Fic: Sand And Mirrors (Supernatural, Gabriel & Crowley)
Title: Sand And Mirrors
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Gabriel & Crowley with references to Gabriel/Crowley, Gabriel/Sam, and Crowley/Bobby
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Spoilers: Set during season 6
Summary: A demon and an archangel meet to discuss business. Gabriel is willing to trade Crowley a surprising amount for Sam's soul.
Author Notes: Many moons ago jabber_moose very kindly and encouragingly read this fic through for me more than once. Huge thanks to you :)
Persia, five hundred years ago, was made for revisiting. It was a feast for the senses, crammed with gorgeous buildings and marketplaces, loud dynamic locals and interesting dark corners. It was a genuine wonder, especially as five years later it would all be completely wiped out.
It was where an archangel and a demon, frequent visitors to that vibrant place and time, sat down to discuss business. There was very fine whiskey involved.
Gabriel snapped in a couple of expensive glasses. His expression almost looked natural unless you knew how to spot the seams when he smiled.
“So, being on top of the bottom. As good as it sounds?”
Crowley snorted derisively and took a long swallow of whiskey.. “If you like herding cats.”
“Depends on the cats.” Gabriel smirked with meaning that Crowley easily caught.
“As I recall, she tried to run you down in her chariot with those felines. Twice.”
“And I'd still break into her bower again. Odin got the necklace and I got to see all of Freyja, the most glorious. And find out first hand that she snored like Hildisvíni.” Gabriel grinned. “So the word is that you've got two Winchesters on the leash.”
Crowley looked smug, wetting his mouth with the lip of his glass. “It’s amazing the incentive a lost soul can be.”
“Unless they slip the noose.”
“Please.”
Gabriel shook his head and downed his whiskey with a heartfelt grimace.
“Those chuckleheads keep pulling way too much about their asses - shutting down the prophecy, locking Lucifer back in his cage. I think its Dad’s idea of a sense of humor.”
Crowley hmmed and arched a knowing look at his friend. “And you’re not here just for a friendly chat.”
Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. “Is a chat ever just a chat?”
“Sometimes. If you’ve got bones to burn.”
“Or a favor to call in.”
Crowley paused. He put down his glass.
“What do you have in mind?”
“That time in Tunisia, the harpies in Samoa, and……” Gabriel paused, eyes rolling skyward as his expression crunched numbers. “….. the linebackers and pudding back East.”
“Thought you were saving that for a rainy day?”
“I’ve got an umbrella.”
Crowley looked at him. Gabriel was concentrating on shaking the last whiskey drops loose from his glass. To anybody else, he probably appeared distracted and carefree. The demon laughed.
“This, I've got to hear.”
Gabriel sat back in his chair, a sucker snapped into his hand. It was cherry flavored. This must be serious. “Sam Winchester's soul....”
“Is out of the question.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Really? Who saved you from Zeus' wrath that time you were slithering around Artemis and Athena?”
“A debt repaid in full. I could bring up the cupid’s dalliance and your hand in that slippery slope. Or perhaps Avalon and the huntress who’s still screaming for your blood.”
Gabriel laughed and refilled his glass, his sucker now a discarded sticky mess on the table between them. He dipped his fingers into the amber liquid, stirring it absently.
“Teela does hold grudges,” he murmured nostalgically.
“There’s stories about that.”
“There’s stories about everything.”
Gabriel sucked the whiskey off his fingers slowly and thoroughly. Crowley watched. His borrowed pupils might have dilated.
“Pretty. But you’re still not getting the soul.”
“Oh, come on. What’s one well-used Winchester soul between friends?”
“They locked Lucifer up, shut down the prophecy, and saved this pretty little marble. Imagine what they could do given the right motivation.”
Gabriel’s tongue was red from the sucker. “So not even the linebackers…….”
“Tempting, very tempting. But not enough. Not by a long stretch.” Crowley eyed him measuringly. “Not by a whole wingspan.”
There was a pause. Gabriel had stilled. A sure indication that, for once, Crowley's words had taken him off-guard. Then wisps of shadow and light began curling around Gabriel’s hands. There was a very rare look on his face. It was almost a smirk, almost contemplative. It was completely dangerous. Most beings would have run away from that expression. Crowley poured himself more whiskey.
