"SAM!"
That was the tone that did not bode well. The tone of a father giving up on bathing his child, or an older sister laying down in bed only to discover her brother had left her the surprise of a bed full of Jell-O. The tone of a person who was absolutely done with being patient.
Samantha sat up and opened her eyes blearily.
The sound of Deanna's stomps grew louder, until she burst into the room and Samantha nearly did a double-take because she had expected something a lot more... drastic. And, well, Deanna looked almost the same—but with pink hair. Sam gaped.
Deanna floundered, freezing in the doorway. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, finally gestured in vague direction and blurted, "Sam. Shirt." Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, and Samantha looked down.
"Dee." Samantha glared. Bitchface #25. "Knock before you walk. You know I sleep shirtless."
Deanna flicked her eyes up, entire posture stiffening. "Sorry. It's just. Distracting. What are those, E-cups, now?"
"Deanna!"
A shoe to the face. "Ow! Fuck, Sammy, don't be such a bitch!" She tugged at the hem of the wifebeater she'd slept in, and sauntered into the room to sit on Sam's bed, where Samantha was still tangled in the covers.
Samantha glared at her. "Shut up and call your angel. Maybe she knows what's up with your stupid hair." She extricated herself from the sheets and staggered into the bathroom, swearing under her breath at the sudden verticalness of the world.
Damn boobs always unbalancing her.
Deanna snickered, and prayed, "Cas, we're in a bit of a situation so... Flap your way down here." She ended with an exaggeratedly enthusiastic "Amen."
Feathers rustled, and Deanna smirked. Every time.
"Deanna, there appears to be a problem with your hair..." Castielle trailed off, noting Deanna's expression of what seemed to be a mix of irritation, amusement and murderous intent.
Deanna cleared her throat. "Cas, man—" She quirked an eyebrow, grinning her most lascivious grin. "What's going on?" She gestured widely. "With my hair?" She stared a long time at Cas.
Castielle... her head tilted minutely to the side, a slight wrinkle at the skin between her eyebrows, lips slightly parted as if she wanted to ask a question. But... silence. Her pencil skirt hugged her vessel's hips and her matte black leather Mary Janes showed off the curve of her ankles encased in these semi-transparent black tights that made Deanna think of film noir and art nouveau. The trench was open, cinched in at the waist but unbuttoned. Her tie lay crooked over the front of her blouse as always. Her hair—dark and thick and full of broad ringlets—fell to her ass just as messily as ever.
"I have... no idea, Deanna." Castielle turned her eyes a certain way and the light caught at them. They glinted almost dangerously.
It was... "Wow." Deanna scratched the back of her neck with a grin, looking away. The sunlight through the window highlighted her freckles and lashes in gold and she rubbed her mouth before turning to look at Cas again. "You... You're really uh... pretty." The entire room stilled, air thick with awkwardness as they stared at each other.
Finally, Castielle spoke up—and DAMN her voice was low and smooth like a jazz singer's—to say, "Deanna. While I'm sure Jamie appreciates your sentiment, I would like to know why you called me here." Her gaze intensified.
Deanna snorted. "I dunno. Someone put dye in my shampoo?" She rolled her eyes at Cas' glare, and stood up. "Look, Cas. I dunno. I woke up and my hair was pink, and Sam didn't do it. So I thought you know, maybe you would know. Thought I'd call. It was Sam's idea." She rustled a hand through her hair. Muttered, "Sorry."
Castielle sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. "Wonderful." She sat at the foot of Sam's bed, resting her elbows on her knees. She looked like she wanted to say something scathing but a loud yelp from the bathroom cut her off.
"Gabriella, you son of a bitch!" Sam's voice pierced the air, and she sounded pissed.
Deanna groaned at the response—"No, no, clearly it's 'daughter of a bitch'!" What a grating, overly peppy voice. Like that chick from Wicked, but more threatening. (Not that Deanna knew what Wicked was. Of course not.) She heaved a deep, world-weary breath, and stomped over to the bathroom to throw the door open with a thick glower.
Sam widened her eyes at the doorway and her sister. "Dee." She flapped her hands toward Gabriella sitting on the bathroom counter and damn, if Team Free Will wasn't a hot set of women, Deanna didn't know what they were.
The picture Samantha and Gabriella made... One tall and curvy with her wavy brown hair plastered to her shoulders—wet from a cursory rinse in the sink—wearing gray boxer briefs and a brown v-neck shirt, the other petite but stocky with a long golden braid and red lipstick to shame a whore, perched on the sink in scarlet stilettos and high-waisted white shorts and a deep wine colored, distractingly tight boat neck shirt. Like the opening to a porno.
Gabriella raised her eyebrows high as if she could hear Deanna's thoughts. Hell, she probably could. Deanna glared at her. "What the hell did you do?"
Gabriella rolled her eyes, snapping them into the bedroom—fully clothing Samantha in tight jeans and a risqué camisole in the process, which elicited another yelp—and spread her arms wide. She twirled a lollipop between her fingers. (And those, too, were tipped in blood red. A perfect manicure.) "Look, Barbie." She gave Deanna a predatory smirk, and raised a hand to cut her angry protests off. "It's temporary."
