SPN fic: For it was Fiesta, and they were so Gay
Title: For it was Fiesta, and they were so Gay
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Word count: 1000
Spoilers Through 5.08
Summary: Gabriel is bored. Sam and Dean are in Tijuana.
AN: Written for pic_for1000. This is not a pairing that would have ever occurred to me, and I'm sure I didn't do it justice, but this is for topaz119, who deserves nice things. Or, at least, nice things done for her. I'm not sure how nice this story is. Title courtesy of Patsy Cline's South of the Border.
"For the last time, Dean, we didn't come to Tijuana for a donkey show, we came to get rid of a ghost," Sam groused, but he was already waving his brother off. If Dean wanted to go watch some poor, unfortunate girl - Jesus, Sam couldn't even think about it without shuddering.
"Anyone ever tell you you're no fun, Sam?" Dean asked. "Oh, yeah," he answered himself, "Me, about a million times in the past 26 years." He smirked in that I'm so fucking funny I kill myself way that made Sam want to take a baseball bat to his head, and said, "Don’t wait up, Grandma," over his shoulder as he exited their motel room.
Sam sighed, listening to the squeal of the Impala's tires as Dean peeled out of the parking lot. While his official position was that he held out no hope for the future whatsoever, Sam secretly wanted this shitstorm of an apocalypse to resolve itself, so that his brother didn't need to do things like go to a donkey show in order to distract himself from how awful it all was.
After a while, it penetrated Sam's consciousness that there was some sort of party happening outside their room. He poked his head out the door to see what was going on.
"Fiesta!" some drunk guy yelled as he staggered by, waving a beer bottle in Sam's general direction. There were a lot of people partying in the street, for some reason Sam couldn't fathom.
He went back to his laptop.
An hour later, Sam found himself in the smoky, noisy backroom of a sleazy club, rescuing his brother from what Dean kept exclaiming was truly a fate worse than death.
"I'd rather be an angel condom than a 'vessel' - big air quotes here - "for a donkey," he hollered indignantly as he pulled his precious car back into the motel parking lot. "I don't even know what happened, Sam. One minute I was having a drink, enjoying the show, and the next - bam, I was onstage and there was this donkey eyeing me like I was the answer to its prayers."
"His prayers," Sam corrected absent-mindedly, as he unfolded himself from the car.
"You're not helping!" Dean stomped off to their room, not waiting for Sam to follow him.
Sam's lips twitched with the smile he hadn't yet allowed himself. He had no idea how Dean had gotten up on that stage, either, but it sounded like just desserts to him.
Hmm.
Oh, crap.
So, yeah, Sam was right, that's exactly what it was. Just desserts. Apparently Gabriel was bored, hanging around waiting for the apocalypse to really get revved up, and had fallen back into his Trickster ways.
"If you and Dean would just get with the program and say yes, I wouldn't have to amuse myself by wreaking karmic vengeance on a bunch of schmucks," he bitched, when Sam informed him he didn't think threatening Dean with a donkey's - well, it just wasn't very funny, that was all.
"I never would have let you out of that ring of holy oil if I'd known you were going to pull this kind of shit on me again," Dean said sulkily. "I'm going for tacos. Don't follow me!"
As the low rumble of the Impala faded into the heavy tourist traffic outside their motel, Sam looked at Gabriel appraisingly.
"You really that bored?" he asked.
'I've been waiting a long time to get this apocalyptic show on the road," Gabriel shrugged. "I've gotta say, Sam, you've gotten pretty good at figuring out when I'm around. I gotta hand it to you, bucko."
"I spent a long time living with what you did," Sam said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. "I recognize your touch."
"That's true," Gabriel said. He cocked his head and said, "So, I fucked with your head, you fucked with the world. Does that make us even now?"
Sam was the first one to admit he had a highly developed sense of guilt, but he was also getting just a little tired of everyone blaming only him for starting the apocalypse, as if he'd done it all by himself. He'd had help, for Christssake.
"Listen, you arrogant son of a bitch," he started.
"I know, I know, kid," Gabriel said. "You had help. Your chucklehead brother, for one."
"Dean is not a -" Sam broke off when Gabriel raised an eyebrow. Yeah. He changed tack toward a more useful direction. "He's trying to save the world, which is more than I can say about angels. Dean's right. You're all dicks with wings."
"Listen, I get it, free will, blah blah, destiny, yada, yada, whatever. The important thing here is that I'm bored," Gabriel snapped.
"In case you hadn't noticed, there's a party going on outside the door. Some sort of fiesta," Sam shrugged.
"Ya, think? Those are some amazing observational skills you've got there, kiddo." Gabriel tilted his head and listened, looking uncannily like Castiel for a scary second there, then said, "I'm game if you are."
And that's how Sam found himself drunk on margaritas - although, as he told Dean later, he only remembered having one, choosing to ignore Dean's snort of lightweight - his arm around Gabriel's shoulder and his tongue down Gabriel's throat.
"Can angels be gay? Aren't you supposed to be asexual?" Sam asked, pulling back, watching with great interest as Gabriel licked his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling.
"You're a moron sometimes, you know that?" Gabriel smirked, leaning back in for another kiss.
"So I've been told," Sam said against Gabriel's mouth. "Let's take this party inside. We can freak Dean out when he comes back with his tacos."
So they did.
For years afterwards, all Sam had to do to get Dean's left eye to start twitching uncontrollably was to murmur the words, "Angels really are big dicks with wings, aren't they, Dean?"
