fic: send somebody

[marcicatverse]

From May/June 2011

Title: Send Somebody
Author: marcicat

Word Count: 5400
Rating: PG-13

Note: This story takes place in an alternate version of season 6, and loosely follows Ex-Spooks, Guns, and Money (send them all, there’s a party in Miami). It assumes Sam came back from hell right away, with soul firmly in place. Cas made a more triumphant return to heaven and is the de facto leader of the angels; Raphael and Crowley are still around, but without the power base they have in the show.

Instead of a pitched battle between Castiel and Raphael for the souls of Purgatory, there’s a much more fragmented scramble for the souls of Earth, including not just angels and demons, but also the pagan gods and goddesses — who decided that if God wasn’t going to show up for his own apocalypse, he was unlikely to quibble over a few souls.

(Also, Sam has a kitten.)

More Notes: Profound Bonds: Dean/Cas, Sam/Gabriel, and I’m certainly partial to the Michael/Jesse/Fiona for maximum adorableness, but if we’re talking about sex, there isn’t any in this story.

Enter your cut contents here.

Send Somebody

“I don’t understand. Why is the FBI investigating a car accident? Is my brother in trouble?”

Sam looked at Dean, who was staring intently at where Sam assumed a Reaper was hovering. No help from that direction, then. “I hope not,” he said. “We were hoping you could tell us, actually. Have you noticed any changes in Joey’s behavior recently? Any new friends, that sort of thing?”

Dean winced when Joey’s sister walked around the bed to pick up his hand. Right through the Reaper, probably. Sam had always been sort of glad he couldn’t see them — hospitals were weird enough already.

“No, nothing,” Melissa said. Or maybe it was Melinda? Shoot, now he wasn’t sure. “He was excited about getting into college, I guess. He was — he is — going to start in the fall.”

Sam’s phone rang. He hit ignore. There was a second of silence, then the phone rang again. Louder. He sighed. “Excuse me. I should take this.” Melinda nodded, and Dean managed to focus enough to wave a hand at him as he stepped out of the room.

“Gabriel,” he said, holding the phone up to his ear. “You couldn’t just text?”

“Sam! Come on, I just got my voice back a few days ago, cut a guy some slack. Besides, texting is so impersonal!”

Sam leaned on the wall and stuck his other hand in his pocket. “Well?” he said, trying not to smile. Somehow, Gabriel could always tell. “Was there a point to this, or are you just bored?”

“Preventing boredom is one of the steps on the eight-fold path to enlightenment.”

He definitely couldn’t resist the smile that time. “No it’s not.”

“Fine. The nine-fold path, then. I just thought you’d want to know, coma kid and the sister are about to have some high profile company.”

“What? Who?” The phone shut itself off. “Gabriel?”

From inside the room, Dean yelled, “Sam! Get your butt back in here!”

He stopped short just past the door. “Jesse? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Sam.” Jesse waved. “Good to see you again, man. Just keeping my hand in — you know, with the whole souls thing.”

“What’s going on?” Melissa asked.

A nurse bustled in, and Sam shut his mouth on whatever explanation might have been forthcoming. Usually he just went with whatever popped into his head first. They could always change the story later. “Visiting hours are over,” the nurse said, and over her shoulder he could see Jesse pointing and mouthing “demon.” Great. Fantastic. At least they’d finally gotten the timing right.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Dean said. As if on cue (which it ought to be, since it was on cue), Castiel appeared at the foot of the bed. An identically-dressed minion was with him.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel said calmly. “I am here to answer your prayer.”

“Me too, actually,” Jesse offered. “If you want options. I mean, I know you were praying to Jesus, but he’s not really picking up his messages these days. The forwarding gets us confused sometimes. Christ, anti-christ, both J-names — you can see how it could happen.”

The nurse — demon — scowled at them with black eyes. “Well, I’m here to keep your brother from dying. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

Melissa looked around the room. Then she closed her eyes and pinched herself. “You’re not dreaming,” Dean told her. “Sorry.” She opened her eyes. “You’re not really from the FBI, are you?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope.” He moved closer as surreptitiously as possible — if she was going to faint or freak out, he wasn’t going to do much good from across the room.

