So I was having a little conversation with elsewhere_kels concerning my last story, in which I lamented that I'd forgotten to add in a "Lassie" reference when I tossed Dean down a well (yes, I'm really mean to Dean, I think we all get that now).

The original plan was to have a snippet of dialogue that would go a bit like this:

Sam: "Hey, Timmy, did you fall down the well?"

Dean: "You realize that makes you Lassie, right?"

Sam: *bitchface*

To which elsewhere_kels replied: Aw, no! A Lassie reference would have been epic! It's no wonder, the only way it could have been improved and you've already thought of it.

Then the conversation went like this:

elsewhere_kels: Do iiiit. =D The Power of Collie-Sam compels you!

Me: Lassie!Sam makes me giggle like a mad giggling thing. ;)

elsewhere_kels: ...You know there has to be Trickster!Gabriel-turns-Sam-into-a-Collie fic where he's kind of woobie over him now, right? x3

Me: Oh my God, that would be cracktastic.

And thus, a crack!fic was born. I make no apologies for this, because it's total and utter crack, and it ATE MY BRAIN and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. It's not finished yet, but it's nearly done, and I've been writing almost non-stop since early on Monday, when I first decided to start typing. So I'm going to start posting, maybe one or two chapters a day. They're short, so I think it's okay.

It's utterly unbeta'd, and is really, really silly.

Title: Take Me Home

Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.

Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10

Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.

Warning: Utter crack. A little bit of non-explicit het (there will be warnings in the appropriate chapter), swearing, violence. Also, dogs. Lots of dogs.

Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.

Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!

Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!


Part 1

Sam is sick to death of angels. Sick of angels, demons, the apocalypse, the whole nine yards. So now he's in a shopping mall with Dean, trying to sort through a giant mess of a case, but at least it's a regular case, a break from all the end-of-the-world crap that's hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. He's beginning to understand Dean's obsession with finding "normal" cases, the paranormal equivalent of two-point-five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence in the suburbs. So this case, in which people started dying in weird and creative ways, seemed like the way to go for a while.

Of course, it's a gigantic mess now: nothing about it makes any sense, because none of the deaths seem related except for the fact that they're all in the same mall, none of it hangs together, and whatever is responsible has a sick sense of humour. There's no wishing well in town, so it's not that. It's enough to make Sam wonder if they haven't stumbled across faeries, except that he's only ever heard of faeries in really old textbooks, and the odds are pretty slim. Faeries stick to the woods, not to shopping malls. In fact, if Sam didn't know better, he'd think it was some sort of ironic commentary on American consumer culture. Still, it 's a way to take their minds off all the death, all the suffering, the weight that's pressing down on them. Also, it takes them away from all the freaking angels, and Sam hasn't been this pleased to be doing something in months, possibly years at this point. Right now, the word "angel" is his least favourite in the dictionary.

Sure, there was a time when he prayed every day, at first, the way normal people do. Pastor Jim explained about prayer when Sam was very small, and it seemed like a great idea at the time: to appeal to a higher power for help, for guidance, and sometimes for a puppy (when he was five years old). Then as he grew older he prayed for a whole lot of things: for Dean, for his father, to get him out of hunting (please, God). The last few years, the prayers were more desperate: please, God, don't let Dean die. Please, God, give me back my brother. Please God. Please please please.

Then Sam met his first angel, and the angel looked at him as though he was something to be scraped off its shoe, didn't even want to touch him. Sam never felt so filthy in his life, tainted and sick and disgusting. He hasn't prayed in over a year now, stopped the praying the day the angels told Dean to go into a locked room and torture a demon. He's given up thinking that maybe angels are the way he first imagined them. Dean is right, they are douchebags. Meddling, sadistic pricks who don't actually care about God's creations at all. Between Uriel, Zachariah and Lucifer, Sam has had enough angels to last him a lifetime. Castiel is going a long way to earning back Dean's trust (if he ever even lost it), but he still won't come near Sam unless he absolutely has to, and so Sam avoids him as much as he can.

And speaking of sadistic douchebags, Sam has reserved a special place in his heart for Gabriel, whom he's known for so long only as "The Trickster." He's pretty sure he hates him even more than Lucifer. Lucifer, at least, has tried to make nice to Sam in his own weird, twisted way. Sure, it's all a trick to seduce him into becoming a cheap suit, but at least it's a real attempt to seduce. Gabriel, on the other hand, has been going out of his way from the start to make Sam's life even more of a living hell than it already was.

