's pathetic, really, how you have no life outside of him. Sure, you made a big show of going off on your own, going to Stanford, getting a girl, but you hopped right back into the life with alacrity, didn't you, Sammy-boy? Followed wherever big brother led you. And look what happened when he died, the way we all knew he would: you imploded.” Sam feels heat creeping up his neck, suffusing his cheeks. “Self-destructed so fast I almost got whiplash. Addiction is so cliché, too, although I will credit you with putting a creative spin on it by unleashing the apocalypse in the process. And then Dean forgave that too.”
Which just goes to show what Gabriel knows. Dean hasn't forgiven him, not by a long shot. Hell, there's no forgiveness for any of what he's done. “Just... whatever it is you're going to do, can we get it over with?” he asks finally, feeling his shoulders slump. He's tired of arguing with angels. Tired of arguing with Dean, for that matter. Just tired.
Gabriel sulks. “You're no fun at all. I'm trying to impart a lesson here, chucklehead, and for once I was trying to do it without resorting to reshaping reality around you.” When Sam doesn't answer, he sighs. “You may not believe this, but I like you, Sam.” Sam snorts derisively at that, and Gabriel holds up a hand. “No, really. You kind of remind me of me, only without the brilliant sense of humour and the impeccable fashion sense. And I'm really sick of watching you trail after your brother like a kicked dog. You're holding each other back, you know. You need to both let go, and follow your destinies.”
“Haven't we already had this discussion?” Sam is getting a headache.
“And look how well that turned out. I was hoping you'd listen to me this time, instead of digging in your heels. You think your brother appreciates having to drag you around on a leash all the time? Or has he taught you to walk to heel yet?” there's scorn in the angel's voice now, and Sam feels his temper snap.
“Shut up.”
A sigh. “I can see this isn't going anywhere. Fine. Don't say I didn't try being reasonable first.”
Gabriel reaches out and, in a gesture that reminds Sam oddly of Castiel, pokes two fingers against his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. And everything goes dark.
*****
Part 2
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,635 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 1
Sam is sick to death of angels. Sick of angels, demons, the apocalypse, the whole nine yards. So now he's in a shopping mall with Dean, trying to sort through a giant mess of a case, but at least it's a regular case, a break from all the end-of-the-world crap that's hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. He's beginning to understand Dean's obsession with finding “normal” cases, the paranormal equivalent of two-point-five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence in the suburbs. So this case, in which people started dying in weird and creative ways, seemed like the way to go for a while.
Of course, it's a gigantic mess now: nothing about it makes any sense, because none of the deaths seem related except for the fact that they're all in the same mall, none of it hangs together, and whatever is responsible has a sick sense of humour. There's no wishing well in town, so it's not that. It's enough to make Sam wonder if they haven't stumbled across faeries, except that he's only ever heard of faeries in really old textbooks, and the odds are pretty slim. Faeries stick to the woods, not to shopping malls. In fact, if Sam didn't know better, he'd think it was some sort of ironic commentary on American consumer culture. Still, it 's a way to take their minds off all the death, all the suffering, the weight that's pressing down on them. Also, it takes them away from all the freaking angels, and Sam hasn't been this pleased to be doing something in months, possibly years at this point. Right now, the word “angel” is his least favourite in the dictionary.
Sure, there was a time when he prayed every day, at first, the way normal people do. Pastor Jim explained about prayer when Sam was very small, and it seemed like a great idea at the time: to appeal to a higher power for help, for guidance, and sometimes for a puppy (when he was five years old). Then as he grew older he prayed for a whole lot of things: for Dean, for his father, to get him out of hunting (please, God). The last few years, the prayers were more desperate: please, God, don't let Dean die. Please, God, give me back my brother. Please God. Please please please.
Then Sam met his first angel, and the angel looked at him as though he was something to be scraped off its shoe, didn't even want to touch him. Sam never felt so filthy in his life, tainted and sick and disgusting. He hasn't prayed in over a year now, stopped the praying the day the angels told Dean to go into a locked room and torture a demon. He's given up thinking that maybe angels are the way he first imagined them. Dean is right, they are douchebags. Meddling, sadistic pricks who don't actually care about God's creations at all. Between Uriel, Zachariah and Lucifer, Sam has had enough angels to last him a lifetime. Castiel is going a long way to earning back Dean's trust (if he ever even lost it), but he still won't come near Sam unless he absolutely has to, and so Sam avoids him as much as he can.