She looked around the room again. “Okay, why are those two dressed alike?” Without missing a beat, Dean said, “It’s twin day in heaven.”

The demon sighed. “Can we get this show on the road? I’ve got a quota to make, and these two are hardly the only souls up for grabs today.”

“You’re done here,” Sam said. “Move on.”

She hesitated. “Or we could gank you here,” Dean said. “I voted for that, actually.” (The door didn’t quite slam, but it was a close thing.)

Melissa looked like she was reaching the end of her acceptable weirdness threshold, which was pretty impressive, actually. Lots of people didn’t make it past the whole ‘angel of the Lord’ bit. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

Unfortunately, Dean’s explanation hadn’t improved with practice. “We all have a soul, right? Well, souls are like your virginity. You can only give it away once, and everyone wants it.”

Sam stared at him, along with everyone else (except for Joey, who was still unconscious). “Dude. That was terrible. That was possibly the worst explanation I’ve ever heard.”

“What? Come on, you don’t like my zombie apocalypse with souls instead of brains explanation, you don’t like my popping your soul cherry explanation — I’d like to see you do better.”

“Fine.” Sam thought for a minute. “There’s a war for souls,” he said. “You’re in the middle. Sorry.”

Castiel made a noise that could have been a protest, or maybe he was just clearing his throat. “I would not go so far as to call it a war. A skirmish, perhaps.”

And of course, Dean couldn’t let something like that pass. “A skirmish for souls, really, Cas? What’s next — a scuffle for souls? A sack race for souls?”

“Hey, can I have this jello?” Jesse asked, instantly drawing everyone’s attention. Melinda stared at him. “What, is that like some kind of a secret code for my soul?”

Jesse shrugged. “What would I want with souls? I told you — I got your prayer by mistake, and figured I’d stop by. Actually, are you guys all set with that part? Because I should really be getting back to Miami.” Dean nodded, and Jesse disappeared (along with the jello).

“Does this mean Joey’s going to be okay?” Melissa asked.

Sam looked at Dean, who looked at Cas, who looked at the Reaper (or into thin air, which seemed less likely but still possible). The minion angel was also looking at the Reaper. “Your services are not required,” he said.

Based on Dean’s expression, the Reaper took that with a certain lack of good sportsmanship. Castiel looked back at Melinda and said, “Your brother was not intended to die today. The demon that orchestrated his car accident was attempting to purchase your soul in return for his recovery.”

“But why us?”

Even Castiel paused for a second before answering that one. “I believe you were targeted because your soul would be what you call a ‘two for one’ deal. Your unborn child’s soul could be bargained as well.”

Melissa paled and put a hand over her stomach. “Never,” she said.

Sam bit his tongue to keep from saying ‘never say never,’ because she didn’t need to hear it from him, and Dean would just accuse him of being emo again.

“Great,” Dean said, clapping his hands together. “Keep that thought. We’ll hang around until Joey wakes up, just in case, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

It was several cups of vending machine coffee later when Melissa wandered deliberately over to the chair he’d staked out by the window. “I have one more question,” she said. “Earlier — you said ‘you’re in the middle.’ Not we. So are you guys, like, not human?”

It was kind of nice to run into someone who jumped to “not human” instead of “soulless creatures of evil.” He sort of wished he’d thought to come up with some kind of alien cover story, just for fun.

“No, we’re human,” he said. “Just not really up for grabs. Dean’s soul is —“ he tried to think of a diplomatic way to phrase it “— spoken for.” On the other side of the room, Dean and Cas were deep in conversation, and standing about two inches apart. (He hadn’t decided whether it looked more or less obvious now that Cas wasn’t wearing the creeper trench coat.)

“Mine’s just sort of — secondhand.” He figured that was easier than trying to explain the whole demon blood, vessel of Lucifer thing.

Melissa looked back and forth between him and Dean. “Right,” she said. Sam just shrugged. “It’s kind of a long story.”

***

Finally, it was just the three of them, standing around the Impala in the hospital’s parking garage. Time for the usual awkward “is Cas riding with us or disappearing back to heaven” conversation.