It just never got old.
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Word count: 1000
Spoilers Through 5.08
Summary: Gabriel is bored. Sam and Dean are in Tijuana.
AN: Written for pic_for1000. This is not a pairing that would have ever occurred to me, and I'm sure I didn't do it justice, but this is for topaz119, who deserves nice things. Or, at least, nice things done for her. I'm not sure how nice this story is. Title courtesy of Patsy Cline's South of the Border.
"For the last time, Dean, we didn't come to Tijuana for a donkey show, we came to get rid of a ghost," Sam groused, but he was already waving his brother off. If Dean wanted to go watch some poor, unfortunate girl - Jesus, Sam couldn't even think about it without shuddering.
"Anyone ever tell you you're no fun, Sam?" Dean asked. "Oh, yeah," he answered himself, "Me, about a million times in the past 26 years." He smirked in that I'm so fucking funny I kill myself way that made Sam want to take a baseball bat to his head, and said, "Don’t wait up, Grandma," over his shoulder as he exited their motel room.
Sam sighed, listening to the squeal of the Impala's tires as Dean peeled out of the parking lot. While his official position was that he held out no hope for the future whatsoever, Sam secretly wanted this shitstorm of an apocalypse to resolve itself, so that his brother didn't need to do things like go to a donkey show in order to distract himself from how awful it all was.
After a while, it penetrated Sam's consciousness that there was some sort of party happening outside their room. He poked his head out the door to see what was going on.
"Fiesta!" some drunk guy yelled as he staggered by, waving a beer bottle in Sam's general direction. There were a lot of people partying in the street, for some reason Sam couldn't fathom.
He went back to his laptop.
An hour later, Sam found himself in the smoky, noisy backroom of a sleazy club, rescuing his brother from what Dean kept exclaiming was truly a fate worse than death.
"I'd rather be an angel condom than a 'vessel' - big air quotes here - "for a donkey," he hollered indignantly as he pulled his precious car back into the motel parking lot. "I don't even know what happened, Sam. One minute I was having a drink, enjoying the show, and the next - bam, I was onstage and there was this donkey eyeing me like I was the answer to its prayers."
"His prayers," Sam corrected absent-mindedly, as he unfolded himself from the car.
"You're not helping!" Dean stomped off to their room, not waiting for Sam to follow him.
Sam's lips twitched with the smile he hadn't yet allowed himself. He had no idea how Dean had gotten up on that stage, either, but it sounded like just desserts to him.
Hmm.
Oh, crap.
So, yeah, Sam was right, that's exactly what it was. Just desserts. Apparently Gabriel was bored, hanging around waiting for the apocalypse to really get revved up, and had fallen back into his Trickster ways.
"If you and Dean would just get with the program and say yes, I wouldn't have to amuse myself by wreaking karmic vengeance on a bunch of schmucks," he bitched, when Sam informed him he didn't think threatening Dean with a donkey's - well, it just wasn't very funny, that was all.
"I never would have let you out of that ring of holy oil if I'd known you were going to pull this kind of shit on me again," Dean said sulkily. "I'm going for tacos. Don't follow me!"
As the low rumble of the Impala faded into the heavy tourist traffic outside their motel, Sam looked at Gabriel appraisingly.
"You really that bored?" he asked.
'I've been waiting a long time to get this apocalyptic show on the road," Gabriel shrugged. "I've gotta say, Sam, you've gotten pretty good at figuring out when I'm around. I gotta hand it to you, bucko."
"I spent a long time living with what you did," Sam said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. "I recognize your touch."
"That's true," Gabriel said. He cocked his head and said, "So, I fucked with your head, you fucked with the world. Does that make us even now?"
Sam was the first one to admit he had a highly developed sense of guilt, but he was also getting just a little tired of everyone blaming only him for starting the apocalypse, as if he'd done it all by himself. He'd had help, for Christssake.
"Listen, you arrogant son of a bitch," he started.
"I know, I know, kid," Gabriel said. "You had help. Your chucklehead brother, for one."
"Dean is not a -" Sam broke off when Gabriel raised an eyebrow. Yeah. He changed tack toward a more useful direction. "He's trying to save the world, which is more than I can say about angels. Dean's right. You're all dicks with wings."
"Listen, I get it, free will, blah blah, destiny, yada, yada, whatever. The important thing here is that I'm bored," Gabriel snapped.
"In case you hadn't noticed, there's a party going on outside the door. Some sort of fiesta," Sam shrugged.
"Ya, think? Those are some amazing observational skills you've got there, kiddo." Gabriel tilted his head and listened, looking uncannily like Castiel for a scary second there, then said, "I'm game if you are."
And that's how Sam found himself drunk on margaritas - although, as he told Dean later, he only remembered having one, choosing to ignore Dean's snort of lightweight - his arm around Gabriel's shoulder and his tongue down Gabriel's throat.
"Can angels be gay? Aren't you supposed to be asexual?" Sam asked, pulling back, watching with great interest as Gabriel licked his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling.
"You're a moron sometimes, you know that?" Gabriel smirked, leaning back in for another kiss.
"So I've been told," Sam said against Gabriel's mouth. "Let's take this party inside. We can freak Dean out when he comes back with his tacos."
So they did.
For years afterwards, all Sam had to do to get Dean's left eye to start twitching uncontrollably was to murmur the words, "Angels really are big dicks with wings, aren't they, Dean?"
It just never got old.