The History of Sunshine and Pop Tarts
Title: The History of Sunshine and Pop Tarts
Author: OpheliacAngel
Pairing: Dean/Gabriel
Genres: Romance/Family
Rating: Teen
Summary: Some days it seems like all Dean and Gabriel have is history, but Dean supposes their ups and downs are what makes them family.
A/N: Written for SPN Rare OTP Fic-a- Month Challenge for July’s prompt ‘history,’ which was a trickier prompt than I had initially realized. Season 5 AU and onward, so so it’s good to have watched later seasons. Sorry it’s so late.
...
Dean didn’t know what it was about Gabriel that had caused him to go back. Maybe it was that same feeling that told him not to gank Gabriel the first time around, even though that’s the hand he had been forced to play anyway, or maybe it was that ever-widening pit in his stomach ever since their conversation in the Impala. It didn’t much matter what it was.
He just hoped that Gabriel realized what the hell he was doing.
So he went back for some foolish, pigheaded reason that not even he could pinpoint, except for the absolute ingrained knowledge that he couldn’t let Gabriel go it alone, even if he was entitled to save all their asses, even if Dean wasn’t technically supposed to give a damn about him. Either way, Gabriel didn’t end up dying. Neither did Dean. Also not the point.
Okay, so what’s Dean trying to get at here? Maybe it’s not worth dwelling on the fact that Gabriel shielded him from the burst of otherworldly light that Lucifer attempted to fatally blind Dean with. His hands had shoved Dean to the ground and even though he threw his body ungracefully on top of Dean’s, those hands still pressed over Dean’s eyes, fingernails leaving crescent shaped marks under Dean’s eyebrows, panicked breathing whistling in and out of Dean’s ear and how this had made Dean’s heart beat all the more faster. This was after the part where Lucifer looked at Dean like he wanted to eat him whole. After his: “Come back to play?” Words which had actually sent goddamn shivers down Dean’s spine.
Dean had wanted to kick his ass right then and there, but Gabriel had been faster and far less giving.
Instead he had whisked the two of them away and dropped them into some hotel room. He didn’t so much as look at Dean before he took off again, no doubt going back to face his brother single-handedly, which Dean had tried to prevent. Dean being pissed would have been an understatement; he was furious and reeling from Gabriel’s complete disregard for just what Dean was capable of. Pissed? He was livid. He was angry for himself for not doing more, for being weak, for taking Gabriel’s head out of the game instead of backing him up.
He was crushed too: he didn’t know whether Gabriel was coming back. He could still feel Gabriel’s legs wrestling with his own to keep him still, could remember Gabriel whispering something in Enochian against Dean’s neck, the soft murmur warring against a distinct roaring sound that fell away to the horrible sound of someone screaming.
Dean had paced the length of the room half a dozen times before Gabriel had returned, disheveled and out of breath, finally having the decency to look at him. Dean threw as much rage as he could into that one look before he rushed at Gabriel and tried to tear him down right where he stood, shouting at the archangel about how the hell he was supposed to know whether Gabriel was going to come back or not.
The kiss was the brightest piece of history between them, their first kiss. It was burned into Dean’s memory the way that Gabriel’s hands had found his own, fingers curling around Dean’s and then bringing them back down to Dean’s sides. The way Gabriel’s hand slid around Dean’s neck and the other around his waist. The way it felt to have someone so powerful touch him, the fact that one of Gabriel’s hands could crush Dean with no effort at all. And before Dean could even process all these things that Gabriel wasn’t supposed to be doing, not with him, the archangel’s mouth mashed up against his own, his body nearly vibrating against Dean’s as if they were dancing and not doing whatever the hell it was they were doing.
Dean was spluttering when Gabriel had pulled away, especially when he realized that Gabriel’s fingers were still entwined with his own. Dean was grateful for it because looking at Gabriel wasn’t enough. He had to feel him, feel that Gabriel wasn’t an illusion, that this touching or kissing or groping which was definitely going on at that moment was not an illusion.
