Supernatural Fic - over and under and up and out
Title: over and under and up and out
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 660
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Spoilers: Through 5.22.
Warnings: None?
Notes: Originally written for x_shorty1013_x over at comment_fic for their "futuristic" themed day. Prompt was "Supernatural, Sam/Gabriel, hover-car ride (because who doesn't like hover-cars?)"
Summary: The twenty-first century is boring. Hell, the twenty-first century doesn't have hovercars. So Gabriel decides a small vacation is in order.
--
"I hate you. I hate you so so so so so much," Sam squeaks.
"Aw, Sammy, I hate you too," Gabriel croons. After a beat, he adds, "Because you're a Winchester and thus inherently fucked up beyond belief, I'm pretty confident in my assumption that when you say 'hate' you mean 'love.'"
"No," Sam says, pressing his hands into the ceiling to keep himself in his seat, "in this instance I really mean 'hate.' Can we please go right-side-up?"
Gabriel pouts. "No fun," he chides as he guides the hovercar back to an upright position. "Here we are, in the future, riding in a flying car, and you wanna do things the boring way."
"We are a mile and a half off the ground! Above a city! A city with a hell of a lot of spires!" Sam growls. "I don't wanna die!"
"Oh please," Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. "You know I'd bring you back." From the pissy face Sam gives him, this apparently isn't good enough.
"Why are we here, anyway?" Sam asks after his stomach has settled a little. Beneath them, a megacity stretches out as far as he can see, all dim greys and bronzes with the occasional startling burst of green that indicates a park.
Gabe glances at him sideways. "We angels, we can travel in time, right? Well, we can only do it within certain guidelines. We can't screw up destiny in the past, and we can only find probable futures."
"Okaaay," Sam drawls after a minute, fishing for an explanation.
The archangel gives this tiny shrug, like what he's about to say means nothing, and keeps his eyes straight forward. "Well, for a hell of a long time, the only futures we could visit? Awful. The world on fire. Everything dead. The earth covered in darkness. Failed paradises. All shit futures, all the result of an apocalypse everybody thought was the best idea since sliced bread. But after you took your plunge, locked old Luci back up?"
Gabriel pauses, looks out the windows at the city sprawling below them. Millions and millions of humans hiding from sight within the buildings, tiny, broken, imperfect little humans living and breathing and dying and loving and fucking. "Well," he concludes after a minute, "suddenly this appears as a probable future."
"Oh," Sam breathes, suddenly feeling impossibly small. The smallest he's felt since a burning hand reached into hell and pulled him back out, naked and wounded but blessedly, blessedly alone. He reaches out for Gabriel, the only thing that feels solid thousands of feet in the air and hundreds of years after his time. "Thanks," he says. "Just...thank you."
Gabriel snorts, but it's soft and full of some emotion that neither of them really talk about, because this thing they've been dancing around? Well, if Gabe thinks the Winchesters are fucked up, it's just pot and kettle.
Sam drags Gabriel over to him, and the archangel lets himself be pulled across the bench seat with only the most minimal of complaints, throwing the hovercar into idle as he goes. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," he sighs. "You'll love anything that shows you a speck of kindness."
"Yup," Sam agrees easily. "It's one of my worst qualities."
When Gabriel ends up on Sam's lap, his grin turns feral. "Oh, Sam Winchester, you are so about to join the Mile High Club."
"Neat," Sam says, quirking his eyebrows.
A few minutes later, when Sam's skin feels electrified and he's ready to get the hell outta his clothes, Gabriel leans away a bit and huffs, "Who doesn't love hovercars, eh?"
"Dean," Sam says automatically, not even thinking about it. At Gabriel's quizzical look, he explains, "He's afraid of flying. Deathly afraid. He'd hate this."
Gabriel's smirk is all teeth, wicked beyond belief.
"Oh, no," Sam moans. "No no no. Gabriel. No, Gabriel. I'm serious, don't--" But the archangel is gone.
