Teen Wolf/Supernatural Art & Ficlet
Title: In Closing
Prompt: Derek Hale walks into a bar and meets...Gabriel (Supernatural)
Fandoms: Teen Wolf/Supernatural
Wordcount: ~1000
Rating: PG-13 (for bad language and dirty jokes)
Summary: SPN Season 5. Gabriel isn't great at telling stories or leaving messages. (Surprise ship?)
Note: Written for intoabar. I tried out a different style for writing this (tense was Hellish), but I hope you like.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Teen Wolf. The bar used in my image was found in a Google search and I do not own that image.
I was minding my own business when this pup ran into my bar...Ok, maybe I should revise that statement slightly, seeing as, technically, it wasn't my bar. It belonged to some asshat in the previously-non-existent haunted cellar. An asshat who was, at that very moment, trying to find a way to turn his wooden penis into a real boy again. Yes. You heard me correctly. And, no, he didn't like the Blue Fairy when he found her. I crack myself up.
Oh, please, I know what look you're giving me, Mr. Hypocritical, but trust me, it's nothing he didn't have comin'. The guy pick-pocketed drunk patrons when his bar emptied up every night. Vets, sorority sisters, and lonely hearts alike. Who does that? But that made him just my type; I had a thing for jerks. You remember, I'm sure.
Anyhow, where was I? Ah, yes, well, I guess I can't say I was "minding my own business" either, when I was so obviously interested in Woody's unsavory activities (that was actually his name).
Also, the pup was more of a werewolf, but an adorable one, really. Very Scooby Doo meets Project Runway.
So, draft dos:
I was playing bartender for shits and giggles when in ran a panicked, baby-faced werewolf.
My point is, this kid, he was looking for a place to hide. I mean, he was playing it cool, but I could practically smell the fear leaking past his tough guy act. Someone probably should have told him it takes more than a leather jacket to hide dimpled cheeks and pouty lips. I knew what he was in a heartbeat. I mean, he was a werewolf, and I was going by Loki those days, and there's a Fenrir story there, but I'll skip ahead since I can practically feel your eyes glazing over.
There's one thing that could put the fear of Dad in werewolves, and, you guessed it: hunters. I know, I know. At this point you're thinking that werewolves need to be put down, hunters being the good guys and all that jazz, but I hate to break it to you, sometimes they're just...not.
I could't help myself. When three burly guys made their way through the front door, I acted, because I was curious. Puppy was a pureblood, see. Born wolf. If you haven't run across any of those, you will, though they have a tendency to keep a low profile. Easy enough since they can learn to control their shifting.
But this isn't an entry in your dad's journal, so we're going to skip past the creature profile.
It had been a few years since I'd so much as noticed a pureblood on the street, so when the hunters glanced around the bar, they didn't see their prey. I hid him, even if he didn't realize it. No magic ring or cloak of invisibility needed. Tada. Granted, I also hid the hunters from the kid as well. So, when they ran back outside, puzzled, my new pal was left circling the bar, trying to find a dark corner to hide in, unaware that the danger had passed.
I offered a him a drink to calm his nerves. Turned out he was older than he looked, so it was even legal. I added a touch of wolfsbane so he could actually enjoy it. One thing led to another, and get your mind out of the gutter already. Like I was saying, one thing led to another and introductions were made. He didn't believe I was the god Loki. Kudos to him. I did believe his name was Derek Hale. That won't mean anything to you yet. It will soon.
There's this thing I can do. Maybe you've noticed it, when we angels decide to act like douchebags and glimpse into your minds, your souls. It's harder for some to do. Me being me, it wasn't very difficult. Especially since Der-bear was practically oozing self-loathing, anger, and suspicion (last one was on me). Sound like someone you know?
Right now you're probably wondering where this story is headed. You're probably thinking you don't have time for this, since you have a world to save and all. I mean, I'm burying the lead pretty deep. But there's a reason for that.
That reason mostly being that I wasn't sure if I should even tell you this.
Maybe I haven't. There's a hell of a chance that after you heard the big reveal about the Horsemen bling, you turned off the DVD. I mean, if you didn't, you obviously saw my host's hairy ass. Liked that didn't you?
I figured, though, if anyone would actually try and watch my homemade porno, it would be you. Pretty sure the thing I did on top the pizza box would have had good ol' Sam turning it off, at the very least.
So, in theory. Now that it's just you and me, Dean...
This kid. This werewolf super-model with anger issues. I looked inside him and there was something there. It was just on the top layer of his soul, like a signature. Not in a language you'll ever understand, but then you're a knucklehead, so...
It was yours. It was practically your name in caps lock.
You've guessed what that might mean, right? Some part of you stirred when you heard his name, even though it wasn't a bit familiar. Maybe you're telling yourself you don't believe in these things, but a friggin' archangel is telling you otherwise, so, come on, dude.
I don't know which of my dick brothers did it, but someone must have given a cupid instructions. I don't know why, or what purpose it might serve, but it looks like a big F-U. I mean, Dean Winchester's soulmate turns out to be a guy he'll likely never meet? A guy that he'll probably shoot on first sight if he does? It's cruel, and I know cruel. I've enjoyed being cruel to the dicks who've deserved it, and, yeah, you deserve a bit of shit, Dean-o. But not that.
Here's the thing though. It doesn't have to be all bad news. Wherever Derek Hale is, he's in a shit mood right now. Wherever you are, you're in a shit mood right now (even if you actually managed to stop the Apocalypse). The reason I decided to put this message here, to even bother telling you, is that I think if the two of you met and didn't murder one another, you might not be in such shit moods anymore.
So. Yeah. In closing, go try and save the world. And if you can't think of anything better to do afterward, well, you can always hunt down your soulmate. Oh, ouch, poor choice of words?