“Seriously, Cas, that was the last trainee, right?” “Yes, at least for the moment.”

Sam tried not to look too relieved. Even though Cas had assured them that messing with the Winchesters was firmly off the agenda, Sam couldn’t help feeling that old smite-y vibe from most of the angels they’d met post-apocalypse. Seemed some of them didn’t draw much of a distinction between “demon blood junkie” and “ex- demon blood junkie.” (And that didn’t even take into consideration the question of harboring the semi-angelic former herald currently masquerading as his phone.)

Dean sauntered towards the trunk. “Good news. Hey, we got you something.” Cas sighed. “Your insistence on providing me with increasingly unlikely apparel —“

“Is hilarious,” Dean cut in. “Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t think it was funny when all the angels were wearing Survivor bandanas.”

It had been pretty funny. Cas’ expression twitched like he was covering up a smile. “Very well,” he said.

Dean unrolled his latest find — a purple t-shirt that read “I went to Hell and back and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s expression was priceless, and Dean just stared back, exuding innocence.

“Cas.”

Sam snapped a picture. Really, you couldn’t let a moment like that pass without recording it. He waited, but Dean and Cas appeared engrossed in their unspoken conversation. He cleared his throat. “Guys, are we going, or what? The cat’s going to go ballistic if we’re not back in time to feed her.”

“If she shreds my pillowcase again,” Dean grumbled, but he pulled out his keys. Sam just rolled his eyes. Like Dean hadn’t been the one to spend an hour grilling the pet store employee about cat toys.

“I will return to the motel,” Cas said. “And ascertain the cat’s current whereabouts.” “Thanks, Cas,” Sam said. “Don’t let her guilt you into feeding her tuna.”

Cas didn’t bother to reply, and he sighed. “Dude, you’ve got to talk to him about the tuna thing.”

“Me? It’s your cat.” “You’re the one with the profound bond, remember?”

***

Two nights later, Balthazar appeared in their kitchen. (They’d taken to staying in residential motels, since they were more likely to allow pets.) “Well, isn’t this cozy?” he said, slowly turning around. Never one for conforming, Balthazar’s shirt was nonetheless the same garish purple as the one Dean had given Cas. The front text read “I went to Hell and back...” On the back, however, he’d added the words, “...but all the good Winchesters were taken.” Sam nearly choked on his water.

“You like my version of heaven’s latest fashion statement?” Balthazar spread his hands wide.

“Cas is going to smite you so hard for that,” Dean said. “Ah. Actually, Castiel hasn’t seen it. Winchester exclusive, and all that.” “Is there a point to this visit?”

“I can’t just drop by to say hello?” They both stared at him, and Balthazar tilted his head in a surprisingly Cas-like gesture. “No, I suppose not. I have a message. Seems a few of Loki’s old associates have started sniffing around after his powers. They’re all abuzz with it, in fact. ‘Is he gone, or isn’t he? Will he, or won’t he? Button, button, who’s got the button?’”

He looked pointedly at what Dean had taken to calling the angel phone. “They’re going to hit on the connection sooner rather than later, boys. Time’s almost up.”

He disappeared with a rush of wings. Sam exchanged a look with Dean. Gabriel had been pretty quiet since that day at the hospital, but he’d figured he was just sulking, or catching up on world news, or something. Certainly he hadn’t been expecting there to be a time limit on resurrection. A phone was better than a dvd, but it was still a far cry from a fully powered Trickster archangel.

“We need a plan,” Dean said. Sam started the mental countdown. Three, two, one.. “I’ll call Cas.” Since Dean wasn’t watching, he didn’t bother hiding his eye roll. So predictable.

“Call him outside,” Sam said. “Some of us are working.”

“Sure, if by ‘working’ you mean ‘texting your bff Gabriel.’ You two are practically joined at the hip these days — and I do mean that literally; it’s skeevy that you put that phone in your pocket.”

He’d thought of that, actually. It was a little skeevy, but it wasn’t like Gabriel had any sensory perception at the moment other than the phone’s speakers and camera (he really, really hoped). And he could only imagine the trouble if he lost it. (“We’re looking for a phone. No, we can’t call it; it hasn’t got a number. Actually, it calls us, when it gets bored.”) Yeah, that would go well. “Shut up, Dean,” he said, in place of any explanation.

