ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2011-03-17 01:12 am
ratherastory) wrote2011-03-17 01:12 am
Entry tags:
Part 3 —Palimpsest
Master Post
Go to Part 2
Part 3 ―Palimpsest
The mist swirls around him for much longer this time. He wanders in circles, or perhaps in a straight line, he can't really tell, and none of it seems to matter much anymore. There's no light and no darkness, only a terrible, empty, gnawing feeling in that place inside him that Sam used to occupy. He can't find him at all, no matter how hard he tries. He digs deep inside himself to find that tiny spark of grace that he's used before, but even that avails him nothing. It's as though Sam has been yanked away and hidden from him, no matter how hard he prays to his Father and begs him for help.
There's nothing there but whirling nothingness, as though his mind's eye has gone blank. What little power he had to influence this corner of the universe is gone. He keeps searching though. Calling out Sam's name because he doesn't know what else to do with the time he's been given. He runs for a time, walks when he tires, stumbles and eventually falls to his hands and knees in the swirling grey, then simply crawls forward because there is nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. Gabriel has done everything short of falling from grace in his dozens of lifetimes and that last glimmer of it is the only thing that allows him to cling to the hope that not all is yet lost.
"Sam!"
Eventually he realizes that he is not alone in the empty vastness. There's a soft snuffling sound, muffled at first and distant, followed by a low growl, closer this time. He's already on his knees, half-prostrate before his own failure, but he feels his heart speed up, gripped with sudden fear. He pushes himself to his feet, stumbles forward a little and the growling grows even closer.
"I know you're there," he says into the emptiness. "Show yourself!"
The growling morphs into a feral snarl and out of nowhere invisible fangs slash at his calf muscles. With a cry of pain he goes to one knee, but he keeps looking around, searching for the source of the attack.
It's almost impossible to tell what the creature is that's coming after him. He doesn't know whether Hellhounds have free reign here in Purgatory ―outside of Hell, in the real world, they are always controlled by a demon even if at a distance. He still can't see the creature, which makes the point academic, anyway. He doesn't know if it has a name of its own ―only that it's large and powerful and angry. Purgatory is filled with its own denizens, and if up until now Gabriel has been kept safe from them, then he thinks it might only be because God ordained it.
"Father, is this what you want?" he whispers, under his breath, even as he listens for the sounds of another attack.
He forces himself to his feet. Gabriel has been many things, but he is first and foremost an archangel, the most deadly and terrifying of God's angels, and he will be damned ―and he is aware of the power of that word as he uses it― if he will be brought down by such a creature as this.
He pulls his sword without pausing to wonder how he obtained it and whirls to face his opponent. He is on the threshold of something so vast that it cannot be encompassed, even by him. It's clear to him now that he is standing before a line that he cannot permit this creature to cross, although he can't articulate why he knows this. If it defeats him, then all is lost. Gabriel throws back his head with a delighted cackle, his blood thrumming in his veins.
"You want me, sugar pie?" he taunts the beast. "Come and get me!"
Gabriel can't see his foe, but that doesn't mean he can't sense it, doesn't know where it is. He is a warrior as well as a herald, and fighting an unseen enemy is second nature to him. Just before he plunges his blade into the thing's body, that he truly misses having his trumpet to play, the better to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies. He wades back into the fray, his heart singing with the exhilaration of battles long since forgotten, and loses himself in the joy of fighting a battle he knows he's going to win.
~*~
~*~
Gabriel is brought back to himself by the stench of fire ―of sulphur and charred flesh― permeating the emptiness where he has been fighting for so long. He doesn't know how long he has been fighting off the beings that dwell in this terrible place, only that it feels as though he has been wielding his sword for an eternity, hacking and slashing and stabbing until all of Purgatory is awash in the blood of the impure, all the supernatural creatures that have been banished there, far from the sight of God and man. They snarl and growl at him, try to rend him apart with their fangs and claws, but sometimes they cry as well, and their desolate wails reach into him in a way that all their ferocity can't.
Even as he drives them back, unfurling his wings to their fullest in order to lend weight to his blows, he feels sorry for them, to be thus kept away from everything that is good in the world. He once was one of them, or almost one of them, he remembers. Just because he chose to tread the line of blasphemy so carefully, he escaped their fate ―though not entirely, he realizes― and it would have been oh so easy to slip over the edge and tumble into the abyss, to join them a they are now, a pack of starving animals slavering for the light.
"No! Jess!"
He knows the voice, would know it anywhere, recognizes the anguish in it, and the pull of it is irresistible, drawing him toward the fire that he knows is raging just beyond the edges of his sight. He can feel the heat of flames at his back and the creatures retreat, barking and hissing and moaning, as though this fire is too much for even them to bear. He can feel the outermost feathers of his wings begin to scorch, and he's forced to retract them, pulling them closer and finally furling them altogether. He turns his back on his former enemies, confident now that they will not attack him. There is only one way out, and that is through the fire.
"Sam!" he calls out. "Sam, I'm here! Can you hear me?"
The screaming on the other side of the fire grows louder, but there's no answering cry. Gabriel doesn't know what's waiting for him there, only that Sam is still his charge, still his responsibility. Still his. And so without hesitating he wraps his wings around himself like a blanket, and hurls himself headlong into the roaring inferno.
~*~
For a long time there's only pain. He remembers things in bits and snatches. Remembers finding Sam on his bed, recoiling in horror as he stared at the ceiling. Remembers a blond girl in a white dress, wreathed in blue and yellow flame, life's blood dripping onto the burning floor. She was already dead, the stench of sulphur in the air so strong that Gabriel almost choked on it. He barely had time to wrap Sam up and shield him as best he could before the fire engulfed the whole world and sent him spiralling into darkness and agony. His wings are burnt, perhaps beyond repair, he realizes as he struggles to find his way out of the darkness. He's no longer in the body of his vessel, at least not in any way he recognizes. He's as close to his old form as he has been in thousands of years and the pain is unlike anything he ever remembers experiencing.
"Gabriel?"
He lets out a moan, but forces himself to stay conscious, to stay present in the darkness, even when all of him simply wants to succumb to the pain. "Sam?"
"Is it you?"
He has to laugh at that, even though it comes out strangled and half-desperate. "Yeah, bucko, it's me."
"Are you all right?"
"Not really, but that's okay. I'm tougher than I look." He wants to curl into a ball and sob, but he's not sure his present form will allow for that.
"Gabriel, where are we?"
"I don't know."
"It's dark... are we dead?"
"We're not dead, Sammy," he gathers his thoughts to himself and with that he feels the first tendrils of reality coming back, flesh and blood and bone, along with a fresh surge of pain in his charred wings. "It's still Purgatory, I think."
"What do you mean, still? And how can it be Purgatory if we're not dead? Where's Jess?"
He thinks of the girl he saw, and only now does it occur to him that she's the first person he's seen in over twenty years, and he has no idea why. "Heaven."
There's a long silence.
"She's been there for a long time, hasn't she?"
He'd shrug, but he doesn't know how anymore. "Yeah, she has."
"How do I get out of here?" Sam's tone has changed subtly. He no longer sounds like the scared, tormented boy who just lost his girlfriend. There's something stronger about him, now, more determined. Gabriel smiles, because if Sam is meant to get out of here, he'll find a way. The only problem is that Gabriel doesn't have the first clue how to help him do that. He's not sure he even wants to.
~*~
Sam leaves him after that, although Gabriel is certain that he's still somewhere close by. He can feel Sam like an ache in his chest, or more accurately like a kind of tugging, an ebb and flow of the tide. When Sam is gone, everything goes with him, Gabriel understands that now. There is nothing in Purgatory save what you bring with you.
Humans bring life to the dead places of the universe. They are the spark that his Father wanted for his creation, the crowning glory of all his eternal works. God created them flawed because the flaws are beautiful in themselves, refracting the light and sending it spiralling across the universe, like the reflections from a million shards of broken glass. There are no humans in Purgatory and so there is nothing here to see. There are only the spirits of the thousands, the tens of thousands of the not-quite-damned and not-quite-redeemed. Hell is reserved for humans, just as Heaven is reserved for them. In Hell the demons reign over the human souls, as the angels stand guard over them in Heaven. There's a tidy symmetry to it all, one that he never much bothered to think about before. He wonders at the number of times his brethren have sneered at the demons who gibber and scream down below, called them stains and blights and far, far worse. He doesn't know of a single demon who didn't begin as a human soul, not even Lilith.
He's not sure what it means. If it even means anything. His thoughts swirl in his head in counterpoint to the mist swirling outside of it.
The pain is unrelenting now. He thinks he may have burned up what was left of his wings, his grace, in that last-ditch effort to save Sam. The thought fills him with bitter despair: if he's right, and Sam is reliving every moment of his life on earth, then Gabriel hasn't even begun his work and he has nothing left with which to complete it.
"How am I supposed to see him through this now?" he asks, of no one in particular. He isn't sure that his Father is listening at all. There is no questioning God's will, he has always known this, even when he set about to test his limits in every way he knew how. "I thought he was my responsibility, Father!" he yells suddenly. "Why would you place this burden on me if you won't give me what I need to see it through? I can't even find him," his voice breaks on a sob. "I don't understand..."
He tries to feel behind him with one hand, groping gingerly over his shoulder to feel his shoulder blade where the wing joins with his vessel's body, and a bolt of agony almost brings him to his knees. He clenches his teeth around a whimper. There's no way to ascertain the damage on his own and there is no one else ―there has never been anyone else. In the distance, he hears Sam's voice again, crying out his brother's name, over and over, and he realizes exactly what's happening.
