twentysomething

AND I WAS THINKING TO MYSELF, THIS COULD BE HEAVEN OR THIS COULD BE HELL!

Well, kids. We've made it to the end of Wipvember, and you've been very good to me! As your Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus/Atheist Present Giving Day present, there'll be some fresh finished H-5-0 fic tomorrow and a poll, asking what you'd most like to see finished. But in the meantime- have some HODGEPODGE.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Cas

Length: 1700 wordsish.

Warnings: Boning, ripping off Bringing Up Baby, FEELINGS, not enough thought.

Notes: So, as follows are four different snippets, all with some measure of Sam/Gabriel or Dean/Cas- the first was the beginning of an epic S-6 fix all the things fic I was writing during the hiatus, the second is the alleged but never finished sequel to Brother Lover- Sister Toucher. The third is, I shit you not, a Bringing Up Baby AU I never finished, or even really attempted, and the fourth is the discarded original opening of the Trick or Treat AU. AND, YEAH. HAPPY WIPVEMBER, FOR THE LAST TIME, MY LOVES.


ONE.

Gabriel wakes up.

This, in of itself, is pretty exciting, because the last time Gabriel checked, he was dead, his brother was like, an asspipe, and he might have had a moment of solidarity with the Winchesters.

That being said, not only does he wake up, but he's not in a cephalopod, he's not some single-celled paramecium the likes of which Peter Pan might defame in Hook, he's not even human. He's still an angel. He can feel his grace blazing as if- as if-

As if in the presence of his Father.

Hello, Gabriel.

Looking around, they're on top of a mountain somewhere, and he can feel his Father in every atom of his being and suffused in the very nature of everything around him. Gabriel feels whole.

He thinks about crying, but someone would find out and make fun of him for the rest of existence, so he settles for being grateful.

There's so much he could say, but his Father knows it all, so he just says the only thing he ought to say.

"I'm sorry I doubted," Gabriel says and he expected the words to feel cold in his mouth, to stick in his throat, but they're a relief, such a relief. His Father doesn't need arms to comfort him, he feels it in the way the breeze is gentle, the sun is mild and warm on his borrowed face, the way the faint mist of altitude settles on his skin.

I am not.

The if you didn't, you wouldn't be as I made you is unspoken and unasked for, and Gabriel nearly chokes with the weight and unbearable lightness that comes with being forgiven.

"Is everything-" Gabriel breaks off. "Alright" isn't what he means, or what he expects, but he suspects the Father knows what he means, even when he doesn't quite know, himself.

It will be.

And Gabriel feels set free by those words, like he's been given a last moment reprieve from the gallows, because it's going to be alright.

"What would you have me do?" Gabriel asks, because even if you're forgiven, there is a penance, there is no call to neglect a duty long neglected.

Be who you are, Gabriel. Bring tidings of gladness.

Gabriel feels a smile rise, unbidden, to his face.

----

When Sam wakes up, he's somewhat less enthused.

His hip aches, his head hurts a bit and he has a major case of cotton mouth.

That being said, either he's hallucinated himself into another plane of existence or Hell has a serious case of looking like a four-star hotel. Which, when he imagined the eternal prison and cage of Satan, it had a lot less ornamental crown molding.

Nor did it have Gabriel's beaming, manic, upside-down face grinning down at him.

"I bring you glad tidings from the Lord, Sam Winchester, the Devil is no longer trying to shimmy you out of your prom dress and wear you and you successfully saved the planet."



TWO.

Sam lays back on the bed in room 3. He figures if all goes well, he wants to be nowhere near room 18, and this was as far as he could get without actually driving to another motel- which he thought about, but Dean has the keys, and he is not going into that room, short of more apocalypse or arterial bleeding.

But he's used to having people around all the time now, so he had thought tonight might be nice- a chance to catch up on some books, maybe watch some tv. In all actuality, it's insanely boring and eerily quiet.

And it's probably that ungrateful train of thought that leads to Gabriel popping in with a self-satisfied smirk.

And because no one raised him right, he pops into the room on top of Sam.

"Seriously, manners," Sam whines. Gabriel snorts, but rolls off of Sam easily enough, pockets rustling with a metric shit-ton of gross, opened candy wrappers.

"Baby, you get hung up about the weirdest shit." Gabriel says, but fondly, as if he likes it when Sam bitches at him and complains, which, well, he kind of does. Sam thinks Gabriel misses having someone be mean to him. "What's wrong, crankypuss, long day?" Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"It was the Dean and Cas show, again, today, part 5 billion, I-Love-You-But-Alas, etcetera etcetera, etcetera," Sam complains, because 1- it is old, 2- seriously, it's gotten so old. At first it was sort of sweet watching them both have A Feeling, but then Dean had gone straight past the honeymoon phase into heinous douchery and Castiel had taken to shooting the world's most depressed cat faces at the formica counter of whatever diner they were in. All of Sam's attempts at appeasement had failed, so when Cas had said that he needed to talk to Dean, alone, Sam had thrown up a hallelujah and about twenty hail marys. Gabriel chuckles with bright malicious laughter.

