citrusjava (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
citrusjava) wrote2013-12-04 09:43 pm
citrusjava) wrote2013-12-04 09:43 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: It's Like Motel Rooms [spoilers for 909]
Title: It's Like Motel Rooms
Fandom: Supernatural
Relationship:Sam and Gadriel
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: 909
Words: 550
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction.
Summary:Gadriel has some things in common with Sam.
Slipping into a new vessel is always a little shocking. Like slipping into a different reality. One is a shadowy forest underwater, algae and tar swaying with whispered currents. One is an over-furnished washroom, upholstered with rose patterns. This resonates with his host, Sam. So many motel rooms.
When you slip into a new vessel, the whole world outside the windows is different too. Higher, louder, brighter, softer, dangerous, delightful. You can't explain to humans how different they are.
Inside his new host, everything's charred. The smoke in Gadriel's throat is the lingering flavor of his wings. The inside of Sam smells like falling from home, also like being freed.
Gadriel tries to rediscover the reality of Sam, under the soot. Parts of it are brighter than he'd have expected, baby-new flesh. Other parts, though. When Gadriel revives them, returns them to the way they were before getting charred, they are flaccid yellowish-gray, wet with old despair, softly oozing through the pores.
His host's brother, more than a brother, Dean, throws a jab his way – "Stella?! Can't even trust you with beer". And everything healed enough, alive enough inside Sam to react, constricts and shudders, like frightened dogs all around Gadriel, overwhelming his surroundings with smell.
Gadriel can't help but stop to place a hand on a quivering organ. Lingers, heals some of them, rather than spending the time rebuilding Sam's body.
When Dean complains it's taking too long, it's all Zeke can do not to punch him.
Gadrien stays inside most of the time. Can't face his brothers, can't even think about facing them. He'd rather hide in this human. Heaven was a prison for Gadriel before he was put in a cell. Gadriel's father gave him a holy mission he'd never asked for. All he'd wanted was to leave, think for himself, gain some knowledge, live among humans, live in the world. More than that, he wanted his father, his brothers to be proud. Tried to do the task put upon him to. To do good, to be honorable. Tried with all his heart, with everything he was. It wasn't enough. He disappointed his family. He disappointed his family, and still they wouldn't let him go.
More than anything, he wanted to be free of his prison cell. More than that, he wanted to be pure again. If he ever had been. Untainted with disappointing his brothers. To have a home with them.
Home is in family, it is not a place. His host, Sam, would agree. He loves the new place, the Men of Letters' bunker. The libraries, the weapons, as if it were made for someone like Sam. Or, well, someone like Sam should be. It's the first permanent place he ever really lived at. But he's having trouble making himself at home. He never really settled down in a room, claimed it for himself. Still thinks of Dean's robe as the dead man's robe. Knows the name of the man who owns Sam's bed. Sam drinks coffee from the cup Dean hands him and can't help the passing thoughts about the people who chose its red pattern.
It's nice in Sam's body. It's been long since he had a vessel, longer since he had one that seemed so compatible. But Gadriel feels the same way.
Fandom: Supernatural
Relationship:
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: 909
Words: 550
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction.
Summary:
Slipping into a new vessel is always a little shocking. Like slipping into a different reality. One is a shadowy forest underwater, algae and tar swaying with whispered currents. One is an over-furnished washroom, upholstered with rose patterns. This resonates with his host, Sam. So many motel rooms.
When you slip into a new vessel, the whole world outside the windows is different too. Higher, louder, brighter, softer, dangerous, delightful. You can't explain to humans how different they are.
Inside his new host, everything's charred. The smoke in Gadriel's throat is the lingering flavor of his wings. The inside of Sam smells like falling from home, also like being freed.
Gadriel tries to rediscover the reality of Sam, under the soot. Parts of it are brighter than he'd have expected, baby-new flesh. Other parts, though. When Gadriel revives them, returns them to the way they were before getting charred, they are flaccid yellowish-gray, wet with old despair, softly oozing through the pores.
His host's brother, more than a brother, Dean, throws a jab his way – "Stella?! Can't even trust you with beer". And everything healed enough, alive enough inside Sam to react, constricts and shudders, like frightened dogs all around Gadriel, overwhelming his surroundings with smell.
Gadriel can't help but stop to place a hand on a quivering organ. Lingers, heals some of them, rather than spending the time rebuilding Sam's body.
When Dean complains it's taking too long, it's all Zeke can do not to punch him.
Gadrien stays inside most of the time. Can't face his brothers, can't even think about facing them. He'd rather hide in this human. Heaven was a prison for Gadriel before he was put in a cell. Gadriel's father gave him a holy mission he'd never asked for. All he'd wanted was to leave, think for himself, gain some knowledge, live among humans, live in the world. More than that, he wanted his father, his brothers to be proud. Tried to do the task put upon him to. To do good, to be honorable. Tried with all his heart, with everything he was. It wasn't enough. He disappointed his family. He disappointed his family, and still they wouldn't let him go.
More than anything, he wanted to be free of his prison cell. More than that, he wanted to be pure again. If he ever had been. Untainted with disappointing his brothers. To have a home with them.
Home is in family, it is not a place. His host, Sam, would agree. He loves the new place, the Men of Letters' bunker. The libraries, the weapons, as if it were made for someone like Sam. Or, well, someone like Sam should be. It's the first permanent place he ever really lived at. But he's having trouble making himself at home. He never really settled down in a room, claimed it for himself. Still thinks of Dean's robe as the dead man's robe. Knows the name of the man who owns Sam's bed. Sam drinks coffee from the cup Dean hands him and can't help the passing thoughts about the people who chose its red pattern.
It's nice in Sam's body. It's been long since he had a vessel, longer since he had one that seemed so compatible. But Gadriel feels the same way.