"Oh, God. No. No, please don't make me go there now,” he sends the prayer up with every ounce of fervour and desperation that he can muster. “Not now, please. Please, anything but this."
There's no answer, but he knows that he has no choice. Not if he truly wants to see this through. He grits his teeth, staggers to his feet, and forces himself to go to Sam, reaching out through the darkness until he finds himself back in that shabby little diner in Broward County, Florida. He hunches over the counter, even the thought of food making him nauseous, but he orders the strawberry syrup and watches as horrified understanding dawns on Sam's face.
"Why would you do this?" He's being shoved against a chain link fence that doesn't exist, a wooden stake pressed against his vessel's Adam's apple. It can't kill him, and Sam knows it can't, but the pain on his face is palpable.
Gabriel winces as his mutilated wings scrape against the fence. "I'm so sorry... I can't take it back."
"You took him from me!"
Sam is breaking apart in his hands and he remembers how powerful he felt the last time he did this. The last time he took this little human soul and cupped it in his palms and tortured it like a child pulling the legs off an insect and left it mutilated and limping, but still alive.
"I can't take it back, I wish I could, Sam. I'm so sorry..."
The apology feels weak, hollow even to his own ears, because both he and Sam know that in less than a day's time Dean will die again, and this time it will be six months before Sam can get him back; six months during which Sam's already torn soul will grow even more tattered, the threads catching on every uneven surface he goes by, shredding itself against the world. Sam lets out a broken sob and shoves him away, stumbles a few paces, and that's just far enough for the mist to come swirling back in.
"Sam..." He's meant to be Sam's protector, entrusted with this charge by his own Father, but he can't protect Sam from this. This was all his doing. He can kid himself about his intentions all he likes, but there's no question here. The truth is that he tortured him for his own amusement, just to see how long it would take him to break, and he took joy in it, at least at first.
You break my heart, kid. He'd used Bobby Singer's voice, his body, but the words weren't any less true for it.
"Sam, please."
Gabriel reaches for him, pleading, even though he knows it's useless. The movement intensifies the pain in his wings until it feels as though the bones themselves have caught fire and for one blessed moment he passes out. When he awakens again, the fog is so thick he can barely move, barely breathe, barely think. He can still feel Sam's presence, hears Sam's voice, speaking in low tones to someone he can't see.
"I can't keep lying to him like this, Ruby."
Time is moving faster, now, which can only mean things are coming to a head. Gabriel opens his mouth, although he's not sure what he would even say. How can he warn Sam against Ruby when it's already too late? He can't protect him from any of this, can't move from where he's pinned up against the nothing like a butterfly on a card, wings useless, hollowed out like a dead log. He can feel the mist swirling faster around him, bearing them all inexorably forward. He thinks he can make out other voices in the distance as Sam talks to them, growing more distinct, but it's Sam's voice that always rises above the others, Sam's voice to which he gravitates like a beacon.
“I'm sorry,” Sam's voice breaks. “Dean... he's coming.”
There's a blinding light, then nothing.
~*~
~*~
Gabriel can feel his brother's presence everywhere. When Lucifer rises, the earth trembles. Everywhere the Morningstar goes, Gabriel can sense the tremor in the ground, mirrored by the vibrations in his chest, a distant echo of the heavenly music that they both used to hear, oh so long ago. Lucifer is seeking his vessel, tendrils of light snaking out over the earth, probing, feeling their way along like huge tentacles.
Time shifts and shimmers, and while the future is shown to Dean Winchester far away and in another life, Sam is clinging to the vestiges of hope. He watches as, one by one, his friends and allies fall at the hands of Lucifer. Everything blurs together in Gabriel's mind: the past, the present, the yet-to-be-written. He hears Sam talking to that other version of himself, when he was still trying to convince the brothers to take on their roles, to let Destiny play itself out.
Lucifer was the brightest of the archangels, before he fell, and all of the earth takes on a peculiar luminescence when he returns. Gabriel remembers the moment when he broke free of his cage, when he found the paltry replacement vessel that would allow him to roam freely, at least for a while, until Sam Winchester surrendered to the fate that had been ordained for him. Echoing all around Gabriel can hear voices: his brothers fighting amongst themselves. Sounds of anger, jealousy and betrayal. He hears his own voice, first mocking then eager, then frightened, then desperate. He wants nothing more than for his brother to lay down his weapons, to come back home to them, because if Lucifer goes home then maybe, maybe God will take him back as well. He's been alone for so long he doesn't remember what it's like at all to hear the angels' singing all around, and Lucifer has been gone far longer than he.
But then, I've always known where your heart lies, little brother.
He feels himself die for the second time. Lucifer's blade burning icy-hot in his chest, and he remembers the sorrow in his brother's face, because neither of them had truly meant for it to come to this and yet what choice did they really have? There was no time for weeping then, although he remembers looking at his brother's disintegrating vessel with something like horror and sorrow, of clutching at the blade with both hands and feeling that brilliant electrical charge run through them both. No one before then had ever succeeded in killing an archangel before, but it seemed fitting enough to die at his brother's hand.
The final battle between Michael and Lucifer had seemed inevitable from the get-go. When Destiny plays itself out for a second time and Sam surrenders himself to it, a thrill rushes through Gabriel as nothing turns out the way anyone expected.
~*~
'Surrendered' was the wrong word, is the first conscious thought that comes into Gabriel's mind. The pain is still terrible, burning into his back, but it's almost bearable now, or perhaps he's merely getting used to it. When he tries to move, his fingers dig into dirt, and the scent of fresh loam fills his nostrils. Everything hurts, the awful burning sensation in his back not easing up in the slightest.
There's something different here, this time around. He shouldn't be able to taste the earth beneath him and the pain here is somehow more real, more tangible. It's not Purgatory. His body is real, heavy, pinning him to the ground. His foot scrapes against a rock as he tries feebly to push himself upright. But his body won't respond ―perhaps it's been too long since he's occupied this world, or maybe he's just too badly broken, he's not sure ―and so he stays there, face pressed into the unforgiving dirt.
"Holy shit!"
He knows this voice, too, although he hasn't heard it in nearly thirty years. He tries harder to move, to get up, anything, but manages only to utter a moan of pain.
"Gabriel?" He can hear footsteps hurrying closer, and Dean Winchester drops to one knee next to him. "Holy shit," he says again, "it is you! What the hell?" He lays a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and the mere touch sends a bolt of agony searing through his mutilated back. Gabriel jerks, a cry of pain escaping from him. "Oh, God, sorry. Sorry. I just... are you hurt?"
"Where..." he starts, can't finish his sentence.
"This is Bobby Singer's place. Cas... I can't believe it. He said there was something out here, that I should come check. God, I never... we thought you were dead! What with the DVD and Lucifer and... we saw part of it. When you..." Dean's stumbling over his words. "Can you get up? If I help you, I mean. I'll take you to Cas, but I gotta get back to Sam."
"Sam." He tries to turn over, the name reminding him of his purpose. "Have to see Sam."
"Yeah, no offence dude, but you're not going anywhere near my brother. Not now. Come on," Dean grabs his arm, ignoring the pained grunt that it provokes, and hauls him to his feet. "I'll take you inside ―hey, no passing out on me, okay? I don't know anything about angel first aid― and Cas can deal with you. And then we'll get you some clothes. Because, let me tell you, dude: awkward."
This time he manages to turn his head enough to look at Dean's rueful expression, and he laughs.
~*~
"Gabriel."
He's lying face down on a bed inside Bobby Singer's house. He has a few patchy recollections of being dragged inside, fading in and out of consciousness and now almost all he can see is a faded brown blanket and a wall from which the paint is peeling and bubbling. He's so damned tired.
"Must be Castiel," he murmurs into the blanket. "Only angel who can manage to sound that prissy and disapproving."
There's a quiet sigh, just a quick gust that's gone as fast as it came. "We thought you were dead. Destroyed by Lucifer. I saw your wingspan burnt into the ground. How is it that you are still alive?"
"Dad... gave me a second chance."
There's a soft touch on his shoulder, but instead of the flare of agony he expects, the feeling is cool, soothing almost. "Our Father brought you back?"
He nods. "It was a chance at redemption."
"What..." Castiel suddenly sounds a little choked. "What happened to your wings, Gabriel?"
"I don't know," he can't help but moan a little, tears pricking at his eyes. "There was a fire... I had to pull him out. It's destiny, can't be changed. Burned them away."
There's silence for many long minutes and Gabriel understands it. He'd feel sick too, if he saw one of his brothers with his wings burned away. It's the worst mutilation anyone can inflict on an angel, short of ripping out their grace or destroying it. It must be akin to looking at a dismembered child, something so appalling that it doesn't bear contemplating. He'd feel sick himself at the idea if the pain wasn't robbing him of the ability to do anything other than lie utterly, utterly still and simply try to bear it.
Finally Castiel speaks again. "It's not within my power to heal this, but... I can try to help. Will you let me?"
Gabriel sucks in a breath, then nods jerkily. Anything to end this, even if it means Castiel must perform a gesture more intimate than their relationship warrants. He feels the other angel's hands on his shoulders again, squeezing gently near his neck. Then Castiel flattens his hands and smooths them slowly, excruciatingly gently down Gabriel's back, over the shoulder blades where his wings should be. Gabriel hisses in pain when Castiel's palms come into contact with the burnt stubs of his wing bones, but the pain is already fading under the cool touch and his muscles begin to unclench, one by one. He lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, eyes closing as Castiel runs his hands all the way down his bare back and back up again, soothing and healing as he goes. He wants to go to sleep under those hands, sleep and maybe never allow himself to wake again, but he doesn't have that luxury. Not yet.
