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Sam started, effectively snoring himself awake and toppling the popcorn bowl to the floor. The bunker was still, dark and quiet save for the TV playing in the far corner of the room. It was some late night infomercial for coin collectors – nothing to pay much attention to. A cursory glance around the room was enough to see that the fallen bowl hadn’t woken Dean or Cas. They remained fast asleep, tangled together on the loveseat. He considered waking them when a static-y screech startled the pair.
“Wha’wassa?” Dean’s head whipped left and right, his eyes wild.
Cas shrugged, unhelpful, wiping the sleep from his face.
“The TV’s on the fritz again,” Sam sighed cleaning up the spilt popcorn, “Cas you want to get that?”
Cas got to his feet, but he looked as though there was nothing he wanted less. His face had that sleep rumpled quality that resembled a sheet of paper that had been crumpled and uncrumpled too many times in succession. As Sam was about to suggest that everyone head to bed, the noise subsided.
It was abrupt enough that it got everyone’s attention but Cas hadn’t even touched the remote yet. They all shared a look and returned their focus to the TV.
The visuals and sound were back, but the infomercial was gone. Instead there was a plain brown background with the silhouette of someone on horseback riding toward them. The jockey and stallion froze in a cheesy logo while the words ‘Rough Riders Ent.’ flashed across the screen. Once the screen faded, the room was filled with loud cheers and applause.
Except, Sam realized, he was no longer in the bunker. He didn’t recognize this room at all. It was a TV set of some sort but he didn’t recognize the show. His immediate thought was that this was the work of a djinn, but that didn’t make any sense. This was certainly no dream world he’d ever want to stay in.
Sam looked around to find bright lights shining in his face, cameras at every angle, a live studio audience sitting along one wall, and no Dean or Cas. He stood centre stage surrounded by flashy décor signature to classic game shows. And, what was odder, a lot of the décor had some kind of cowboy ranch theme going on. The two styles were seriously at odds with each other, clashing in the worst way.
Before he could speculate what was going on again, a disembodied voice filled the room. “Welcome to the world premiere of the new reality series, Honey, That’s Not Lube! Sam’s eyes widened and his stomach dropped to his toes as the crowd clapped. “And here’s our lovely host, Gabrielle!”
Sam spun around to see the trickster himself – very much alive – sauntering out on stage, basking in the attention and waving to the camera. Sam couldn’t sort through his thoughts quickly enough to figure out what he wanted to know more; why was the show called Honey, That’s Not Lube! or why was Gabriel back and dressed in drag?
His shimmering gown was a particularly gaudy version of something Vanna White may have worn back in her Wheel Of Fortune days. His makeup was flawless, his hair was curled and tousled, and his balance was impressive in those silver pumps. Trick, hoax, game, whatever, in the back of his mind Sam had to admit that Gabriel didn’t look half bad.
Sam, realizing this was just another TV Land trick, relaxed. Dean and he had been through this already. Gabriel had only made this easier by showing his face too early. Now that it was clear what was happening, Sam knew he just had to play along to get through this.
Confident that he’d be free of this mess soon, he crossed his arms and idly wondered who’d done Gabrielle’s winged eyeliner and false lashes. Gabrielle, however, was busy working the crowd.
“Goodnight, everyone! Once again I’m your host, Gabrielle, and it’s so great to see all of you here tonight,” he beamed sashaying past Sam, “This week’s contestants are a very special bunch.” He paused for effect, allowing the cheers to fill the room again. “Yes, each and every one of these people took part in royally screwing over the universe,” Gabriel laughed a charming little titter, “Wasn’t that splendid of them?”
The crowd seemed to agree and cheered louder. Gabrielle shushed them, “Okay okay. We’ve only got an hour, guys. We should get to it if we want all of the contestants to get a chance.” A hush fell amongst the crowd and Gabrielle finally turned to Sam.
“Let’s meet our contestants, shall we?”
“Gabriel I—.”
“Gabrielle. Two Ls and two Es,” he interrupted.
“Don’t you think this has gotten a little stale?” Sam huffed, “We’ve done this TV thing before.”
“Oh no, Babychester,” his voice was low, calm and measured but his candy apple lips pursed, “This is a totally different universe, with new rules and a new lesson for you assholes to learn.” He seemed to perk up at that. “Speaking of assholes.”