“Every last feather and bone. The prices people are willing to pay for it; all the stories there are about what even the smallest piece can do. Or there’s the Fallen, they’ll want it even knowing that they can’t ascend again. High prices, and I can push them through the glass ceiling,” Crowley smirked, utterly satisfied. “Might put Sam’s soul to shame, the things and people I could reach with those wings.”
His smirk grew at the corners. “So, how much is a Winchester soul worth, Gabriel? To you?”
The silence stretched and the ominous motionless of Gabriel continued with it. It felt like something was building, like a storm was rolling in, like any second now, something devastating was going to happen and he'd do it as casually as snapping his fingers and afterward he'd just as casually brush the resulting ashes off his jacket and finish his whiskey.
Then, abruptly, the silence and tension broke. The shapes disappeared. Gabriel shrugged expansively, seeming bored with the topic now and more interested in his glass. The mask was firmly back on.
“Do it.”
Crowley paused and tilted his head. “Now that is interesting. They got you killed and here you are, bartering away part of yourself for part of Sam. And not just any old part of you either.”
“I’m a complicated guy.”
“You’re up to something.”
“Moi?” Gabriel grinned suddenly, his teeth sharp. “Definitely.”
“This’ll make the gameboard more interesting.”
“Prepared to lose?”
Crowley snorted and got to his feet, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He drank the last of his whiskey and wiped his mouth consideringly.
“You’re going to do this for them? All the pain, lose all that power……?”
Gabriel’s answering grin was a taunting razor blade, as though he knew something that Crowley didn’t. What Crowley did know was that there were tight haunted lines around the angel’s eyes. Gabriel was going to hate this with very fiber of his being, but he was going to do it anyway, a Winchester-esque self-sacrifice. As though what he knew that Crowley didn’t was worth it. The demon shook his head. The Winchesters were toxic.
“If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd actually chosen a side.”
Gabriel let out a single bark of laughter. It sounded raw. “But you know better.”
Crowley stepped forward, a hand already greedily reaching for what was going to be his. He smelled of rich tartar sauce and expertly cooked fish and at some level beyond skin and bone, there was the smell of slow-burning coals, wood, and flesh.
“I'll send my best and their equipment but it's still going to hurt like hell.”
The pun was fully intended. A smile snapped into being across Gabriel's face. He leaned in closer.
“Is that concern in your eyes or are you just tracking my wingspan?”
Crowley could see all of the cracks in Gabriel. Some were new. He shook his head. “They’re going to be the death of you, again.”
There was a fleeting look across Gabriel's face - too quick and tangled to decipher. Then he raised his eyebrows, mouth curved mockingly. The silent invitation was so clear that it might as well have been a scream. The cracks were ignored. Gabriel had had his chance. Now Crowley was going to have his.
He loomed closer. “Going…..going…….”
It wasn’t a long or involved kiss. But it was a promise. Crowley pressed their foreheads together for a moment afterwards. Gabriel’s breathing shuddered. Then a thick rope of liquorice was dropped into his lap.
“Aww, a last supper?”
“For your pleasure. For the pain.” Crowley held his gaze. “As soon as the last severance's done, Samuel Winchester’s soul returns to his body. Not that you’ll get much gratitude.”
Gabriel's expression morphed into something more familiar and dancing. “But I will give Bobby Singer a kiss from you.”
Crowley’s eyes glimmered as he swiped the sucker from the table. The air blew cold around them. It was viciously harsh.
“Watch your back, angel. You’ll need that umbrella.”
Gabriel attempted a reply, but the words got mangled around the candy he was already enjoying.
“What?”
Gabriel spat out liquorice and grinned with familiar eyebrows that always telegraphed a punchline. “Spearmint Rhino.”
Grinning, the archangel put the rope back into his mouth to bite down on. The sand whispered around them. Particles of it clung to Crowley’s coat. With a last look at Gabriel, the demon disappeared. He missed out on his minions’ arrival and on Gabriel being forced to his knees. He missed out on Gabriel's screaming.
Screaming that lasted until the archangel passed out.
Gabriel came round hours later, alone, curled up in a shaking fetal position. The pain was all that he was aware of for days afterwards. Eventually, after the excruciating healing, he found blood coating the sand and drying on his skin. He saw that someone had placed a full bottle of whiskey and a bag of suckers close by and that none of the locals had noticed what had happened.
In his pocket - somehow he still had pockets and clothes - his fingers closed around a beautifully carved ivory chess piece. Sometimes it was a castle, other times a knight, or a pawn. All fittingly ironic. Whatever it was, it would always look and feel familiar. It would always be smirking.
