Prompt fill for lilchibibunny
Sometimes, it was hard to remember a time before the Apocalypse was dropped on their heads. A time where ganking demons were a simple incantation and thrust of a knife, the hiss of holy water against possessed skin.
A time where Sam and Dean could sit in a musty, moldy motel room undisturbed by random divine fly-in prophecies and just clean their weapons with only a barely functioning television with limited channels for company.
That was Then.
To Dean, those days seemed like a lifetime ago, and even though the Apocalypse was just another victory against the supernatural on the notch of the Winchesters belts, their lives had only become more complicated with the addition of ‘Well, yeah, I was dead, but I got better,’ Archangel Gabriel, and Castiel’s frequent visits to Earth from Heaven, like some kind of vacation hot spot.
This is Now
It was December 20th 2011, and Christmas time was rapidly approaching. For their own personal, and perfectly valid reasons, Dean and Sam hated Christmas. It was a reminder of ruined childhoods, blood, sacrifice, and Leave it to Beaver Pagan psychos. On top of that, the last thing they needed was for two ‘symbols’ of the holidays to be taking up their motel room.
For dicks with wings that seemed to get off on vanishing with no warning, seemingly with the sole purpose of pissing Sam and Dean off, Gabriel and Castiel hung around a hell of a lot. They didn’t mind Cas, of course, it was Gabriel that was the problem. Trouble was, the brothers were sort of morally obligated to Gabriel, for his help and ‘sacrifice.’
So, there they were; saviors of the free world.
Dean: the Sword of Michael That Never Was, Temporary Lone Survivor
Sam: The Vessel That Overcame The Devil, Returned Sans Soul, But Is Now Bitchy As Ever.
Castiel: Juiced Up Sheriff Of Heaven, Who Should Have Better Things To Do Than Analyze Television
Gabriel: Formerly Dead Archangel Who Got A Free Ride Back To Life, But Preferred Taking The Ride In The Impala.
“Dude,” Dean tossed the television remote to Sam. “Turn this crap off. I don’t care if it’s the only station we’ve got.”
Sam instinctively reached out to catch, but the remote promptly vanished, reappearing in Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel was reclining on Dean’s bed, legs crossed at the ankles, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his stomach, an open box of Buncha-Crunch leaning against his thigh. “Don’t be such scrooges. You gotta learn to appreciate the classics.” He raised a brow, and dumped the remaining chocolates into the popcorn.
“Elf,” Sam stated. “Isn’t a Christmas classic. It’s from 2003. Miracle on 34th Street, It’s A Wonderful Life…”
“A grown man is running around in tights acting like a seven year old,” Dean interjected before Sam could launch into the virtues of black and white Christmas classics. “I’m getting second hand embarrassment.”
“I relate to this film,” Cas said from his spot at the edge of Sam’s bed, eyes intent on the grainy screen. “Buddy was raised believing one thing, yet found it in himself to leave the familiarity of his home to seek out his true father.”
“Who happens to be a corporate asshole-“ Sam starts.
“Like God,” Dean offered. “Cas, don’t try to analyze the movie. You’ll get a headache.”
“On the other hand,” Gabriel says, effectively halting any possible response from his brother. “He’s got a hell of a culinary palate.”
Sam’s face contorted, turning an interesting shade of ‘grossed out.’ “He’s dumping maple syrup and candy into a bowl of spaghetti. For breakfast.”
Gabriel rattled his bowl of popcorn, mixing in the chocolate. “And?”
“It’s gonna be a long night,” Dean muttered. “Think I’m gonna leave you girls and go on a drink run…”
“We will take care of it,” Cas rose. “I would like to discuss the film with Sam.”
Sam actually looked eager to get out, looking to Dean for the car keys, but Cas touched his forehead, and they were gone.
Dean was left alone with clean and stocked weapons, Will Ferrell scarfing his concoction, and Gabriel munching loudly on his popcorn and chocolate combo.
“That’s not something you actually do, right?” Dean said. “I mean, you like chocolate and stuff, and candy…but that’s more of a Trickster gimmick. You don’t actually eat everything coated in chocolate.”
“Not everything,” Gabriel held out his bowl. “Take a handful.”
Dean eyed Gabriel, and then scooped up a handful of the mix. “Good to know. ’Cause not everything goes with chocolate.”
Gabriel raised a brow. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, but it’s true. I don’t know what kind of angelic immune system you’ve got going, or how screwed your taste buds are, but to us humans? Not so much.”
“Interesting theory,” Gabriel tapped his mouth. “Can you seriously tell me you haven’t had chocolate with a little bit of something it’s usually not meant for?”
“Nothing that springs to mind,” Dean shrugged, then his mouth quirked into a grin. “Well.”
“Exactly,” Gabriel stretched out with a knowing smirk, lifting his eyebrows, suggestively. “You think people started harvesting cocoa beans thinking, ‘damn. I can’t wait to make this into a liquid so I can poor it on my little lady and lick it off her.’?”
Dean wasn’t too sure he wanted to have this conversation with Gabriel, but couldn’t refute the guy’s theory. Chocolate definitely had its uses. “Alright, dessert and sex aside. What else?”
“Wasn’t aware there was an option for you outside that, Dean,” Gabriel popped another piece of popcorn chocolate in his mouth. “Chili con carne, meat. Corsets, fashion, currency.”
“Currency,” Dean took a swig of his beer, stomach sinking as the last drops slipped past his lips.
“Damn right. Chocolate set the gears of civilization in motion.”
“This is starting to sound like something that would turn Sam on,” Dean muttered. Not that he wanted to think about what turned his brother on.
“Everything has a price, Dean. Especially when people didn’t have much of anything.”
“So people actually bought stuff…with chocolate.” The image of some native handing over a block of Hershey’s in exchange for a cow crept unbidden into Dean’s mind. “Sounds like nothing you’d have a hand in, huh?”
Gabriel said nothing, licking his fingertips, but his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Sucks that chocolate doesn’t work with beer,” Dean mused. “Maybe for some girly chocolate-tini Sam would like, but I mean, like..a man’s drink.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, when he was tipping forward, pressure at his collar, and something hot and wet invading his mouth.
A tongue.
Gabriel’s tongue.
Before Dean could banish the asshole, or somehow send Gabriel packing, his taste buds lit with the sweetness of butter, salt, and chocolate, battling the heady bitterness of the beer on his tongue.
“The hell!” Dean sputtered.
“Still think not everything goes with chocolate?”
Dean wasn’t about to give Gabriel the benefit of the doubt by agreeing with him.
But it wasn’t to say he wasn’t willing to experiment to argue his case.