Sam turned to see who he was looking at. His knee jerk reaction was relief to see Dean and Cas safe. That, of course, was immediately tempered by the appearance of Crowley, Rowena and Metatron.
When Cas and Dean noticed them, surprise and anger played off their faces. But as they opened their mouths to speak, it was duct taped shut.
“No no no. There’s no time for reunions,” Gabrielle grinned, “It’s time for the games!” The lights dimmed and spotlights shined on him.
“And they say I like drama,” Metatron muttered.
“Hush,” Crowley elbowed him, “I’m curious about where this is going.”
“First things first, we will split the contestants up into teams. Team Supernatural and Team Human,” Gabrielle grinned. He placed a well manicured hand on his hip and winked at the contestants. “On Team Human we’ve got Dean, Sam and Metatron,” he said, “And on Team Supernatural we have Crowley, Rowena and Castiel. Isn’t that interesting?”
Dean glared but his mouth was still celestially sealed. Crowley, however, looked absolutely amused to have Castiel on his side again. Metatron wasn’t in such high spirits
“I’m not a human. I’m an angel!” he snapped, “She’s more human than I am!” Gabrielle glanced at Rowena and then back at Metatron. He walked over to him, far taller in six inch heels.
He bent lower so that they were eye to eye, “She has supernatural powers. Do you?”
“I…well…”
“If you’re an angel then where’s your grace?”
“I just—.”
“Because without your grace, buddy you’re just another meatsuit that anyone could posses…even me,” Gabrielle pointed out.
Metatron gave an indignant little splutter but had nothing to say for the first time.
“Now that that’s covered, let’s move on!”
The crowd cheered, faithful as always.
“The rules are simple,” Gabrielle continued, “The team members will all pick a number from this jar to see who goes first, second and third.” Cas squinted at his brother, not sure where this was going. “After that, the first person from each team will throw a dart at the Kink Board and the second person will spin the Lube Wheel. From there we’ll see what the third person will have to do. Oh and if you don’t figure out the lesson I’m trying to teach before this episode is up, you’ll be stuck here to film the next one and then the next. I’d watch the clock if I were you.”
“And what if I just zap myself out of here?” Crowley asked.
“I’m warping reality as we speak. I don’t see how you’re getting past that. Unless you’re an archangel too of course. Are you, Mr. King of Hell sir?
Crowley was as sufficiently shut up as Metatron had been. Sam would be impressed if there wasn’t a sinking feeling in his gut. Something told him that this was much worse than the last time they did TV Land. The last time, Gabriel had wanted them to take part in the apocalypse. This time he didn’t want them messing things up.
Gabrielle held the jar before Sam. “What if I refuse to play? What if I sit here and don’t do anything at all?” he asked. Gabrielle looked into defiant, hazel eyes and seemed utterly delighted by that sentiment. He booped Sam on the nose with one red fingernail. “Well Sammy, I’m glad you asked! For all those who aren’t willing to take part, we have a wonderful corner for you in The Motel!” Gabrielle motioned toward a glass box toward the far end of the stage.
There was a collective gasp from both the contestants and the audience. Inside the glass box was a giant, cockroach that stood at about seven feet tall.
“Hey there,” it said in a surprisingly velvety voice.
“Jesus Christ,” Crowley gasped.
“You see? Get it?” Gabrielle chuckled rubbing at his stubble, “The Motel. Because it’s roach infested.” Everyone simply stared at the thing in abject horror.
“Whew. Tough crowd,” the thing griped, but that didn’t seem to dampen its spirits one bit.
“Before we continue, was there anyone who didn’t want to play?” Gabrielle asked, “Please don’t all rush because The Motel is a little cramped and you’d all have to share.”
When no one answered, the roach actually seemed offended. “I’m not that bad you know,” it simpered, “I’m a great conversationalist and a Pisces.”
Gabrielle looked at all of the contestants before smiling wide at a horrified and very pale looking Dean Winchester. If there wasn’t tape on his mouth, they’d probably be getting an earful right this moment about how fucked up this was.
“Archangels are more twisted than I thought,” Rowena muttered under her breath.
“I actually agree with you on that one,” Crowley replied stunned himself.
It went without saying that, in the end, they each took one of the folded pieces of paper in the jar. Once each person had one, they looked up to find their clothes changed.
