Whom You're Gonna Wear Tonight? (Team Hell)
Title: Whom You’re Gonna Wear Tonight?
Author: andrea_deer.
Characters/Pairing(s): Alistair, Azazel. Mentions of Sam and John. Suggested John/Azazel.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: It’s two demons talking, they do mention some nasty stuff on occasion. Like tortures or not necessarily legal and consent sexual behaviors. But they’re gentlemen, so they do it with tact and taste. Most of the times.
Spoilers/Timeline: It happens somewhere during All Hell Breaks Loose. But there are some - minor, I think - spoilers up to 4th season. Well, there’s Alistair, for one.
Summary: It says a lot about you, whom you choose to wear.
Word Count: 1.289
Disclaimer: All Kripke’s.
Beta: azinazelle. All the remaining mistakes are my fault :)
~~~
It's obvious how what you wear changes you. You're more serious in a suit. You’re sluttier in leather. In theory nothing changes, you're still you just wrapped in a different cover. But that's exactly what changes everything. What you wear needs to fit you... or you're going to start fitting it. That's why it says so much about you what you choose to wear. When you actually have a choice, when the situation doesn't rush you then whatever, or whomever you choose to wear says a hell of a lot.
The problem with meat-suits is that you can never find the right one to fit you, because the one most suited for the role died and rotted long time ago. Now you have to choose. You're a puff of black smoke and you have no idea how your body looked like when you were alive. Most of the time you don't even remember ever having a body. And now you have to choose something that will suit you. Male? Female? Old?
Young? Those are just the basic things and at first you don't even have those set and you choose on a hunch. You experiment until you find "your type" and then you just try to fit yourself into it.
That's why Alistair hates coming out of hell. He gets himself a body, a forty-something guy: Hair graying on his temples, some wrinkles around his mouth and eyes from too much laughing. How ironic. Sometimes Alistair wonders if he was around this age and wrinkled from laughter when he went to the pit for the first time. And what made him laugh? Was it something at least close to what made him smile these days? Was he tall like this guy? Was he just as poorly muscled and yet not exactly weak? Did he have such a deep voice? And if the answer to all of those questions was yes, then why and how did he remember it all? And if it was no, then why on hell he kept on choosing guys like this?!
Alistair hated meat-suits. He had no problem with being himself in his own form. He didn't need to get into corporal flesh to feel complete. In hell he was himself ... whatever it was. He was his own pure essence, no matter how others may have see him there, how he may appear, what form he chose. It was always him just as he wanted to be seen. Choosing humans always revealed too much in some weird way.
He sipped his tea as another man slid onto the seat opposite him at the table with cheap tablecloth between them. It was a body Alistair never saw before, but one look at that smile and shining eyes was enough. Somehow it was always easier to recognize his brother when he thought he just pulled a prank or did something funny. And dragging Alistair out of hell to some meaningless crap hole in the middle of nowhere, so he could sit in a stinking with meat suit and sip tea in some home-like dinner too cheery and banal to soothe the demon’s nerves ... Yes, that definitely fitted Azazel's sense of humor.
"Hey there, brother," said the yellow-eyed demon, smiling happily. "How do you enjoy your out of jail time, hmm?"
"Out of jail and right into a much worse place. I swear, this world looks so much more tempting from behind bars."
Azazel shook his head at him. Yet another thing they could never agree on. If Azazel could he'd be a demon that had never experienced hell. Sometimes Alistair wondered if his brother was ever able to taste life on Earth before his fall to the pit. He seemed too fascinated with humans to ever be one of them. Too bad neither of them remembered. Somehow, sometime, someone long ago decided they were brothers. Neither of them still knew how much of the truth was in it. But neither of them ever fought it.
"So ... How's home?"
Alistair raised an eyebrow. Azazel often asked how things were going, how the other parts of the plan were turning out. But if not: How's home? He must have realized how ridiculous it sounded, because he cringed and then looked around angrily before staring out the window for a moment, avoiding his brother's gaze.
"Maybe I should drop down there for awhile? It's not like I have a hell of lot to do here, while the kids are running around and playing with each other and..."
"No."
Azazel glared at him, immediately stopping the babbling. If they ever were brothers, Alistair was always sure he was the older one. The other demon just liked to have tantrums.
