gala_apples

Title: White Powder Mission
Fandoms: Cobra Starship/Reaper
Pairing: Victoria/Sock/Ben
Rating: pg13
Wordcount: 1426
Summary: Sam has to go capture another soul. Unfortunately for him, the soul has wormed it’s way onto a rock tour, and Gabe’s always been too interested in other people’s business for his own good.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission
Author's Notes: written for the prompt slave. I was having a extremely hard time trying to figure out what other fandom I write in/could write in that has slavery. And then I was watching Reaper, and there was this dialogue: "You want me to do what?" "I own you Sam. If I ask you to take out the garbage in hell that's what you'll do." And I knew I had my slavery.
'Verse Notes: Reaper's pretty basic. Sam's soul was sold to the Devil by his parents, the Devil requires that he go be a bounty hunter for hell, and collect escaped souls to bring them back to hell. Escaped souls tend to kill a lot of innocent people. His best friends Sock and Ben know and help.


Every tour has it’s parties, and with every party comes a partier that goes at it a bit too hard. Gabe and his band know this to be true, with Cobra it’s live big or go home. But most people know their limits, and even those that don’t usually just end up getting their stomach pumped from having twelve beers too many. This tour things have gotten way too extreme. It’s only a few days in and a sound guy and a driver have already gone to the hospital, and rumor is they actually died. Of course on people people practically live and breathe rumours, but this one is different. You can tell when something is a rumor because everyone is passing it around blindly. Steven and Erica dying, there are just as many people saying it’s bullshit as are passing it around, which in the Cobras eyes makes it far more likely to be true. It’s fucked up.

The possible deaths make Gabe pretty hesitant to try all the fun that’s circulating. If someone has died from something its probably coke or E. It’s not that off-putting though, it just means the tour’s going to be a drunk one, not a rolling one. One can have just as much fun with a forty as with a few tabs, if one knows how to use it right.

They’re in Seattle, their time slot not for a few hours yet, when Nate gets a text that Gym Class is breaking out the Jack. There’s nothing better to do so they make their way through the landscape of buses. They’re almost there when they stumble on four guys acting all cracked out. It’s not exactly new behaviour for anyone that’s been on tour, but the thing is Cobra gets around, so they know the faces of everyone that wants to enjoy themselves, if not the names. Gabe’s favourite tour game is drugged-tag, more than once he’s neatly avoided real M&Gs with irritating questions he doesn’t want to answer by just getting all the fans to play with him. He knows the faces of the musicians and drivers and techs willing to play, and these are not tour guys.

Whoever they are, they seem to be pretty pissed considering it’s just a game of tag. Gabe’s only ever seen Siska that infuriated, and that was after Alex broke the ‘no tagbacks’ rule. The tagger is a guy that out of a line of a hundred men, would be picked as the meth cook every time. The three moderately wholesome looking guys are trying to dodge Mr Meth, but it seems more frustrated than fun.

“Don’t let him touch you Sammy! You remember what happened last time!” The fat blond one shouts and dodges Mr Meth.

Gabe sees Alex shrug at Ryland’s jerk of his head, and shakes his own head. If they want to move beyond this they need to either cut through or backtrack and Gabe doesn’t really want to do either. He’s not quite sure what these guys are doing, but it’s too fascinating to leave so early. The normal guys are pissed, and Gabe hopes for a meltdown arguement based on a disagreement of rules between them and Mr Meth. Fights can sometimes be the best entertainment on tour.

“Sock, toss it over!”

The fat one pulls something out of his hoodie and throws it. He not Peyton Manning, but he’s good enough to make it on a pick up tour game. Sam catches it and the Hispanic guy cheers, even tossing up victory arms. Then the Hispanic guy dives onto the pavement as Mr Meth dramatically extends an arm and a stream of white powder blows from his hand.

“You fucking saw that right? Did we smoke up?” Nate asks. “Like enough that I can’t even remember smoking?”