"Sam..."
"What about Sam?"
"Dean said he's here. Is it true?"
There's a moment's hesitation, and he realizes that Castiel is debating whether or not to lie to him. "Yes, he's here. What do you want with him?"
"I have to see him. Make sure he's all right."
"His soul has been returned to him, if that is what you mean."
He shakes his head, then immediately regrets it when the pain returns, intensifying. Castiel lays a hand between his shoulder blades, and he forces himself to relax.
"Please, Castiel, I need to see him."
"I fail to see what you could possibly have to do with Sam now," Castiel says, and Gabriel can all but feel the disapproval radiating off him.
"He's my responsibility," he squeezes his eyes shut, braces his hands to either side of himself and pushes until he's sitting up, though he has to keep his eyes closed against the wave of nausea and dizziness. "God gave it to me. His soul. I had to... I was his custodian."
He hears Castiel suck in a surprised breath. "Our Father entrusted you with Sam's soul?"
He nods. "He gave it to me to keep."
Another silence. "I don't understand," Castiel says finally. "I was given to understand that his soul was in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael, that Death was able to retrieve it."
Gabriel forces his eyes open and Castiel puts a hand out in order to steady him. "I don't know, Cas. I know that his soul was... it was tender when I got it. Raw. It wasn't anything like what it was before. It's such a beautiful soul," he adds with a smile, remembering the flickering light when he first held the baby in his arms, bright and hopeful.
"It was not so when I last saw it." Cas tilts his head.
"I think that was the problem."
"So it was given to you to... mend?"
"I think so. I have to make sure he's all right, Cas. Please let me see him. You have to take me to him. I... there's still something I need to do. The task isn't complete," he says, knowing how poor his explanation sounds, but he can't put it into words, this feeling that he's not finished yet, that Sam still needs him, one last time.
"He's still asleep. There is time yet, and you're weak and in pain," Castiel says reasonably enough for such a young angel, still unused to how the world works. Gabriel think Castiel may have done some growing up while he wasn't looking. "Dean says I should make sure you are clothed before I let you out of this room again," Castiel adds, and Gabriel lets out a surprised bark of laughter, although it hurts right down to his core when he does.
"Yeah, all right. I'll see what I can do about that. Except I pretty much landed as you see me. Got anything I can borrow? Anything except that trench coat, I mean."
"What is wrong with my trench coat?"
Gabriel suppresses a groan. "I just want pants and a shirt, little brother. Help a guy out?"
"Very well," Castiel doesn't seem especially perturbed by Gabriel's disapproval of his trench coat. "I will see what I can find. Perhaps some of Dean's smaller clothes will fit well enough." He pauses. "You should eat."
"I don't need to eat, Castiel, you know that."
Castiel squirms. There's no other word for it. "I'm not sure. I think perhaps you're not entirely... I don't know how much of your grace is left. Before Sam defeated Lucifer, I found I required both rest and nourishment, even though I was not technically human. At least, not for very long. I think you should try to sleep, at least for a little while. I will bring you some clothes and something to eat."
"I need to go to Sam," he insists, but he knows he won't make it three steps unless Castiel helps him. He has never felt this weak and helpless in his entire existence, has never felt pain like this before. It occurs to him that he might be dying, after all this, of all the ironies, but it only increases the urgency of his desire to see Sam again, to feel him warm and solid under his hands, at least once last time.
Castiel huffs impatiently. "I promise I will take you to Sam as soon as I am sure that you are able to stand for more than a few moments at a time. I also promise," he adds when Gabriel tries to protest, "that I will do so before Sam wakens."
He lets his eyes close, too weary to do anything but let his head sink down against his chest. “Okay. But you have to promise.”
“I will keep my word, Gabriel.”
And that simply has to be enough for now.
~*~
Castiel finds him a loose shirt and a pair of cotton pants that Gabriel thinks might usually serve as pajamas. The pain flares bright and hot again when he tries to dress, and Castiel is forced to shoulder the brunt of the work, manhandling him as though he's nothing but an overgrown doll. For the first time in living memory, he's at a disadvantage before this much younger creature, and he definitely doesn't like the feeling of vulnerability.
“I would not take advantage of your change in fortunes,” Castiel murmurs, as though reading his thoughts.
“It'd be wrong,” he agrees breathlessly, clinging to the last threads of consciousness that keep threatening to escape him.
“But you would have, if our positions had been reversed.”
“Probably. But that was before,” he adds, then lets out a startled groan as Cas threads one of his arms through the sleeves of the shirt, the movement tugging at the muscles in his back.
Castiel hushes him with a brush of fingers. “I apologize if I caused you pain. It cannot be avoided entirely, but I am doing what I can.”
He nods, blinking rapidly to try to dispel the dark spots dancing before his vision. “I know. I know, it's all right, you don't... you don't have to apologize.”
“Nonetheless... I wish there was more I could do to remove your pain.”
He shakes his head, vision blurring. “Not what I need. You have to take me now, Castiel. It'll be too late soon, and this is important.”
Castiel stands. “Very well. Can you walk if I assist you?”
“Won't know until I try.”
The pain when Castiel pulls him to his feet is blinding. His knees buckle and tears trickle from the corners of his eyes, but Castiel wraps an arm around his waist, trench coat rustling almost comically as he does so. Sam would have talked him through this, Gabriel thinks, said something reassuring or silly to take his mind off the pain. Sam has never seen him ill or hurt, but he knows the kid like he knows himself now and somehow he has no doubt of his capacity for compassion, for empathy. Maybe that was the problem to begin with: the kid feels too much.
“Are you ready?” Castiel asks, and he sucks in a breath, steels himself, and nods.
The walk down to the panic room takes forever. All Gabriel can manage is a slow, painful shuffle, leaning increasingly heavily on Castiel's arm as they advance, until the younger angel all but has to drag him the last few feet to the heavy door. Gabriel leans against the wall, breathing hard, while Castiel unlocks the door and pulls it open with no apparently effort. Just through the open door he catches sight of a familiar figure lying on a narrow cot against the far wall.
Gabriel puts up a hand to warn Castiel off when it looks as though he's about to come forward again to help. He understands what he has to do now and it's simple enough. He just has to go to Sam. He braces himself against the wall with one hand, locks his knees and takes a first, faltering step forward. The next step is easier and the next even easier than the second and soon he's stumbling toward the bed as though Sam's mere presence is pulling him forward ―like a rope has been tethered to his waist. He drops to his knees next to the cot where Sam is lying, looking for all intents and purposes as though he might just have laid down for a quick nap, rather than unconscious because of the unspeakable act that was perpetrated against him.
“Hey bucko,” Gabriel rests a hand on his chest, surprised at how warm it feels, rising and falling softly beneath his palm. “Long time no see. You had me worried.”
Sam doesn't answer, doesn't so much as stir beneath his touch.
“He has been unconscious this whole time,” Castiel says from the door. “The Horseman assured us that the wall he built in Sam's mind will stem the tide for a time, but it will not be permanent.”
Gabriel shakes his head. “I didn't think it had been so long...”
“How is it that Sam's soul was with you, when we thought it was in the Cage along with Michael and Lucifer?”
He doesn't know how to answer that. “I don't think it was. Our Father gave it to me after, when it had been flayed almost beyond recognition.” He strokes Sam's forehead, suffused with pity for the boy laid out before him. “It had to be reborn. Remade. Otherwise it would have been too damaged to return to his body, even with Death's help. It's a resilient little thing. So full of life.”
“I don't understand.”
Gabriel looks over his shoulder and smiles through the pain. “It's okay, Cas, neither do I.”
~*~
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
Gabriel blinks, straightens from where he's been apparently sprawled over Sam's cot for a few minutes. He's not sure how much time has gone by, only that he's lost at least five or ten minutes. Long enough for Dean to realize what was happening.
“Gabriel asked me to bring him,” Castiel explains, as though that will somehow make everything clearer.
“And you just did what he said? Why, because he's an archangel? I thought we had this conversation, Cas. Just because he's a bigger dick than the other ones doesn't mean you have to bend over and―”
“Dean.”
“What?” Dean snaps.
“I brought him because I think that his request may have been justified. He has a role to play in this as well. I made a decision ―of my own free will,” Castiel stresses the last three words ever so slightly, and it sends a strange thrill up Gabriel's spine. He doesn't remember the last time an angel ever used those words. Even he never dared to utter them while he was hiding his face from the sight of God. Free will is a gift given to man, and man alone, and it feels terrible and blasphemous and utterly good and right all of a sudden, and he can't begin to wrap his mind around this new feeling.
“No.”
“Dean, please listen to reason...” Castiel starts, but Dean interrupts him.
“I said no. That douchebag has made Sam suffer enough, and I won't have him in here, not when Sam... not like this. I just got him back, I don't want that asswipe's face to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.”
“Dean...” Castiel tries again, to no avail.
“Are you all deaf all of a sudden?” Dean is furious. “Get the fuck out, Gabriel, and stay the fuck away from Sam!”
“No...”
They all turn to look at the bed, so startled that it's almost comical. Sam's eyes are open, though they're cloudy with confusion and not a little pain. Gabriel remembers feeling it when Sam screamed and he fumbles for Sam's hand, grabbing hold of it. In a flash Dean is on Sam's other side, leaning over him.