-the end
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Gabriel & Crowley with references to Gabriel/Crowley, Gabriel/Sam, and Crowley/Bobby
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Spoilers: Set during season 6
Summary: A demon and an archangel meet to discuss business. Gabriel is willing to trade Crowley a surprising amount for Sam's soul.
Author Notes: Many moons ago jabber_moose very kindly and encouragingly read this fic through for me more than once. Huge thanks to you :)
Persia, five hundred years ago, was made for revisiting. It was a feast for the senses, crammed with gorgeous buildings and marketplaces, loud dynamic locals and interesting dark corners. It was a genuine wonder, especially as five years later it would all be completely wiped out.
It was where an archangel and a demon, frequent visitors to that vibrant place and time, sat down to discuss business. There was very fine whiskey involved.
Gabriel snapped in a couple of expensive glasses. His expression almost looked natural unless you knew how to spot the seams when he smiled.
“So, being on top of the bottom. As good as it sounds?”
Crowley snorted derisively and took a long swallow of whiskey.. “If you like herding cats.”
“Depends on the cats.” Gabriel smirked with meaning that Crowley easily caught.
“As I recall, she tried to run you down in her chariot with those felines. Twice.”
“And I'd still break into her bower again. Odin got the necklace and I got to see all of Freyja, the most glorious. And find out first hand that she snored like Hildisvíni.” Gabriel grinned. “So the word is that you've got two Winchesters on the leash.”
Crowley looked smug, wetting his mouth with the lip of his glass. “It’s amazing the incentive a lost soul can be.”
“Unless they slip the noose.”
“Please.”
Gabriel shook his head and downed his whiskey with a heartfelt grimace.
“Those chuckleheads keep pulling way too much about their asses - shutting down the prophecy, locking Lucifer back in his cage. I think its Dad’s idea of a sense of humor.”
Crowley hmmed and arched a knowing look at his friend. “And you’re not here just for a friendly chat.”
Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. “Is a chat ever just a chat?”
“Sometimes. If you’ve got bones to burn.”
“Or a favor to call in.”
Crowley paused. He put down his glass.
“What do you have in mind?”
“That time in Tunisia, the harpies in Samoa, and……” Gabriel paused, eyes rolling skyward as his expression crunched numbers. “….. the linebackers and pudding back East.”
“Thought you were saving that for a rainy day?”
“I’ve got an umbrella.”
Crowley looked at him. Gabriel was concentrating on shaking the last whiskey drops loose from his glass. To anybody else, he probably appeared distracted and carefree. The demon laughed.
“This, I've got to hear.”
Gabriel sat back in his chair, a sucker snapped into his hand. It was cherry flavored. This must be serious. “Sam Winchester's soul....”
“Is out of the question.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Really? Who saved you from Zeus' wrath that time you were slithering around Artemis and Athena?”
“A debt repaid in full. I could bring up the cupid’s dalliance and your hand in that slippery slope. Or perhaps Avalon and the huntress who’s still screaming for your blood.”
Gabriel laughed and refilled his glass, his sucker now a discarded sticky mess on the table between them. He dipped his fingers into the amber liquid, stirring it absently.
“Teela does hold grudges,” he murmured nostalgically.
“There’s stories about that.”
“There’s stories about everything.”
Gabriel sucked the whiskey off his fingers slowly and thoroughly. Crowley watched. His borrowed pupils might have dilated.
“Pretty. But you’re still not getting the soul.”
“Oh, come on. What’s one well-used Winchester soul between friends?”
“They locked Lucifer up, shut down the prophecy, and saved this pretty little marble. Imagine what they could do given the right motivation.”
Gabriel’s tongue was red from the sucker. “So not even the linebackers…….”
“Tempting, very tempting. But not enough. Not by a long stretch.” Crowley eyed him measuringly. “Not by a whole wingspan.”
There was a pause. Gabriel had stilled. A sure indication that, for once, Crowley's words had taken him off-guard. Then wisps of shadow and light began curling around Gabriel’s hands. There was a very rare look on his face. It was almost a smirk, almost contemplative. It was completely dangerous. Most beings would have run away from that expression. Crowley poured himself more whiskey.
“Every last feather and bone. The prices people are willing to pay for it; all the stories there are about what even the smallest piece can do. Or there’s the Fallen, they’ll want it even knowing that they can’t ascend again. High prices, and I can push them through the glass ceiling,” Crowley smirked, utterly satisfied. “Might put Sam’s soul to shame, the things and people I could reach with those wings.”