Sam stared down at him. "What?" She ran a hand through her hair, dry thanks to Gabriella's Archangel mojo, and scoffed. "Gabby—" She waved her hands about, ever the awkward sibling. "That doesn't look temporary at all!"
The Archangel rolled her eyes with a patronizing sigh. "Samantha. Trickster. Hello?"
"Gabriella, I swear to God—" Deanna pointed at her angrily.
"I mean it! It'll be gone by tomorrow!" Gabriella pouted, and it would have been funny but for the serious glint in her eyes. "This..." She rolled his arm around in a movement meant to encompass the room. "It's just an innocent prank." Her grin was pained. "So here we are!"
Deanna closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Behind her, Cas made a disgruntled noise.
Sam snorted. "Great." She rummaged around in her suitcase, plucking out a hair tie and pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. "So... until it's gone Deanna's gonna have pink hair."
Gabriella opened her mouth but Deanna interrupted her. "No. More importantly, Gabe, how the hell are you alive?" She stared at Gabriella expectantly.
Gabriella laughed. "Really? You thought I was dead?" She shook her head. "Really dead. Me. The Archangel who has faked her own death multiple times, can warp reality, and kept herself hidden for how long?" She bit down on her lollipop with a crack. "I never died, hon."
Deanna wanted to punch that smug smirk off of her face, but she didn't want Sam and Cas to scold her like they always did, and she also didn't really want to break her fingers. "Fine. Whatever. Bonny's probably awake from all the shouting so let's just... apologize with breakfast before she beats our asses.."
"Great." Gabriella smiled teasingly.
"Let me just... find a sweater or something." Samantha groped around her belongings and decided a maroon flannel worked well enough, pulling it on and buttoning it almost completely.
Deanna snickered. "What, Sammy's embarrassed to be showin' all that cleavage?"
Sam just glared.
x...x...x...x
"What the hell?!" Bonny stared at her girls with the most comically baffled expression Gabriella had ever seen. She smirked at the older woman and she closed her eyes, pulled her hat off, and rubbed her face with one weathered hand. "Am I hallucinatin' or something?" She jammed her cap back on, and fixed her eyes on the elder Winchester and the Archangel behind her.
"'Fraid not, Old Girl!" Gabriella saluted her with a cocky wink. Behind her, Samantha rolled her eyes so hard Bonny thought she'd sprain something.
Bonny just shook her head. "Alright then, Trickster. Just don't kill anyone and I'll pretend you lot didn't wake me up at 6 am."
x...x...x...x
"Is this..." Deanna waved her hand at the car. "Is this real?"
Gabriella grinned. "100% authentic 1965 Cadillac de Ville. Perfect condition. Real leather upholstery." She didn't bother to open the door, opting instead to swing herself into the seat from above, since the top was down. Deanna let out a low whistle and vaulted herself into the passenger seat. Sam grumbled her way into the back and Cas kept silent, settling in uncomfortably beside the younger sister.
Gabriella revved the engine.
The candy red paint glittered in the sun.
Samantha rolled her eyes.
They were off.
x...x...x...x
"Something smells like... peaches." Samantha frowned, her brow creasing in that cute, thoughtful way. She kicked a pebble away from her feet.
Castielle tilted her head. "Yes... I agree."
"Yeah, but it's not like candy or anything. It smells like..." Sam gestured wildly, narrowly avoiding smacking her older sister across the face. "Like when you hold a ripe peach up to your nose. Something chocolate-y too." He turned her eyes on Gabriella. "Gabby, is that you?"
Gabriella smirked. "What? I ate a nectarine, okay?" She shrugged.
Castielle nodded. "Technically, both peaches and nectarines belong to the genus Prunus. In fact, I believe nectarines are a type of peach."
Deanna stared at Cas. "Dude. Boring."
Castielle sent her that unfathomable, baffled and offended look—the one with the squinty eyes.
Sam snorted.
"Well, we've established that I smell like peaches and chocolate, so how about you guys, huh?" Gabriella quirked an eyebrow.
Deanna glared. "Why the Hell would we talk about that? That's... dumb and girly."
Gabriella sent her eyebrows up high, and stopped walking. She leaned close to Deanna. "Motor oil, fries, maple syrup, and pie crust." A challenge twinkled in her eyes.
Deanna glowered at her. "Screw you, man."
"Not a man." Gabriella winked.
Sam toyed with a strand of her hair, and then spoke up. "What... What about me?" She made her doubtful, embarrassed face.
Gabriella laughed, loud and unabashed. She twirled close into Samantha's space, to sniff dramatically at her, and said, "Soap and tomatoes." At Sam's rather taken-aback look, she snickered. Tapped her nose. "And something... musky."
She danced off. They hurried to catch up with her. She shouted, "And before you ask, Cas—cinnamon and nutmeg!"
Deanna scowled at the ground.
x...x...x...x
"Remind me again why we're at the beach." Deanna crossed her arms over her black one-piece. Luckily she had managed to snag her Batman swim trunks to wear over them before Gabriella had whisked them away.