“Sammy?”
Sam smiles weakly. “Dean...”
Dean lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, it's me, Sammy. God... you okay?”
Sam's gaze flicks to Gabriel. “I can't...” his hand shifts in Gabriel's palm, fingers moving to squeeze his hand. “Where were you? I remember...”
There's a sudden cold, sick feeling in the pit of Gabriel's stomach. This isn't right. Sam shouldn't remember any of it. There's no reason for him to remember any of what happened before. Gabriel can sense the tension in Sam's mind, the forces warring with each other: conflicting memories, his soul battering against the wall that's been erected in his mind. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Gabriel can feel the fissures forming in the wall, the metaphorical bricks and mortar already beginning to crumble under the onslaught.
"Gabriel..." Sam moans, pushing his head back against the thin mattress of the cot. "Gabriel, please..."
"What's he talking about?" Dean's tone is anxious, already beginning to border on panic.
Castiel moves forward, carefully skirting Gabriel so as not to accidentally hurt him more, and Gabriel feels a flash of gratitude toward him for his solicitude, even when all their attention is focused on Sam. Castiel bends over Sam and places a hand over his chest, just a few inches away from where Gabriel has laced his fingers together with Sam's and lets his palm hover there, an expression of intense concentration on his face.
"There is something wrong," he says finally, more for Dean's benefit than anything else. Dean is the only one in the room who can't feel what's happening inside Sam's mind. "The wall isn't holding."
"What?" Dean grabs hold of Sam's other wrist, wraps his other hand around Sam's fingers. "But he said it would hold... he said it would! A lifetime!" He looks up at Castiel, expression despairing, and Gabriel wants to tell him that that's exactly what you get when you trust the word of a being that's almost as old as God and just as powerful in its own way, but he thinks there may be more to it than this.
Sam moans again, shifting on the bed, eyes rolling up in his head. "Gabriel..."
Dean glares at him. "Why's he keep saying your name. Are you doing something?"
Gabriel shakes his head. "Not doing a thing, bucko. I think that's the problem," he rolls his shoulders against a sudden flare-up of pain. "It's not enough to put up a wall in his mind. Sam's soul is strong... stronger than most," he says slowly, as realization dawns upon him. "Both of your souls are. It's why you've withstood everything that's been thrown at you for so long. That wall can't hold back the part of his soul that remembers hell."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sam's soul yearns to be whole," Castiel interjects, trying to explain. At least he gets it, Gabriel thinks gratefully. His head aches, stomach churning, and he wonders if this is what it feels like for humans or whether it's something else entirely. "Think of it as being like..." Castiel gropes for words. "Like two very strong magnets, held apart by paper. The pull is too strong, and so they try to touch through the paper, and eventually the friction causes a tear, and the tear becomes a hole..."
"Until the whole paper rips apart," Dean finishes, looking as sick as Gabriel feels.
"You got it," Gabriel has to shift his weight until he's leaning more heavily against the cot, his body impossibly heavy. He can feel something trying to tug free of the restraints of the flesh, trying to regain his former lightness and soar away, but Sam's fingers twist against his, keeping him anchored in place. "The wall's too weak."
"Fuck," Dean looks as though he's been stabbed. "I just... this can't be it. It can't be. I didn't go through all that just to watch him die again! I can't... I won't lose him again. There's got to be something you can do, Cas!"
Castiel shrugs helplessly. "This is beyond my power. All of it has been, from the start. You know that."
"But not beyond mine," Gabriel smiles, then reaches out to stroke Sam's forehead while the kid mumbles incoherently under his breath. "Sam's my responsibility," he murmurs to himself. "I get it now, Father. I think I understand what you wanted from me." He pushes himself to his feet, and his vision whites out from the pain. Dean catches him when his legs threaten to give out.
"Woah. Easy there. No falling over, got it?"
"You're going to have to go," Gabriel tells him, surprised at how weak his own voice sounds. "Just for a minute or two, but you can't see this."
"What? No. Whatever you're going to do, I am damned well staying here and making sure you don't hurt my brother."
Gabriel chuckles, braced against Dean's forearms. The feeling is reassuring, in an odd way, as though he's somehow absorbing some of Dean's strength by sheer virtue of touch. "Sorry, champ. Either you leave, or this can't happen. I swear, I won't hurt him. Cas ―brother," he amends, "he can't watch this. I can't control what he'll see and I'll hurt him. This one is your charge, you take care of him."
"No!" Dean's resisting, holding onto him so tightly that Gabriel can feel the boy's fingers digging cruelly into his vessel's flesh. "No, Cas, I have to stay..."
Castiel steps forward, flashes Gabriel a look that's filled with both understanding and sorrow. "Thank you, Gabriel," he says simply, then turns to Dean. "I will explain in a moment. For now, I apologize." Then he brings up his hand swiftly, touches two fingers to Dean's forehead, and they vanish from sight.
~*~
Gabriel just manages to keep himself from falling. "Good boy," he murmurs under his breath. Then he looks down at Sam, still fighting an unseen battle in his mind, gently brushes his hair back from where it's plastered to his face with sweat. "Hang in there, kiddo. Just a few more moments." He sits back down on the bed. "We've done this once before, you and me," he says. "Remember? That one time when you were so sick? Think of this the same way."
Sam's eyes snap open. "Gabriel..."
"That's right. I'm going to fix this."
Sam struggles to sit up, but only manages to lift his head a fraction of an inch off his pillow. "How... I remember you. It was like a lifetime of déjà vu. How did you... was it a trick?"
He shakes his head. "Not a trick, I promise. You won't ever remember this again, not when I'm done."
"You weren't there in the end," Sam continues as though Gabriel hasn't even spoken. "You weren't... not in the Cage, not then, I remember... but all the other times, even when I couldn't see you. Why am I not... I don't understand," he says weakly, and the expression in his eyes is the same perplexed, petulant look he would get when he was seven years old and couldn't wrap his mind around a math problem. Gabriel laughs in spite of himself and slumps a little where he's sitting, putting a hand on the edge of the cot to keep himself from falling forward.
"It's okay. You're not crazy, but the wall in your mind isn't holding its own anymore. I have to fix it for you. It's the last thing I'm ever going to do, bucko, so I need you not to fight me on this. Can you do that for me?"
"What do you mean, the last thing?" Sam has always been the type to get to the root of the problem, no matter the situation and he's fighting the cacophony in his head now to stare at Gabriel, aware that something is wrong and at the same time hoping what he's hearing isn't true.
"Exactly what it sounds like, Sam. I'm sorry."
"No," Sam's voice has dropped almost below a whisper. "No, you can't... I... you just came back. Just got here.” He sounds lost, suddenly frightened. “What am I supposed to do when you're gone?"
"Exactly what you always did before."
Sam squints at him. "Are you real?" The eternal question, the one he posed every time his father and brother questioned Gabriel's existence.
Gabriel smiles. "It doesn't matter, now."
Sam is already fighting the pull of unconsciousness, lips moving to form almost soundless words. “Thank you.”
There are only a few angels who have ever voluntarily ripped out their own grace. Lucifer was the first, followed by those who were faithful to him, who could not bring themselves to love God's creations as he'd commanded. There was Annael, who loved His creations so much that she craved nothing more than to become one of them and she was punished thrice over for her disobedience. And now, for the third time, Gabriel reaches into himself to find that last shred of grace that he has been granted for so short a time, and all for the love of the one human whose failings saved the world. His hand closes around the flicker that is the proof of God's love for him and he pulls once, as hard as he can, because if he falters once he won't be able to bring himself to try again and when his grace rips free the pain is indescribable, a thousand times worse than he ever imagined, worse even than having his wings burnt away by demonic fire.
Even though his grace is all but gone, all but extinguished after all this time, he cradles it in both hands, and feels himself slipping free of the bonds of his vessel. Sam's soul is before him again, still shining in spite of how tattered and torn it is. It's still so very beautiful, he thinks with something akin to awe: like sunlight shining through lace on a summer's morning. He can see where the soul is beginning to tear, where the light is tarnished by something so terrible even his own mind cannot encompass it. The soul shivers when he approaches it, but it recognizes him, moves forward to greet him and he feels a surge of love and gratitude and sadness emanating from it as he reaches out.
He lets his grace escape from his hands then, like thread unwinding from a bobbin. It clings to the soul, weaves itself in and out where the soul has been wounded, threading itself around the gaping wound. It's not so much pulling the frayed edges together, he realizes, as simply preventing them from unravelling further, healing and cauterizing, but leaving behind a definitive scar. There is no wall here, Gabriel realizes belatedly. It never was a wall. That was simply an image used to convey what was being done to a human mind that couldn't possibly understand the vast implications of what it meant for a soul like this to be wounded thus. There is no healing to be had, only a small, ineffective attempt to contain the worst of the damage.
In the blink of an eye, the soul vanishes, and Gabriel is alone again, and tired. The tremendous weight he's been carrying all these years has finally lifted, and there is nothing left but exhaustion, nothing but a weariness he never expected to feel. He's old, he thinks, old enough to have earned the right to die in relative peace. He feels himself falling, the last shreds of himself crumbling and coming apart and vanishing away into nothing, and for the first time in his whole life, he feels grateful for the opportunity to cease to exist.