It seems like his reasoning follows the same patterns: Dean is going to die? Awesome. You know what would be fun? Making Sam live his death over and over. Even more fun? Making Sam live without him for six extra months, just to see what will happen. For shits and giggles. You know what else is fun? Making him argue with Dean. Shoving them both into a make-believe TV land and tormenting them until they both decide to say "yes" to playing angel condom, because boo-hoo, little Gabriel wants his angelic brethren to get their little apocalypse over with. Gabriel, Sam has decided, is the worst coward of the lot: hiding behind his tricks and his pranks and his sadistic douchebaggery. Fucker.

"Oh, come now, I'm not that bad!"

Sam straightens up from where he's been looking at the statue of an overweight man, complete with dirty jeans and black t-shirt from Think Geek, XBox controller held in a death grip. It's a wax effigy, except that not five hours ago he was alive and well and arguing vociferously with someone else in the store about how lame the new reboot of Star Trek was.

"I knew it," Sam is resigned. Can't bring himself to be surprised. "You're way too fond of irony for your own good."

"What can I say? It's an appealing trope," Gabriel smirks, hops up to sit on a glass display case full of Wii's and iPods, his short legs dangling ludicrously. He's wearing a really garish shirt, all big prints and loud colours, a leather bomber jacket over it, his hair slicked back with what might be water but looks more like Brillcreem.

"The Fonz called. He wants his wardrobe back."

Gabriel pretends to be wounded. "Oh, Sam, always with the bon mot."

"What do you want?"

"What, I can't just have some fun now and then? I'm taking care of some colossal assholes who think that their possessions are more important than their lives." Gabriel crosses his legs, folds his arms across his chest, smirks at him. He looks around. "I've always hated malls. Let's take this little pow-wow outside, shall we?"

He snaps his fingers, and suddenly they're outside, Gabriel perched on the hood of the Impala instead of the counter. Sam straightens, rubs the back of his neck, tries to remember where he left Dean.

"Dean will kill you for doing that to his car."

"He's welcome to try. I don't foresee him pulling holy oil out of your ass any time soon." Sam snorts.

"You know what? I don't care. I know there's nothing we can do to stop you. Was there some new and interesting form of torture you wanted to inflict on me this week? How about skipping the preliminaries this time and just making me insane right off the bat?"

"Such a drama queen. I'm amazed Dean has put up with you for so long. That's the trouble, isn't it? That he puts up with you, I mean. Big brother, always looking out for little Sammy, no matter what kind of shit you pull. He's the soul of forgiveness, isn't he?"

Sam's fists clench at his side. "Just... shut up, would you? You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I do. It's pathetic, really, how you have no life outside of him. Sure, you made a big show of going off on your own, going to Stanford, getting a girl, but you hopped right back into the life with alacrity, didn't you, Sammy-boy? Followed wherever big brother led you. And look what happened when he died, the way we all knew he would: you imploded." Sam feels heat creeping up his neck, suffusing his cheeks. "Self-destructed so fast I almost got whiplash. Addiction is so cliché, too, although I will credit you with putting a creative spin on it by unleashing the apocalypse in the process. And then Dean forgave that too."

Which just goes to show what Gabriel knows. Dean hasn't forgiven him, not by a long shot. Hell, there's no forgiveness for any of what he's done. "Just... whatever it is you're going to do, can we get it over with?" he asks finally, feeling his shoulders slump. He's tired of arguing with angels. Tired of arguing with Dean, for that matter. Just tired.

Gabriel sulks. "You're no fun at all. I'm trying to impart a lesson here, chucklehead, and for once I was trying to do it without resorting to reshaping reality around you." When Sam doesn't answer, he sighs. "You may not believe this, but I like you, Sam." Sam snorts derisively at that, and Gabriel holds up a hand. "No, really. You kind of remind me of me, only without the brilliant sense of humour and the impeccable fashion sense. And I'm really sick of watching you trail after your brother like a kicked dog. You're holding each other back, you know. You need to both let go, and follow your destinies."

"Haven't we already had this discussion?" Sam is getting a headache.

"And look how well that turned out. I was hoping you'd listen to me this time, instead of digging in your heels. You think your brother appreciates having to drag you around on a leash all the time? Or has he taught you to walk to heel yet?" there's scorn in the angel's voice now, and Sam feels his temper snap.

"Shut up."

A sigh. "I can see this isn't going anywhere. Fine. Don't say I didn't try being reasonable first."

Gabriel reaches out and, in a gesture that reminds Sam oddly of Castiel, pokes two fingers against his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. And everything goes dark.