Wednesday
word-count:~2k
characters:Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
genre:gen,
warnings:time loop
story summary:It’s always Wednesday.
(A boy king Sam AU time stamp to Mystery Spot)
Thanks to my beta Alyndra!
It’s Wednesday.
It’s always Wednesday, he thinks, as he stands up and leaves the motel room, not sparing a glance at the other bed.
It’s seventy-two degrees out, mild and sunny, like it is every day. He heads to the diner, against his better judgment. It’s the worst choice early in the day, because it’s the most obvious place to see the changes. But his mood is already dark. He lost patience with this whole charade ages ago, and isn’t even attempting to fool himself anymore.
What’s happening here is terrible, but he’s dealt with worse. At least he thinks he has.
The diner is emptier than it was yesterday, and he sits at his usual spot, scanning the other patrons scattered throughout, until he finishes his little spot the difference exercise. Mr Pickett is gone. Everybody else is still there, for now.
Doris comes by to take his order: strawberry pancakes with bacon. The coffee’s more watered down today, but the pancakes are still good. Fluffy and sickly-sweet with the strawberries and strawberry syrup. As long as he has this, it’s not that bad.
He spends the rest of the day in the motel room, watching television. He’s memorized most of what the channels play today already, but not all of it. It’s not that bad.
#
It’s Wednesday, it’s seventy-two degrees out, and today he takes a long lap around Main Street before going to the diner. The sidewalk looks uncomfortably empty. He’s noticed them disappearing, one by one: the dog, the mom with the stroller, the a-hole with the cellphone and the briefcase he’d had fun tripping the first few weeks he was stuck here… but now the woman with the flyers was missing too. The daughter of that douche that’d brought him here in the first place. At least black holes tore his body apart. That had been merciful, really, all things considered.
When he finishes the loop, he hurries to the diner, a low-grade panic building in his chest. He relaxes immediately when he comes in and counts six people. They’re all still here. For today anyway. Doris brings him maple walnut pancakes, and it’s not that bad. He can do this.
#
Doris is the only one left
“Lucky me, stuck serving such a handsome devil every morning,” she says with a wink and a flirtatious waggle of her hips.
Realizing at that second he’s never asked the others if they even know what’s happening here, he asks, “Where is everybody else?”
“Everybody else?”
“The other regulars: Mr Pickett, Cal, Mary, Jenkins, Eileen. Come on, Doris.”
“It’s always been just you and me, silly,” Doris says with a smile. “You know that.”
And somehow, that makes it even worse. He’s the only one that remembers them? And he barely made any effort-had only learned their names from hearing them a thousand times before they vanished. He didn’t think most of them were even worth meeting. They were only human after all. And he was-he was something better. Or at least, he used to be.
Doris brings him his strawberry pancakes and the sight nearly makes him weep. This is all he has left now. This, and Doris.
His hands tremble as he cuts into the fluffy short stack and brings a still-steaming bite to his mouth. It tastes like dust.
#
It’s Wednesday, and he’s the only one here. The whole town is empty. The door to the diner is open, but Doris is nowhere to be found. He turns tail and runs, door clattering shut behind him.
He keeps running, from one street to the next, until his heart pounds painfully inside his chest, and he thinks distantly how strange that is. He never had a heart before, did he?
But no matter how far he runs, there’s nobody. He runs further than he ever has, past the Now Leaving Broward County sign, and nearly collides with the wall of the motel room. He’s back where he started.
Exhausted, he collapses-falls to his knees, so far beyond rage, beyond misery. There’s an empty pit inside of him, like most of him is missing, and he can’t anymore. He has no reason left at all to go anywhere or do anything. So he stays there on the ratty carpet, until the sun sinks all the way down and crawls back up the next morning, the same morning. Because it’s still Wednesday. It’s always Wednesday.
#
The television turns itself on sometime near noon, and it’s full of static. So this is gone now too, he thinks. Not like it matters. He’s got it all seared into his brain: General Hospital: Jason’s surgery, Laura’s failed wedding, the weather forecast: 72 and sunny, the lotto numbers: 11-21-26-52-67, powerball 22. He knows everything about today, and can’t remember anything else.
He stays there until his mouth goes pasty and dry, until his joints feel stiff, but still he doesn’t move. It’s a protest as much as it is resignation. He can’t fight his way out of his trap, but he doesn’t have to run the maze either. What’s the point?
Around the time the sun starts to set again, the television’s static buzz cuts out and the screen goes solid white. Words appear in big block letters: Go to the diner. He scoffs at the screen, flips it the bird. The words change to: I’m waiting. Dread settles in his gut. He knows instinctively that whoever it is making those words appear is somebody he doesn’t want to see, but also the only one who can end this. And what else does he have?