His smirk grew at the corners. “So, how much is a Winchester soul worth, Gabriel? To you?”
The silence stretched and the ominous motionless of Gabriel continued with it. It felt like something was building, like a storm was rolling in, like any second now, something devastating was going to happen and he'd do it as casually as snapping his fingers and afterward he'd just as casually brush the resulting ashes off his jacket and finish his whiskey.
Then, abruptly, the silence and tension broke. The shapes disappeared. Gabriel shrugged expansively, seeming bored with the topic now and more interested in his glass. The mask was firmly back on.
“Do it.”
Crowley paused and tilted his head. “Now that is interesting. They got you killed and here you are, bartering away part of yourself for part of Sam. And not just any old part of you either.”
“I’m a complicated guy.”
“You’re up to something.”
“Moi?” Gabriel grinned suddenly, his teeth sharp. “Definitely.”
“This’ll make the gameboard more interesting.”
“Prepared to lose?”
Crowley snorted and got to his feet, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He drank the last of his whiskey and wiped his mouth consideringly.
“You’re going to do this for them? All the pain, lose all that power……?”
Gabriel’s answering grin was a taunting razor blade, as though he knew something that Crowley didn’t. What Crowley did know was that there were tight haunted lines around the angel’s eyes. Gabriel was going to hate this with very fiber of his being, but he was going to do it anyway, a Winchester-esque self-sacrifice. As though what he knew that Crowley didn’t was worth it. The demon shook his head. The Winchesters were toxic.
“If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd actually chosen a side.”
Gabriel let out a single bark of laughter. It sounded raw. “But you know better.”
Crowley stepped forward, a hand already greedily reaching for what was going to be his. He smelled of rich tartar sauce and expertly cooked fish and at some level beyond skin and bone, there was the smell of slow-burning coals, wood, and flesh.
“I'll send my best and their equipment but it's still going to hurt like hell.”
The pun was fully intended. A smile snapped into being across Gabriel's face. He leaned in closer.
“Is that concern in your eyes or are you just tracking my wingspan?”
Crowley could see all of the cracks in Gabriel. Some were new. He shook his head. “They’re going to be the death of you, again.”
There was a fleeting look across Gabriel's face - too quick and tangled to decipher. Then he raised his eyebrows, mouth curved mockingly. The silent invitation was so clear that it might as well have been a scream. The cracks were ignored. Gabriel had had his chance. Now Crowley was going to have his.
He loomed closer. “Going…..going…….”
It wasn’t a long or involved kiss. But it was a promise. Crowley pressed their foreheads together for a moment afterwards. Gabriel’s breathing shuddered. Then a thick rope of liquorice was dropped into his lap.
“Aww, a last supper?”
“For your pleasure. For the pain.” Crowley held his gaze. “As soon as the last severance's done, Samuel Winchester’s soul returns to his body. Not that you’ll get much gratitude.”
Gabriel's expression morphed into something more familiar and dancing. “But I will give Bobby Singer a kiss from you.”
Crowley’s eyes glimmered as he swiped the sucker from the table. The air blew cold around them. It was viciously harsh.
“Watch your back, angel. You’ll need that umbrella.”
Gabriel attempted a reply, but the words got mangled around the candy he was already enjoying.
“What?”
Gabriel spat out liquorice and grinned with familiar eyebrows that always telegraphed a punchline. “Spearmint Rhino.”
Grinning, the archangel put the rope back into his mouth to bite down on. The sand whispered around them. Particles of it clung to Crowley’s coat. With a last look at Gabriel, the demon disappeared. He missed out on his minions’ arrival and on Gabriel being forced to his knees. He missed out on Gabriel's screaming.
Screaming that lasted until the archangel passed out.
Gabriel came round hours later, alone, curled up in a shaking fetal position. The pain was all that he was aware of for days afterwards. Eventually, after the excruciating healing, he found blood coating the sand and drying on his skin. He saw that someone had placed a full bottle of whiskey and a bag of suckers close by and that none of the locals had noticed what had happened.
In his pocket - somehow he still had pockets and clothes - his fingers closed around a beautifully carved ivory chess piece. Sometimes it was a castle, other times a knight, or a pawn. All fittingly ironic. Whatever it was, it would always look and feel familiar. It would always be smirking.
-the end