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firmament2011-10-04 12:34 am
gorgeousnerd) wrote in firmament2011-10-04 12:34 am
Entry tags:
When I say shotgun, you say wedding - Supernatural, PG, Sam/Dean.
Title: When I say shotgun, you say wedding
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG.
Length: 2005 words.
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean.
Content notes: Nothing, but I will say: despite the title, there's no mpreg.
Notes: This is all![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rahnekat1's fault. Written after 7x02, so there's spoilers for that, and there's elements based on future s7 spoilers. The title comes from "Time to Dance" by Panic! at the Disco.
(Also on LJ and AO3.)
When I say shotgun, you say wedding
Sam's wedding dress - oh god why does he even have to think those words - falls to his feet, which he wasn't expecting. Well, when he was forcing himself to think about it.
"But does it have to show my shoulders?" he asks the bridal shop owner, a round-faced woman named Sandy with a big grin plastered on her face.
"None of the others fit," she says earnestly, adjusting his skirt. Which is a fair point. "And you have such lovely shoulders. Now. What are you doing about your hair?"
Sam's face goes blank.
As he's ushered into a chair and Sandy scurries around for her curlers, Sam digs his palms into his eyes.
"Saving the world," he mutters. "Saving the world."
"YOU SOUND DISPLEASED, SAM WINCHESTER."
Sam raises his head. Next to his reflection in the mirror is a blue silhouette, nothing more than lines, but there's an impression of a face nonetheless. A very self-satisfied one.
"Look." He claps his hands together in what he hopes looks like a respectful gesture, but who knows with the way he's feeling. "Uh. I get you need a wedding for your waterfall god thing, but why me? Why Dean?"
"WORTHY WARRIORS, SAM WINCHESTER. NOTHING LESS."
"We're brothers."
"AND WARRIORS." Yeah. Smarmy asshole was definitely smirking.
He separates his hands and holds them out. Mostly so he doesn't ball them into fists. "Okay. But, uh. Why all this? You can't need a traditional American wedding--"
"DO NOT QUESTION MY MIGHTY WISDOM. OR I WILL BEGIN MY SMITING NOW."
Sam's eyes flick toward his phone on the counter. Nothing from Bobby.
"Sure, sure," he says. "You like the, uh, dress?"
The face tilts in the mirror. "IT WILL DO. ONCE YOU HAVE A TIARA."
Before Sam can stop spluttering long enough, the face has disappeared, and Sandy's behind him with a blow dryer and a brush.
"The God does like His wedding shows," she says, setting them on the counter. "The amount of times we've watched Don't Mess With the Dress together..."
Sam sighs.
-
By the time they make it to Niagara Falls - which is blissfully free of people, in the way magical rituals always seem to encourage - Sam's grown to appreciate veils. They hide the eye makeup and the curls hairsprayed into place. The tiara catches every damn light, though.
Of course, that's not as much problem as the heels. Most of the walkways are wet, for obvious reasons, and Sam's never walked in anything more than boots and sneakers. By the third time he nearly face-plants, Sandy holds up a hand with white flip-flops.
"Thanks," he says, kicking off the shoes.
She gives him an eye roll and goes after them. "You'll need them during the ceremony."
"If you want me to fall on Dean, yeah."
Sandy untangles his veil. "Time for your bouquet."
She turns to her assistant - Aaron, a guy nearly Sam's height who very carefully stopped looking at Sam after he saw his scowl - and takes a bouquet from his arms. He takes it gingerly, turning it over.
"Wolfsbane?" he asks. It's very...purple.
Sandy points to the white flowers. "And bleeding hearts! Aren't they lovely?"
Something that can kill werewolves and flowers named after gushing organs. Very lovely. But it's appropriate, since Bobby's hunting for the waterfall god as they do this. And if he whines about having to crawl toward the Cave of the Winds with the collapsed passage when Sam's running around in freaking Vera Wang or whatever, they'll have words.
They get to the top of a boardwalk, and Sam can see glowing lights and a yellow sunset and the falls sparkling. He doesn't care. He just wants to get this over with.
"Why rush the moment, Sam?"
He squeezes his eyes shut as Sandy helps him back into the heels. Perfect. Just what he needs. "Go away."
"But why?" Sam opens his eyes, and sure enough, Lucifer's standing right next to him, looking like Nick. "Someone's gotta walk you down the aisle for your big moment, Sammy. And I can look like whoever you want. John?"