#
In the diner, at the corner booth, sits a tall man with shoulder-length hair and golden eyes. “Hello, Gabriel,” he says, by way of greeting.
Gabriel remembers who he is; then he remembers who Sam is.
Sam is human, but only barely. Heaven spent eons designing him, making him the perfect vessel for the Devil himself. And then Gabriel, in his hubris, decided to fuck with him.
Sitting down across from Sam, Gabriel remembers why: It hadn’t been just for shits and giggles. He’d really thought he could help Sam get over the idea of losing Dean, because he’d caught a glimpse of what happened if Sam didn’t. In a way, he’d made the right choice, because the world was still going-he just wasn’t a part of it anymore. Anyway, at this point, Dean surely would be dead already, if all the pieces were still in motion.
“Dean’s not dead,” Sam says, having plucked the thought from Gabriel’s mind, just like that. “He’s hiding. But I’ll find him.”
“Did you kill Lilith?”
Sam doesn’t move, but his smile deepens in confirmation.
“And Lucifer?”
“He won’t be any trouble.”
Gabriel lets out a disbelieving snort. “Clearly you haven’t met the guy.”
“Your side didn’t plan this out very well, you know? Too many rituals, too many loopholes.”
“My side?” Gabriel can’t let that stand, no matter how dangerous it might be to contradict Sam. “I don’t have a side. I’m on my side. Nobody else’s.”
Sam laughs, derisively. “Yeah? You sure about that?”
“Are you going to kill me?"
Sam doesn’t answer, drains his coffee cup, and nods down at the table. “You should have those before they get cold.”
Gabriel’s confusion lasts just long enough for him to glance down at the plate of strawberry pancakes. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. He doesn’t hesitate. Picks up the knife and fork, and cuts into them, berry-infused steam hitting his nostrils. They taste heavenly. More delicious than he remembers them ever being, and for a moment, Gabriel feels ashamed at just how much pleasure he’s getting from such a very human sense. Too much time with the locals, he supposes.
“I’ll let you finish those in peace,” Sam says, and vanishes.
It’s a fitting last meal. Gabriel keeps his eyes closed, imagines that everybody else is here-Doris, Mr. Pickett, Cal, Jenkins and Eileen, until he thinks he can hear them all around him.
But when he opens his eyes, the diner is just as empty. And when he steps out the door, he’s back in the motel room. He sits on the bed, folds his arms behind his head, and waits.
#
The sun goes down and the sky is dark and starless.
The motel room’s walls flicker, stuttering in and out of being before settling again. Sam appears, and Gabriel can feel the end of his existence, the end of everything creeping closer, like each breath Sam takes is draining life from the world. His fury leaks into the air like ice.
“Did you find him?” Gabriel asks, rather stupidly. If Sam had found Dean, he wouldn’t be here.
“I know where he isn’t,” Sam says.
Gabriel sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed and looks up at Sam, waiting. “And what? You think I can help? You took my grace.”
Sam’s lips curl, showing a hint of teeth. “I’ve got the power to find him, but I’m missing the map.” He takes a step closer and reaches his hand out.
Suppressing a flinch, Gabriel stays still as Sam puts two fingers on Gabriel’s temple. A jolt runs through him, and his body goes rigid as Sam sifts through his thoughts, at a dizzying speed, until he finds what he’s looking for.
“Dean,” Sam says, and everything slows. The construct around them wavers as Sam focuses entirely on his brother, pulls him through the folds of the universe and back into the real world. Dean is asleep, but alive, at Sam’s feet.
The motel walls have become transparent, and Gabriel can see darkness behind the peeling bits of wallpaper. Cautiously, he walks a few steps away from Sam, pokes his finger through one of the holes in the wall, trying to suss out where he actually is. He recognizes it the moment he touches it-that kind of absolute nothingness that only exists in pocket dimensions. He’d created enough himself once upon a time to know. If he had his grace, he could leave, but he’s got nothing. He’s as good as mortal, and his only way out is Sam-cradled over his brother-the brother Gabriel had taken from him.
After another long minute passes, and Sam doesn’t so much as look up, Gabriel asks, “So...are we good?”
Sam turns to him and there’s a flicker of humanity there. Not much, but enough that Gabriel feels hope stirring in his heart for the first time in years, centuries, however long he’s been trapped here.
Sam doesn’t answer. He scoops Dean into his arms and stands, takes a step forwards and reality parts around him like water, and then they’re gone.