And speaking of sadistic douchebags, Sam has reserved a special place in his heart for Gabriel, whom he's known for so long only as “The Trickster.” He's pretty sure he hates him even more than Lucifer. Lucifer, at least, has tried to make nice to Sam in his own weird, twisted way. Sure, it's all a trick to seduce him into becoming a cheap suit, but at least it's a real attempt to seduce. Gabriel, on the other hand, has been going out of his way from the start to make Sam's life even more of a living hell than it already was.
It seems like his reasoning follows the same patterns: Dean is going to die? Awesome. You know what would be fun? Making Sam live his death over and over. Even more fun? Making Sam live without him for six extra months, just to see what will happen. For shits and giggles. You know what else is fun? Making him argue with Dean. Shoving them both into a make-believe TV land and tormenting them until they both decide to say “yes” to playing angel condom, because boo-hoo, little Gabriel wants his angelic brethren to get their little apocalypse over with. Gabriel, Sam has decided, is the worst coward of the lot: hiding behind his tricks and his pranks and his sadistic douchebaggery. Fucker.
“Oh, come now, I'm not that bad!”
Sam straightens up from where he's been looking at the statue of an overweight man, complete with dirty jeans and black t-shirt from Think Geek, XBox controller held in a death grip. It's a wax effigy, except that not five hours ago he was alive and well and arguing vociferously with someone else in the store about how lame the new reboot of Star Trek was.
“I knew it,” Sam is resigned. Can't bring himself to be surprised. “You're way too fond of irony for your own good.”
“What can I say? It's an appealing trope,” Gabriel smirks, hops up to sit on a glass display case full of Wii's and iPods, his short legs dangling ludicrously. He's wearing a really garish shirt, all big prints and loud colours, a leather bomber jacket over it, his hair slicked back with what might be water but looks more like Brillcreem.
“The Fonz called. He wants his wardrobe back.”
Gabriel pretends to be wounded. “Oh, Sam, always with the bon mot.”
“What do you want?”
“What, I can't just have some fun now and then? I'm taking care of some colossal assholes who think that their possessions are more important than their lives.” Gabriel crosses his legs, folds his arms across his chest, smirks at him. He looks around. “I've always hated malls. Let's take this little pow-wow outside, shall we?”
He snaps his fingers, and suddenly they're outside, Gabriel perched on the hood of the Impala instead of the counter. Sam straightens, rubs the back of his neck, tries to remember where he left Dean.
“Dean will kill you for doing that to his car.”
“He's welcome to try. I don't foresee him pulling holy oil out of your ass any time soon.” Sam snorts.
“You know what? I don't care. I know there's nothing we can do to stop you. Was there some new and interesting form of torture you wanted to inflict on me this week? How about skipping the preliminaries this time and just making me insane right off the bat?”
“Such a drama queen. I'm amazed Dean has put up with you for so long. That's the trouble, isn't it? That he puts up with you, I mean. Big brother, always looking out for little Sammy, no matter what kind of shit you pull. He's the soul of forgiveness, isn't he?”
Sam's fists clench at his side. “Just... shut up, would you? You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, I think I do. It's pathetic, really, how you have no life outside of him. Sure, you made a big show of going off on your own, going to Stanford, getting a girl, but you hopped right back into the life with alacrity, didn't you, Sammy-boy? Followed wherever big brother led you. And look what happened when he died, the way we all knew he would: you imploded.” Sam feels heat creeping up his neck, suffusing his cheeks. “Self-destructed so fast I almost got whiplash. Addiction is so cliché, too, although I will credit you with putting a creative spin on it by unleashing the apocalypse in the process. And then Dean forgave that too.”
Which just goes to show what Gabriel knows. Dean hasn't forgiven him, not by a long shot. Hell, there's no forgiveness for any of what he's done. “Just... whatever it is you're going to do, can we get it over with?” he asks finally, feeling his shoulders slump. He's tired of arguing with angels. Tired of arguing with Dean, for that matter. Just tired.
Gabriel sulks. “You're no fun at all. I'm trying to impart a lesson here, chucklehead, and for once I was trying to do it without resorting to reshaping reality around you.” When Sam doesn't answer, he sighs. “You may not believe this, but I like you, Sam.” Sam snorts derisively at that, and Gabriel holds up a hand. “No, really. You kind of remind me of me, only without the brilliant sense of humour and the impeccable fashion sense. And I'm really sick of watching you trail after your brother like a kicked dog. You're holding each other back, you know. You need to both let go, and follow your destinies.”
“Haven't we already had this discussion?” Sam is getting a headache.