Dean offered a one-fingered salute as he left. Sam moved the kitten to the other side of the bed and poked the phone. “Seriously, though. Do you have a plan?”

“There’s not exactly an instruction manual for this,” Gabriel said. “Not dying has worked out pretty good so far. I’m still working on the rest.”

“Okay.” He paused for a second, before adding, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

From outside the door, he clearly heard Dean say, “Oh, hell no.” Castiel’s reply was too quiet to carry.

“Sounds like little bro’s got some ideas,” Gabriel said. “There’s a plan Z, but I’d rather not go there.”

“Zombies?” he asked. He wished he was kidding, but it was Gabriel.

“Not... exactly.” Which wasn’t ‘exactly’ reassuring.

Dean stalked into the room, expression thunderous. Castiel, following behind him, had that vaguely frustrated look he generally wore after any kind of argument with Dean.

“Sam, tell Cas his idea sucks.”

Sam looked at Castiel. “I — don’t even know what it is,” he said. Dean and Cas followed a fairly standard pattern with things like this. If they were past the yelling and the getting all up in each other’s personal space, it was only a matter of time before they were back to sharing pie and exchanging long, speaking looks.

“Cas here would like us to rustle up some believers for Gabriel,” Dean said, scooping up the kitten before it could get higher than his knee. (It was possible Dean didn’t realize how much holding the kitten reduced the effectiveness of his glare.) “By going to a Supernatural convention.”

Sam felt his eyebrows go up. “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say? ‘Huh?’ We nearly died the last time we got roped into one of these things.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s the worst plan we’ve ever had. Besides, we nearly die all the time.” And really, if it was a choice between zombies and Supernatural fans, he figured the fans were probably the safer bet.

Castiel added, “You would be accompanied by several angelic guardians as well as myself. The risk of permanent death should be relatively minor.” Angels — always so optimistic.

“See?” Sam asked. “Cas will be there.” He didn’t add ‘to hold your hand, you big wuss,’ but he was sure Dean heard the implication. Siggy’s purr was loud in the silence as Dean spread the glare around.

“Fine. Let’s do this thing. But if we get attacked and horribly mutilated by ghosts, demons, dick angels, or any other creature that goes bump in the night, I am totally saying I told you so.”

***

Despite Dean’s dire predictions, they arrived at the convention without any trouble, checking into the hotel as Michael Aday and Jim Steinman.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sam said, looking at the table Cas led them to.

“You’re selling t-shirts?” Dean asked. He managed to inject that blend of ‘slightly irritated what the fuck’ mixed with ‘I’m potentially very disappointed’ that Sam could appreciate a lot more when it was aimed at someone else.

Castiel remained unflustered. “The convention organizers assured me that the selling of apparel merchandise was the most effective way to interact with the largest number of people.”

Since Dean was temporarily speechless, Sam took a moment to examine the table. It looked like there were two designs — both had the iconic angel wings and halo, but half included the words “I Pray (to Castiel)” and half said “What Would Gabriel Do?” A neatly-lettered sign read, “The Power of Prayer: $2 Each. All Proceeds to Charity.”

“What are you doing with the money?” he asked, just for curiosity’s sake.

“Based on observation of human charities, we have selected an organization that provides free veterinary services for the pets of hospitalized orphan children.”

Dean whistled. “That’s like the trifecta of giving — the animals of sick orphan kids? Color me impressed. Does just wearing a shirt actually help, though?”

Cas actually shrugged, which was probably a sign he was spending way too much time around Dean. “It is, as you say, ‘worth a shot.’ The next safest plan involves allying with several covens of witches.”

“No witches,” Sam said automatically. Dean and witches should never be involved in the same plan, unless the plan called for them to hate each other at first sight and then try to kill each other. Cas just nodded, and Rachel appeared behind the table with a flutter of wings.

“Castiel,” she said, completely ignoring him and Dean. “Rachel,” Cas acknowledged.

Sam looked at Dean and raised his eyebrows. “Dude,” Dean said. “Subtlety much? You can’t just appear out of thin air.”