Gabriel was smirking at him, which meant that Dean had no idea what his intentions were, but he seemed resistant to stop touching Dean too, which had to mean something good. A snap of his fingers later and a flustered Sam appeared, wide eyes also burning themselves into Dean’s memory, as if he had seen what had gone down in the room only seconds prior.
That turned out to be the least embarrassing moment of Dean’s night.
“Samsquatch, I’d like you to do me the honor of giving me your blessing.”
Sam’s eyebrows raised comically. If Dean wasn’t so panicked he would have laughed, despite not knowing whether he would be greeted with one of Gabriel’s glares or chuckles. It was a miracle that Sam managed to get out anything with how ridiculous the situation he and Dean had found themselves in was becoming. “My blessing for what?”
“For dating your brother, obviously. What the hell else did ya think I was gonna ask?”
If Dean ever forgot that moment, which he would forever be cursed not to, Gabriel was always just a step away to remind Dean of how hard he had blushed, how long he had stammered out intelligible protests, and how Gabriel couldn’t tell who was set to faint first: Dean or Sam. Luckily neither of them ended up hitting the floor, but Sam looked dangerously pale for the next few weeks as he watched the archangel who had for so long been a thorn in their sides court his brother with every ounce of energy and patience in him, which Dean could encourage with candy and make out sessions on the couch with Dr. Sexy reruns blaring in the background.
Their history was damn good, surprising and embarrassing but good nonetheless.
It seemed that all they had now was history.
With Gabriel being gone nearly twenty-four seven most days while looking for Metatron, Dean tried to keep busy with his own search for the bastard and with the occasional, okay, more than occasional hunt, but his attempts to distract himself fell pitifully short. Truth was that Dean had just become used to having Gabriel around, popping in unexpectedly, hogging the covers on every bed he shared with Dean even though he didn’t even need to sleep, sneaking food coloring into his shampoo and the sweetheart line overdone until Dean was a grin away from smacking him.
Too much of a good thing was bad, attachments caused suffering, blah blah blah. Dean was smacked right in the face with his own shortcomings, with the all too blatant fact that he was stronger and faster and more focused and just generally all around better with Gabriel than without him. Which made him useless without Gabriel, which made him useless as a person, which made him pretty damn frustrated that he could never manage to get a hold of Gabriel because the guy never answered his damn phone or seemed to tap in on his prayer line.
If Gabriel realized Dean’s frustration that only grew with time, he made no sign of it. He always made sure to pop in though, with his exaggerated ‘honey, I’m home’ and less than appreciated ‘what did you make me for dinner?’
There would always be things that Dean would just have to put up with, like Gabriel forgetting about his pop tarts in the toaster oven until they were already burning, or Gabriel using Dean’s socks as puppets when Dean was sick and laughing only made his cough worse, or Gabriel making his prayer line a two way and using it for dirty talk when Dean said he didn’t feel right doing it.
Still, Gabriel always tried hard and whether he was spending all his energy on doing something thoughtful or something pretty stupid, it didn’t much matter. Gabriel’s dedication could make a guy feel flattered at times, maybe even a little loved. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Because, despite everything they’ve gone through, everything that they’ve survived, here they are. Still alive and kicking. Their history was something to be proud about, it was what made them fiercely protective and it was also what made them family.
Dean frowned as he caught a whiff of something burning in the kitchen. “Gabe, your pop tarts are burning again!”
“I’ll tell you who else is burning.” Dean jumped at the voice. He hated it when Gabriel talked before making himself visible. Not to mention he could never get used to Gabriel’s hands gripping his arms and cupping his ass while not being able to actually see said arms or their owner. Gabriel turned the luck over onto Dean however; one blink of his eyes and he could see Gabriel leaning over him perfectly well, trademark smirk and eager honeyed-amber eyes.
Jesus, Dean thought as he was pushed off the couch. Fortunately, he had already gotten quite used to this.