"Just..." He clenches his jaw and takes two very deep breaths. "If you're not leaving, look like yourself. Okay?"
"Works for me." He holds out his arm, and Sam glares. "I'll just walk next to you then."
"DO YOU HAVE YOUR WEAPONS?"
He won't scream. "Yes."
"SHOW ME, AND WE WILL COMMENCE THE CEREMONY."
Sam sighs and shifts his dress up to his thigh. His pistol's strapped into his holster. Good thing he has a big skirt.
"PLAY THE MUSIC."
Aaron pulls out a boom box, and some kind of wedding march starts playing. Sam rolls his eyes and stomps forward.
"Now, now." Lucifer, true to his word, is keeping pace. "You think that's going to make your god very happy?"
"He's not my god," Sam mutters. He doesn't know who pulled it off, but there's people grouped around, smiling and waving at Sam like he's really some freaking bride. He doubts talking to his hallucination will stop them, if the god's responsible, but he doesn't want to bother Dean more than this whole thing probably is.
And oh no. One of them has a video camera.
When he makes it up to the arch, he gets a good view of Dean's tuxedo: generally traditional, but...is that a plaid cummerbund? He tries to get a closer look - it's hard to see around the crutches Dean's still using - but the sound of a whirring camera distracts him. And the sound of Dean's low cackle.
"Dude," Sam whispers.
"Sorry," he says, smirking as he sticks his phone back in his pocket. "Just needed a new wallpaper."
Lucifer takes his place at Sam's side, just a little closer than Sandy. He ignores him and hands the bouquet back to Sandy, who beams at him.
"If you don't get rid of that--"
Dean takes Sam's hands. "Shut up and let's do this, huh?"
The officiant raises an eyebrow. She's wearing a tuxedo of her own and generally looking more put-together than Dean, but Dean never looks comfortable in a suit. Even now, he's trying lean away from his collar and failing miserably.
"Okay," she says, and gives Dean a weird look. She smiles nicely at Sam, so at least she knows it's probably not the whole gay wedding thing.
She goes through the usual stuff: people joining together, love's a sacred monument, blah blah blah. The only reason Sam doesn't bolt is the sight of the silhouette of the god in the reflection of the water behind Dean. Bastard could drown them in a second.
As if to prove it, the wind shifts a little, and droplets of water spray in Sam's direction. Dean pulls out an umbrella and positions it so they stay mostly dry.
"Don't want to ruin your hair," Dean says cheerfully.
Sam sneers at him, but he's not sure Dean can see through the veil.
"Now, I understand that you two have written your own vows," the officiant says.
"Uh," Sam says, but Dean nods quickly and pulls out a piece of paper. Or a cocktail napkin? Great. It's probably a dirty limerick or something.
But Dean clears his throat and reads, "We've been through some rough times. Seems like we get crap heaped on crap every day of the week, actually. But you've always had my back, and I want you to know that I'll always have yours. No matter what."
Sam's eyes aren't stinging. It'd be stupid to cry at his fake Niagara Falls wedding to his brother. Dean's reading vows as a way to buy Bobby more time in a convincing way. Any moisture on his face is from the waterfall. Which is why he isn't self-conscious about using his veil to wipe them away.
The officiant turns to Sam, and plans of talking about a man from Nantucket leave his head.
"I, uh, didn't think as much about this as I should've," he says. "We've kind of had other things going on, like we always do. But you're my..."
He clears his throat. Dean's smiling, but not in the smartass way anymore. It's nice, actually.
"You're my anchor," Sam says. His cheeks sting, but Dean doesn't make any cracks. "You're what's real, and you're what I fight for. Always will be."
Dean's eyes are glistening. Good. Asshole started this.
"The rings?" the officiant asks, voice warm.
"Oh yeah." Dean digs in his pockets. He pulls out two simple bands, and Sam relaxes. Why something frilly would bother him when he's standing in head-to-toe white satin is beyond him, but a simple gold band really is more his speed. He holds out his hand, and Dean slips the ring on.
"I, John Paul Jones," the officiant says.
"I, John Paul Jones," Dean repeats, and the smirk's back for a second.
"Take you, Frederick Mercury."
It's Sam's turn to snort as Dean says the words back.
"To be my lawfully wedded husband." Yeah, brothers with fake names are very lawful. But they are in New York, so the same-gender thing isn't a factor on top of the rest, oddly enough. If they wanted to play spouses, they actually could.
Dean says the rest, and Sam repeats his own words when it's his turn. His hands tingle a little when he slips the ring on. Probably because he can feel both Lucifer and the waterfall god watching. That's the best explanation.
