The Courting Rituals of God
Title: The Courting Rituals of God
Author: confetticas
Rating: PG13? I'm bad at this rating thing so that's a guess mostly.
Genre and/or Pairing: Adam/God!Chuck.
Spoilers: To Swan Song and not a second beyond. I think.
Warnings: Okay, I should warn for the fact that this is probably blasphemous like whoa, the pairing being a big hint, haha. It's also, um, crack. Because I can't seem to write anything else. And given that this is me and I write like I talk, language, of course. It's also unbetaed, so I apologize for any mistakes.
Word Count: 1,417
Summary: In which Adam and Sam wake up in Stull but then Adam is kidnapped by God, and Things Happen. IDEK. I apologize.
Author's Notes: So, when I wrote this I was sleep deprived and I had a migraine. I am a little disturbed by it, now that I'm awake, but then I'm disturbed by most of the things I write, so. Here it is. Don't judge me too harshly, lol.
First, Adam wakes up in Stull Cemetery laying on top of something suspiciously warm, breathing and well-muscled. Then, he opens his eyes, and acknowledges that his mattress is his older brother with a punch to Sam’s shoulder. Hey, Adam’s a freaking midget compared to Sam, he’s entitled to strike when he stands a chance.
From there, Sam opens his eyes, gives Adam a confused look and then starts mumbling apologies and looking all ‘aw, shucks’ while he occasionally stops staring at the ground long enough to give Adam apologetic glances.
Adam does not kill him, because Sam is his brother and fratricide is wrong.
After waking up, Adam and Sam spend about a week in the nearest crappy motel until one morning, Sam wakes up to find the other bed empty, several bottles of whiskey on the rickety table with a note taped on top, and, strangely, a thick, leather journal topped with a post-it note that claims in jagged, frustrated hand-writing, write your own damn life, I quit.
The other note is considerably longer but even more bitchy. It’s also disturbing on so many levels that Sam isn’t really sure where to start feeling horrified.
It reads like this:
Hey there Samsquatch - is it okay if I call you that? Actually, never mind, I don’t really care if it’s okay or not - I’ve taken the liberty of kidnapping your baby brother. It’s nothing against you, you’ve done quite the admirable job of keeping him safe, it’s just that now that you’re both alive again, I’d rather you didn’t get him killed. Again. No offense or anything.
Don’t worry, I promise I’ll keep him safe. And you know I don’t break My promises. Or. Well, you USED to know that. Whatever.
Do yourself a favor, Sammy-Sam-Sam, after you’ve downed all the whiskey and puked your guts out, go find Dean. Pull yourself together and stop pretending that you aren’t a disturbing, sad mess without Dean there to pull you through. Seriously. There’s only so much alternating self-pity and self-hate a guy can reasonably claim in one lifetime. You’ve exhausted your limit, get your shit together.
You can finish the whiskey first, though. I won’t blame you. I’d do the same if I were going to go live with Dean Winchester. That’s the good stuff and the shit is expensive, lemme tell you.
Seriously, though. I know it goes against your nature, but no worries on the Adam front. I’ll keep the kid safer than he’s ever been, you have My word.
Sincerely (well, mostly, at any rate)
Chuck Shurley AKA God
P.S. You’re forgiven, Sam. For fuck’s sake, I swear I made that clear awhile back, but stop asking for what I’ve already given unless you screw it up again. You’re driving Me insane.
==========
It’s been almost a month since Adam went to sleep in a motel room with his brother and woke up on a ratty couch in an unfamiliar house with, apparently, God. Who used to be hiding out as a prophet but is now just chilling out on Earth.
Adam’s pretty sure his entire life is some asshole’s private joke.
This whole situation actually supports that theory, so it’s Sam’s bad luck on insisting that Adam is so totally overreacting. He isn’t, and now he has proof.
Fuck, he wants out of this house, Adam muses as he flips through the channels and wonders why God can’t get decent cable. He sighs somewhat morosely and leans back, sprawling out to take up the whole couch just because he’s petty like that sometimes. “I had a life, you know,” he says pointedly.