~*~
~*~
Go to Epilogue
Go to Part 2
Part 3 ―Palimpsest
The mist swirls around him for much longer this time. He wanders in circles, or perhaps in a straight line, he can't really tell, and none of it seems to matter much anymore. There's no light and no darkness, only a terrible, empty, gnawing feeling in that place inside him that Sam used to occupy. He can't find him at all, no matter how hard he tries. He digs deep inside himself to find that tiny spark of grace that he's used before, but even that avails him nothing. It's as though Sam has been yanked away and hidden from him, no matter how hard he prays to his Father and begs him for help.
There's nothing there but whirling nothingness, as though his mind's eye has gone blank. What little power he had to influence this corner of the universe is gone. He keeps searching though. Calling out Sam's name because he doesn't know what else to do with the time he's been given. He runs for a time, walks when he tires, stumbles and eventually falls to his hands and knees in the swirling grey, then simply crawls forward because there is nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. Gabriel has done everything short of falling from grace in his dozens of lifetimes and that last glimmer of it is the only thing that allows him to cling to the hope that not all is yet lost.
"Sam!"
Eventually he realizes that he is not alone in the empty vastness. There's a soft snuffling sound, muffled at first and distant, followed by a low growl, closer this time. He's already on his knees, half-prostrate before his own failure, but he feels his heart speed up, gripped with sudden fear. He pushes himself to his feet, stumbles forward a little and the growling grows even closer.
"I know you're there," he says into the emptiness. "Show yourself!"
The growling morphs into a feral snarl and out of nowhere invisible fangs slash at his calf muscles. With a cry of pain he goes to one knee, but he keeps looking around, searching for the source of the attack.
It's almost impossible to tell what the creature is that's coming after him. He doesn't know whether Hellhounds have free reign here in Purgatory ―outside of Hell, in the real world, they are always controlled by a demon even if at a distance. He still can't see the creature, which makes the point academic, anyway. He doesn't know if it has a name of its own ―only that it's large and powerful and angry. Purgatory is filled with its own denizens, and if up until now Gabriel has been kept safe from them, then he thinks it might only be because God ordained it.
"Father, is this what you want?" he whispers, under his breath, even as he listens for the sounds of another attack.
He forces himself to his feet. Gabriel has been many things, but he is first and foremost an archangel, the most deadly and terrifying of God's angels, and he will be damned ―and he is aware of the power of that word as he uses it― if he will be brought down by such a creature as this.
He pulls his sword without pausing to wonder how he obtained it and whirls to face his opponent. He is on the threshold of something so vast that it cannot be encompassed, even by him. It's clear to him now that he is standing before a line that he cannot permit this creature to cross, although he can't articulate why he knows this. If it defeats him, then all is lost. Gabriel throws back his head with a delighted cackle, his blood thrumming in his veins.
"You want me, sugar pie?" he taunts the beast. "Come and get me!"
Gabriel can't see his foe, but that doesn't mean he can't sense it, doesn't know where it is. He is a warrior as well as a herald, and fighting an unseen enemy is second nature to him. Just before he plunges his blade into the thing's body, that he truly misses having his trumpet to play, the better to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies. He wades back into the fray, his heart singing with the exhilaration of battles long since forgotten, and loses himself in the joy of fighting a battle he knows he's going to win.
~*~
~*~
Gabriel is brought back to himself by the stench of fire ―of sulphur and charred flesh― permeating the emptiness where he has been fighting for so long. He doesn't know how long he has been fighting off the beings that dwell in this terrible place, only that it feels as though he has been wielding his sword for an eternity, hacking and slashing and stabbing until all of Purgatory is awash in the blood of the impure, all the supernatural creatures that have been banished there, far from the sight of God and man. They snarl and growl at him, try to rend him apart with their fangs and claws, but sometimes they cry as well, and their desolate wails reach into him in a way that all their ferocity can't.
Even as he drives them back, unfurling his wings to their fullest in order to lend weight to his blows, he feels sorry for them, to be thus kept away from everything that is good in the world. He once was one of them, or almost one of them, he remembers. Just because he chose to tread the line of blasphemy so carefully, he escaped their fate ―though not entirely, he realizes― and it would have been oh so easy to slip over the edge and tumble into the abyss, to join them a they are now, a pack of starving animals slavering for the light.
"No! Jess!"
He knows the voice, would know it anywhere, recognizes the anguish in it, and the pull of it is irresistible, drawing him toward the fire that he knows is raging just beyond the edges of his sight. He can feel the heat of flames at his back and the creatures retreat, barking and hissing and moaning, as though this fire is too much for even them to bear. He can feel the outermost feathers of his wings begin to scorch, and he's forced to retract them, pulling them closer and finally furling them altogether. He turns his back on his former enemies, confident now that they will not attack him. There is only one way out, and that is through the fire.
"Sam!" he calls out. "Sam, I'm here! Can you hear me?"
The screaming on the other side of the fire grows louder, but there's no answering cry. Gabriel doesn't know what's waiting for him there, only that Sam is still his charge, still his responsibility. Still his. And so without hesitating he wraps his wings around himself like a blanket, and hurls himself headlong into the roaring inferno.
~*~
For a long time there's only pain. He remembers things in bits and snatches. Remembers finding Sam on his bed, recoiling in horror as he stared at the ceiling. Remembers a blond girl in a white dress, wreathed in blue and yellow flame, life's blood dripping onto the burning floor. She was already dead, the stench of sulphur in the air so strong that Gabriel almost choked on it. He barely had time to wrap Sam up and shield him as best he could before the fire engulfed the whole world and sent him spiralling into darkness and agony. His wings are burnt, perhaps beyond repair, he realizes as he struggles to find his way out of the darkness. He's no longer in the body of his vessel, at least not in any way he recognizes. He's as close to his old form as he has been in thousands of years and the pain is unlike anything he ever remembers experiencing.
"Gabriel?"
He lets out a moan, but forces himself to stay conscious, to stay present in the darkness, even when all of him simply wants to succumb to the pain. "Sam?"
"Is it you?"
He has to laugh at that, even though it comes out strangled and half-desperate. "Yeah, bucko, it's me."
"Are you all right?"
"Not really, but that's okay. I'm tougher than I look." He wants to curl into a ball and sob, but he's not sure his present form will allow for that.
"Gabriel, where are we?"
"I don't know."
"It's dark... are we dead?"
"We're not dead, Sammy," he gathers his thoughts to himself and with that he feels the first tendrils of reality coming back, flesh and blood and bone, along with a fresh surge of pain in his charred wings. "It's still Purgatory, I think."
"What do you mean, still? And how can it be Purgatory if we're not dead? Where's Jess?"
He thinks of the girl he saw, and only now does it occur to him that she's the first person he's seen in over twenty years, and he has no idea why. "Heaven."
There's a long silence.
"She's been there for a long time, hasn't she?"
He'd shrug, but he doesn't know how anymore. "Yeah, she has."
"How do I get out of here?" Sam's tone has changed subtly. He no longer sounds like the scared, tormented boy who just lost his girlfriend. There's something stronger about him, now, more determined. Gabriel smiles, because if Sam is meant to get out of here, he'll find a way. The only problem is that Gabriel doesn't have the first clue how to help him do that. He's not sure he even wants to.
~*~
Sam leaves him after that, although Gabriel is certain that he's still somewhere close by. He can feel Sam like an ache in his chest, or more accurately like a kind of tugging, an ebb and flow of the tide. When Sam is gone, everything goes with him, Gabriel understands that now. There is nothing in Purgatory save what you bring with you.
Humans bring life to the dead places of the universe. They are the spark that his Father wanted for his creation, the crowning glory of all his eternal works. God created them flawed because the flaws are beautiful in themselves, refracting the light and sending it spiralling across the universe, like the reflections from a million shards of broken glass. There are no humans in Purgatory and so there is nothing here to see. There are only the spirits of the thousands, the tens of thousands of the not-quite-damned and not-quite-redeemed. Hell is reserved for humans, just as Heaven is reserved for them. In Hell the demons reign over the human souls, as the angels stand guard over them in Heaven. There's a tidy symmetry to it all, one that he never much bothered to think about before. He wonders at the number of times his brethren have sneered at the demons who gibber and scream down below, called them stains and blights and far, far worse. He doesn't know of a single demon who didn't begin as a human soul, not even Lilith.
He's not sure what it means. If it even means anything. His thoughts swirl in his head in counterpoint to the mist swirling outside of it.
The pain is unrelenting now. He thinks he may have burned up what was left of his wings, his grace, in that last-ditch effort to save Sam. The thought fills him with bitter despair: if he's right, and Sam is reliving every moment of his life on earth, then Gabriel hasn't even begun his work and he has nothing left with which to complete it.
"How am I supposed to see him through this now?" he asks, of no one in particular. He isn't sure that his Father is listening at all. There is no questioning God's will, he has always known this, even when he set about to test his limits in every way he knew how. "I thought he was my responsibility, Father!" he yells suddenly. "Why would you place this burden on me if you won't give me what I need to see it through? I can't even find him," his voice breaks on a sob. "I don't understand..."
He tries to feel behind him with one hand, groping gingerly over his shoulder to feel his shoulder blade where the wing joins with his vessel's body, and a bolt of agony almost brings him to his knees. He clenches his teeth around a whimper. There's no way to ascertain the damage on his own and there is no one else ―there has never been anyone else. In the distance, he hears Sam's voice again, crying out his brother's name, over and over, and he realizes exactly what's happening.
"Oh, God. No. No, please don't make me go there now,” he sends the prayer up with every ounce of fervour and desperation that he can muster. “Not now, please. Please, anything but this."