“It appears obvious that I can,” Rachel said.

“He means people will notice,” Sam said. There was a seedy looking guy already headed in their direction, and two women setting up a table across the room staring at them.

Rachel started pulling more shirts out from under the table and arranging them into tidy rows. “Humans rarely notice what is right in front of them. No one will question me.” She glared at Dean as she spoke, and Sam had a sudden mental image of the angel minions sitting around haven and gossiping about Castiel and Dean’s “profound bond.”

The seedy guy arrived with a huff before Dean could reply. “This your first year?” he said.

Castiel nodded carefully. “Yes,” he said. Well, that seemed safe enough.

“I’m gonna give you a piece of friendly advice,” the guy said. “We’re all fans here, and we all stick together, so at the end of the day everyone goes home happy, right?”

“That seems an admirable sentiment,” Cas said. Rachel stopped folding, and if the guy had been paying any attention to her at all, he might have thought twice before continuing.

“They come on, man, two bucks for a t-shirt? You’re gonna come in here as a first- timer and undercut the market like that? The price has got to go up, man.”

Dean stepped forward and pointed at the table. “Hey buddy, read the sign. All proceeds to charity. You want to be the one to tell some sick orphan kid that Fluffy can’t get his heartworm pill, just because you were worried about your wallet? ‘Sorry Annie, Sandy’s just going to have to get that thorn out of his paw by himself, the man at the convention told us so.’”

The man’s expression shifted in an instant. “You guys are helping animals? Man, why didn’t you just say so?” He pulled a crumpled five out of his pocket and held it out to Rachel, who took it gingerly. “Give me two of the Gabriel ones; my sister will go nuts for them. Keep the change,” he added. “Sorry for coming down on you like that. Welcome to the con.” He hustled off the way he’d come, giving them a parting thumbs up.

“Wow,” Dean said. He nodded. “Yeah. That was weird.”

***

They were supposed to meet up for lunch. By noon, the hotel was starting to fill up as the non-vendor attendees checked in, and Sam grabbed a table in the corner of the lobby. Dean and Cas showed up within seconds of each other.

“I’ve been slapped by six women this morning,” Dean said, dropping into a chair.

Cas said, “I have spent the morning instructing the creators of the children’s labyrinth in how to recreate Gabriel’s name in Enochian using masking tape,” as if that was a natural follow-up. Then he looked at Dean and frowned. “Six women?”

“Didn’t you read the welcome packet?” Sam asked.

Dean gave him the ‘are you crazy?’ look. “Sam. Why would I read the welcome packet?”

He rolled his eyes. “Apparently, the convention organizers got a lot of complaints about the — their words, not mine — ‘blatant sexism and objectification of women’ in the books influencing the way women were treated at conventions. So they made up the slapping defense. Really, six times?”

“I do not objectify women!” Dean looked indignant. (Sam kept his mouth shut.)

“It seems six women disagree,” Castiel said calmly. “I have not been slapped.” It was hard to tell sometimes, but he was pretty sure Cas was just baiting Dean when he said things like that.

“Neither have I,” Sam said. “But I spent most of the morning debating Latin versus Sanskrit for spell work — there’s a panel on it this afternoon that looks pretty interesting. Oh, and Gabriel upgraded to include Bluetooth.” He put the phone on the table so Gabriel could do the speakerphone thing if he wanted.

“Way to mention me last, Sammy. Good to know I rank right up there just below Sanskrit on the priority scale.”

Dean looked suspiciously at Sam’s ear. “Why’s he getting smaller?”

“Conservation of mass is a joke you knuckleheads came up with all on your own. Conservation of energy is where it’s at.”

Personally, Sam thought Gabriel just enjoyed making him look like an asshole who refused to get off his phone, but maybe that was just a side benefit. “Sure,” he said. “You’ve got the itty bitty living space down, but I have yet to see any phenomenal cosmic powers.”

“You’re going with Aladdin jokes now, really? How very early '90s of you.”

“It’s working, though, right?” Dean asked. “Every time a bell rings, you get closer to having wings?”

