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blue_bells» Title: Charge Aspirin at Entry
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: Spoilers for Season 5.
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Sam/Gabriel, Bobby
» Summary: Gabriel meets Bobby.
» A/N: Written here for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phate_phoenix in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic.
“So, you’re the other one.”
Bobby sizes up the boys’ latest adoption from the Heavenly Host who’s helped himself to the beer in Bobby’s fridge and perched at the other end of table.
The archangel Gabriel looks like the sort of man who should be driving heavy machinery or seeking out the nearest bar with an impending happy hour. His vessel isn’t lean, sharp or even very tall. Bobby’s never seen an ethereal messenger (former), but when it came to angels they weren’t measuring up to expectations these days: mercy, valour and grace were coming up short.
Gabriel’s smile is almost a sneer and he cocks his head as though he knows just what Bobby’s thinking. His smile promises Bobby that he’s so, so wrong and he would thoroughly enjoy a demonstration.
Bobby thinks Gabriel intentionally wears a face that’s easy to overlook. He doesn’t like that.
Bobby scowls at the younger Winchester hovering unsurely in the kitchen doorway. Sam glances between the hunter and the angel, hands in his jean pockets and his face twists like he doesn’t understand why Bobby’s giving him that face.
Idji-ii-ii-it.
Bobby ought to charge the Winchesters aspirin at entry to his home.
“Can we trust you?” He growls at the angel chugging his beer.
Gabriel spreads his hands in a slow shrug. He licks his lips and smiles as though to say it’s their choice and, well, it’s not a ‘no’. The angel looks to Sam and beams with an indulgence that Bobby doesn’t fail to notice. He also notices that Sam is twitching, nervous, and his face doesn’t bear any of the caution that it should, bringing home a potential new ally to be hazed and suspected.
Bobby remembers when Castiel appeared, devastation and majesty, he clearly knew his place.
This introduction doesn’t feel like that at all and Gabriel is much further up the ranks. It’s too staged, too careful.
Bobby looks at Gabriel laughing quietly under his breath and just waiting to be challenged.
Bobby looks at Sam, who’s glaring down Gabriel’s insouciance, but there’s a plea under that anger that Bobby finds familiar. It reads suspiciously like please behave or I’ll kick your ass at the next rest stop.
Neither of them is looking at Bobby anymore.
And then it clicks. Where the hell had that come from?
For a moment, Bobby stares, disbelieving and annoyed because maybe if he'd raised some teenagers, he would have recognised the scenario a bit earlier.
He wheels to a stop beside Gabriel’s end of the table and plucks the bottle from his hand. Gabriel blinks at him, sitting up quickly and looking appropriately startled that a cripple had snuck round on him so fast.
Bobby flushes between embarrassment and indignation because he thought that at his age, with the boys now grown men, this was never a conversation he’d have to give in his lifetime, but it was Sam (and it pained Bobby to think this way), so it wasn’t a choice. The world wouldn’t survive a repeat of the Ruby incident, one apocalypse was enough, and they could really use the help.
Indignation wins and he slams the bottle down on the table, out of Gabriel’s reach.
Leaning forward, he folds his hands on the table and gives Gabriel his full attention.
“So, what are your intentions?”
Sam groans, out of sight, a despairing oh my god muffled by his hands. Bobby ignores him. Gabriel doesn’t though, and glances at Sam which only further perks his mood. He looks back at Bobby and shrugs with a grin.
“How much time do you have?”
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: Spoilers for Season 5.
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Sam/Gabriel, Bobby
» Summary: Gabriel meets Bobby.
» A/N: Written here for
phate_phoenix in comment_fic. “So, you’re the other one.”
Bobby sizes up the boys’ latest adoption from the Heavenly Host who’s helped himself to the beer in Bobby’s fridge and perched at the other end of table.
The archangel Gabriel looks like the sort of man who should be driving heavy machinery or seeking out the nearest bar with an impending happy hour. His vessel isn’t lean, sharp or even very tall. Bobby’s never seen an ethereal messenger (former), but when it came to angels they weren’t measuring up to expectations these days: mercy, valour and grace were coming up short.
Gabriel’s smile is almost a sneer and he cocks his head as though he knows just what Bobby’s thinking. His smile promises Bobby that he’s so, so wrong and he would thoroughly enjoy a demonstration.
Bobby thinks Gabriel intentionally wears a face that’s easy to overlook. He doesn’t like that.
Bobby scowls at the younger Winchester hovering unsurely in the kitchen doorway. Sam glances between the hunter and the angel, hands in his jean pockets and his face twists like he doesn’t understand why Bobby’s giving him that face.
Idji-ii-ii-it.
Bobby ought to charge the Winchesters aspirin at entry to his home.
“Can we trust you?” He growls at the angel chugging his beer.
Gabriel spreads his hands in a slow shrug. He licks his lips and smiles as though to say it’s their choice and, well, it’s not a ‘no’. The angel looks to Sam and beams with an indulgence that Bobby doesn’t fail to notice. He also notices that Sam is twitching, nervous, and his face doesn’t bear any of the caution that it should, bringing home a potential new ally to be hazed and suspected.
Bobby remembers when Castiel appeared, devastation and majesty, he clearly knew his place.
This introduction doesn’t feel like that at all and Gabriel is much further up the ranks. It’s too staged, too careful.
Bobby looks at Gabriel laughing quietly under his breath and just waiting to be challenged.
Bobby looks at Sam, who’s glaring down Gabriel’s insouciance, but there’s a plea under that anger that Bobby finds familiar. It reads suspiciously like please behave or I’ll kick your ass at the next rest stop.
Neither of them is looking at Bobby anymore.
And then it clicks. Where the hell had that come from?
For a moment, Bobby stares, disbelieving and annoyed because maybe if he'd raised some teenagers, he would have recognised the scenario a bit earlier.
He wheels to a stop beside Gabriel’s end of the table and plucks the bottle from his hand. Gabriel blinks at him, sitting up quickly and looking appropriately startled that a cripple had snuck round on him so fast.
Bobby flushes between embarrassment and indignation because he thought that at his age, with the boys now grown men, this was never a conversation he’d have to give in his lifetime, but it was Sam (and it pained Bobby to think this way), so it wasn’t a choice. The world wouldn’t survive a repeat of the Ruby incident, one apocalypse was enough, and they could really use the help.
Indignation wins and he slams the bottle down on the table, out of Gabriel’s reach.
Leaning forward, he folds his hands on the table and gives Gabriel his full attention.
“So, what are your intentions?”
Sam groans, out of sight, a despairing oh my god muffled by his hands. Bobby ignores him. Gabriel doesn’t though, and glances at Sam which only further perks his mood. He looks back at Bobby and shrugs with a grin.
“How much time do you have?”
