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I'll Be Your Iocaste

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"So," Sam said as he rested, exhausted and sated, on Gabriel's chest, "if you're not actually a Trickster, what's with the candy?"

"That's been bugging you for years, admit it."

"Yes! Why would a being with pretty much unlimited power, an archangel, a pagan god, choose to expose himself with a false weakness?"

Gabriel ran his hands through Sam's hair, chuckling. "To stay undercover?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I did it so you Neanderthals would have a clue. It's more fun that way."

"Really?"

Gabriel's face twisted into a half-smile. "No. I did it for the Vine." He paused. "All these reasons are true, for certain values of truth." He drew sigils on Sam's back with his right hand and whispered softly in Enochian. Gabriel's voice was like the murmur of the ocean, like a radio tuned between stations, like the wind whistling in empty bottles. "The real reason is that the best way to get into your pants is to be as much like your brother as possible."

“Hey!” Sam sat up.

“Don’t look at me; I’m not the one with the repressed and twisted Oedipal complex, with a brother standing in for Iocaste. It worked, didn’t it?”