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Putting the Fun in Dysfunction
I should have know the first fic I posted to dreamwidth would have something to do with seme. ILU <3
Putting the Fun in Dysfunction
R | Gabriel/War (YEAH) | ~1800 words
An angel and a horseman walk into a bar.
An angel and a horseman walk into a bar.
No, scratch that, and archangel-cum-pagan god and a semi phenomenal, nearly cosmic horseperson, minus one finger, fly and manifest, respectively, in a bar.
The barkeeper, after a long fight with his wife in the back room, absentmindedly slides a pitcher and two glasses in front of them, muttering about disrespect in his own goddamn fucking house.
"First round's on me," War says, claiming a mug.
"Showoff," Gabriel hisses, scowling.
The horseperson winks, lifting his mug and raising it in the archangel's direction and flashing Gabriel a glimpse of his maimed hand.
"Why haven't you just grown that thing back already?" Gabriel asks. His mug fills itself with something sweet smelling that they've never sold in this bar.
"Gabe, you of all people should understand," the War replies, "battle scars." He reaches over with his free hand and pinches Gabriel's cheek, just letting go as Gabriel growls with frustration. "Someone's pissy."
Gabriel drinks deep, scowling over the rim of his mug. "You set the fucking Winchesters on my tail."
"Hey, the thought was already in Sam's head. I just thought you'd want to say hello," War says.
"Eat me."
"Kinky," War chuckles, winking at Gabriel. "Oh, c'mon, like you weren't going to do something eventually."
"I wasn't, asshole," Gabriel snaps. "I was perfectly fine without everyone showing up at my doorstep to ask for favors. And you just know that my entire family is going to be right behind them." He sets down his beer with a clank and throws his hands up, waving them like wings. "'Is that you, Gabriel? We thought you were dead, Gabriel! How could you have abandoned us, Gabriel?' You don't understand guilt until you've had it foisted on you by a few thousand sobbing angels."
War chuckles. "You could always kill them."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Gabriel says sourly. "Sadistic bastard."
"It's what I do."
"Why do I even talk to you?" Gabriel asks, draining his mug. It doesn't refill itself.
"Face it kiddo," War says, slinging a friendly arm around Gabriel's shoulders, "you'd be bored as hell without me."
"Shut up," Gabriel says, all the more angry because it's true.
___
"So, TVLand didn't work out for you," War says. Gabriel, still drenched to the bone, shakes his hair in his direction, splattering little droplets of water on him. "What's your next plan?"
"What next plan?" Gabriel says, snapping his fingers. The water evaporates off him, leaving him feeling steamed, in several senses of the word.
War rolls his eyes. Some creatures. "Your next plan with the Winchesters? Where you get back at them for trapping you in a circle?"
"Not happening. I got what I wanted," Gabriel says absentmindedly, trying to decide what he wants to make the interior of the warehouse this time.
"Did you, now?"
"I'm alone aren't I?" Gabriel says smugly.
"That wasn't your goal and you know it, dumbass." War isn't prone to crudeness. That's Gabriel's area of expertise.
Gabriel snaps, and a lecture hall forms around him, a podium growing from the ground in front of War.
"Oh?" Gabriel says lightly, flinging himself into a seat, "enlighten me."
War pushes the podium away from him, it splits when it hits the ground. "You want revenge."
"I don't fight other people's battles, War," Gabriel reminds him.
For a brief second War looks like he's going to punch Gabriel before it melts away into an amused chuckle. "Forgot who I was talking to, Gabby."
"That's not smart," Gabriel says, grinning.
They both know it's a threat.
"You know what, fuckit," Gabe announces. "I do have a plan."
"That's what I like to hear," War says.
"Lets get drunk."
"That's really what I like to hear," War repeats, ruffling Gabriel's hair. Gabriel punches him in the side with enough force to level a small building and War huffs, laughing. "Pissy."
"Don't mess with the hair," Gabriel admonishes.
"Or what?"
Gabriel rolls his eyes, "what are you, five?"