"Have you picked a teacher again?" asked the yellow-eyed demon suddenly, staring at Alistair's meat-suit with its perfect clothing, just barely dirtied at the sleeves from writing with blackboard chalk. "What's with you and kids? You always pick teachers, pediatricians, fathers or... birthday party clowns?"
The stupid suggestion accompanied with a grin just intensified Alistair’s glare at Azazel. The yellow-eyed demon just waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. Alistair took a deep breath and drunk some more from the still warm cup he was now clenching.
Azazel was supposed to be his brother and he was the one it took him the longest to figure out. Why those suits and not others? Often he had the explanation of circumstances deciding for him, but even when it wasn't that... they were always so different. High, short, broad, thin, younger or older, rich or poor. It was as if Azazel tried to make the most random choice every time. It was too random to not have a pattern. One that explained everything very well. All the problems they sometimes had with Azazel's plans. Not the big one right now, but all the small, minor, previous plans. It explained Azazel's behavior and his activities on earth.
Possessing a body meant possessing the whole human. With all its likes and dislikes, obsessions, and basically things it’s used to. Sometimes you can override them, sometimes you cannot. And Azazel didn't like taking a chance. His likes and desires were most of the times what caused all the problems around them, even if he would never admit it while in hell, no one would ever be so stupid to suggest it there.
It was even at fault right now, perhaps stronger then usual now that Azazel considered leaving his project alone just to visit hell - a place he so much hated. He had to pick a janitor at a hospital and not some doctor - some normal, smart and straight doctor.
"John Winchester is being taken care of, you concentrate on his son," stated Alistair coldly before Azazel managed to say anything about him and the kids again.
Alistair had nothing to do with kids. He didn't even like the boy that was supposed to be their leader, according to Azazel.
"After all, our plan is concentrating on him, isn't it? I'm sure you'd like to be here to congratulate the winner of your little contest... whomever it'd be."
"Sam is doing fine," stated the demon, cutting off Alistair's remark as if no one else could win. As if they didn't both know Azazel put his favorite in the contest at the last minute, just so his chances would grow. "And he's going to be a great leader. Leave it up to me."
"I surely would love to as long as you leave torturing John Winchester to me."
Azazel clenched his jaws, again avoiding Alistair's eyes.
"I was just wondering."
"Of course you were."
"So are you wearing a teacher or not, you perv?"
~~~
The End.
~~~
Author: andrea_deer.
Characters/Pairing(s): Alistair, Azazel. Mentions of Sam and John. Suggested John/Azazel.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: It’s two demons talking, they do mention some nasty stuff on occasion. Like tortures or not necessarily legal and consent sexual behaviors. But they’re gentlemen, so they do it with tact and taste. Most of the times.
Spoilers/Timeline: It happens somewhere during All Hell Breaks Loose. But there are some - minor, I think - spoilers up to 4th season. Well, there’s Alistair, for one.
Summary: It says a lot about you, whom you choose to wear.
Word Count: 1.289
Disclaimer: All Kripke’s.
Beta: azinazelle. All the remaining mistakes are my fault :)
~~~
It's obvious how what you wear changes you. You're more serious in a suit. You’re sluttier in leather. In theory nothing changes, you're still you just wrapped in a different cover. But that's exactly what changes everything. What you wear needs to fit you... or you're going to start fitting it. That's why it says so much about you what you choose to wear. When you actually have a choice, when the situation doesn't rush you then whatever, or whomever you choose to wear says a hell of a lot.
The problem with meat-suits is that you can never find the right one to fit you, because the one most suited for the role died and rotted long time ago. Now you have to choose. You're a puff of black smoke and you have no idea how your body looked like when you were alive. Most of the time you don't even remember ever having a body. And now you have to choose something that will suit you. Male? Female? Old?
Young? Those are just the basic things and at first you don't even have those set and you choose on a hunch. You experiment until you find "your type" and then you just try to fit yourself into it.
That's why Alistair hates coming out of hell. He gets himself a body, a forty-something guy: Hair graying on his temples, some wrinkles around his mouth and eyes from too much laughing. How ironic. Sometimes Alistair wonders if he was around this age and wrinkled from laughter when he went to the pit for the first time. And what made him laugh? Was it something at least close to what made him smile these days? Was he tall like this guy? Was he just as poorly muscled and yet not exactly weak? Did he have such a deep voice? And if the answer to all of those questions was yes, then why and how did he remember it all? And if it was no, then why on hell he kept on choosing guys like this?!