There's no answer, but he knows that he has no choice. Not if he truly wants to see this through. He grits his teeth, staggers to his feet, and forces himself to go to Sam, reaching out through the darkness until he finds himself back in that shabby little diner in Broward County, Florida. He hunches over the counter, even the thought of food making him nauseous, but he orders the strawberry syrup and watches as horrified understanding dawns on Sam's face.
"Why would you do this?" He's being shoved against a chain link fence that doesn't exist, a wooden stake pressed against his vessel's Adam's apple. It can't kill him, and Sam knows it can't, but the pain on his face is palpable.
Gabriel winces as his mutilated wings scrape against the fence. "I'm so sorry... I can't take it back."
"You took him from me!"
Sam is breaking apart in his hands and he remembers how powerful he felt the last time he did this. The last time he took this little human soul and cupped it in his palms and tortured it like a child pulling the legs off an insect and left it mutilated and limping, but still alive.
"I can't take it back, I wish I could, Sam. I'm so sorry..."
The apology feels weak, hollow even to his own ears, because both he and Sam know that in less than a day's time Dean will die again, and this time it will be six months before Sam can get him back; six months during which Sam's already torn soul will grow even more tattered, the threads catching on every uneven surface he goes by, shredding itself against the world. Sam lets out a broken sob and shoves him away, stumbles a few paces, and that's just far enough for the mist to come swirling back in.
"Sam..." He's meant to be Sam's protector, entrusted with this charge by his own Father, but he can't protect Sam from this. This was all his doing. He can kid himself about his intentions all he likes, but there's no question here. The truth is that he tortured him for his own amusement, just to see how long it would take him to break, and he took joy in it, at least at first.
You break my heart, kid. He'd used Bobby Singer's voice, his body, but the words weren't any less true for it.
"Sam, please."
Gabriel reaches for him, pleading, even though he knows it's useless. The movement intensifies the pain in his wings until it feels as though the bones themselves have caught fire and for one blessed moment he passes out. When he awakens again, the fog is so thick he can barely move, barely breathe, barely think. He can still feel Sam's presence, hears Sam's voice, speaking in low tones to someone he can't see.
"I can't keep lying to him like this, Ruby."
Time is moving faster, now, which can only mean things are coming to a head. Gabriel opens his mouth, although he's not sure what he would even say. How can he warn Sam against Ruby when it's already too late? He can't protect him from any of this, can't move from where he's pinned up against the nothing like a butterfly on a card, wings useless, hollowed out like a dead log. He can feel the mist swirling faster around him, bearing them all inexorably forward. He thinks he can make out other voices in the distance as Sam talks to them, growing more distinct, but it's Sam's voice that always rises above the others, Sam's voice to which he gravitates like a beacon.
“I'm sorry,” Sam's voice breaks. “Dean... he's coming.”
There's a blinding light, then nothing.
~*~
~*~
Gabriel can feel his brother's presence everywhere. When Lucifer rises, the earth trembles. Everywhere the Morningstar goes, Gabriel can sense the tremor in the ground, mirrored by the vibrations in his chest, a distant echo of the heavenly music that they both used to hear, oh so long ago. Lucifer is seeking his vessel, tendrils of light snaking out over the earth, probing, feeling their way along like huge tentacles.
Time shifts and shimmers, and while the future is shown to Dean Winchester far away and in another life, Sam is clinging to the vestiges of hope. He watches as, one by one, his friends and allies fall at the hands of Lucifer. Everything blurs together in Gabriel's mind: the past, the present, the yet-to-be-written. He hears Sam talking to that other version of himself, when he was still trying to convince the brothers to take on their roles, to let Destiny play itself out.
Lucifer was the brightest of the archangels, before he fell, and all of the earth takes on a peculiar luminescence when he returns. Gabriel remembers the moment when he broke free of his cage, when he found the paltry replacement vessel that would allow him to roam freely, at least for a while, until Sam Winchester surrendered to the fate that had been ordained for him. Echoing all around Gabriel can hear voices: his brothers fighting amongst themselves. Sounds of anger, jealousy and betrayal. He hears his own voice, first mocking then eager, then frightened, then desperate. He wants nothing more than for his brother to lay down his weapons, to come back home to them, because if Lucifer goes home then maybe, maybe God will take him back as well. He's been alone for so long he doesn't remember what it's like at all to hear the angels' singing all around, and Lucifer has been gone far longer than he.
But then, I've always known where your heart lies, little brother.
He feels himself die for the second time. Lucifer's blade burning icy-hot in his chest, and he remembers the sorrow in his brother's face, because neither of them had truly meant for it to come to this and yet what choice did they really have? There was no time for weeping then, although he remembers looking at his brother's disintegrating vessel with something like horror and sorrow, of clutching at the blade with both hands and feeling that brilliant electrical charge run through them both. No one before then had ever succeeded in killing an archangel before, but it seemed fitting enough to die at his brother's hand.
The final battle between Michael and Lucifer had seemed inevitable from the get-go. When Destiny plays itself out for a second time and Sam surrenders himself to it, a thrill rushes through Gabriel as nothing turns out the way anyone expected.
~*~
'Surrendered' was the wrong word, is the first conscious thought that comes into Gabriel's mind. The pain is still terrible, burning into his back, but it's almost bearable now, or perhaps he's merely getting used to it. When he tries to move, his fingers dig into dirt, and the scent of fresh loam fills his nostrils. Everything hurts, the awful burning sensation in his back not easing up in the slightest.
There's something different here, this time around. He shouldn't be able to taste the earth beneath him and the pain here is somehow more real, more tangible. It's not Purgatory. His body is real, heavy, pinning him to the ground. His foot scrapes against a rock as he tries feebly to push himself upright. But his body won't respond ―perhaps it's been too long since he's occupied this world, or maybe he's just too badly broken, he's not sure ―and so he stays there, face pressed into the unforgiving dirt.
"Holy shit!"
He knows this voice, too, although he hasn't heard it in nearly thirty years. He tries harder to move, to get up, anything, but manages only to utter a moan of pain.
"Gabriel?" He can hear footsteps hurrying closer, and Dean Winchester drops to one knee next to him. "Holy shit," he says again, "it is you! What the hell?" He lays a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and the mere touch sends a bolt of agony searing through his mutilated back. Gabriel jerks, a cry of pain escaping from him. "Oh, God, sorry. Sorry. I just... are you hurt?"
"Where..." he starts, can't finish his sentence.
"This is Bobby Singer's place. Cas... I can't believe it. He said there was something out here, that I should come check. God, I never... we thought you were dead! What with the DVD and Lucifer and... we saw part of it. When you..." Dean's stumbling over his words. "Can you get up? If I help you, I mean. I'll take you to Cas, but I gotta get back to Sam."
"Sam." He tries to turn over, the name reminding him of his purpose. "Have to see Sam."
"Yeah, no offence dude, but you're not going anywhere near my brother. Not now. Come on," Dean grabs his arm, ignoring the pained grunt that it provokes, and hauls him to his feet. "I'll take you inside ―hey, no passing out on me, okay? I don't know anything about angel first aid― and Cas can deal with you. And then we'll get you some clothes. Because, let me tell you, dude: awkward."
This time he manages to turn his head enough to look at Dean's rueful expression, and he laughs.
~*~
"Gabriel."
He's lying face down on a bed inside Bobby Singer's house. He has a few patchy recollections of being dragged inside, fading in and out of consciousness and now almost all he can see is a faded brown blanket and a wall from which the paint is peeling and bubbling. He's so damned tired.
"Must be Castiel," he murmurs into the blanket. "Only angel who can manage to sound that prissy and disapproving."
There's a quiet sigh, just a quick gust that's gone as fast as it came. "We thought you were dead. Destroyed by Lucifer. I saw your wingspan burnt into the ground. How is it that you are still alive?"
"Dad... gave me a second chance."
There's a soft touch on his shoulder, but instead of the flare of agony he expects, the feeling is cool, soothing almost. "Our Father brought you back?"
He nods. "It was a chance at redemption."
"What..." Castiel suddenly sounds a little choked. "What happened to your wings, Gabriel?"
"I don't know," he can't help but moan a little, tears pricking at his eyes. "There was a fire... I had to pull him out. It's destiny, can't be changed. Burned them away."
There's silence for many long minutes and Gabriel understands it. He'd feel sick too, if he saw one of his brothers with his wings burned away. It's the worst mutilation anyone can inflict on an angel, short of ripping out their grace or destroying it. It must be akin to looking at a dismembered child, something so appalling that it doesn't bear contemplating. He'd feel sick himself at the idea if the pain wasn't robbing him of the ability to do anything other than lie utterly, utterly still and simply try to bear it.
Finally Castiel speaks again. "It's not within my power to heal this, but... I can try to help. Will you let me?"
Gabriel sucks in a breath, then nods jerkily. Anything to end this, even if it means Castiel must perform a gesture more intimate than their relationship warrants. He feels the other angel's hands on his shoulders again, squeezing gently near his neck. Then Castiel flattens his hands and smooths them slowly, excruciatingly gently down Gabriel's back, over the shoulder blades where his wings should be. Gabriel hisses in pain when Castiel's palms come into contact with the burnt stubs of his wing bones, but the pain is already fading under the cool touch and his muscles begin to unclench, one by one. He lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, eyes closing as Castiel runs his hands all the way down his bare back and back up again, soothing and healing as he goes. He wants to go to sleep under those hands, sleep and maybe never allow himself to wake again, but he doesn't have that luxury. Not yet.