“And look how well that turned out. I was hoping you'd listen to me this time, instead of digging in your heels. You think your brother appreciates having to drag you around on a leash all the time? Or has he taught you to walk to heel yet?” there's scorn in the angel's voice now, and Sam feels his temper snap.
“Shut up.”
A sigh. “I can see this isn't going anywhere. Fine. Don't say I didn't try being reasonable first.”
Gabriel reaches out and, in a gesture that reminds Sam oddly of Castiel, pokes two fingers against his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. And everything goes dark.
Part 2
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...I can't believe we still have around 28,000 words of this awesomeness!
As before, the flow of language and emotion is seamless, and makes me feel like I'm listening to music. I love your writing pretty hard. &hearts
(I wish there was some way Sam could know about what happened in 5x10, when it was Luci making a comment about SAM that made Cas all "GNAAARGHohwaitholyfireshit!" I really hope there's a moment in this where Cas inadvertently lets on that he cares about Sam - and not just because Dean does although that was initially a big factor)
Edit: Because I just can't write with ALL my words. o_o I have to add some in later.
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I'm glad you liked it, since this story is pretty much all your fault. :D
Cas hasn't done much so far in the story (he appears once, and is a Transparent Plot Device), but the story isn't done and he's going to be making a comeback soon.
I have to go back and watch 5.10 for that scene again. I was too busy screaming and throwing things at the TV because of Ellen and Jo to properly appreciate the other moments. :P
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My trip into the land of cracktastica gets pretty damned cracky, but now it's kind of meandering between the crack and the angst. It's weird.
I love your icon. Is it from that clip of Jensen lip-synching Eye of the Tiger?
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Meandering between crack and angst is one of the finer qualities of the show itself. That you find your fic doing the same thing only means that it's bound to be awesome and sing out in a nice, true SPN voice.
I found the icon on a random icon sweep of
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Ahh, boys. *hugs them*
*flaps hands at you*
Carry on! :-)
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Yeah, apparently I can't even do crack without inserting angst in there, but what can you do?
I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!
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This story is practically writing itself, it's awesome.
People seem to like it so far, too, which is even more awesome. *bounces*
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Kay: Sam's internal monologue on why Gabriel sux: THANK YOU! This is EXACTLY why I can't get behind the Sam/Gabriel shippers. and I think you nailed Gabriel.
Also, you put in a Fonz reference.
Also, you used the word Chucklehead which is one of my favorites.
Also, this will give "Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes" whole NEW context.
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I can't quite get behind that ship either, except that I am horrifying myself by thinking about it from Gabriel's POV and being sort of maybe sympathetic because he's getting it ALL WRONG, just like Sam. AUGH!
The Fonz reference made me giggle, so I had to do it. Also, SPN has given me a new appreciation for the word "Chucklehead." ;)
The puppy dog eyes were a big motivating factor in writing this. Let's just say Sam makes an ADORABLE dog.
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Puppy! :D
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*pets the puppy*
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Alas, Gabriel doesn't show up much in the story. So far he's just in the first two chapters out of twenty-two, although I suspect he'll show up at the end, too, like mischief-making bookends ;)
Also, there is definitely no slash in this fic.
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You have so nailed Gabriel. I have to admit I have a bit of a soft spot of Gabriel. He's such a fun, yet angsty character; just how I like them!
OMG that is the best pic to use, he looks just like Sam! LOL!
So can't wait to read the rest of this and I was so excited to read that it was so long!
AWESOME!
Did I mention that already?! ;P
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You may have said "awesome" once or twice, yes. Also, your icon says it too. ;)
That's okay, I am TOTALLY FINE with having people squee at my fanfic.
The next chapter is up, and now I'm off to bed. Cheers!
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Loved how you delved into Sam's psyche. He's so tragic..
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Sam *is* pretty tragic, poor bunny. I'm hoping that someone will cut him some slack soon. :)
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Ok, so *again* let me say how much I love this. I love the Trickster (sorry, but I just can't get used to calling him Gabriel) and you've nailed his sense of humor here. And I love your take on Sam's faith. It's a bit ironic when you think about it- he *loses* his faith when he's presented with proof that angels are real.
Lastly... it's weird how much that doggy pic actually reminds me of Sam. o_0
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So pleased you liked it! And yeah, the doggy picture reminds me of Sam too. That's why I decided to post them. :)
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I'm glad you liked it!
I'm sorry about your spleen, though...
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Don't worry about how long it takes: I still have about twelve chapters left, and I haven't quite finished the story, so there's a ways to go yet.
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No seriously, I'm just starting this story and it's really good so far. The Trickster is possibly my favourite character. I will always think of him by his first name <3
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