Calling Gabriel an undersized monkey with wings had probably been a mistake.
They're tiny - like, three inches tall - and yet somehow manage to screech loud enough to drown out Dean's rock music. There's twelve of them, and they climb on him and pull his hair and eat his food and have goddamn flying monkey sex on his head, and Dean laughs at him before realizing that he's going to have to deal with them too. Castiel keeps making abortive glances at Sam, flicking his eyes away rapidly whenever Sam meets them. Thankfully, no one outside of their little group can see the monkey, but that doesn't help much when their marks think Sam is crazy because he's suddenly waving his hands around and swiping at thin air.
Gabriel, on that fateful day, had tilted his head at Sam, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. Sam had thought that was the end of that - the archangel would go off and sulk for a couple days and be back in Sam's hair by Wednesday. That was how it always went, after all.
This time, Sam had turned back to his laptop and found the monkeys sitting on it. Staring at him with their black monkey eyes. Chittering.
He looks them up. They're mantled howler monkeys, and their only saving grace is that they do, in fact, sleep at night. Unless a car drives by. Or someone turns on the lights in the next room.
After a week and half, he's been officially driven crazy. He's managed to piss off the monkeys enough to get them to piss on him, and every time he washes his hair they just do it again. And again. The little fuckers are fast, too - their wings make it generally impossible for Sam to get away. They're staring at him in the shower, all lined up on the curtain rod, and he's pretty sure they're mocking him.
He gets out, dries off, dresses himself, and the alpha male sits on his shoulder and pisses on him again. He snaps, flailing around, trying to catch them and snap their stupid monkey necks.
He's out of breath, disheveled, and he's just tripped over his duffel to fall sprawling on the floor. He's only happy that Dean isn't here - the amused monkey-stares are bad enough.
"Gabriel," he growls, "get your dumb feathery ass over here. Now."
Gabriel doesn't come. He's in a glaring contest with twelve tiny monkeys. His life is terrible.
"Gabriel," he tries again, "if you don't come here I'll summon Kali and tell her about your 'little thing' with the Maenads."
The monkeys chitter.
"Gabriel," he pauses for a moment, "come on, I'll - buy you candy. Lots of it. Or cake, the really fancy kind with tiny fondant flowers and tons of frosting. Or - I dunno, expensive chocolates?"
One of the smaller monkeys has crept forward and stuck its nose in his ear.
"Gabriel. I'm sorry I called you a monkey."
Gabriel's sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed. There's a weird look on his face.
"No, you're not," he says, "you just want me to get rid of them."
Sam rolls over and scowls up at him. "It's not exactly proportionate retribution."
"Sure it is. You say," he puts his fingers up in air quotes, "'I swear, you're like an undersized monkey with wings', and I instruct on how I'm nothing like an undersized monkey with wings." He folds his arms again.
"…You kind of are."
"Oh, that's it, I'm - "
"I mean," Sam interrupts, "you pull my hair, and steal my food, and fly around, and try to sneak peeks of me in the shower, and when I get mad you get pissy and sulk."
"I do not."
"Is this not sulking?"
"So you're saying that the monkeys - "
"And yet," Sam says, "I'd still rather have you around than these things."
"…That's not very promising."
"You don't have sex on my head."
Gabriel leers. "I could - "
"Don't say it."
They stare at each other.
"Yeah, so, anyway, I'm not actually apologizing," Sam says.
"I should leave you here with them."
"Yeah, you should." Sam stands up. "But, y'know, I think I finally figured something out."
"Yeah?"
"All of this - literal monkey shit. You're just trying to push my buttons."
"Trying? Let me tell you, kiddo - "
"Because you're afraid. Because I push yours." Sam's leaning over Gabriel, now.
…Um. Yeah?
They're tiny - like, three inches tall - and yet somehow manage to screech loud enough to drown out Dean's rock music. There's twelve of them, and they climb on him and pull his hair and eat his food and have goddamn flying monkey sex on his head, and Dean laughs at him before realizing that he's going to have to deal with them too. Castiel keeps making abortive glances at Sam, flicking his eyes away rapidly whenever Sam meets them. Thankfully, no one outside of their little group can see the monkey, but that doesn't help much when their marks think Sam is crazy because he's suddenly waving his hands around and swiping at thin air.
Gabriel, on that fateful day, had tilted his head at Sam, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. Sam had thought that was the end of that - the archangel would go off and sulk for a couple days and be back in Sam's hair by Wednesday. That was how it always went, after all.
This time, Sam had turned back to his laptop and found the monkeys sitting on it. Staring at him with their black monkey eyes. Chittering.
He looks them up. They're mantled howler monkeys, and their only saving grace is that they do, in fact, sleep at night. Unless a car drives by. Or someone turns on the lights in the next room.
After a week and half, he's been officially driven crazy. He's managed to piss off the monkeys enough to get them to piss on him, and every time he washes his hair they just do it again. And again. The little fuckers are fast, too - their wings make it generally impossible for Sam to get away. They're staring at him in the shower, all lined up on the curtain rod, and he's pretty sure they're mocking him.
He gets out, dries off, dresses himself, and the alpha male sits on his shoulder and pisses on him again. He snaps, flailing around, trying to catch them and snap their stupid monkey necks.
He's out of breath, disheveled, and he's just tripped over his duffel to fall sprawling on the floor. He's only happy that Dean isn't here - the amused monkey-stares are bad enough.
"Gabriel," he growls, "get your dumb feathery ass over here. Now."
Gabriel doesn't come. He's in a glaring contest with twelve tiny monkeys. His life is terrible.
"Gabriel," he tries again, "if you don't come here I'll summon Kali and tell her about your 'little thing' with the Maenads."
The monkeys chitter.
"Gabriel," he pauses for a moment, "come on, I'll - buy you candy. Lots of it. Or cake, the really fancy kind with tiny fondant flowers and tons of frosting. Or - I dunno, expensive chocolates?"
One of the smaller monkeys has crept forward and stuck its nose in his ear.
"Gabriel. I'm sorry I called you a monkey."
Gabriel's sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed. There's a weird look on his face.
"No, you're not," he says, "you just want me to get rid of them."
Sam rolls over and scowls up at him. "It's not exactly proportionate retribution."
"Sure it is. You say," he puts his fingers up in air quotes, "'I swear, you're like an undersized monkey with wings', and I instruct on how I'm nothing like an undersized monkey with wings." He folds his arms again.
"…You kind of are."
"Oh, that's it, I'm - "
"I mean," Sam interrupts, "you pull my hair, and steal my food, and fly around, and try to sneak peeks of me in the shower, and when I get mad you get pissy and sulk."
"I do not."
"Is this not sulking?"
"So you're saying that the monkeys - "
"And yet," Sam says, "I'd still rather have you around than these things."
"…That's not very promising."
"You don't have sex on my head."
Gabriel leers. "I could - "
"Don't say it."
They stare at each other.
"Yeah, so, anyway, I'm not actually apologizing," Sam says.
"I should leave you here with them."
"Yeah, you should." Sam stands up. "But, y'know, I think I finally figured something out."
"Yeah?"
"All of this - literal monkey shit. You're just trying to push my buttons."
"Trying? Let me tell you, kiddo - "
"Because you're afraid. Because I push yours." Sam's leaning over Gabriel, now.
"Sure."
"You like me."
"That's an awfully large jump to conclusions."
"Really?" Sam leans down all the way.
Gabriel snaps his fingers. The monkeys disappear.
Gabriel doesn't.