FIN
Author: OpheliacAngel
Pairing: Dean/Gabriel
Genres: Romance/Family
Rating: Teen
Summary: Some days it seems like all Dean and Gabriel have is history, but Dean supposes their ups and downs are what makes them family.
A/N: Written for SPN Rare OTP Fic-a- Month Challenge for July’s prompt ‘history,’ which was a trickier prompt than I had initially realized. Season 5 AU and onward, so so it’s good to have watched later seasons. Sorry it’s so late.
...
Dean didn’t know what it was about Gabriel that had caused him to go back. Maybe it was that same feeling that told him not to gank Gabriel the first time around, even though that’s the hand he had been forced to play anyway, or maybe it was that ever-widening pit in his stomach ever since their conversation in the Impala. It didn’t much matter what it was.
He just hoped that Gabriel realized what the hell he was doing.
So he went back for some foolish, pigheaded reason that not even he could pinpoint, except for the absolute ingrained knowledge that he couldn’t let Gabriel go it alone, even if he was entitled to save all their asses, even if Dean wasn’t technically supposed to give a damn about him. Either way, Gabriel didn’t end up dying. Neither did Dean. Also not the point.
Okay, so what’s Dean trying to get at here? Maybe it’s not worth dwelling on the fact that Gabriel shielded him from the burst of otherworldly light that Lucifer attempted to fatally blind Dean with. His hands had shoved Dean to the ground and even though he threw his body ungracefully on top of Dean’s, those hands still pressed over Dean’s eyes, fingernails leaving crescent shaped marks under Dean’s eyebrows, panicked breathing whistling in and out of Dean’s ear and how this had made Dean’s heart beat all the more faster. This was after the part where Lucifer looked at Dean like he wanted to eat him whole. After his: “Come back to play?” Words which had actually sent goddamn shivers down Dean’s spine.
Dean had wanted to kick his ass right then and there, but Gabriel had been faster and far less giving.
Instead he had whisked the two of them away and dropped them into some hotel room. He didn’t so much as look at Dean before he took off again, no doubt going back to face his brother single-handedly, which Dean had tried to prevent. Dean being pissed would have been an understatement; he was furious and reeling from Gabriel’s complete disregard for just what Dean was capable of. Pissed? He was livid. He was angry for himself for not doing more, for being weak, for taking Gabriel’s head out of the game instead of backing him up.
He was crushed too: he didn’t know whether Gabriel was coming back. He could still feel Gabriel’s legs wrestling with his own to keep him still, could remember Gabriel whispering something in Enochian against Dean’s neck, the soft murmur warring against a distinct roaring sound that fell away to the horrible sound of someone screaming.
Dean had paced the length of the room half a dozen times before Gabriel had returned, disheveled and out of breath, finally having the decency to look at him. Dean threw as much rage as he could into that one look before he rushed at Gabriel and tried to tear him down right where he stood, shouting at the archangel about how the hell he was supposed to know whether Gabriel was going to come back or not.
The kiss was the brightest piece of history between them, their first kiss. It was burned into Dean’s memory the way that Gabriel’s hands had found his own, fingers curling around Dean’s and then bringing them back down to Dean’s sides. The way Gabriel’s hand slid around Dean’s neck and the other around his waist. The way it felt to have someone so powerful touch him, the fact that one of Gabriel’s hands could crush Dean with no effort at all. And before Dean could even process all these things that Gabriel wasn’t supposed to be doing, not with him, the archangel’s mouth mashed up against his own, his body nearly vibrating against Dean’s as if they were dancing and not doing whatever the hell it was they were doing.
Dean was spluttering when Gabriel had pulled away, especially when he realized that Gabriel’s fingers were still entwined with his own. Dean was grateful for it because looking at Gabriel wasn’t enough. He had to feel him, feel that Gabriel wasn’t an illusion, that this touching or kissing or groping which was definitely going on at that moment was not an illusion.