"Now you may kiss each other."
Sam swallows as Dean tips the veil back. But he sees the waterfall god flicker, and the water behind Dean starts to surge as his face tightens in rage, so he leans in and lets Dean touch their lips together.
It's...nice, actually. Way nicer than it should be. It's grounding, almost like Dean's thumb digging into his palm, without all the pain and blood. And maybe the pain and blood is very them, but so is this, in some weird way. All kinds of right with just a little edge of wrong.
A surge of power blasts around them, and when it eases, everyone's drenched in water. Sam can feel his makeup trail down his face. But Lucifer isn't standing next to Sam anymore, and that's really nice.
"Huh," Sam says.
Dean chuckles. "Nice dress."
Sam looks down. The dress is clinging to him hardcore, so even though it's not see-through, it doesn't leave much to the imagination. And it's pretty much ruined. Just when he was getting used to it, too.
A phone rings, and Dean pulls it out of his pocket and puts it on speakerphone as Sam kicks off the heels again.
"It's done," Bobby says.
"Never would've guessed," Sam says wryly, taking his tiara off.
They walk back up the aisle together, Dean barely leaning on his crutches. Sam takes the phone from Dean.
"Was it beautiful?" Bobby asks innocently.
"Actually, it wasn't bad," Sam says. Bobby lets out an incredulous huff on the other end.
Dean grins at him. "You're talking to Mr. and Mr. Jones."
"No way. If we're not Mr. and Mr. Mercury, I'll eat my veil."
Bobby laughs and hangs up, and Sam and Dean make their way back to the Impala together. Which, of course, has beer cans attached to the tailgate.
"What," Dean says at Sam's snort. "I had time to kill before the wedding."
He squeaks when Sam picks him up. Actually squeaks. Totally worth it. "The hell?"
"I'm going to carry you across the threshold," Sam says. "What's it look like?"
"But I'm the groom!"
"With the broken leg."
Dean's face softens. "Nice to know you haven't lost your touch, Sammy."
Sam maybe pulls him a little tighter. And he very ceremoniously sets Dean in the driver's side of the Impala, and the crutches in the backseat. Before he sits on his side, he makes sure not to get his train caught in the door (which, wow, longer than he realized).
As the car roars away, the cans clink behind them.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG.
Length: 2005 words.
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean.
Content notes: Nothing, but I will say: despite the title, there's no mpreg.
Summary: Sam's eyes aren't stinging. It'd be stupid to cry at his fake Niagara Falls wedding to his brother.
Notes: This is all
rahnekat1's fault. Written after 7x02, so there's spoilers for that, and there's elements based on future s7 spoilers. The title comes from "Time to Dance" by Panic! at the Disco.(Also on LJ and AO3.)
Sam's wedding dress - oh god why does he even have to think those words - falls to his feet, which he wasn't expecting. Well, when he was forcing himself to think about it.
"But does it have to show my shoulders?" he asks the bridal shop owner, a round-faced woman named Sandy with a big grin plastered on her face.
"None of the others fit," she says earnestly, adjusting his skirt. Which is a fair point. "And you have such lovely shoulders. Now. What are you doing about your hair?"
Sam's face goes blank.
As he's ushered into a chair and Sandy scurries around for her curlers, Sam digs his palms into his eyes.
"Saving the world," he mutters. "Saving the world."
"YOU SOUND DISPLEASED, SAM WINCHESTER."
Sam raises his head. Next to his reflection in the mirror is a blue silhouette, nothing more than lines, but there's an impression of a face nonetheless. A very self-satisfied one.
"Look." He claps his hands together in what he hopes looks like a respectful gesture, but who knows with the way he's feeling. "Uh. I get you need a wedding for your waterfall god thing, but why me? Why Dean?"
"WORTHY WARRIORS, SAM WINCHESTER. NOTHING LESS."
"We're brothers."
"AND WARRIORS." Yeah. Smarmy asshole was definitely smirking.
He separates his hands and holds them out. Mostly so he doesn't ball them into fists. "Okay. But, uh. Why all this? You can't need a traditional American wedding--"
"DO NOT QUESTION MY MIGHTY WISDOM. OR I WILL BEGIN MY SMITING NOW."
Sam's eyes flick toward his phone on the counter. Nothing from Bobby.
"Sure, sure," he says. "You like the, uh, dress?"
The face tilts in the mirror. "IT WILL DO. ONCE YOU HAVE A TIARA."