"Sam..."
"What about Sam?"
"Dean said he's here. Is it true?"
There's a moment's hesitation, and he realizes that Castiel is debating whether or not to lie to him. "Yes, he's here. What do you want with him?"
"I have to see him. Make sure he's all right."
"His soul has been returned to him, if that is what you mean."
He shakes his head, then immediately regrets it when the pain returns, intensifying. Castiel lays a hand between his shoulder blades, and he forces himself to relax.
"Please, Castiel, I need to see him."
"I fail to see what you could possibly have to do with Sam now," Castiel says, and Gabriel can all but feel the disapproval radiating off him.
"He's my responsibility," he squeezes his eyes shut, braces his hands to either side of himself and pushes until he's sitting up, though he has to keep his eyes closed against the wave of nausea and dizziness. "God gave it to me. His soul. I had to... I was his custodian."
He hears Castiel suck in a surprised breath. "Our Father entrusted you with Sam's soul?"
He nods. "He gave it to me to keep."
Another silence. "I don't understand," Castiel says finally. "I was given to understand that his soul was in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael, that Death was able to retrieve it."
Gabriel forces his eyes open and Castiel puts a hand out in order to steady him. "I don't know, Cas. I know that his soul was... it was tender when I got it. Raw. It wasn't anything like what it was before. It's such a beautiful soul," he adds with a smile, remembering the flickering light when he first held the baby in his arms, bright and hopeful.
"It was not so when I last saw it." Cas tilts his head.
"I think that was the problem."
"So it was given to you to... mend?"
"I think so. I have to make sure he's all right, Cas. Please let me see him. You have to take me to him. I... there's still something I need to do. The task isn't complete," he says, knowing how poor his explanation sounds, but he can't put it into words, this feeling that he's not finished yet, that Sam still needs him, one last time.
"He's still asleep. There is time yet, and you're weak and in pain," Castiel says reasonably enough for such a young angel, still unused to how the world works. Gabriel think Castiel may have done some growing up while he wasn't looking. "Dean says I should make sure you are clothed before I let you out of this room again," Castiel adds, and Gabriel lets out a surprised bark of laughter, although it hurts right down to his core when he does.
"Yeah, all right. I'll see what I can do about that. Except I pretty much landed as you see me. Got anything I can borrow? Anything except that trench coat, I mean."
"What is wrong with my trench coat?"
Gabriel suppresses a groan. "I just want pants and a shirt, little brother. Help a guy out?"
"Very well," Castiel doesn't seem especially perturbed by Gabriel's disapproval of his trench coat. "I will see what I can find. Perhaps some of Dean's smaller clothes will fit well enough." He pauses. "You should eat."
"I don't need to eat, Castiel, you know that."
Castiel squirms. There's no other word for it. "I'm not sure. I think perhaps you're not entirely... I don't know how much of your grace is left. Before Sam defeated Lucifer, I found I required both rest and nourishment, even though I was not technically human. At least, not for very long. I think you should try to sleep, at least for a little while. I will bring you some clothes and something to eat."
"I need to go to Sam," he insists, but he knows he won't make it three steps unless Castiel helps him. He has never felt this weak and helpless in his entire existence, has never felt pain like this before. It occurs to him that he might be dying, after all this, of all the ironies, but it only increases the urgency of his desire to see Sam again, to feel him warm and solid under his hands, at least once last time.
Castiel huffs impatiently. "I promise I will take you to Sam as soon as I am sure that you are able to stand for more than a few moments at a time. I also promise," he adds when Gabriel tries to protest, "that I will do so before Sam wakens."
He lets his eyes close, too weary to do anything but let his head sink down against his chest. “Okay. But you have to promise.”
“I will keep my word, Gabriel.”
And that simply has to be enough for now.
~*~
Castiel finds him a loose shirt and a pair of cotton pants that Gabriel thinks might usually serve as pajamas. The pain flares bright and hot again when he tries to dress, and Castiel is forced to shoulder the brunt of the work, manhandling him as though he's nothing but an overgrown doll. For the first time in living memory, he's at a disadvantage before this much younger creature, and he definitely doesn't like the feeling of vulnerability.
“I would not take advantage of your change in fortunes,” Castiel murmurs, as though reading his thoughts.
“It'd be wrong,” he agrees breathlessly, clinging to the last threads of consciousness that keep threatening to escape him.
“But you would have, if our positions had been reversed.”
“Probably. But that was before,” he adds, then lets out a startled groan as Cas threads one of his arms through the sleeves of the shirt, the movement tugging at the muscles in his back.
Castiel hushes him with a brush of fingers. “I apologize if I caused you pain. It cannot be avoided entirely, but I am doing what I can.”
He nods, blinking rapidly to try to dispel the dark spots dancing before his vision. “I know. I know, it's all right, you don't... you don't have to apologize.”
“Nonetheless... I wish there was more I could do to remove your pain.”
He shakes his head, vision blurring. “Not what I need. You have to take me now, Castiel. It'll be too late soon, and this is important.”
Castiel stands. “Very well. Can you walk if I assist you?”
“Won't know until I try.”
The pain when Castiel pulls him to his feet is blinding. His knees buckle and tears trickle from the corners of his eyes, but Castiel wraps an arm around his waist, trench coat rustling almost comically as he does so. Sam would have talked him through this, Gabriel thinks, said something reassuring or silly to take his mind off the pain. Sam has never seen him ill or hurt, but he knows the kid like he knows himself now and somehow he has no doubt of his capacity for compassion, for empathy. Maybe that was the problem to begin with: the kid feels too much.
“Are you ready?” Castiel asks, and he sucks in a breath, steels himself, and nods.
The walk down to the panic room takes forever. All Gabriel can manage is a slow, painful shuffle, leaning increasingly heavily on Castiel's arm as they advance, until the younger angel all but has to drag him the last few feet to the heavy door. Gabriel leans against the wall, breathing hard, while Castiel unlocks the door and pulls it open with no apparently effort. Just through the open door he catches sight of a familiar figure lying on a narrow cot against the far wall.
Gabriel puts up a hand to warn Castiel off when it looks as though he's about to come forward again to help. He understands what he has to do now and it's simple enough. He just has to go to Sam. He braces himself against the wall with one hand, locks his knees and takes a first, faltering step forward. The next step is easier and the next even easier than the second and soon he's stumbling toward the bed as though Sam's mere presence is pulling him forward ―like a rope has been tethered to his waist. He drops to his knees next to the cot where Sam is lying, looking for all intents and purposes as though he might just have laid down for a quick nap, rather than unconscious because of the unspeakable act that was perpetrated against him.
“Hey bucko,” Gabriel rests a hand on his chest, surprised at how warm it feels, rising and falling softly beneath his palm. “Long time no see. You had me worried.”
Sam doesn't answer, doesn't so much as stir beneath his touch.
“He has been unconscious this whole time,” Castiel says from the door. “The Horseman assured us that the wall he built in Sam's mind will stem the tide for a time, but it will not be permanent.”
Gabriel shakes his head. “I didn't think it had been so long...”
“How is it that Sam's soul was with you, when we thought it was in the Cage along with Michael and Lucifer?”
He doesn't know how to answer that. “I don't think it was. Our Father gave it to me after, when it had been flayed almost beyond recognition.” He strokes Sam's forehead, suffused with pity for the boy laid out before him. “It had to be reborn. Remade. Otherwise it would have been too damaged to return to his body, even with Death's help. It's a resilient little thing. So full of life.”
“I don't understand.”
Gabriel looks over his shoulder and smiles through the pain. “It's okay, Cas, neither do I.”
~*~
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
Gabriel blinks, straightens from where he's been apparently sprawled over Sam's cot for a few minutes. He's not sure how much time has gone by, only that he's lost at least five or ten minutes. Long enough for Dean to realize what was happening.
“Gabriel asked me to bring him,” Castiel explains, as though that will somehow make everything clearer.
“And you just did what he said? Why, because he's an archangel? I thought we had this conversation, Cas. Just because he's a bigger dick than the other ones doesn't mean you have to bend over and―”
“Dean.”
“What?” Dean snaps.
“I brought him because I think that his request may have been justified. He has a role to play in this as well. I made a decision ―of my own free will,” Castiel stresses the last three words ever so slightly, and it sends a strange thrill up Gabriel's spine. He doesn't remember the last time an angel ever used those words. Even he never dared to utter them while he was hiding his face from the sight of God. Free will is a gift given to man, and man alone, and it feels terrible and blasphemous and utterly good and right all of a sudden, and he can't begin to wrap his mind around this new feeling.
“No.”
“Dean, please listen to reason...” Castiel starts, but Dean interrupts him.
“I said no. That douchebag has made Sam suffer enough, and I won't have him in here, not when Sam... not like this. I just got him back, I don't want that asswipe's face to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.”
“Dean...” Castiel tries again, to no avail.
“Are you all deaf all of a sudden?” Dean is furious. “Get the fuck out, Gabriel, and stay the fuck away from Sam!”
“No...”
They all turn to look at the bed, so startled that it's almost comical. Sam's eyes are open, though they're cloudy with confusion and not a little pain. Gabriel remembers feeling it when Sam screamed and he fumbles for Sam's hand, grabbing hold of it. In a flash Dean is on Sam's other side, leaning over him.
“Sammy?”
Sam smiles weakly. “Dean...”
Dean lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, it's me, Sammy. God... you okay?”
