Jul 032014
 

[<- The Dead Man’s Game ->]

Title: The Dead Man’s Game: Burgers and Exposition
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean Winchester , Sam Winchester , Castiel , Kafziel (OC) , Gabriel , Crowley
Rating: T" width="32px" /> (L2 N0 S0 V1 D1)
Warnings: Expletives, blasphemy, crackomatic crackfic of crack, we put the fun in dysfunctional
Notes:  Non-stop raving and dickery, in much the fashion that occurs when one’s extended family is brought together in a single room. Introducing an archangel to the king of hell! How attached is Gabriel to those twinkies? Didn’t Sam say he’d be back ‘tomorrow’? What the hell did Castiel want with a roll of violet pastilles? Answers to these questions and more…


Sam and Kafziel slammed through locations, never sitting still quite long enough to register. If anything had tried to follow them, it was going to have a difficult time finding them, at this speed. Finally, they touched down behind the bunker.

Sam looked around, nervously. "Come on, Cas…"

"He’ll be here," Kafziel soothed.

"He’s with Gabriel." If looks could kill, Kafziel would be out a vessel.

"Yes, but Gabriel likes him. And if nothing else, I’m pretty sure curiosity about Dean is a driving force, here." Kafziel turned to put his back to Sam’s, scanning the hill. "You worry too much."

"Says the guy who’s got my back."

"Confidence. Faith. Not stupidity."

The sound of wings was sharper, somehow, this time, and followed immediately by Gabriel’s voice.

"Where are we?"

"Nowhere." Sam’s tension was enough to stop the conversation. "Follow me."

It wasn’t until the stairs that Gabriel tried again. "What is this place? You live here? My Sammy-boy is all grown up with his very own art-deco bomb shelter?"

"Kind of."

Before he could explain, Crowley’s voice echoed up from somewhere below. "Oh, come on, Moose! Another angel? We’re getting outnumbered down here!"

"Gabe, don’t!" Sam’s eyes flew wide, as he threw a hand back to grab Gabriel. As fast as he was, the other angels were faster. "It’s ok. Seriously. Yes, that’s Crowley. Yes, the king of hell. It’s an extremely long story, and I’ll probably let Dean tell it, this time."

"Where is your brother?" Gabriel’s voice sounded substantially more dangerous than usual.

"From the smell, I’m going to guess he’s in the kitchen, making burgers. If you can avoid insulting his current condition, you might get him to make you some pie."

"Fuck pie." As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Gabriel stalked off after the smell.

"Knowing you…" Sam muttered, following him.

"Dean-o! Never thought I’d see you settle down. Nice kitchen." The edge in Gabriel’s voice was still razor sharp. He meant to get answers.

And then Dean turned around with a bread knife in one hand, his pitch-black eyes locking on Gabriel. "Gabe." The moment hung between them like so much wet taffy. "Working under the assumption you’re really you, what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Dean, it’s … Ok, it’s not ok, but it’s as close as we ever get." Sam hovered in the doorway, behind Gabriel.

"This is what you weren’t telling me, Sam? The two of you, and he turns into a demon? Oh, bravo. Daddy’s going to shit a brick." The edge was distinctly more hysterical, now, but Gabriel hefted his ass onto an unused section of counter. "Gimmie the twinkies, Samsquatch. I have to hear this. The whole story. Start talking, Dean-o."

"It’s Crowley’s fault," Dean started, as Sam unpacked the bag of snack food into a cupboard beside Gabriel’s head.

"It is not my fault," Crowley insisted, occupying the kitchen doorway, now that Sam had vacated it. "It’s your granddad’s fault for bringing her here, and it’s your fault for sewing her head back on. I had to do something! She was plotting a hostile takeover!" He eyed Gabriel. "Don’t I know you from somewhere?"

"I’d remember your ugly face. If you know me, it’s just my legendary awesomeness." Gabriel looked expectantly at Dean. "And?"

