Title: Rendition
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel (pre-slash)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sob.
I love this pairing. I love it a lot. I also love this fandom, even though it has a tendency to eat its own on a regular basis c:
-x-
The last thing Sam Winchester had expected to see upon awakening was the sight of an archangel in a turban. It wasn't because of any religious hang-ups (please, Sam had seen enough to realize that God and his angels weren't the only forces out there), but there were certain things that just Never Occurred, or were immediately dismissed as being implausible right after being thought of.
This… this was definitely one of those things.
Sensing his presence, the archangel lowered the instrument he had been holding, the silver – with Gabriel, it wouldn't be anything less – of the valves glinting in the sunlight. It was then, of course, that Sam registered where his was.
A small body of water lay before him, surrounded by sand and palm trees that swayed in an invisible breeze, one that filtered down to ruffle Sam's hair even as Gabriel rose to his feet, the oboe – for that was indeed what it was – held lightly in one hand. An oasis, Sam thought numbly. An oasis in what he imagined to be a vast, expansive dessert. And what he was doing here was just as much a mystery – last thing he had seen was the wall of the latest motel room they had been staying in, Castiel keeping vigil over them (and by 'them' he meant Dean, of course) as per usual. It was almost gratifying, the angel's devotion, even if he was almost painfully aware that it was mostly – scratch that, only – Dean's welfare Castiel was concerned with. Sure, he may care for Sam, but it was only as an extension of Dean. After all, if you messed with one Winchester, you messed with all of them.
A snap pulled him from his thoughts and Sam turned to stare blankly at Gabriel and, more specifically, at the blue turban that rested on his head, looking as if it had been lifted straight from one of those cliché Arabian movies, the ones about genies and magic lamps. Seriously, there was a diamond and a feather set carefully in the centre and everything, and the more Sam stared the more ridiculous he found it until he was snorting with barely concealed laughter.
"Gabriel," he greeted finally, having not seen the archangel in at least a month – not since the last time they had encountered a group of renegade demons. It wasn't odd, he supposed, as Gabriel vanished for long periods of time often without warning, as Castiel once had, but if he were honest he kind of liked having Gabriel around, if only because being the third wheel on the constantly turbulent chariot that was Dean and Castiel, angel of the Lord, got to be a bit tiresome. He could only roll his eyes at Dean so many times for one issue before his brother started tuning him out, after all.
A string of oboe music ripped him from his thoughts, and he turned surprised eyes on Gabriel, who merely raised an eyebrow and continued his playing, a haunting melody spilling from the instrument, and Sam was left to marvel at the grace and ease in which he played. He himself had attempted the oboe way back when and had been struck with how hard it was to make the damn thing sound even remotely decent, and it made him appreciate Gabriel's skill all the more, even knowing the man was an archangel and therefore created with the ability to do just about anything he wanted with however much skill he felt like at the time. There was just something about the oboe, Sam figured, that appealed to so many people. A certain mystique about it, reflected in the unique sound that brought images of rolling sand dunes and Arabian princesses to the minds of many; images of adventure, of genies, and of magic. Certainly Sam was enthralled by it, his own head conjuring up illusions of myths and legends he had only dreamed about, told to him through the mouth of Scheherazade and goddamn Gabriel and his ability to guess the things that affected Sam.
"Like it, Sammy?" The archangel smirked at him, golden-hazel eyes glimmering from underneath the increasingly ridiculous and over-the-top turban. Sam tried to groan, but it came out as more of a mewl as the music faded, and he hated himself a little for it. Just a little.
"Where are we, Gabriel?" he asked, ignoring the other's question before shoving his hands moodily into his pockets. Gabriel shrugged.
"Your mind, Winchester. I'm just an innocent bystander in this one."
"There's nothing innocent about you," Sam retorted, and for the first time he found himself wondering if this was really Gabriel or just a figment of his actual imagination, and if it was, why was it wearing a blue turban?
"I'm hurt," came the sarcastic reply. "And here I was playing so nicely for you."
"Ha."
Gabriel just shrugged at Sam's unenthusiastic response, an unconcerned look at his face. "You liked it." And he said it with such confidence that Sam felt the defensiveness bleed out of him.
"Maybe," he conceded to the archangel. Gabriel smirked. Sam kind of wanted to punch him. Maybe.
"Any requests?"
"No," Sam said flatly, but Gabriel only shrugged again before raising the reed to his mouth, lips folding around it in the specific position Sam knew you needed to make it sound less like a dying animal in heat and more like an actual instrument.
When the music once more spilled from the bell, Sam found that he was, helplessly and quite against his will, ensnared.
The tune was unfamiliar, as was the last one, but there was something different about this one – something… something deeper that both confused the younger Winchester and enthralled him at the same time. He knew, surreptitiously, that music had a direct effect on the brain, able to control the moods of any individual or crowd better than the most honeyed of words, and he had often changed the channel to the classical station when Dean was out, sometimes even leaving it on and laughing at his brother's pissed off expression. It wasn't that he didn't like Dean's music – he loved it, most of the time – but there was always something relaxing about the old classics, and he liked how he could always think more clearly either after or while listening to them.
And Gabriel played the oboe just like Sam had always imagined he would one day be able to, infusing it with subtle undertones of something that had Sam moving unconsciously towards him, eyes fixated on the movement of the archangel's fingers as they played each individual note.
Of course Gabriel would have to ruin it.
"Well, Sammy, my time here is up," he said smugly, likely taking in the slightly flushed expression on Sam's face. "It seems Dean-o wants to head out again. Say hello to Cassie for me."
And before Sam could get a word in edgewise Gabriel was gone, and the oasis receded into the darkness as his unconscious mind gave way to the waking word.
-x-
Later that week, after battling a couple of witches who had the less-than-innocent intent of murdering yet another teenage girl in yet another unheard of town, Sam watched as Dean talked to Castiel, a worried expression on his face despite the fact that the angel possessed super-amazing healing abilities and a mere gash was nothing to be concerned over, especially since it was already healed. Sam rolled his eyes. And Dean called him a girl. Still, as he cleaned up the last evidence of the fight, Sam couldn't help but feel a faint stab of jealousy towards the (totally oblivious) pair. Even Gabriel would be preferable to having to watch them make bedroom-eyes at each other, and Sam just wanted them to hurry up and kiss or something even knowing it would be the end of his both his peace and his sanity as he knew it. He remembered his dream, the surrealism of the sand and the oasis, and of the bewitching… call of Gabriel's music, and he wondered for the umpteenth time whether or not it had actually been a dream.
For a second, he even thought he heard the distant sound of an oboe.
But of course, that would just be ridiculous.