Dean had his hand clasped over the exposed part of his assless chaps. Metatron on the other hand seemed to really like his. Rowena plucked at her fishnet stockings with disapproval but the cowboy boots didn’t seem to be an issue. Crowley seemed damn pleased with his nipple tassels and Sam counted himself lucky that all he got were boots and an ugly, brown vest. Cas hid his face under the cowboy hat and touched his nipple tassels until Dean slapped his hand away with a look.
“Aren’t they lovely, y’all?” Gabrielle beamed. The crowd was as receptive as ever. “Alright. Time for the Kink Board!” he announced. Music started up on the speakers; a vaguely familiar tune from some old western. “Whoever chose the number one from the jar, please step up.”
Dean and Crowley both went up to the dart board. It was unmarked and that, more than anything, made everyone suspicious. “Is all of this necessary?” Crowley asked. Gabrielle pointed at The Motel. There were no more questions after that. Both took aim and tried to hit the center of the board.
Two rings suddenly appeared on the board. Crowley’s ring said ‘BALL GAG’ while Dean’s read ‘COCK RING VIBRATOR’. With that, the tone of the whole game seemed to shift. The contestants shared dubious looks with each other. Castiel mouthed the words ‘cock ring vibrator’ with the most wide eyed interest while the others seemed to grow antsier.
“I don’t by chance suppose the moral of this thing is to do as we’re told, is it?” Dean asked now that the duct tape was removed. Gabrielle shook his head, curls bouncing. “Persons who chose the number two please step up to the Lube Wheel,” he said. Sam winced but walked up to the gigantic wheel now taking up one end of the stage.
Rowena was there with him but she was too busy staring at the wheel. She did not look happy.
“Gabrielle, honestly. None of these things are lube,” she pointed at the wheel, “Not one of them!”
“Oh but they can be if one is brave enough. Just wait and you’ll see.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait wait wait! You’re not going to…to…” she couldn’t finish, “Now come on, dear. There must be some way to buy my way out of this.”
“Figure out the lesson or continue playing forever. Those are your options.”
“But I hardly intended to screw up the universe or whatever it is you’re punishing us for. I only did what Samuel and Castiel demanded of me. I’m innocent.”
“Darling, you haven’t been innocent a day in your life,” Crowley sneered.
“Shut up, Fergus.”
“Are you telling me that you’re going to use the things on that wheel on us?” Metatron asked as his eyes scanned the options.
“That’s going a bit far, even for you,” Dean made a face, “Marshmallow fluff lube? Margarine lube? Seriously?”
“Oh you think this is going too far, do you?” Gabrielle asked, “I think the world would agree that releasing the Darkness to get a tattoo off your arm is going a bit far too.”
“It was the Mark of Cain!”
“No one forced you to accept it, did they?”
“But Cain and Crowley—.”
“Allowed you to be a dumbass, yes.”
“Well he’s not wrong,” Crowley shrugged.
“You were there?” Rowena turned to him.
“Oh lady, you have no idea,” Metatron scoffed.
Gabrielle huffed and smoothed out his dress, “Stop stalling. Unless one of you figured out the lesson that is.” No one responded. “Then I guess it’s Lube Wheel time!” The crowd cheered.
Rowena took the first turn. As the wheel spun, no one spoke. The only sound was the clicking of the wheel. It flashed and lit up in a variety of colored lights. The moment the wheel began to slow down, the tension in the room rose. Then it stopped.
“Honey, you got honey,” the roach giggled.
It was not an ideal choice, but Rowena didn’t complain. That was probably because the honey choice was between nail polish remover lube and fabric softener lube. Rowena looked over at her teammates, but none of them had any clue what would happen next either.
Sam didn’t approach the wheel at first but one glance at Gabrielle made his feet move. The archangel’s perfectly contoured face had looked grim enough to force him into action. Sam had a sneaking feeling that he’d get his ass kicked quite easily, whether or not the man was wearing six inch heels. His balance continued to amaze them all.
“You got this Sammy!” Dean called, “Try for something good!”
“Yes,” Metatron agreed, “Try for the olive oil or something!”
Sam nodded and gave it a good spin, hoping for a decent choice. Once again the set was silent save for the loud click, click, click of the wheel. Then it stopped and everyone held their breath. Sam’s option was a plain black triangle with a question mark.
Before the worry could set in, the speakers were filled with the sound of a drum roll. No. Not a drum roll. Galloping horse hooves.
Gabrielle turned to the crowd with a flourish, “It’s that time people. The mystery choice. When I say start, the choices will quickly change. The person who got the number three from the jar will say stop. Whatever it lands on, is their choice.”