And Gabriel is alone again. And it’s still Wednesday.
characters:Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
genre:gen,
warnings:time loop
story summary:It’s always Wednesday.
(A boy king Sam AU time stamp to Mystery Spot)
Thanks to my beta Alyndra!
It’s Wednesday.
It’s always Wednesday, he thinks, as he stands up and leaves the motel room, not sparing a glance at the other bed.
It’s seventy-two degrees out, mild and sunny, like it is every day. He heads to the diner, against his better judgment. It’s the worst choice early in the day, because it’s the most obvious place to see the changes. But his mood is already dark. He lost patience with this whole charade ages ago, and isn’t even attempting to fool himself anymore.
What’s happening here is terrible, but he’s dealt with worse. At least he thinks he has.
The diner is emptier than it was yesterday, and he sits at his usual spot, scanning the other patrons scattered throughout, until he finishes his little spot the difference exercise. Mr Pickett is gone. Everybody else is still there, for now.
Doris comes by to take his order: strawberry pancakes with bacon. The coffee’s more watered down today, but the pancakes are still good. Fluffy and sickly-sweet with the strawberries and strawberry syrup. As long as he has this, it’s not that bad.
He spends the rest of the day in the motel room, watching television. He’s memorized most of what the channels play today already, but not all of it. It’s not that bad.
#
It’s Wednesday, it’s seventy-two degrees out, and today he takes a long lap around Main Street before going to the diner. The sidewalk looks uncomfortably empty. He’s noticed them disappearing, one by one: the dog, the mom with the stroller, the a-hole with the cellphone and the briefcase he’d had fun tripping the first few weeks he was stuck here… but now the woman with the flyers was missing too. The daughter of that douche that’d brought him here in the first place. At least black holes tore his body apart. That had been merciful, really, all things considered.
When he finishes the loop, he hurries to the diner, a low-grade panic building in his chest. He relaxes immediately when he comes in and counts six people. They’re all still here. For today anyway. Doris brings him maple walnut pancakes, and it’s not that bad. He can do this.
#
Doris is the only one left
“Lucky me, stuck serving such a handsome devil every morning,” she says with a wink and a flirtatious waggle of her hips.
Realizing at that second he’s never asked the others if they even know what’s happening here, he asks, “Where is everybody else?”
“Everybody else?”
“The other regulars: Mr Pickett, Cal, Mary, Jenkins, Eileen. Come on, Doris.”
“It’s always been just you and me, silly,” Doris says with a smile. “You know that.”
And somehow, that makes it even worse. He’s the only one that remembers them? And he barely made any effort-had only learned their names from hearing them a thousand times before they vanished. He didn’t think most of them were even worth meeting. They were only human after all. And he was-he was something better. Or at least, he used to be.
Doris brings him his strawberry pancakes and the sight nearly makes him weep. This is all he has left now. This, and Doris.
His hands tremble as he cuts into the fluffy short stack and brings a still-steaming bite to his mouth. It tastes like dust.
#
It’s Wednesday, and he’s the only one here. The whole town is empty. The door to the diner is open, but Doris is nowhere to be found. He turns tail and runs, door clattering shut behind him.
He keeps running, from one street to the next, until his heart pounds painfully inside his chest, and he thinks distantly how strange that is. He never had a heart before, did he?
But no matter how far he runs, there’s nobody. He runs further than he ever has, past the Now Leaving Broward County sign, and nearly collides with the wall of the motel room. He’s back where he started.
Exhausted, he collapses-falls to his knees, so far beyond rage, beyond misery. There’s an empty pit inside of him, like most of him is missing, and he can’t anymore. He has no reason left at all to go anywhere or do anything. So he stays there on the ratty carpet, until the sun sinks all the way down and crawls back up the next morning, the same morning. Because it’s still Wednesday. It’s always Wednesday.
#
The television turns itself on sometime near noon, and it’s full of static. So this is gone now too, he thinks. Not like it matters. He’s got it all seared into his brain: General Hospital: Jason’s surgery, Laura’s failed wedding, the weather forecast: 72 and sunny, the lotto numbers: 11-21-26-52-67, powerball 22. He knows everything about today, and can’t remember anything else.
He stays there until his mouth goes pasty and dry, until his joints feel stiff, but still he doesn’t move. It’s a protest as much as it is resignation. He can’t fight his way out of his trap, but he doesn’t have to run the maze either. What’s the point?
Around the time the sun starts to set again, the television’s static buzz cuts out and the screen goes solid white. Words appear in big block letters: Go to the diner. He scoffs at the screen, flips it the bird. The words change to: I’m waiting. Dread settles in his gut. He knows instinctively that whoever it is making those words appear is somebody he doesn’t want to see, but also the only one who can end this. And what else does he have?