Sam dropped a twinkie in the archangel’s lap. "Oh, do go on, Dean. I can’t wait to hear you explain this."

Dean seemed intent to use as few words as possible. "Abaddon."

"You’re kidding me." Gabriel stopped peeling the twinkie wrapper, eyes drifting back up to Dean’s face. "Didn’t she implode, in the late fifties?"

"No, she time-travelled." Dean turned around and flipped the burgers. "Anyway, we trapped her, she got loose, and Crowley came up with this great idea to kill her with the first blade."

"It was a great idea. You’re still alive, aren’t you?"

"I don’t know, Crowley, am I?" There’s an art to looking threatening with a spatula, and it was an art of which Dean Winchester was a master.

Castiel elbowed Crowley aside and leaned into the room. "Dean, if you’re making burgers, Kafziel and I would appreciate one. Each."

"I start making burgers for me and Crowley, and suddenly, my little brother, who said he wasn’t coming home until tomorrow, shows up with three hungry angels," Dean complained, loudly. "Show of hands, right now, how many burgers am I actually making?"

A glance around the room answered that question. "… Everyone except Gabe."

"No offense, I’m sure you make great burgers, but I’m taking my honeymoon with this box of twinkies, right now," Gabriel mumbled around a mouthful of yellowcake.

Dean finally recognised the way Gabriel clung to that twinkie as something other than rapturous delight. "Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t even ask. You all right?"

"Yeah, mom, I’m fine. Don’t burn your meat." Gabriel crammed the rest of the twinkie into his mouth and reached up between him and Sam for another one. "Abaddon? First blade? C’mon…"

Gabe…? Recognition settled over Crowley’s face, followed shortly by horror, as he launched himself back, aiming to exit the kitchen, but slamming solidly into Kafziel’s chest, instead. "I’m standing next to an archangel, and no-one thought to mention it?"

"You recognised him as an angel. I assumed you knew." Castiel shrugged.

"I was waiting for you to notice," Kafziel admitted.

"So, why is he here, and not dead?" Gabriel asked. "I’m still curious."

"Dirty little secret: the king of hell is only half a demon." Sam helped himself to a handful of chocolate-covered pretzels. "I’m not going to say he’s on our side, because that’s not true. And I’m not going to say we’re on his side, because that’s not true, either. We’ve just got bigger problems than each other, right now. Also, Dean’s a demon, and that’s everyone’s problem."

"Oh, Moose, I’m all demon, and you know it. Your blood just makes me all warm and tingly inside."

Sam froze with a pretzel halfway to his mouth. "Ok, that? It’s nothing like that. Except for the part where he’s mainlining my blood."

"He’s… your… I thought you…" Gabriel swallowed and tried again. "So, we’ve gone from you being the boy-king of hell, guzzling demon blood to prep your manly ass for my demon brother, to you being the last bastion of humanity in this increasingly screwed up little household, and keeping the current king of hell hooked on your blood, so he’ll take care of your demon brother, who used to be the proverbial righteous man, doomed to bend over for my other asshole brother."

"Yeah, I think that sums up the last four years." The pretzel finally made it to Sam’s mouth.

"Ok, so… I’m clearly not up on my demonology, but how did you turn into a demon, Dean? You, who could do no wrong in my brothers’ eyes, and so on…"

"He died holding the damned blade," Crowley lied. It was true, but it wasn’t quite the answer to that question. "This man didn’t stop at turning a knight of hell into fruit salad. Oh, no. He filleted a demigod with his own hands. You did meet Metatron, didn’t you?"

"Yeah, we were introduced." Gabriel flicked his eyes toward Castiel, ready to shut him up, if necessary. "Do you just go around trying to pick fights with anything that thinks it’s a bigger badass than you, Dean? ‘Cause I’m seeing a trend, here."

"Might I remind you it’s probably your ass I saved, there?" Dean pointed out, still occupied with the burgers.

