The fic is (almost) done, long live the... plotbunnies?
Sam was struck suddenly, unexpectedly, by the sheer impossibility of this conversation. Which you’d think he’d be over by now, the way their lives went. But something about the casual phrasing, the careless punctuation, made it realer, brought the immediacy of it home with a crunch. Gabriel was actually there - then - right now, talking to Richard Wagner.
Sam was actually swapping texts with an archangel.
Something childish and long-untouched unfurled cautiously inside him. Something very like wonder.
SW: ur actually sending me texts from 19th cent? How’s reception?
0101000011: tried to give him a few helpful pointers re. norse gods. w climbed a tree and is now having tantrum 12 ft above ground.
1110111011: think hed explode if I told him dad doesn’t actually hate jews?
SW: dude. no exploding composers.
Because if any angel were going to abuse the power of time travel to screw up the course of history, it would be Gabriel.
“What are you grinning about?”
Sam looked up to see Dean’s raised eyebrow, and a sort of irritated amusement around his mouth.
“Apparently Gabriel is lecturing Wagner about the Norse gods.”
Dean made the impatient sound of someone realising that he’s going to have to deal with a whole lot of history crap if current trends keep up. “Who’s Wagner?”
“A proud man with a soured mind, driven by visions of epic and empire.”
Castiel’s remote voice gave Sam pause. “Huh. I guess angels really do see history differently. I was just going to say the guy who wrote the Ring cycle. You know, ride of the Valkyries, fall of Valhalla, the original fat lady with the horned helmet. Anyway, apparently he was a bit of an egomaniac. Liked to tell everyone what they were doing wrong even if he didn’t know anything about it, and published lots of really nasty anti-Semitic stuff that Hitler used later on.”
“So basically a massive dick?” Dean looked mildly, reluctantly, alarmed. “Hadn’t you better get Gabriel out of there before he goes all Trickster on his arse?”
SW: D sends enquiries into w’s continued health?
0111111100: w and liszt squabbling over the peas.
1110101000: suspect i could publish a few pamphlets under their names correcting each other’s music and they’d do my work for me
Sam was actually swapping texts with an archangel.
Something childish and long-untouched unfurled cautiously inside him. Something very like wonder.
SW: ur actually sending me texts from 19th cent? How’s reception?
0101000011: tried to give him a few helpful pointers re. norse gods. w climbed a tree and is now having tantrum 12 ft above ground.
1110111011: think hed explode if I told him dad doesn’t actually hate jews?
SW: dude. no exploding composers.
Because if any angel were going to abuse the power of time travel to screw up the course of history, it would be Gabriel.
“What are you grinning about?”
Sam looked up to see Dean’s raised eyebrow, and a sort of irritated amusement around his mouth.
“Apparently Gabriel is lecturing Wagner about the Norse gods.”
Dean made the impatient sound of someone realising that he’s going to have to deal with a whole lot of history crap if current trends keep up. “Who’s Wagner?”
“A proud man with a soured mind, driven by visions of epic and empire.”
Castiel’s remote voice gave Sam pause. “Huh. I guess angels really do see history differently. I was just going to say the guy who wrote the Ring cycle. You know, ride of the Valkyries, fall of Valhalla, the original fat lady with the horned helmet. Anyway, apparently he was a bit of an egomaniac. Liked to tell everyone what they were doing wrong even if he didn’t know anything about it, and published lots of really nasty anti-Semitic stuff that Hitler used later on.”
“So basically a massive dick?” Dean looked mildly, reluctantly, alarmed. “Hadn’t you better get Gabriel out of there before he goes all Trickster on his arse?”
SW: D sends enquiries into w’s continued health?
0111111100: w and liszt squabbling over the peas.
1110101000: suspect i could publish a few pamphlets under their names correcting each other’s music and they’d do my work for me