Before Sam can stop spluttering long enough, the face has disappeared, and Sandy's behind him with a blow dryer and a brush.
"The God does like His wedding shows," she says, setting them on the counter. "The amount of times we've watched Don't Mess With the Dress together..."
Sam sighs.
By the time they make it to Niagara Falls - which is blissfully free of people, in the way magical rituals always seem to encourage - Sam's grown to appreciate veils. They hide the eye makeup and the curls hairsprayed into place. The tiara catches every damn light, though.
Of course, that's not as much problem as the heels. Most of the walkways are wet, for obvious reasons, and Sam's never walked in anything more than boots and sneakers. By the third time he nearly face-plants, Sandy holds up a hand with white flip-flops.
"Thanks," he says, kicking off the shoes.
She gives him an eye roll and goes after them. "You'll need them during the ceremony."
"If you want me to fall on Dean, yeah."
Sandy untangles his veil. "Time for your bouquet."
She turns to her assistant - Aaron, a guy nearly Sam's height who very carefully stopped looking at Sam after he saw his scowl - and takes a bouquet from his arms. He takes it gingerly, turning it over.
"Wolfsbane?" he asks. It's very...purple.
Sandy points to the white flowers. "And bleeding hearts! Aren't they lovely?"
Something that can kill werewolves and flowers named after gushing organs. Very lovely. But it's appropriate, since Bobby's hunting for the waterfall god as they do this. And if he whines about having to crawl toward the Cave of the Winds with the collapsed passage when Sam's running around in freaking Vera Wang or whatever, they'll have words.
They get to the top of a boardwalk, and Sam can see glowing lights and a yellow sunset and the falls sparkling. He doesn't care. He just wants to get this over with.
"Why rush the moment, Sam?"
He squeezes his eyes shut as Sandy helps him back into the heels. Perfect. Just what he needs. "Go away."
"But why?" Sam opens his eyes, and sure enough, Lucifer's standing right next to him, looking like Nick. "Someone's gotta walk you down the aisle for your big moment, Sammy. And I can look like whoever you want. John?"
"Just..." He clenches his jaw and takes two very deep breaths. "If you're not leaving, look like yourself. Okay?"
"Works for me." He holds out his arm, and Sam glares. "I'll just walk next to you then."
"DO YOU HAVE YOUR WEAPONS?"
He won't scream. "Yes."
"SHOW ME, AND WE WILL COMMENCE THE CEREMONY."
Sam sighs and shifts his dress up to his thigh. His pistol's strapped into his holster. Good thing he has a big skirt.
"PLAY THE MUSIC."
Aaron pulls out a boom box, and some kind of wedding march starts playing. Sam rolls his eyes and stomps forward.
"Now, now." Lucifer, true to his word, is keeping pace. "You think that's going to make your god very happy?"
"He's not my god," Sam mutters. He doesn't know who pulled it off, but there's people grouped around, smiling and waving at Sam like he's really some freaking bride. He doubts talking to his hallucination will stop them, if the god's responsible, but he doesn't want to bother Dean more than this whole thing probably is.
And oh no. One of them has a video camera.
When he makes it up to the arch, he gets a good view of Dean's tuxedo: generally traditional, but...is that a plaid cummerbund? He tries to get a closer look - it's hard to see around the crutches Dean's still using - but the sound of a whirring camera distracts him. And the sound of Dean's low cackle.
"Dude," Sam whispers.
"Sorry," he says, smirking as he sticks his phone back in his pocket. "Just needed a new wallpaper."
Lucifer takes his place at Sam's side, just a little closer than Sandy. He ignores him and hands the bouquet back to Sandy, who beams at him.
"If you don't get rid of that--"
Dean takes Sam's hands. "Shut up and let's do this, huh?"
The officiant raises an eyebrow. She's wearing a tuxedo of her own and generally looking more put-together than Dean, but Dean never looks comfortable in a suit. Even now, he's trying lean away from his collar and failing miserably.
"Okay," she says, and gives Dean a weird look. She smiles nicely at Sam, so at least she knows it's probably not the whole gay wedding thing.
She goes through the usual stuff: people joining together, love's a sacred monument, blah blah blah. The only reason Sam doesn't bolt is the sight of the silhouette of the god in the reflection of the water behind Dean. Bastard could drown them in a second.
As if to prove it, the wind shifts a little, and droplets of water spray in Sam's direction. Dean pulls out an umbrella and positions it so they stay mostly dry.