War snorts, somehow contemptuously. He curls his fingers in the back of Gabriel's hair, the longish curls across the back of neck, and pulls, forcing Gabriel's head up.
"It's the age thing again, isn't it?" Gabriel chuckles. War kisses him hard enough to bruise and Gabriel laughs into his mouth, wrapping his hands in the front of War's shirt.
"I'm so much older than you, angel," War scowls, drawing back.
"Archangel," Gabriel corrects. "And you weren't around until after mankind."
"Your reference book was only written two thousand years ago," War huffs.
Gabriel winks. "Sure it was."
___
"You know Kali is just another facet of me," War says musingly as Gabriel sits up, rising from the impression of his own wings scorched into the ground.
"A much hotter facet," Gabriel adds. He runs his hands along his body, making sure everything's in place. War knows his body well enough to have put it back together right.
"That hurts, Gabby," War says. His fake pout is ruined by his smirk.
Gabriel pats the part of his chest that, until recently, had a big fucking hole in it. There's not even a mark.
"I thought you liked battle scars," he says.
"On me," War deadpans. "You're to scrawny to pull them off."
"You just don't want me to be any more attractive." Gabriel tosses his hair. "Or you'll be fighting off heaven and hell with a stick."
"Oh, take me now," War deadpans, standing and brushing atomized angel wing off his pants.
Gabriel stretches, getting used to corporeality. He feels fine, that's one thing oblivion has going for it; it's always great for a nap. "Maybe later."
"How was the reunion?" War asks disinterestedly.
"Oh the usual, planned a coup of heaven, got stabbed to death by your boss."
"Told you it wouldn't work," War says. He picks up an abandoned champagne glass and sips from it. "Bloodlust is not negotiable."
"You're really creepy, you know that?" Gabriel snaps.
"Creepy and right," War corrects.
"I think I'm going to be dead for a while," Gabriel says, folding his arms over his chest. "I'll have my afterlife on a beach in Aruba."
"Coward's way out, Gabby?" War asks lightly.
"Damn straight. I already made my stand."
Gabriel stands and makes his way over to the table, plopping himself down in Baldur's abandoned chair. Figures he'd get the most comfortable seat in the house. War drains his champagne glass in one long pull and smashes it over Gabriel's head.
"Ow!" Gabriel shouts. "What the fuck?"
"I don't bring cowards back from the dead," War says, an angry glint in his eye.
"No, you just brain them with glassware," Gabriel huffs, picking shards out of his hair. War moodily pulls out another chair and takes a seat, watching Gabriel. Gabriel tries to make it sound like he's in a lot more pain than he actually is in to soften War's expression, but no dice. "Asshole."
"Coward," War repeats, like it's the worst insult he can think of. Which it probably is.
"Shut up," Gabriel says. He's in Aruba a second later, waiting for the pretty girls to serve him drinks.
___
Gabriel's stretched across a hammock, trying to cover as much netted surface area as he can without oozing out. He's just reached his maximum comfort level when War flips him out of it, sending him sprawling face first onto the sand.
He should have known it wouldn't last. Peace.
"Hi, honey," Gabriel says, scowling. He rolls onto his back. War's leaning forward, his face blocked by a corona of sunlight. "Nice pyrotechnics."
"Cute. I hope you have enough jokes saved up." Gabriel hears a very ominous rustle. "Someone here wants to talk to you."
"You fucking bastard," Gabriel spits.
"Must you be so crude, brother?" Michael asks.
If War was still here Gabriel would be hitting him in the balls with something.
"Honestly."
"Mike," Gabriel chirps. He doesn't bother standing, instead propping himself up on his elbows. "Bro. Long time no see."
"Far, far too long," Mike says, stepping forward in that subtly threatening way he has. He's wearing the youngest, bastard Winchester. It's an imperfect match, Gabriel can see flecks of his Grace surrounding him.
"I see someone settled for Michael Sword Lite," Gabriel says. "Dean being a dick? Because I tried to fix that for you."
"I'm aware," Michael says, brushing off Gabriel's feeble attempt to save his own ass.