Gabriel was smirking at him, which meant that Dean had no idea what his intentions were, but he seemed resistant to stop touching Dean too, which had to mean something good. A snap of his fingers later and a flustered Sam appeared, wide eyes also burning themselves into Dean’s memory, as if he had seen what had gone down in the room only seconds prior.
That turned out to be the least embarrassing moment of Dean’s night.
“Samsquatch, I’d like you to do me the honor of giving me your blessing.”
Sam’s eyebrows raised comically. If Dean wasn’t so panicked he would have laughed, despite not knowing whether he would be greeted with one of Gabriel’s glares or chuckles. It was a miracle that Sam managed to get out anything with how ridiculous the situation he and Dean had found themselves in was becoming. “My blessing for what?”
“For dating your brother, obviously. What the hell else did ya think I was gonna ask?”
If Dean ever forgot that moment, which he would forever be cursed not to, Gabriel was always just a step away to remind Dean of how hard he had blushed, how long he had stammered out intelligible protests, and how Gabriel couldn’t tell who was set to faint first: Dean or Sam. Luckily neither of them ended up hitting the floor, but Sam looked dangerously pale for the next few weeks as he watched the archangel who had for so long been a thorn in their sides court his brother with every ounce of energy and patience in him, which Dean could encourage with candy and make out sessions on the couch with Dr. Sexy reruns blaring in the background.
Their history was damn good, surprising and embarrassing but good nonetheless.
It seemed that all they had now was history.
With Gabriel being gone nearly twenty-four seven most days while looking for Metatron, Dean tried to keep busy with his own search for the bastard and with the occasional, okay, more than occasional hunt, but his attempts to distract himself fell pitifully short. Truth was that Dean had just become used to having Gabriel around, popping in unexpectedly, hogging the covers on every bed he shared with Dean even though he didn’t even need to sleep, sneaking food coloring into his shampoo and the sweetheart line overdone until Dean was a grin away from smacking him.
Too much of a good thing was bad, attachments caused suffering, blah blah blah. Dean was smacked right in the face with his own shortcomings, with the all too blatant fact that he was stronger and faster and more focused and just generally all around better with Gabriel than without him. Which made him useless without Gabriel, which made him useless as a person, which made him pretty damn frustrated that he could never manage to get a hold of Gabriel because the guy never answered his damn phone or seemed to tap in on his prayer line.
If Gabriel realized Dean’s frustration that only grew with time, he made no sign of it. He always made sure to pop in though, with his exaggerated ‘honey, I’m home’ and less than appreciated ‘what did you make me for dinner?’
There would always be things that Dean would just have to put up with, like Gabriel forgetting about his pop tarts in the toaster oven until they were already burning, or Gabriel using Dean’s socks as puppets when Dean was sick and laughing only made his cough worse, or Gabriel making his prayer line a two way and using it for dirty talk when Dean said he didn’t feel right doing it.
Still, Gabriel always tried hard and whether he was spending all his energy on doing something thoughtful or something pretty stupid, it didn’t much matter. Gabriel’s dedication could make a guy feel flattered at times, maybe even a little loved. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Because, despite everything they’ve gone through, everything that they’ve survived, here they are. Still alive and kicking. Their history was something to be proud about, it was what made them fiercely protective and it was also what made them family.
Dean frowned as he caught a whiff of something burning in the kitchen. “Gabe, your pop tarts are burning again!”
“I’ll tell you who else is burning.” Dean jumped at the voice. He hated it when Gabriel talked before making himself visible. Not to mention he could never get used to Gabriel’s hands gripping his arms and cupping his ass while not being able to actually see said arms or their owner. Gabriel turned the luck over onto Dean however; one blink of his eyes and he could see Gabriel leaning over him perfectly well, trademark smirk and eager honeyed-amber eyes.
Jesus, Dean thought as he was pushed off the couch. Fortunately, he had already gotten quite used to this.
FIN