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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG
Pairing: Series is Sands/El/Abberline/Carolina, Miguel/Dean/G/Ichabod.
Feedback: Good lines, spelling errors, whatever.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine except Miguel, and that's questionable.
Notes: Set in a parallel Prohibition-era Los Angeles called Los Diablos, where history didn't quite go as ours did. //words// in Spanish. Part of The City series.
Summary: Sands is an innocent victim. He swears.
***
G rounded the corner and was greeted by Ichabod's waving ass. Naturally, she pinched it.
"Ow!" He toppled to the floor in an oddly graceful jumble while the couch next to him emitted a muffled curse.
Curious, she squatted down and took a peek, careful to keep her distance. In the Los Lobos mansion, a surprising number of bumps in the night turned out to have substance. "What the..."
Two white scars and a pout stared back at her. G blinked. "Sands?"
"Sands." Still ruffled, Ichabod nonetheless swallowed enough of his dignity to scoot up beside her and duck his head to look.
"Sands!" roared El from the hallway.
The pout scurried further into the shadows. "I didn't do it."
"Gatito, you annoying little-" El swept in, took one look at G's stifled grin, and instantly went for the couch. He reached under and yanked, slammed down the bucking furniture, and then repeated the process until a clawing, yowling Sands was pried out into the open.
Dean ambled into the room a second after Sands and El left, turning to watch the pair fight up the steps. "What was that about?"
"I have no idea, but Sands didn't do it." It didn't show up very often, but Ichabod had a surprising streak of levity fluttering through him. "Did you and G want something?"
"Miguel wants to see us. Something weird's going on in Boston." Something crashed upstairs and Dean winced. "God, they're loud."
G lazily rolled onto her feet and draped over his shoulder so she could see both his and Ichabod's blushes. "It does make the voyeurism easier, though," she snickered.
***