--
Dean doesn't speak to them for a week.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 660
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Spoilers: Through 5.22.
Warnings: None?
Notes: Originally written for x_shorty1013_x over at comment_fic for their "futuristic" themed day. Prompt was "Supernatural, Sam/Gabriel, hover-car ride (because who doesn't like hover-cars?)"
Summary: The twenty-first century is boring. Hell, the twenty-first century doesn't have hovercars. So Gabriel decides a small vacation is in order.
--
"I hate you. I hate you so so so so so much," Sam squeaks.
"Aw, Sammy, I hate you too," Gabriel croons. After a beat, he adds, "Because you're a Winchester and thus inherently fucked up beyond belief, I'm pretty confident in my assumption that when you say 'hate' you mean 'love.'"
"No," Sam says, pressing his hands into the ceiling to keep himself in his seat, "in this instance I really mean 'hate.' Can we please go right-side-up?"
Gabriel pouts. "No fun," he chides as he guides the hovercar back to an upright position. "Here we are, in the future, riding in a flying car, and you wanna do things the boring way."
"We are a mile and a half off the ground! Above a city! A city with a hell of a lot of spires!" Sam growls. "I don't wanna die!"
"Oh please," Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. "You know I'd bring you back." From the pissy face Sam gives him, this apparently isn't good enough.
"Why are we here, anyway?" Sam asks after his stomach has settled a little. Beneath them, a megacity stretches out as far as he can see, all dim greys and bronzes with the occasional startling burst of green that indicates a park.
Gabe glances at him sideways. "We angels, we can travel in time, right? Well, we can only do it within certain guidelines. We can't screw up destiny in the past, and we can only find probable futures."
"Okaaay," Sam drawls after a minute, fishing for an explanation.
The archangel gives this tiny shrug, like what he's about to say means nothing, and keeps his eyes straight forward. "Well, for a hell of a long time, the only futures we could visit? Awful. The world on fire. Everything dead. The earth covered in darkness. Failed paradises. All shit futures, all the result of an apocalypse everybody thought was the best idea since sliced bread. But after you took your plunge, locked old Luci back up?"
Gabriel pauses, looks out the windows at the city sprawling below them. Millions and millions of humans hiding from sight within the buildings, tiny, broken, imperfect little humans living and breathing and dying and loving and fucking. "Well," he concludes after a minute, "suddenly this appears as a probable future."
"Oh," Sam breathes, suddenly feeling impossibly small. The smallest he's felt since a burning hand reached into hell and pulled him back out, naked and wounded but blessedly, blessedly alone. He reaches out for Gabriel, the only thing that feels solid thousands of feet in the air and hundreds of years after his time. "Thanks," he says. "Just...thank you."
Gabriel snorts, but it's soft and full of some emotion that neither of them really talk about, because this thing they've been dancing around? Well, if Gabe thinks the Winchesters are fucked up, it's just pot and kettle.
Sam drags Gabriel over to him, and the archangel lets himself be pulled across the bench seat with only the most minimal of complaints, throwing the hovercar into idle as he goes. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," he sighs. "You'll love anything that shows you a speck of kindness."
"Yup," Sam agrees easily. "It's one of my worst qualities."
When Gabriel ends up on Sam's lap, his grin turns feral. "Oh, Sam Winchester, you are so about to join the Mile High Club."
"Neat," Sam says, quirking his eyebrows.
A few minutes later, when Sam's skin feels electrified and he's ready to get the hell outta his clothes, Gabriel leans away a bit and huffs, "Who doesn't love hovercars, eh?"
"Dean," Sam says automatically, not even thinking about it. At Gabriel's quizzical look, he explains, "He's afraid of flying. Deathly afraid. He'd hate this."
Gabriel's smirk is all teeth, wicked beyond belief.
"Oh, no," Sam moans. "No no no. Gabriel. No, Gabriel. I'm serious, don't--" But the archangel is gone.
--
Dean doesn't speak to them for a week.