"Don't want to ruin your hair," Dean says cheerfully.
Sam sneers at him, but he's not sure Dean can see through the veil.
"Now, I understand that you two have written your own vows," the officiant says.
"Uh," Sam says, but Dean nods quickly and pulls out a piece of paper. Or a cocktail napkin? Great. It's probably a dirty limerick or something.
But Dean clears his throat and reads, "We've been through some rough times. Seems like we get crap heaped on crap every day of the week, actually. But you've always had my back, and I want you to know that I'll always have yours. No matter what."
Sam's eyes aren't stinging. It'd be stupid to cry at his fake Niagara Falls wedding to his brother. Dean's reading vows as a way to buy Bobby more time in a convincing way. Any moisture on his face is from the waterfall. Which is why he isn't self-conscious about using his veil to wipe them away.
The officiant turns to Sam, and plans of talking about a man from Nantucket leave his head.
"I, uh, didn't think as much about this as I should've," he says. "We've kind of had other things going on, like we always do. But you're my..."
He clears his throat. Dean's smiling, but not in the smartass way anymore. It's nice, actually.
"You're my anchor," Sam says. His cheeks sting, but Dean doesn't make any cracks. "You're what's real, and you're what I fight for. Always will be."
Dean's eyes are glistening. Good. Asshole started this.
"The rings?" the officiant asks, voice warm.
"Oh yeah." Dean digs in his pockets. He pulls out two simple bands, and Sam relaxes. Why something frilly would bother him when he's standing in head-to-toe white satin is beyond him, but a simple gold band really is more his speed. He holds out his hand, and Dean slips the ring on.
"I, John Paul Jones," the officiant says.
"I, John Paul Jones," Dean repeats, and the smirk's back for a second.
"Take you, Frederick Mercury."
It's Sam's turn to snort as Dean says the words back.
"To be my lawfully wedded husband." Yeah, brothers with fake names are very lawful. But they are in New York, so the same-gender thing isn't a factor on top of the rest, oddly enough. If they wanted to play spouses, they actually could.
Dean says the rest, and Sam repeats his own words when it's his turn. His hands tingle a little when he slips the ring on. Probably because he can feel both Lucifer and the waterfall god watching. That's the best explanation.
"Now you may kiss each other."
Sam swallows as Dean tips the veil back. But he sees the waterfall god flicker, and the water behind Dean starts to surge as his face tightens in rage, so he leans in and lets Dean touch their lips together.
It's...nice, actually. Way nicer than it should be. It's grounding, almost like Dean's thumb digging into his palm, without all the pain and blood. And maybe the pain and blood is very them, but so is this, in some weird way. All kinds of right with just a little edge of wrong.
A surge of power blasts around them, and when it eases, everyone's drenched in water. Sam can feel his makeup trail down his face. But Lucifer isn't standing next to Sam anymore, and that's really nice.
"Huh," Sam says.
Dean chuckles. "Nice dress."
Sam looks down. The dress is clinging to him hardcore, so even though it's not see-through, it doesn't leave much to the imagination. And it's pretty much ruined. Just when he was getting used to it, too.
A phone rings, and Dean pulls it out of his pocket and puts it on speakerphone as Sam kicks off the heels again.
"It's done," Bobby says.
"Never would've guessed," Sam says wryly, taking his tiara off.
They walk back up the aisle together, Dean barely leaning on his crutches. Sam takes the phone from Dean.
"Was it beautiful?" Bobby asks innocently.
"Actually, it wasn't bad," Sam says. Bobby lets out an incredulous huff on the other end.
Dean grins at him. "You're talking to Mr. and Mr. Jones."
"No way. If we're not Mr. and Mr. Mercury, I'll eat my veil."
Bobby laughs and hangs up, and Sam and Dean make their way back to the Impala together. Which, of course, has beer cans attached to the tailgate.
"What," Dean says at Sam's snort. "I had time to kill before the wedding."
He squeaks when Sam picks him up. Actually squeaks. Totally worth it. "The hell?"
"I'm going to carry you across the threshold," Sam says. "What's it look like?"
"But I'm the groom!"
"With the broken leg."
Dean's face softens. "Nice to know you haven't lost your touch, Sammy."
Sam maybe pulls him a little tighter. And he very ceremoniously sets Dean in the driver's side of the Impala, and the crutches in the backseat. Before he sits on his side, he makes sure not to get his train caught in the door (which, wow, longer than he realized).
As the car roars away, the cans clink behind them.
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