Normally Gabe would be reassuring Nate that if they’d smoked enough to forget smoking they could always smoke more to make sure, but he’s really fucking distracted because the guy is still shooting the powder. He knows that Nate understands, because he knows his band. He knows Nate is confused but mostly going with it, he knows Ryland is swearing under his breath and Victoria is trying to find the concealed water gun because to her everything can be classified with film terms and this is no more than a special effect she needs to deduce. Gabe has no idea what’s going on, but he doesn’t need to understand, he just needs to be part of it.

Sam darts up to the guy and starts rotating his wrists, angling the mirror Sock tossed him a dozen different ways. It has to be the least effective form of fighting someone ever, like taking down a zombie with a Pepsi can. What the fuck can a mirror do to someone? Gabe’s mental scorn dies a hard death when Sam gets the right angle and the guy is somehow sucked into the mirror, his entire being unwinding and the ribbons of himself being eaten by the glass.

Gabe watches the Hispanic one scramble off the pavement and run in for a double handed high five, and lets Sock do a brief moment of the running man before making his presence known. He can’t possibly let it lie where it does, Alex and Nate will spend the next week freaking out if they don’t get an explanation. He takes a few steps forward, his friends following behind him, and says loudly “I think I speak for all of us when I say what the fuck.”

“Ben, I thought you were watching for civilians!”

“Oh, fuck off, Sock. I may have gotten distracted by the escaped soul trying to get me high. Not all of us can be stoners, man!”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve never-”

“What do you mean, escaped soul?” Of course it’s Nate that asks.

Sam looks at Ben and Sock for a second. “The devil can’t go after them, right? Just because they know?”

“They’re rockstars. Remember Ryan? What makes you think they don’t already have a deal?”

Gabe is intrigued by the mention of Ryan and the devil, because the idea of the Panic kid doing satanic rituals is both hilarious and scarily plausible. After all, Pete did give them a deal while only half their band played. But before he can clarify that they are indeed talking Ryan Ross, Sam starts telling his life story. A very fucked up life story.

“So you’re working for him, forever, no time off, no compensation?”

“Well, he’s not killing my mom?” Sam tries.

“That’s not compensation, that’s threats.” Victoria informs him.

“That’s fucked up.” Alex adds.

Nate crosses his arms over his hoodie, contemplative. “Dude, that’s slavery, isn’t it?”

“Well, he’s not singing a jaunty tune, so I’m not sure it counts.” Gabe thinks Sock deserves it when Ben hits him, he smirks when Sock flinches. “Ow! Fuck.”

“Don’t make race jokes, jackass.”

“So, any of you have girlfriends?” Victoria thinks for a second before adding “or boyfriends?”

Gabe’s pretty sure she doesn’t have much to worry about. In the tour world pretty much everyone’s given both a go, but the real world is different. Most likely all three are one hundred percent straight. Even if they weren’t, he still wishes Victoria luck. They aren’t his type, he likes creative men, men with lyrics and tattoos. He’d rather fuck the same person a dozen times than a boring person once. Victoria’s different though, queen of the one night stand. Or afternoon, as playing schedule allows.

“I’ve got Andi,” Sam says.

“I think Andi would understand you going for a rockstar, dude. Rockstars totally don’t count in the cheating list.”

“Yeah, no, Sock.”

“Me and my fine friend Ben are available, if you’d wish?” Gabe can’t help but grin as Victoria strides forward and grabs Sock and Ben. They have no idea what they’re in for.

Gabe’s going to do his part too. He’s going to bring Sam to the Gym Class bus and get him trashed. Travis might not believe the story, but he’ll be glad to hear Sam’s the reason drugs are now safe to try again. And Sam is owed a night of partying, before he has to go back and capture someone else. They just need to be careful that nobody snorts off the mirror. Gabe’s not sure what would happen if the vessel was used, but the idea of somehow sucking a escaped soul up his nose is unappealing.