MF Luder (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mf_luder_xf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2010-11-29 11:59 pm
mf_luder_xf) wrote in crack_van2010-11-29 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
Duck by schmevil (PG)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: gen
Length: ~5,200
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schmevil
Author Website: Ao3
The author calls it crack, and technically, sure. But it's so adorable and so heartfelt that I simply can't see it as crack. It's hilarious and sweet and who says God can't be a duck, hmm?
It's been a long week - two hunts, one of them involving demons, the other involving angels - and Sam and Dean are tired. Castiel isn't tired so much as rumpled and bloody, but he's as obviously in need of a break as they are. So when Castiel sits down beside a duck and starts quacking at it, Dean figures, ok their angel buddy has lost his feathery mind.
Dean looks around. It's a cold, Tuesday morning, so the park isn't heavily populated. A mother of two toddlers gapes at them with primal horror stamped on her face and bodily drags her children away, to the opposite side of the playground.
Dean hunkers down beside the angel, who, judging by the wide smile, dimples and freaking crinkles at the corners of his eyes, is having the happiest conversation of his life. With a duck. "Cas, what are you doing man?"
Castiel just waves him off and keeps quacking to the duck, who's waddled to within a foot of him.
"What the hell, dude." Sam whispers. He watches their six, trying to smile reassuringly at passing joggers. He looks nervous, and possibly nauseous, more than reassuring, but he's trying. Dean's feeling a little nervous himself. That duck could be evil. It could be possessed. And not by something good.
"I don't know man, maybe... maybe he's gone off the reservation?"
"We have a crazy angel. Talking to a duck," Sam says. "I didn't think our lives could get weirder. I see now that I jinxed us by thinking that."
"This is God," Castiel says sunnily.
"Oh my God," Sam and Dean say together. Dean shoots his brother an annoyed look - they don't need to be even more jinxed.
"Yes, exactly." Castiel seems utterly satisfied with their response. Like, weirdly and completely satisfied. The kind of satisfaction that Dean has only known once (Ribfest '06, hot little waitress in even hotter pants. All you can eat ribs. All you can drink beer). It's kind of creepy.
It gets creepier when the duck - he swears - nods at Castiel, then hops up on his knee. Castiel's hand hovers over the duck's head. The duck quacks, sounding almost impatient with him, then Castiel visibly gives in, and pets it. Castiel instantly starts humming in pleasure.
"God is a duck?" Sam asks quietly. It's almost rhetorical, like he can't even believe he's asking the question. The contorted, undecided expression on his face backs that up. "You're sure this isn't Gabriel, doing what Gabriel does?"
"No," Castiel says, and he's downright pissy, if you ask Dean. "I know my Father."
"He's right," says Gabriel.
Startled, Sam squeals, flails, and then bumps into Dean, who falls over, Sam on top of him. In that specific order. Dean's going to remember this one. Dean pushes his sasquatch of a brother off, even while Sam is trying to climb free - between the two of them it's a full minute before they're untangled, and by that time Gabriel has sat down beside Castiel.
"Where the hell did you come from?" asks Dean, a little breathlessly. Not that he'd admit it. Gabriel ignores them, in favour of staring at Castiel's knee, just to the left of the duck's feet.
"Quack, quack, quack," Gabriel says mournfully. And softly. Tentatively. Sounding, for all the world, like a guilty son, fessing up to his duck of a father.
Castiel lays a hand on his brother's shoulder. It looks... like he's trying to reassure his older brother. Like Sammy's done a million times for Dean, or Dean has, for Sammy. It's a strangely familial gesture, for such a screwed up bunch of angels. For a family that's been trying to kill each other, and had actually succeeded in killing Castiel.
The duck bobs his head. Benevolently, if Dean isn't seeing things. Maybe, he thinks, the duck is an evil shapeshifter. One who happens to be particularly good at fooling angels. The obvious daddy issues probably helped things along.
Gabriel smiles, and it's the first time Dean's seen something like pure joy in him. The Winchesters have seen happy, angry, nasty, dopey and sleepy (ok, not sleepy). But joyous? This is the Trickster. This is Gabriel. The little archangel who couldn't, and so ran away to play dolls with humans for millenia. The guy who thought it was funny to kill Dean a hundred times over. And now he was smiling like someone had slipped prozac into his Count Chocula, and then invited him to a finger painting session.
"Sam," Dean whispers. He turns to find Sam staring at him, with as much confusion, fear and freaked-out-ed-ness as Dean himself is feeling. "What the hell?"
"I..." Sam says.
"What. The. Hell."
Then Castiel smiles too, and it's just two blissed out angels, smiling down at a duck.
Dean will never admit to this, not even if pressed, but right then, he shifts closer to his brother and tugs at the sleeve of his jacket. Strictly speaking, he doesn't need to get any closer to Sammy. Also strictly speaking, he isn't scared. Just--
"Is this the weirdest thing that's happened to us, or the weirdest fucking thing that's happened to us?" hisses Dean.
"I'm not entirely sure this is happening to us," Sam mutters. "Why a duck?"
"Why not a duck?" Gabriel says dreamily. "They are some of God's most beautiful creations."