"Care to join me?" he tries, patting the sand next to him. Michael dispels that with a single look.
"I'm not here for banter, Gabriel."
"Then what the fuck are you here for?" Gabriel asks, because he's most likely about to be smote anyway. He never was good at keeping his stupid mouth shut.
Michael's mouth goes tight, but he doesn't point out the f-bomb Gabriel just dropped. "To talk."
"Without banter? Well, fuck me sideways."
The lower lip of Michael's vessel twitches minutely.
"No," he says, displaying that heaven-bred sense of humor Gabriel despises. "You fought Lucifer."
"And got my ass killed. I am not doing it again."
"That's not what I want," Michael says, quickly. "How... did he appear?"
"What," Gabriel asks, more an expression of disbelief than an actual question.
"Was he... well?"
"Mike, you fucking dork," he laughs, a tad hysterically. Taken aback is not the word for Michael's face. "You're seriously worried? About The Adversary?"
"He's our brother, Gabriel," Michael huffs.
"You didn't care when Dad ordered you to cast him out," Gabriel says.
"That's not true."
Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Then send him a postcard or something. I'm not your gofer."
Michael's glare could melt glass.
"Oh, what?" Gabriel snaps. "I'm not a fucking councilor either."
"You've changed, brother," Michael huffs one last time.
"Damn straight."
___
"You suck," Gabriel announces, landing to War's right. At least he hadn't been hard to find, just look for high spirits and lowered inhibitions. Gabriel had only had to check the TV guide and see which rival football teams were playing, and which stadiums had private boxes.
"You're alive?" War asks mildly.
"And kicking," Gabriel adds.
"Mazel tov."
Gabriel glances at the base of War's chair, a single column of tough plastic attached to a wider base attached to the floor. With a thought, the column breaks and War pitches backwards, clunking his head on the floor.
"Gabby," War says, offended, "what did I ever do to you?"
"Tried to have me killed. Again."
War shrugs. "It's my job."
Gabriel sighs. "Shut the hell up and watch the game."
Much to his surprise, War does.
~
...
Putting the Fun in Dysfunction
R | Gabriel/War (YEAH) | ~1800 words
An angel and a horseman walk into a bar.
An angel and a horseman walk into a bar.
No, scratch that, and archangel-cum-pagan god and a semi phenomenal, nearly cosmic horseperson, minus one finger, fly and manifest, respectively, in a bar.
The barkeeper, after a long fight with his wife in the back room, absentmindedly slides a pitcher and two glasses in front of them, muttering about disrespect in his own goddamn fucking house.
"First round's on me," War says, claiming a mug.
"Showoff," Gabriel hisses, scowling.
The horseperson winks, lifting his mug and raising it in the archangel's direction and flashing Gabriel a glimpse of his maimed hand.
"Why haven't you just grown that thing back already?" Gabriel asks. His mug fills itself with something sweet smelling that they've never sold in this bar.
"Gabe, you of all people should understand," the War replies, "battle scars." He reaches over with his free hand and pinches Gabriel's cheek, just letting go as Gabriel growls with frustration. "Someone's pissy."
Gabriel drinks deep, scowling over the rim of his mug. "You set the fucking Winchesters on my tail."
"Hey, the thought was already in Sam's head. I just thought you'd want to say hello," War says.
"Eat me."
"Kinky," War chuckles, winking at Gabriel. "Oh, c'mon, like you weren't going to do something eventually."
"I wasn't, asshole," Gabriel snaps. "I was perfectly fine without everyone showing up at my doorstep to ask for favors. And you just know that my entire family is going to be right behind them." He sets down his beer with a clank and throws his hands up, waving them like wings. "'Is that you, Gabriel? We thought you were dead, Gabriel! How could you have abandoned us, Gabriel?' You don't understand guilt until you've had it foisted on you by a few thousand sobbing angels."
War chuckles. "You could always kill them."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Gabriel says sourly. "Sadistic bastard."
"It's what I do."