Sam's gaze flicks to Gabriel. “I can't...” his hand shifts in Gabriel's palm, fingers moving to squeeze his hand. “Where were you? I remember...”
There's a sudden cold, sick feeling in the pit of Gabriel's stomach. This isn't right. Sam shouldn't remember any of it. There's no reason for him to remember any of what happened before. Gabriel can sense the tension in Sam's mind, the forces warring with each other: conflicting memories, his soul battering against the wall that's been erected in his mind. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Gabriel can feel the fissures forming in the wall, the metaphorical bricks and mortar already beginning to crumble under the onslaught.
"Gabriel..." Sam moans, pushing his head back against the thin mattress of the cot. "Gabriel, please..."
"What's he talking about?" Dean's tone is anxious, already beginning to border on panic.
Castiel moves forward, carefully skirting Gabriel so as not to accidentally hurt him more, and Gabriel feels a flash of gratitude toward him for his solicitude, even when all their attention is focused on Sam. Castiel bends over Sam and places a hand over his chest, just a few inches away from where Gabriel has laced his fingers together with Sam's and lets his palm hover there, an expression of intense concentration on his face.
"There is something wrong," he says finally, more for Dean's benefit than anything else. Dean is the only one in the room who can't feel what's happening inside Sam's mind. "The wall isn't holding."
"What?" Dean grabs hold of Sam's other wrist, wraps his other hand around Sam's fingers. "But he said it would hold... he said it would! A lifetime!" He looks up at Castiel, expression despairing, and Gabriel wants to tell him that that's exactly what you get when you trust the word of a being that's almost as old as God and just as powerful in its own way, but he thinks there may be more to it than this.
Sam moans again, shifting on the bed, eyes rolling up in his head. "Gabriel..."
Dean glares at him. "Why's he keep saying your name. Are you doing something?"
Gabriel shakes his head. "Not doing a thing, bucko. I think that's the problem," he rolls his shoulders against a sudden flare-up of pain. "It's not enough to put up a wall in his mind. Sam's soul is strong... stronger than most," he says slowly, as realization dawns upon him. "Both of your souls are. It's why you've withstood everything that's been thrown at you for so long. That wall can't hold back the part of his soul that remembers hell."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sam's soul yearns to be whole," Castiel interjects, trying to explain. At least he gets it, Gabriel thinks gratefully. His head aches, stomach churning, and he wonders if this is what it feels like for humans or whether it's something else entirely. "Think of it as being like..." Castiel gropes for words. "Like two very strong magnets, held apart by paper. The pull is too strong, and so they try to touch through the paper, and eventually the friction causes a tear, and the tear becomes a hole..."
"Until the whole paper rips apart," Dean finishes, looking as sick as Gabriel feels.
"You got it," Gabriel has to shift his weight until he's leaning more heavily against the cot, his body impossibly heavy. He can feel something trying to tug free of the restraints of the flesh, trying to regain his former lightness and soar away, but Sam's fingers twist against his, keeping him anchored in place. "The wall's too weak."
"Fuck," Dean looks as though he's been stabbed. "I just... this can't be it. It can't be. I didn't go through all that just to watch him die again! I can't... I won't lose him again. There's got to be something you can do, Cas!"
Castiel shrugs helplessly. "This is beyond my power. All of it has been, from the start. You know that."
"But not beyond mine," Gabriel smiles, then reaches out to stroke Sam's forehead while the kid mumbles incoherently under his breath. "Sam's my responsibility," he murmurs to himself. "I get it now, Father. I think I understand what you wanted from me." He pushes himself to his feet, and his vision whites out from the pain. Dean catches him when his legs threaten to give out.
"Woah. Easy there. No falling over, got it?"
"You're going to have to go," Gabriel tells him, surprised at how weak his own voice sounds. "Just for a minute or two, but you can't see this."
"What? No. Whatever you're going to do, I am damned well staying here and making sure you don't hurt my brother."
Gabriel chuckles, braced against Dean's forearms. The feeling is reassuring, in an odd way, as though he's somehow absorbing some of Dean's strength by sheer virtue of touch. "Sorry, champ. Either you leave, or this can't happen. I swear, I won't hurt him. Cas ―brother," he amends, "he can't watch this. I can't control what he'll see and I'll hurt him. This one is your charge, you take care of him."
"No!" Dean's resisting, holding onto him so tightly that Gabriel can feel the boy's fingers digging cruelly into his vessel's flesh. "No, Cas, I have to stay..."
Castiel steps forward, flashes Gabriel a look that's filled with both understanding and sorrow. "Thank you, Gabriel," he says simply, then turns to Dean. "I will explain in a moment. For now, I apologize." Then he brings up his hand swiftly, touches two fingers to Dean's forehead, and they vanish from sight.
~*~
Gabriel just manages to keep himself from falling. "Good boy," he murmurs under his breath. Then he looks down at Sam, still fighting an unseen battle in his mind, gently brushes his hair back from where it's plastered to his face with sweat. "Hang in there, kiddo. Just a few more moments." He sits back down on the bed. "We've done this once before, you and me," he says. "Remember? That one time when you were so sick? Think of this the same way."
Sam's eyes snap open. "Gabriel..."
"That's right. I'm going to fix this."
Sam struggles to sit up, but only manages to lift his head a fraction of an inch off his pillow. "How... I remember you. It was like a lifetime of déjà vu. How did you... was it a trick?"
He shakes his head. "Not a trick, I promise. You won't ever remember this again, not when I'm done."
"You weren't there in the end," Sam continues as though Gabriel hasn't even spoken. "You weren't... not in the Cage, not then, I remember... but all the other times, even when I couldn't see you. Why am I not... I don't understand," he says weakly, and the expression in his eyes is the same perplexed, petulant look he would get when he was seven years old and couldn't wrap his mind around a math problem. Gabriel laughs in spite of himself and slumps a little where he's sitting, putting a hand on the edge of the cot to keep himself from falling forward.
"It's okay. You're not crazy, but the wall in your mind isn't holding its own anymore. I have to fix it for you. It's the last thing I'm ever going to do, bucko, so I need you not to fight me on this. Can you do that for me?"
"What do you mean, the last thing?" Sam has always been the type to get to the root of the problem, no matter the situation and he's fighting the cacophony in his head now to stare at Gabriel, aware that something is wrong and at the same time hoping what he's hearing isn't true.
"Exactly what it sounds like, Sam. I'm sorry."
"No," Sam's voice has dropped almost below a whisper. "No, you can't... I... you just came back. Just got here.” He sounds lost, suddenly frightened. “What am I supposed to do when you're gone?"
"Exactly what you always did before."
Sam squints at him. "Are you real?" The eternal question, the one he posed every time his father and brother questioned Gabriel's existence.
Gabriel smiles. "It doesn't matter, now."
Sam is already fighting the pull of unconsciousness, lips moving to form almost soundless words. “Thank you.”
There are only a few angels who have ever voluntarily ripped out their own grace. Lucifer was the first, followed by those who were faithful to him, who could not bring themselves to love God's creations as he'd commanded. There was Annael, who loved His creations so much that she craved nothing more than to become one of them and she was punished thrice over for her disobedience. And now, for the third time, Gabriel reaches into himself to find that last shred of grace that he has been granted for so short a time, and all for the love of the one human whose failings saved the world. His hand closes around the flicker that is the proof of God's love for him and he pulls once, as hard as he can, because if he falters once he won't be able to bring himself to try again and when his grace rips free the pain is indescribable, a thousand times worse than he ever imagined, worse even than having his wings burnt away by demonic fire.
Even though his grace is all but gone, all but extinguished after all this time, he cradles it in both hands, and feels himself slipping free of the bonds of his vessel. Sam's soul is before him again, still shining in spite of how tattered and torn it is. It's still so very beautiful, he thinks with something akin to awe: like sunlight shining through lace on a summer's morning. He can see where the soul is beginning to tear, where the light is tarnished by something so terrible even his own mind cannot encompass it. The soul shivers when he approaches it, but it recognizes him, moves forward to greet him and he feels a surge of love and gratitude and sadness emanating from it as he reaches out.
He lets his grace escape from his hands then, like thread unwinding from a bobbin. It clings to the soul, weaves itself in and out where the soul has been wounded, threading itself around the gaping wound. It's not so much pulling the frayed edges together, he realizes, as simply preventing them from unravelling further, healing and cauterizing, but leaving behind a definitive scar. There is no wall here, Gabriel realizes belatedly. It never was a wall. That was simply an image used to convey what was being done to a human mind that couldn't possibly understand the vast implications of what it meant for a soul like this to be wounded thus. There is no healing to be had, only a small, ineffective attempt to contain the worst of the damage.
In the blink of an eye, the soul vanishes, and Gabriel is alone again, and tired. The tremendous weight he's been carrying all these years has finally lifted, and there is nothing left but exhaustion, nothing but a weariness he never expected to feel. He's old, he thinks, old enough to have earned the right to die in relative peace. He feels himself falling, the last shreds of himself crumbling and coming apart and vanishing away into nothing, and for the first time in his whole life, he feels grateful for the opportunity to cease to exist.
~*~
~*~
Go to Epilogue
no subject
It's Gabriel, recognizably the dude from the show, and yet for the first time I totally buy him as an archangel! His fighting in purgatory, his poor burned wings, thinking of Castiel as a young 'un...egad. Fantastic. :D
no subject
Thank you! I'm glad you still recognize the Gabriel from the show, because I was a little worried about getting him right, about balancing the whole trickster vs archangel thing.