“Theoretically. There’s no—“

“No instruction manual, yeah. We got it the first four hundred times. Look, I’m just saying — if you’re going to hit some kind of critical mass, or tipping point, or whatever, and treat everyone to the ‘I’m an archangel, sorry your eyeballs melted’ show, a little warning would be nice.”

“Gee, I never would have thought of that, Dean. We’re trying to get a thousand people predisposed to not want to kill me to all think happy thoughts about me at once; I’m hardly going to make burning their eyes out of their heads my first act as a reconstituted angel.”

Dean looked skeptical. “Are you sure they don’t want to kill you? You’re not exactly a heroic figure in the books.”

Sam shook his head. “He did sacrifice his life for us, Dean. People move on.”

“Or maybe they just don’t read very carefully.” Dean pointed at someone standing in the registration line wearing a trench coat. “That guy obviously didn’t. It’s bad enough they dress up as us; they could at least do it right.”

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Gabriel said. “I mean, I think I would have remembered if Cas had ever worn normal-person shoes.”

Sam looked more carefully. “I don’t think he’s supposed to be dressed up like Cas. He looks more like he’s going for the Tenth Doctor. You know, Doctor Who?” A thought occurred to him (one he really hoped was his own, and not Gabriel expanding to psychic communiques). “Cas, did you steal this plan from Doctor Who?”

Dean said, “I thought this was supposed to be a Supernatural convention.” And then, “Wait, what?”

“Not — in its entirety,” Cas said. Sam would swear that if he wasn’t an angel, he’d be fidgeting in his chair. “That a convergence of faith can power a miracle is not a unique storyline.”

“What he means is yes. Except on Doctor Who they didn’t think to sell t-shirt souvenirs of the event.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Dean said. “Eight dollars for a cheeseburger and it turns out we’re doing cult television’s greatest hits.”

“Perhaps we should check on Rachel,” Cas suggested.

They passed two more Tenth Doctors on their way back to the vendor level, but Dean ignored both of them. (They were women, so Sam figured he probably just didn’t want to get slapped again.) Rachel didn’t do anything so obvious as to look happy to see them, but she did make eye contact that didn’t make him want to hide under a table, which seemed like progress.

“I do not understand the popularity of the Gabriel t-shirts,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “I have read the Winchester Gospels and do not believe Gabriel is represented as a character that one should aspire to imitate.”

“I think that’s kind of the point,” Sam said.

“People believe the question to be facetious?” Rachel asked.

Sam checked to make sure Dean was distracted by the blinking LEDs on the next table over. “Maybe fans of Chuck’s books are more likely to be members of a subculture or counter-culture that embraces the idea of reversing societal norms and expectations,” he said.

Balthazar appeared next to him without drawing a single look from the crowd. “Nah, people just love the bad boy image,” he said. He was wearing a neon orange shirt with the same wings and halo image, but with the phrase “Who you ‘gonna call?” scrawled on the back in what looked like red sharpie. “I’ll take one of each,” he said to Rachel.

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked.

Balthazar waved a hand. “Not to worry, just a quick delivery. I’ll be back in time for the show.”

"I never liked that guy," Gabriel said in Sam's ear. "He's not so bad," Sam said. "If you can believe it, he's never actually tried to kill us, which is unusual. Refreshing."

"Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. Just wait till I'm corporeal again."

They were tentatively aiming for the evening dance party as the scene of Gabriel's "critical mass, tipping point thing." (If you could still call it evening when it didn't start till midnight.) There was one thing that had been bothering him, though, ever since Gabriel mentioned conservation of energy. "Hey, Gabriel?"

"Yeah. Still here." "What are you doing with all that energy -- you know, between now and then?"

"Oh, that." Gabriel sounded nonchalant, which set off all kinds of alarm bells in Sam's head. "I'm storing it. In you, actually."

"What?"

"Relax. I wouldn't drink any more coffee today, but I doubt there will be any long- lasting side effects."

"Gabriel!"

"Kidding, Sam. I wouldn't be doing it if there was a chance it would hurt you."

He still wasn't entirely convinced -- Gabriel was the one who kept saying there wasn't an instruction manual. And there was a difference between 'a chance it would hurt him' and 'a chance it would affect his life in some unspecified and as-yet-to-be- determined way.' On the other hand, if Gabriel had asked, it's not like he would have said no.