"Why do I even talk to you?" Gabriel asks, draining his mug. It doesn't refill itself.
"Face it kiddo," War says, slinging a friendly arm around Gabriel's shoulders, "you'd be bored as hell without me."
"Shut up," Gabriel says, all the more angry because it's true.
___
"So, TVLand didn't work out for you," War says. Gabriel, still drenched to the bone, shakes his hair in his direction, splattering little droplets of water on him. "What's your next plan?"
"What next plan?" Gabriel says, snapping his fingers. The water evaporates off him, leaving him feeling steamed, in several senses of the word.
War rolls his eyes. Some creatures. "Your next plan with the Winchesters? Where you get back at them for trapping you in a circle?"
"Not happening. I got what I wanted," Gabriel says absentmindedly, trying to decide what he wants to make the interior of the warehouse this time.
"Did you, now?"
"I'm alone aren't I?" Gabriel says smugly.
"That wasn't your goal and you know it, dumbass." War isn't prone to crudeness. That's Gabriel's area of expertise.
Gabriel snaps, and a lecture hall forms around him, a podium growing from the ground in front of War.
"Oh?" Gabriel says lightly, flinging himself into a seat, "enlighten me."
War pushes the podium away from him, it splits when it hits the ground. "You want revenge."
"I don't fight other people's battles, War," Gabriel reminds him.
For a brief second War looks like he's going to punch Gabriel before it melts away into an amused chuckle. "Forgot who I was talking to, Gabby."
"That's not smart," Gabriel says, grinning.
They both know it's a threat.
"You know what, fuckit," Gabe announces. "I do have a plan."
"That's what I like to hear," War says.
"Lets get drunk."
"That's really what I like to hear," War repeats, ruffling Gabriel's hair. Gabriel punches him in the side with enough force to level a small building and War huffs, laughing. "Pissy."
"Don't mess with the hair," Gabriel admonishes.
"Or what?"
Gabriel rolls his eyes, "what are you, five?"
War snorts, somehow contemptuously. He curls his fingers in the back of Gabriel's hair, the longish curls across the back of neck, and pulls, forcing Gabriel's head up.
"It's the age thing again, isn't it?" Gabriel chuckles. War kisses him hard enough to bruise and Gabriel laughs into his mouth, wrapping his hands in the front of War's shirt.
"I'm so much older than you, angel," War scowls, drawing back.
"Archangel," Gabriel corrects. "And you weren't around until after mankind."
"Your reference book was only written two thousand years ago," War huffs.
Gabriel winks. "Sure it was."
___
"You know Kali is just another facet of me," War says musingly as Gabriel sits up, rising from the impression of his own wings scorched into the ground.
"A much hotter facet," Gabriel adds. He runs his hands along his body, making sure everything's in place. War knows his body well enough to have put it back together right.
"That hurts, Gabby," War says. His fake pout is ruined by his smirk.
Gabriel pats the part of his chest that, until recently, had a big fucking hole in it. There's not even a mark.
"I thought you liked battle scars," he says.
"On me," War deadpans. "You're to scrawny to pull them off."
"You just don't want me to be any more attractive." Gabriel tosses his hair. "Or you'll be fighting off heaven and hell with a stick."
"Oh, take me now," War deadpans, standing and brushing atomized angel wing off his pants.
Gabriel stretches, getting used to corporeality. He feels fine, that's one thing oblivion has going for it; it's always great for a nap. "Maybe later."
"How was the reunion?" War asks disinterestedly.
"Oh the usual, planned a coup of heaven, got stabbed to death by your boss."
"Told you it wouldn't work," War says. He picks up an abandoned champagne glass and sips from it. "Bloodlust is not negotiable."
"You're really creepy, you know that?" Gabriel snaps.
"Creepy and right," War corrects.
"I think I'm going to be dead for a while," Gabriel says, folding his arms over his chest. "I'll have my afterlife on a beach in Aruba."
"Coward's way out, Gabby?" War asks lightly.
"Damn straight. I already made my stand."