“When I started interfering, you had eternity in a cage with two very angry archangels and the pleasure of watching your brother protect you by letting himself be torn apart,” Chuck corrects without looking up from His laptop.
Hey, thought. Is it, like, The Holy Laptop, now? Will Adam end up back in Hell if he uses it to find porn just because he’s going goddamn (he has really got to stop using that phrase) stir crazy cooped up in this house?
Chuck finally looks up, giving Adam a beautifully disturbed look while His eyebrows scrunch up as if He simply can’t comprehend what the fuck is wrong with Adam. Adam bites his tongue on the urge to point out who created him. “You aren’t going back to Hell at all,” is all He says.
“Okay, I get that You’re God and all, but can You even do that?” Adam asks curiously. “You’re saying I could go commit widespread, random, senseless murder and You’d be all gravy with opening the pearly gates for me?”
Chuck looks amused. “The reasons that isn’t even a valid point could go on for miles. One, you aren’t leaving this house, so good luck with finding a victim who can actually die. Two, hello? Your big brothers are both going to Heaven, so, yes, I can do that. Three, they aren’t pearly and they aren’t actually gates. Also, four, Adam - you wouldn’t commit murder.”
Adam sighs miserably again. “Why are You keeping me here?” he asks for what is probably the ten thousandth time, not that Adam’s counting, or anything.
“It’s safe here. I’m not taking chances with Winchester luck.”
“…I think You’ve been on Earth too long,” Adam says, once he picks his jaw up off the ground. “I don’t think Winchester luck would take chances with You. Not to mention that You are, you know, GOD. I think if You were really determined to keep me safe, I’d be safe.”
Chuck scoffs. “You’d inevitably find angels and I’d have to choose between keeping you safe and dealing with them. So. You stay.”
Adam gives Chuck an aggravated look. “Dude. I am not a toy. Please, for fuck’s sake, either let me go or send me back to Heaven, I’m not picky, here.”
“Are you still angry with Me?” Chuck asks, completely ignoring Adam’s entirely valid request.
“Take a long look at my life and ask me that again,” Adam replies wryly.
Chuck frowns at him. “You said that you understood.”
Adam nods. “Yup. Totally get it, I really do. And honestly I’m even over a lot of it, although I’m pretty sure that I never did anything to deserve that shit, but whatever. I haven’t had sex, or alcohol, or real food, or anything else that I genuinely like in longer than I care to remember. I’m a human, not an angel. You can’t just tell me to be patient and trust in You and think I’m really going to be okay with that.”
“We could remedy the sex thing,” Chuck offers, utterly shameless.
Adam gapes.
He gapes some more.
“Wha, what the fuck?” he blurts, disturbed on so many levels.
Chuck just grins. “Stop thinking of Me the way you are. It’ll make your head hurt. You wanted sex, I can do that.”
Adam narrows his eyes suspiciously. “…has this…” he doesn’t want to say it, mostly because it sounds insane and conceited but it looks like the truth, which is disturbing. Just. “Has this whole thing been some awkward, misguided courting ritual? Because if it has, it explains so much about Castiel and Dean. So. Freaking. Much.” At least it does if Sam’s stories in the Cage (told at times when Sam had been missing his fair share of vital organs and trying to distract Adam from that little fact) aren’t completely exaggerated.
“And if it has?” Chuck asks calmly, ignoring the bit about Dean and Cas like every other Father in the world who’s child ever had sex with Dean Winchester.
Adam looks Him over. “…I could get behind that,” he admits cautiously. “My brain would probably shatter into a billion tiny pieces if I tried to comprehend it, but I wouldn’t say no.”
“Awesome. My room or yours?” Chuck asks, beaming like a kid at Christmas.
“That’s entirely up to You, but give me a few minutes first and I’ll meet You there,” Adam answers, and once Chuck has headed up the stairs he pulls out the cell phone that he knows that Chuck knows about and also knows that Chuck pretends not to know about mostly because He’s amused at Adam’s gall. He scrolls down to the contact labeled Sam and texts out quickly, dude. I’ve been kidnapped and awkwardly courted by GOD. This is entirely your fucking fault, Sam.
Because it totally is. That’s the only reasonable explanation.
.End.