"Idiots," he says gleefully, fingers twitching loosely against Sam's thigh.

"Stop that," Sam says automatically. "I can feel your snapping fingers scheming." Gabriel grins, filthy and amused.

"You could distract me with your body," he suggests, tugging at the tail of Sam's flannel shirt. "I would totally leave our brothers alone if you distract me with your body." Sam gives in and rolls his eyes.

"More importantly, speaking of your brother, what the hell were you thinking, giving Cas a Cosmo? I almost had an aneurysm." Sam says, because Castiel had slid it across the bed like it was a sacred tome of prophecy and Sam had nearly choked to death on a piece of pizza. It's not that he doesn't enjoy his new friendship with Castiel- in fact, it really has its perks, in terms of research- but he wishes there were some things Cas didn't feel compelled to share. Gabriel smiles brightly, throwing on this angelface that is code for things like 'oh, are you in the wet patch I had no idea' and 'what hand in your pants'.

"Sweetheart, I did that for humanity," Gabriel vows solemnly. "Plus, it was Cosmo or Maxim, so." Sam shudders. Okay, that could have been worse, actually. Gabriel crawls back on top of Sam.

"So, seriously, can you distract me with your body yet?" he asks. Sam raises both his eyebrows.

"So, seriously," Sam mocks. "This was a booty call?" Gabriel's eyebrows mirror Sam's.

"What, did you want to talk?" Gabriel asks incredulously. Sam crosses his arms defensively over his chest, or at least tries to, but it's hard with a squirming pile of archangel on his chest.

"No- I'm just saying-" he refuses to finish that sentence with "but all we do is have sex," because contrary to what Dean thinks, he's still a guy and some shit just cannot be said.



THREE.

Sam can't play golf. But the other option is sending Castiel to try to play golf with Mr. Adler and that simply will not do.

"You should probably just let him win," Castiel advises, eying Sam's attire critically. He probably looks like an idiot, but that's golf for you.

"He's going to win, because I can't play golf." Sam protests. Castiel shrugs.

"Anyone can play golf. You hit a ball with a stick. A monkey could do it." Castiel argues. Sam rolls his eyes.

And that's how Sam ends up folded into what surely must be the smallest golf cart in existence, riding shotgun next to Zachariah Adler.

"So," Sam blurts, wrapping both hands around the passenger side frame. Sam's never been in a vehicle without actual doors before, and Mr. Adler is zooming over the fairway with a frankly unsettling smile on his face. "About the grant. I know the field is fairly crowded, and you must have a lot of other worthy projects competing for your attention, but I think if you look over the proposal-

The golf cart lurches to a sudden stop. "We can talk business later, Dr. Winchester," Zachariah says, surveying the course. He looks every bit like he belongs on the artificial manicured green lawn. Meanwhile, Sam is beginning to suspect that the argyle sweater vest he's wearing is probably overkill. Why did he listen the Castiel's advice on clothes anyway? The man's entire wardrobe consists of one shirt he bought seven times.



FOUR.

Sam opens with, "What, Dean?" because with Dean, social niceties are highly wasted and totally overrated.

"Just making sure no one had murdered you and left your cooling corpse to be buttfucked by homeless people." Dean says, clearly grinning to himself because Dean thinks he's hilarious.

"My corpse remains anally pure," he mutters. And- and the woman next to him on the crosswalk shoots him a horrified glance. Great. New York is the weirdest city on the planet, short of Tokyo, and he's still a freak.

"Just checking, baby bro. But seriously, I just had to reassure Mom that I'm alive, couldn't I just mass text?" Sam asks, absently noting restaurants he thinks he'd like to try if he wasn't so much of a starving student cliche. Dean snorts.

"Like Dad knows what texting is. Cas says hi, by the way." Dean adds. Sam rolls his eyes, even as he hears, "I did not, Sam, but I do now," in the background.

"Dude, will you just send out Christmas cards together, already?" Sam says. Seriously, Dean and Cas have been partners for five years and totally partners for at least three of those years.

"Shut up," Dean replies, reflexively. "Whatever, bitch, see if I care when rats eat your shivved body." Sam can hear something indistinct in the background from Cas that's probably disagreement, judging from the tsk noise Dean makes when Cas chides him.

"I'll talk to you later," Sam promises, because Dean doesn't apologize unless Mom is literally twisting his arm, anyway.

"You're damn right you will." Dean hangs up on him, probably because he never got to have the last word with Dad, so he has to get it somewhere. Sam sort of wishes he didn't have a family plan on his phone.