"Really," Dean says doubtfully.
"They sound like they're high," says Sam.
Duck
Pairing: gen
Length: ~5,200
Author on LJ:
schmevil Author Website: Ao3
The author calls it crack, and technically, sure. But it's so adorable and so heartfelt that I simply can't see it as crack. It's hilarious and sweet and who says God can't be a duck, hmm?
It's been a long week - two hunts, one of them involving demons, the other involving angels - and Sam and Dean are tired. Castiel isn't tired so much as rumpled and bloody, but he's as obviously in need of a break as they are. So when Castiel sits down beside a duck and starts quacking at it, Dean figures, ok their angel buddy has lost his feathery mind.
Dean looks around. It's a cold, Tuesday morning, so the park isn't heavily populated. A mother of two toddlers gapes at them with primal horror stamped on her face and bodily drags her children away, to the opposite side of the playground.
Dean hunkers down beside the angel, who, judging by the wide smile, dimples and freaking crinkles at the corners of his eyes, is having the happiest conversation of his life. With a duck. "Cas, what are you doing man?"
Castiel just waves him off and keeps quacking to the duck, who's waddled to within a foot of him.
"What the hell, dude." Sam whispers. He watches their six, trying to smile reassuringly at passing joggers. He looks nervous, and possibly nauseous, more than reassuring, but he's trying. Dean's feeling a little nervous himself. That duck could be evil. It could be possessed. And not by something good.
"I don't know man, maybe... maybe he's gone off the reservation?"
"We have a crazy angel. Talking to a duck," Sam says. "I didn't think our lives could get weirder. I see now that I jinxed us by thinking that."
"This is God," Castiel says sunnily.
"Oh my God," Sam and Dean say together. Dean shoots his brother an annoyed look - they don't need to be even more jinxed.
"Yes, exactly." Castiel seems utterly satisfied with their response. Like, weirdly and completely satisfied. The kind of satisfaction that Dean has only known once (Ribfest '06, hot little waitress in even hotter pants. All you can eat ribs. All you can drink beer). It's kind of creepy.
It gets creepier when the duck - he swears - nods at Castiel, then hops up on his knee. Castiel's hand hovers over the duck's head. The duck quacks, sounding almost impatient with him, then Castiel visibly gives in, and pets it. Castiel instantly starts humming in pleasure.
"God is a duck?" Sam asks quietly. It's almost rhetorical, like he can't even believe he's asking the question. The contorted, undecided expression on his face backs that up. "You're sure this isn't Gabriel, doing what Gabriel does?"
"No," Castiel says, and he's downright pissy, if you ask Dean. "I know my Father."
"He's right," says Gabriel.
Startled, Sam squeals, flails, and then bumps into Dean, who falls over, Sam on top of him. In that specific order. Dean's going to remember this one. Dean pushes his sasquatch of a brother off, even while Sam is trying to climb free - between the two of them it's a full minute before they're untangled, and by that time Gabriel has sat down beside Castiel.
"Where the hell did you come from?" asks Dean, a little breathlessly. Not that he'd admit it. Gabriel ignores them, in favour of staring at Castiel's knee, just to the left of the duck's feet.
"Quack, quack, quack," Gabriel says mournfully. And softly. Tentatively. Sounding, for all the world, like a guilty son, fessing up to his duck of a father.
Castiel lays a hand on his brother's shoulder. It looks... like he's trying to reassure his older brother. Like Sammy's done a million times for Dean, or Dean has, for Sammy. It's a strangely familial gesture, for such a screwed up bunch of angels. For a family that's been trying to kill each other, and had actually succeeded in killing Castiel.
The duck bobs his head. Benevolently, if Dean isn't seeing things. Maybe, he thinks, the duck is an evil shapeshifter. One who happens to be particularly good at fooling angels. The obvious daddy issues probably helped things along.
Gabriel smiles, and it's the first time Dean's seen something like pure joy in him. The Winchesters have seen happy, angry, nasty, dopey and sleepy (ok, not sleepy). But joyous? This is the Trickster. This is Gabriel. The little archangel who couldn't, and so ran away to play dolls with humans for millenia. The guy who thought it was funny to kill Dean a hundred times over. And now he was smiling like someone had slipped prozac into his Count Chocula, and then invited him to a finger painting session.
"Sam," Dean whispers. He turns to find Sam staring at him, with as much confusion, fear and freaked-out-ed-ness as Dean himself is feeling. "What the hell?"
"I..." Sam says.
"What. The. Hell."
Then Castiel smiles too, and it's just two blissed out angels, smiling down at a duck.
Dean will never admit to this, not even if pressed, but right then, he shifts closer to his brother and tugs at the sleeve of his jacket. Strictly speaking, he doesn't need to get any closer to Sammy. Also strictly speaking, he isn't scared. Just--
"Is this the weirdest thing that's happened to us, or the weirdest fucking thing that's happened to us?" hisses Dean.
"I'm not entirely sure this is happening to us," Sam mutters. "Why a duck?"
"Why not a duck?" Gabriel says dreamily. "They are some of God's most beautiful creations."
"Really," Dean says doubtfully.
"They sound like they're high," says Sam.
Duck