Metatron looked down at his tiny slip of paper and then the wheel. “Start!” Gabrielle called. No matter how hard Metatron squinted, there was no way to read the options. They flew by far too quickly. It was impossible to tell if even Team Supernatural would have had better luck. But, knowing Gabriel, that was unlikely.
“Stop!” he called at random.
“Aww snap,” the roach gasped from The Motel, “Baby boy that isn’t good.”
That may have been the understatement of the year. The sign read, quite clearly, ‘HOT SAUCE LUBE’. Sam and Dean shared a panicked glance.
“Okay, dude,” Dean stepped between Gabrielle and Sam, “What happens now?”
“Now you ride the bull for thirty seconds!” Gabrielle announced.
Everyone looked confused until a pair of large, twin, mechanical bulls materialized before them. There was, for lack of a better term, a dildo of some sort attached to each saddle.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Crowley made a face.
“I am not riding that,” Rowena folded her arms.
“Are you coming to join me then, beautiful?” the roach asked.
She opened her mouth, eyed the waving legs and closed it.
“Don’t worry,” Gabrielle smiled, “You won’t have to ride the bull. At least not in this round.”
“What do you mean?” Cas raised a brow.
“The bull is for whoever chose number three from the jar.”
Cas looked down at the slip of paper between his fingers. “Gabriel. Brother, please. See sense. This is wholly unnecessary. We can talk about this.”
He, however, was in a trickster mindset and had zero interest in talking.
Cas and Metatron – who was a panicking mess at this point – were zapped over to the bulls. Both sat atop the contraptions, a ball gag in Cas’s mouth and a suspicious buzzing coming from Metatron’s crotch. Before either could protest again, Cas let out a soft whine just as Metaton hissed.
Dean made a step toward Cas, the bite of anger on the tip of his tongue. Gabrielle’s hand kept him from going any further. “He’s just fine, Deano,” he smiled, “I think Cassie’s just new to the – ah – sensation.” Dean’s brows furrowed at that. Another glance at Cas seemed to clear up any confusion.
Cas was clearly not in pain. Lips stretched around the gag, that may have been the only source of mild discomfort. His face was flushed, legs splayed on either side of the bull, a trail of honey trailing down his thigh. His hole gaped, seemingly being stretched on its own.
Metatron, however, was not having such a good time with hot sauce as lube. He was particularly vocal about it too, just in case anyone there wasn’t sure. Gabrielle winced in mock sympathy. “Shame Team Human didn’t get the ball gag, isn’t it?” he said to a crowd of giggles.
Dean bounced from one foot to the other, desperately wanting to do something. Anything. Anything other than just standing around and watching. Dean wanted to punch the glitter off Gabrielle’s eye but he had enough encounters with archangels to test his luck.
“Okay! Time to ride the bull!” Gabrielle announced to Metaton’s dismay. The ex-angel shook his head violently.
Then, surprise surprise, a new addition joined the set. Sam glanced at Dean and back to the prophet. “Chuck, what are you doing here?” Sam asked. Chuck barely spared him a glace, too focused on Gabrielle who – even bigger surprise – stood in shock.
“Gabe, this has gone too far,” he said, “What is all of this?”
“A lesson.”
“I heard. But what lesson are you trying to teach with talking cockroaches, sequins, mechanical bulls and impossible lube options.”
“Uh,” Gabrielle rubbed at his neck, “Don’t put the world in shitty situations and force people to live through it.”
Chuck stared at him long and hard as if wondering where on earth to start with his son. His reaction was calm enough that he’d clearly dealt with this kind of shit before. At the same time he rubbed his temples like a man only barely hanging onto reasons to continue loving his son.
“Dad—.”
“No. Shut up. We’re going to have to talk about your teaching methods.”
“But you can’t just—.”
“Gabriel!”
And with that the world seemed to simmer around them until there was nothing left but the bunker. Sam looked at the other two.
“Did that really just happen?” he asked.
“Judging by the stickiness of my ass? Yes,” Cas sighed, “I need a shower. We will never discuss this again.” The boys watched him leave the room before Dean turned with a grin. Sam made a face. “What the hell do you have to be so happy about?” he asked.
“If Cas has wash honey outta his ass, then Metatron’s out there somewhere trying to get hot sauce out of his.” That, for the first time that evening, pulled a laugh out of Sam.