#
In the diner, at the corner booth, sits a tall man with shoulder-length hair and golden eyes. “Hello, Gabriel,” he says, by way of greeting.
Gabriel remembers who he is; then he remembers who Sam is.
Sam is human, but only barely. Heaven spent eons designing him, making him the perfect vessel for the Devil himself. And then Gabriel, in his hubris, decided to fuck with him.
Sitting down across from Sam, Gabriel remembers why: It hadn’t been just for shits and giggles. He’d really thought he could help Sam get over the idea of losing Dean, because he’d caught a glimpse of what happened if Sam didn’t. In a way, he’d made the right choice, because the world was still going-he just wasn’t a part of it anymore. Anyway, at this point, Dean surely would be dead already, if all the pieces were still in motion.
“Dean’s not dead,” Sam says, having plucked the thought from Gabriel’s mind, just like that. “He’s hiding. But I’ll find him.”
“Did you kill Lilith?”
Sam doesn’t move, but his smile deepens in confirmation.
“And Lucifer?”
“He won’t be any trouble.”
Gabriel lets out a disbelieving snort. “Clearly you haven’t met the guy.”
“Your side didn’t plan this out very well, you know? Too many rituals, too many loopholes.”
“My side?” Gabriel can’t let that stand, no matter how dangerous it might be to contradict Sam. “I don’t have a side. I’m on my side. Nobody else’s.”
Sam laughs, derisively. “Yeah? You sure about that?”
“Are you going to kill me?"
Sam doesn’t answer, drains his coffee cup, and nods down at the table. “You should have those before they get cold.”
Gabriel’s confusion lasts just long enough for him to glance down at the plate of strawberry pancakes. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. He doesn’t hesitate. Picks up the knife and fork, and cuts into them, berry-infused steam hitting his nostrils. They taste heavenly. More delicious than he remembers them ever being, and for a moment, Gabriel feels ashamed at just how much pleasure he’s getting from such a very human sense. Too much time with the locals, he supposes.
“I’ll let you finish those in peace,” Sam says, and vanishes.
It’s a fitting last meal. Gabriel keeps his eyes closed, imagines that everybody else is here-Doris, Mr. Pickett, Cal, Jenkins and Eileen, until he thinks he can hear them all around him.
But when he opens his eyes, the diner is just as empty. And when he steps out the door, he’s back in the motel room. He sits on the bed, folds his arms behind his head, and waits.
#
The sun goes down and the sky is dark and starless.
The motel room’s walls flicker, stuttering in and out of being before settling again. Sam appears, and Gabriel can feel the end of his existence, the end of everything creeping closer, like each breath Sam takes is draining life from the world. His fury leaks into the air like ice.
“Did you find him?” Gabriel asks, rather stupidly. If Sam had found Dean, he wouldn’t be here.
“I know where he isn’t,” Sam says.
Gabriel sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed and looks up at Sam, waiting. “And what? You think I can help? You took my grace.”
Sam’s lips curl, showing a hint of teeth. “I’ve got the power to find him, but I’m missing the map.” He takes a step closer and reaches his hand out.
Suppressing a flinch, Gabriel stays still as Sam puts two fingers on Gabriel’s temple. A jolt runs through him, and his body goes rigid as Sam sifts through his thoughts, at a dizzying speed, until he finds what he’s looking for.
“Dean,” Sam says, and everything slows. The construct around them wavers as Sam focuses entirely on his brother, pulls him through the folds of the universe and back into the real world. Dean is asleep, but alive, at Sam’s feet.
The motel walls have become transparent, and Gabriel can see darkness behind the peeling bits of wallpaper. Cautiously, he walks a few steps away from Sam, pokes his finger through one of the holes in the wall, trying to suss out where he actually is. He recognizes it the moment he touches it-that kind of absolute nothingness that only exists in pocket dimensions. He’d created enough himself once upon a time to know. If he had his grace, he could leave, but he’s got nothing. He’s as good as mortal, and his only way out is Sam-cradled over his brother-the brother Gabriel had taken from him.
After another long minute passes, and Sam doesn’t so much as look up, Gabriel asks, “So...are we good?”
Sam turns to him and there’s a flicker of humanity there. Not much, but enough that Gabriel feels hope stirring in his heart for the first time in years, centuries, however long he’s been trapped here.
Sam doesn’t answer. He scoops Dean into his arms and stands, takes a step forwards and reality parts around him like water, and then they’re gone.
And Gabriel is alone again. And it’s still Wednesday.