Gabriel stands and makes his way over to the table, plopping himself down in Baldur's abandoned chair. Figures he'd get the most comfortable seat in the house. War drains his champagne glass in one long pull and smashes it over Gabriel's head.
"Ow!" Gabriel shouts. "What the fuck?"
"I don't bring cowards back from the dead," War says, an angry glint in his eye.
"No, you just brain them with glassware," Gabriel huffs, picking shards out of his hair. War moodily pulls out another chair and takes a seat, watching Gabriel. Gabriel tries to make it sound like he's in a lot more pain than he actually is in to soften War's expression, but no dice. "Asshole."
"Coward," War repeats, like it's the worst insult he can think of. Which it probably is.
"Shut up," Gabriel says. He's in Aruba a second later, waiting for the pretty girls to serve him drinks.
___
Gabriel's stretched across a hammock, trying to cover as much netted surface area as he can without oozing out. He's just reached his maximum comfort level when War flips him out of it, sending him sprawling face first onto the sand.
He should have known it wouldn't last. Peace.
"Hi, honey," Gabriel says, scowling. He rolls onto his back. War's leaning forward, his face blocked by a corona of sunlight. "Nice pyrotechnics."
"Cute. I hope you have enough jokes saved up." Gabriel hears a very ominous rustle. "Someone here wants to talk to you."
"You fucking bastard," Gabriel spits.
"Must you be so crude, brother?" Michael asks.
If War was still here Gabriel would be hitting him in the balls with something.
"Honestly."
"Mike," Gabriel chirps. He doesn't bother standing, instead propping himself up on his elbows. "Bro. Long time no see."
"Far, far too long," Mike says, stepping forward in that subtly threatening way he has. He's wearing the youngest, bastard Winchester. It's an imperfect match, Gabriel can see flecks of his Grace surrounding him.
"I see someone settled for Michael Sword Lite," Gabriel says. "Dean being a dick? Because I tried to fix that for you."
"I'm aware," Michael says, brushing off Gabriel's feeble attempt to save his own ass.
"Care to join me?" he tries, patting the sand next to him. Michael dispels that with a single look.
"I'm not here for banter, Gabriel."
"Then what the fuck are you here for?" Gabriel asks, because he's most likely about to be smote anyway. He never was good at keeping his stupid mouth shut.
Michael's mouth goes tight, but he doesn't point out the f-bomb Gabriel just dropped. "To talk."
"Without banter? Well, fuck me sideways."
The lower lip of Michael's vessel twitches minutely.
"No," he says, displaying that heaven-bred sense of humor Gabriel despises. "You fought Lucifer."
"And got my ass killed. I am not doing it again."
"That's not what I want," Michael says, quickly. "How... did he appear?"
"What," Gabriel asks, more an expression of disbelief than an actual question.
"Was he... well?"
"Mike, you fucking dork," he laughs, a tad hysterically. Taken aback is not the word for Michael's face. "You're seriously worried? About The Adversary?"
"He's our brother, Gabriel," Michael huffs.
"You didn't care when Dad ordered you to cast him out," Gabriel says.
"That's not true."
Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Then send him a postcard or something. I'm not your gofer."
Michael's glare could melt glass.
"Oh, what?" Gabriel snaps. "I'm not a fucking councilor either."
"You've changed, brother," Michael huffs one last time.
"Damn straight."
___
"You suck," Gabriel announces, landing to War's right. At least he hadn't been hard to find, just look for high spirits and lowered inhibitions. Gabriel had only had to check the TV guide and see which rival football teams were playing, and which stadiums had private boxes.
"You're alive?" War asks mildly.
"And kicking," Gabriel adds.
"Mazel tov."
Gabriel glances at the base of War's chair, a single column of tough plastic attached to a wider base attached to the floor. With a thought, the column breaks and War pitches backwards, clunking his head on the floor.
"Gabby," War says, offended, "what did I ever do to you?"
"Tried to have me killed. Again."
War shrugs. "It's my job."
Gabriel sighs. "Shut the hell up and watch the game."
Much to his surprise, War does.
~
...