Alistair hated meat-suits. He had no problem with being himself in his own form. He didn't need to get into corporal flesh to feel complete. In hell he was himself ... whatever it was. He was his own pure essence, no matter how others may have see him there, how he may appear, what form he chose. It was always him just as he wanted to be seen. Choosing humans always revealed too much in some weird way.
He sipped his tea as another man slid onto the seat opposite him at the table with cheap tablecloth between them. It was a body Alistair never saw before, but one look at that smile and shining eyes was enough. Somehow it was always easier to recognize his brother when he thought he just pulled a prank or did something funny. And dragging Alistair out of hell to some meaningless crap hole in the middle of nowhere, so he could sit in a stinking with meat suit and sip tea in some home-like dinner too cheery and banal to soothe the demon’s nerves ... Yes, that definitely fitted Azazel's sense of humor.
"Hey there, brother," said the yellow-eyed demon, smiling happily. "How do you enjoy your out of jail time, hmm?"
"Out of jail and right into a much worse place. I swear, this world looks so much more tempting from behind bars."
Azazel shook his head at him. Yet another thing they could never agree on. If Azazel could he'd be a demon that had never experienced hell. Sometimes Alistair wondered if his brother was ever able to taste life on Earth before his fall to the pit. He seemed too fascinated with humans to ever be one of them. Too bad neither of them remembered. Somehow, sometime, someone long ago decided they were brothers. Neither of them still knew how much of the truth was in it. But neither of them ever fought it.
"So ... How's home?"
Alistair raised an eyebrow. Azazel often asked how things were going, how the other parts of the plan were turning out. But if not: How's home? He must have realized how ridiculous it sounded, because he cringed and then looked around angrily before staring out the window for a moment, avoiding his brother's gaze.
"Maybe I should drop down there for awhile? It's not like I have a hell of lot to do here, while the kids are running around and playing with each other and..."
"No."
Azazel glared at him, immediately stopping the babbling. If they ever were brothers, Alistair was always sure he was the older one. The other demon just liked to have tantrums.
"Have you picked a teacher again?" asked the yellow-eyed demon suddenly, staring at Alistair's meat-suit with its perfect clothing, just barely dirtied at the sleeves from writing with blackboard chalk. "What's with you and kids? You always pick teachers, pediatricians, fathers or... birthday party clowns?"
The stupid suggestion accompanied with a grin just intensified Alistair’s glare at Azazel. The yellow-eyed demon just waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. Alistair took a deep breath and drunk some more from the still warm cup he was now clenching.
Azazel was supposed to be his brother and he was the one it took him the longest to figure out. Why those suits and not others? Often he had the explanation of circumstances deciding for him, but even when it wasn't that... they were always so different. High, short, broad, thin, younger or older, rich or poor. It was as if Azazel tried to make the most random choice every time. It was too random to not have a pattern. One that explained everything very well. All the problems they sometimes had with Azazel's plans. Not the big one right now, but all the small, minor, previous plans. It explained Azazel's behavior and his activities on earth.
Possessing a body meant possessing the whole human. With all its likes and dislikes, obsessions, and basically things it’s used to. Sometimes you can override them, sometimes you cannot. And Azazel didn't like taking a chance. His likes and desires were most of the times what caused all the problems around them, even if he would never admit it while in hell, no one would ever be so stupid to suggest it there.
It was even at fault right now, perhaps stronger then usual now that Azazel considered leaving his project alone just to visit hell - a place he so much hated. He had to pick a janitor at a hospital and not some doctor - some normal, smart and straight doctor.
"John Winchester is being taken care of, you concentrate on his son," stated Alistair coldly before Azazel managed to say anything about him and the kids again.
Alistair had nothing to do with kids. He didn't even like the boy that was supposed to be their leader, according to Azazel.
"After all, our plan is concentrating on him, isn't it? I'm sure you'd like to be here to congratulate the winner of your little contest... whomever it'd be."
"Sam is doing fine," stated the demon, cutting off Alistair's remark as if no one else could win. As if they didn't both know Azazel put his favorite in the contest at the last minute, just so his chances would grow. "And he's going to be a great leader. Leave it up to me."
"I surely would love to as long as you leave torturing John Winchester to me."
Azazel clenched his jaws, again avoiding Alistair's eyes.
"I was just wondering."
"Of course you were."
"So are you wearing a teacher or not, you perv?"
~~~
The End.
~~~