"What about short term side effects?"

"Oh look, is that Jesse?"

It was, along with Michael and Fiona, and Sam let himself be distracted. "Sam!" Jesse said. All of them were in Gabriel t-shirts.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked. "I thought you couldn't leave Miami." "Michael figured out how to leave an away message," Fiona said. "We weren't going to miss this," Jesse added. A kid ran up and tugged on Michael's sleeve. "Are you Svantevit's heir?" he asked. Michael looked startled. "Yes," he said.

The kid nodded. "Are you here to answer my prayer?"

Michael pulled a yogurt cup out of nowhere and started eating. "This is a little out of my jurisdiction. That guy's the anti-christ, though," he said, pointing a thumb at Jesse. "You could talk to him."

***

The rest of the afternoon was something of a blur, which Sam was totally blaming on Gabriel's "probably not long-lasting" side effects and the bottled drinks Michael kept producing for him. By midnight he was feeling really, really awake.

"Where are Dean and Cas?" he asked. "They're going to miss the party." The ballroom set aside for the convention was crowded; it seemed like everyone was wearing something that lit up, strobed, or glowed in the dark.

"Check the corner by the emergency exit," Gabriel said.

Sure enough, there they were, sleeping on the floor behind a fake palm tree. Dean was wearing Castiel's hoodie, and Cas was using Dean's shoulder as a pillow. Sam tried to muffle his laugh, but he was pretty sure that just turned it into an undignified snort. Dean opened his eyes and glared. "Keep it down, Sammy."

How anyone could sleep given the decibel level coming out of the speakers, he had no idea. "Slowing down in your old age?" he asked.

"Just tired of being surrounded by crazy people," Dean said. He squinted at Sam. "Dude, did you know you're glowing?"

"It's just the lighting in here," Sam told him.

Cas sat up abruptly. "No," he said. "I believe Dean is correct. You do appear to be glowing."

He sighed. "Great. Gabriel?"

"Busy!"

"Gabriel says he's busy," he said.

"I am sure he is." Castiel stood up and hauled Dean to his feet easily. "If we are correct in our assumptions, he is currently regrowing his Grace."

Jesse pushed through the crowd, leading Fiona by the hand. Michael arrived through the emergency exit seconds later. "I was just checking," he offered. Checking what, he didn't clarify.

Balthazar was next, and Sam was pretty sure he saw Adam and Nick behind him. "I think I should probably sit down," he said. He tried closing his eyes, but it wasn't any better, and he opened them again.

Someone -- he was pretty sure it was Dean -- muttered, "If God shows up for this shit show, I'm gonna pop him one." Were they expecting God? He wasn't dressed for meeting the almighty.

It did remind him, though -- he was supposed to be giving Dean something. "Dean," he said, and then lost track of what he was saying.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here. You doing okay?"

He nodded. "Dean," he said again. It came to him suddenly, and he decided he didn't mind this time if Gabriel was reading his mind. "I have your amulet," he said. "I should give it back." He'd found he couldn't just leave it behind when Dean tossed it out at the motel, but somehow there hadn't exactly been a good time to bring it up since then.

"So, you're kind of -- sparking, right now," Dean said. "But what the hell." Sam felt himself gripped in a classic Dean bear hug.

That's when the lights went out, which he guessed he should have been expecting. The fireworks lighting up the ceiling were a surprise, though, as was the glow he could see emanating from all the angels. He thought they must be attracting a lot of attention.

And then Gabriel was there, he was back, even though Sam could still feel the Bluetooth hooked over his ear. "Did you miss me?" Gabriel said, grinning. He reached out an arm and dragged Gabriel closer, and somehow it turned into a group hug, and he was pretty sure there was some clapping going on somewhere in the room.

"Thanks." Gabriel's voice cut through the noise in his head.

"Don't mention it," he said. What he meant was 'you're welcome, and thanks for not being dead,' but he thought Gabriel would get that too. He found Dean and leaned close enough to make himself heard. "Emergency exit?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Going one better," he said. "How do you feel about a vacation in Miami?"

THE END