"Mmm, no. Sam saved my ass, and every other delectable bit of me, just this afternoon."

"No, Dean’s right. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be sitting here, if he and Cas hadn’t unplugged Metatron." Grabbing a plate from another cupboard, Sam started assembling a burger for himself. "And I don’t think we’d still be sitting here if we tried to make it happen. You’re the big man, these days, Gabe. Last archangel standing."

"Unplugged? What exactly did you do…?" Gabriel’s eyes lanced toward Castiel, as his hands unwrapped another twinkie.

"I broke the angel tablet. Smashed it, really." Castiel failed to look contrite. In fact, he seemed to be taking some quiet satisfaction in that act of destruction. "I do not believe it can be reassembled."

"Dad’s going to kill me." Gabriel’s mouth hung open, a smear of twinkie crème on his lower lip.

"If our father meant to kill us for breaking the tablet, Gabriel, we would be dead. The fact that you and I are still here is a sign he has other plans." Squeezing past Kafziel and Crowley, Castiel followed Sam’s lead and attempted to assemble a suitable burger. "Perhaps especially the fact that I’m still here."

"Oh, that’s so sweet, Cas! You sound just like Sammy!"

"Don’t fucking call me that, Gabriel."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. What are you going to do about it, hm?" The smug superiority didn’t leave Gabriel’s face until he looked up at Sam. Sam who towered over him, glaring like his eyes could start a fire. Sam who had, he realised, probably learned to banish angels, among other extraordinarily useful and dangerous things. "I’m just yanking your pigtails, Samsquatch. Fifteen minutes might’ve been an underestimation."

"You—!" Sam huffed. "I am taking this burger, and I am going to go out there and put on a movie, which I am going to watch, while I eat this burger. I swear to— I swear on my left testicle, if I feel anything grope me, I will come back in here and knock you right back into that porno."

"Is it just me, or did he grow a pair, while I wasn’t looking?"

"Doom Generation?" Dean suggested, as Sam stalked out.

"Heathers!" Kafziel called after him.

"I’m betting on Dogma," Crowley offered, going after his own burger. "I think he’s got a fetish for Alan Rickman’s arse."

"Hey, now, just because you’ve got a boner for Molly Ringwald…" Dean flipped one of the last two burgers onto a bun, for himself. "Not that I’m blaming you, because whoof."

Gabriel choked on a twinkie. "Molly Ringwald? The devil watches Pretty in Pink?"

"I’m not the devil. That’s your brother."

"I’m not hearing a denial."

"Are you kidding me? He cries over The Breakfast Club. Cries into his wine, like a middle-aged housewife." Dean shook his head and headed out, after his brother. "Get food. I’ll try to stop Sam from putting on anything too soppy."

"Speaking of crying into your wine…" Castiel reached into the pocket of his eternal tan overcoat and produced a purple-wrapped roll, which he handed to Crowley. "I have heard these are excellent in a Riesling. The hint of sugared violet may offset the additional saltiness."

Crowley looked like he’d just been belted in the mouth with a sock full of gold. "I’m not sure whether to be profoundly insulted or thrilled that you’ve finally accepted me into the family."

"Both," Kafziel answered, several feet from where Crowley remembered last seeing him, and now possessed of a fully-assembled burger. "You should be profoundly insulted he’s accepted you into the family. Just think: now you’re related to me and Gabriel."

"I am absolutely everything I’m cracked up to be." Gabriel’s golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he reached for another twinkie. Disappointment followed, as he failed to find one, and he grabbed the tub of halva, instead. "Sammy-boy? I’m —" A flutter of wings, and the sentence finished from down the hall. "—out of twinkies!"

"What did I ever do to deserve this?" Crowley complained, as Kafziel vanished in a flutter of wings. "Was it throwing in with the Winchesters? It was throwing in with the Winchesters, wasn’t it."

"I find that to be the root of so many things," Castiel sympathised.