twentysomething

Rising up in the aaaaair-

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Gabriel

Summary: ""I can tell you what you shouldn't do," Dean says, tinny and bitchy because of the terrible reception Sam gets in the law library stairwells. "Under no circumstances should you go as Albert Einstein or as an abstract concept more vague than "Hot fill-in-the-blank."" Sam sighs and rolls his eyes."

Length: 1100 wordsish.

Warnings: Little Mermaid jokes. Just for puckling.

Notes: ONCE MORE DOWN TO THE WIRE. Halloween is maybe my favorite holiday, and I wrote this when I walked by the costume store in question at least once a week this October- and much like The Christmas Mouse, wondered who the people are who keep these stores in business year round. (The answer to that question, by the way, is me.) And let's face it, Gabriel is that guy.


Sam doesn't like Halloween.

That being said, he also doesn't like not having any friends, so when Sarah, from con law asks if he maybe wants to come to a Halloween costume party she and her roommates are throwing, he says yes, anyway.

Which leaves him with the conundrum of what the fuck to wear.

"I can tell you what you shouldn't do," Dean says, tinny and bitchy because of the terrible reception Sam gets in the law library stairwells. "Under no circumstances should you go as Albert Einstein or as an abstract concept more vague than "Hot fill-in-the-blank."" Sam sighs and rolls his eyes.

Unfortunately, (and not like Sam will ever tell him) Dean is probably right. Sam isn't a lovable weirdo, or even a weirdo's weirdo, Sam is a freak, and it's probably best not to let his flag fly.

"I wasn't Einstein, I was Nikola Tesla," he argues, but Dean just snorts.

"Whatever, just go to a store, buy the pirate-in-a-bag costume, or something, it'll be fine." Dean instructs, and then snorts again. "Also, I can't even begin to believe you called me about this, what was I going to do, sew you an Ariel costume, Little Mermaid?" Sam hangs up on Dean, which is one of his life's few pleasures.

But he finds himself packing up his study carrel and heading over to the weird looking Halloween store on Broadway and 11th, and all he can think is "FML."

The inside looks like a Spencer's on crack, in hell.

There are racks and racks of poorly organized polyester one-piece-masquerading-as-ten outfits in bags, what looks to be an entire section devoted to terrifying clown masks and the diseased looking rack of "sexy" costumes for girls with low self-esteem. Sam immediately regrets this decision. It's generically awful, with sections labeled "Colonial/Pirate" and "Cowboy/Indian" next to each other that make Sam's soul hurt. There's one lone guy behind the counter, chomping down on a tootsie pop and reading the World Weekly News. Sam spends about fifteen minutes perusing his options (which will all doubtlessly be too short and small for him because he's tragically tall) before giving up the ghost.

"Do you have anything less..." Sam trails off as the guy behind the counter chews his lollipop obnoxiously at him. "Yeah, no, never mind." The guy snorts.

"Let me guess. A pretty girl asked you to a party and you don't know what to wear because your first instinct is dressing up like-" The guy tilts his head thoughtfully. "Albert Einstein?" Sam can't stop himself.

"It was Tesla!" Sam protests, automatically. The guy smirks.

"Yeah, my point exactly." The Guy (deserving of caps, unfortunately) gives him the glad eye. "Have you considered the Jolly Green Giant?"

Sam walks right out.

And he's back three days later.

"Okay, I don't like you," he states, marching straight back to the counter where The Guy is snapping a piece of Bubble Yum around in his open mouth. "I frankly don't understand how you can operate this business year-round but I need a Halloween costume and I think I'll get scabies if I try to buy something from a thrift store, so." The Guy grins.

"I like you," he says cheerfully, snapping his fingers. Sam feels his brows drawing together.

"That's terrible," he finds himself saying dully. The Guy cackles.

"Gabriel. Gabriel Bright. C'mon." Sam thinks he mumbles "Sam," in return and The Guy- Gabriel- puts a little card on the desk that says, "Back Eventually, Deal With It." He lifts up the gate in the counter, waving Sam toward him and- and the totally fucking dubious set of stairs. Gabriel stares at Sam for a moment and then rolls his eyes.

"Okay, I'm not motioning you upstairs to roofie you, seriously." Gabriel teases, and Sam- Sam actually blushes, which is so far beyond hideously unfair. "I even told you my name, no Stranger Danger." Sam hesitates for another moment before Gabriel finally sighs.

"There are better costumes upstairs. Relax, your virtue is mostly safe." Gabriel insists and Sam finally shrugs and goes behind the counter to follow Gabriel up the stairs. If nothing else, Sam has practically a foot of height on this dude, he can bludgeon him with one of those freakish clown busts and make a run for it.

"Upstairs" of the better costumes looks remarkably like a thrift store, anyway. Gabriel gives Sam another evaluating look that is still ninety percent staring at Sam's crotch- which should probably make Sam either irritated or uncomfortable, but he can't muster up anything more than faint disapproval.

"Well, we could try any other number of pedestrian choices, but I'm thinking Doctor Jones is the way to go," Gabriel finally announces, darting between and under racks of clothing. In a staggeringly short amount of time, Sam finds himself with two armfuls of clothing and a fedora dangling half-on, half-off his head. Gabriel actually shoos him into a de-facto dressing room, which is a glorified alcove with a curtain across it.

The pants are probably too tight, as is the shirt, but the jacket is perfect, like Dad or Dean would wear. And when Sam pinches the crown of the hat, drawing it down and over, he can't help but grin into the mirror.

"Not bad," Gabriel says, just his head poking through the curtain.

"I could have been naked," Sam points out, sensibly. Gabriel waggles his eyebrows.

"Time for that yet. You need a big, fuck off leather belt, yep." Gabriel's head disappears again and Sam finds himself wondering why he wants to laugh rather than call the sex-offender database. Half a minute later, Gabriel just swipes the curtain open and Sam bats his hands away when Gabriel tries to put the belt on for him.

"Too much?" Gabriel asks innocently, blinking sweetly at Sam. Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you come on a little strong?" Sam returns. Gabriel shrugs.

"Sometimes, but that's usually after we've had sex, at least once." he says nonchalantly. Sam's fingers fumble on the buckle. "Anyway, we still have to get you a whip. I have a number of suggestions on this front." Sam frowns.

"Well, the shirt and the pants are too tight, first." Sam argues. Gabriel gives him a lingering look that speaks volumes and leaves Sam's pants incrementally tighter.

"Uh, no. Those are perfect." Gabriel disagrees firmly. Sam fights the hot creep of a blush easing its way up his neck. "C'mon, whip." Gabriel tucks two fingers into the waistband of Sam's still-too-tight khakis and drags him across the floor where there's- oh, god, like a dominatrix's workshop.