Gabriella gnawed at her Snickers ice cream. "Why not?" She licked her lips and the lipstick was still as perfect as ever. "Might as well have some fun." Her red and white striped string bikini rode dangerously low on her hips. Deanna kept her eyes above the collar bone. Samantha couldn't help a little wandering gaze though. (The style really, really suited Gabriella's figure.)
Speaking of. Deanna also pointedly ignored Samantha's entire person because weird. Weird and unfair. Samantha, unlike Deanna, was just so curvy and toned and just wow. Brown and pink polka dots seemed to fit her so well, and the combination of boy shorts and a bikini top just... Deanna tried hard not to think about it. Because ew. Sister. Gabriella, on the other hand, took every chance to rake her eyes over Samantha's entire body. And even Deanna's, a couple of times. Deanna shuddered.
And damn. Then there was Castielle. One of those weird... halter top one-piece numbers with strategically placed creases and a sort of mini-shorts thing goin' on—all in black with this sleek blue plastic rose at the chest. Flattering was an understatement. Elegant, sexy, teasing. Deanna closed her eyes just to make it easier to focus.
"Really? Just 'cause? Dude, we never take breaks."
"Which is exactly why we're at the beach!" Gabriella threw her arm around Deanna's freckled shoulders. "Team Free Will is a buncha wet blankets! Get out and have some fun every once in a while, Dee!" She shook her by the arm. Deanna grumbled.
Samantha shifted uncomfortably, irritated from being ogled by every teenaged boy that passed. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and let out a clipped, "Hey, Gabby, I'm not sure if I really—"
"Hey now! C'mon!" Gabriella bounced over to Samantha—and Deanna noticed she still wore heels. How? Although, Deanna supposed, Archangels probably didn't have to worry about sore feet or losing their balance. Deanna on the other hand preferred her nice, sturdy boots. To Hell with beach wear. Hiking boots were reliable.
Sam shrugged, awkward, as Gabriella continued. "Let loose! Have some fun! Build sandcastles, and play in the water! We could sing karaoke, even!" She patted Sam's back with a grin.
Samantha scoffed. "Yeah, you'd need a lot of alcohol to get me on stage." She hunched in closer on herself. "Like. A lot." Eloquent, Sam. Real smooth. Deanna rolled her eyes.
They made their way down the beach.
x...x...x...x
"HEY! Eyes up front you little shits!" Deanna raised a one-fingered salute to a group of young men who had been looking a little too intently at Castielle's curves. They scattered at Deanna's shout, snickering and stumbling, and Deanna tugged Castielle over to where Samantha and Gabriella were laid out on some towels. "Little assholes."
Gabby peered out at her from under her heart-shaped sunglasses. "You sure showed those boys." She smirked. Deanna glared at her. Gabriella only grinned and resettled her sunglasses and returned to laying immobile under the sun's rays. Samantha was beside her on another towel, a book on her face to shield her eyes. She seemed surprisingly relaxed.
"Dude, did you kill Sam or something?" Deanna raised an eyebrow, settling down on the edge of one towel and biting into the sandwich she'd bought. Gabriella snorted.
"No, you moron." Gabriella grinned. "I gave her a bottle of tequila."
"..."
"What?! I was tryin' to relax her!" Gabriella pouted, sitting up. "Sam's been real wound up lately, in case you hadn't noticed!" She crossed her legs.
"So you got her drunk." Deanna widened her eyes in irritation. "And she passed out."
"Not passed out, Dee. Tryin' to read." Samantha patted at Deanna's knee—or she tried to. She hit her shoes instead.
Deanna raised her eyebrows, almost smiling. "It's kinda hard to read when you're using the book as a sunshade." She leaned forward and plucked the book away from Samantha, marking the page and folding it. "You hungry?" Something in her expression softened. Big sister mode: on. Samantha responded by immediately sitting up with a growled Yes.
Gabriella laughed, watching Deanna fend off her ravenous not-so-little little sister with half a sandwich until she could dig around her plastic convenience store bag for a box of crackers. Samantha acted as if the snack was Christ's body, and then gave Deanna one of the most hilariously awkward and affectionate hugs Gabriella had ever witnessed. Amazing. Gabby would have to get her drunk more often.
x...x...x...x
So Gabriella couldn't convince them to do any karaoke. But hey. She could still sing loudly (and proudly) along with Lana Del Rey as they raced down the highway in her sleek Cadillac.
Samantha lounged dazedly in the passenger seat, Deanna having opted to sit with Cas in the back.
The sun beat down.
Samantha attempted to chime in with the singing, but for the most part she just grinned like a dopey dog and listened to Gabriella belt it—and Gabby wasn't one to toot her own horn (Wait, no. She totally was.) but she had a damn fine voice and could shift it to meet all the same levels as Lana.
It was pleasant. Fun, even.
Even Deanna had to admit that it didn't completely suck.
But then again, at some point she and Castielle had started swapping spit so that might be why.
Gabriella rolled her eyes, ignoring the two morons in the back seat to smirk fondly at Samantha, who beamed right back like a big ol' ray of sunshine.
Not bad. Not bad at all.