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Hope wasn’t something Gabriel felt often. Hell’s purpose is to bury that feeling into the dirt. Destroy it. Burn it into ashes. There was nothing but the dread lodged in his chest. When the little window of his cell opened up, he became a trophy to Asmodeus.
He wanted to scream.
He couldn’t scream out on Angel Radio. Not that anyone would take him seriously anyway. He was supposed to be dead. Gabriel had given up trying to pry the cuffs off. There was too much dampener on them. He couldn’t break free.
Asmodeus was draining his grace to use for his own schemes. Of course that bastard couldn’t conjure up his own illusions.
No, he was using Gabriel’s own patented disappearing act for himself. At first all he wanted to do was rip a hole through him for even being so daring. That trick was the whole reason he was able to fake his death and evade his brothers for so long. One slip up and then everyone would know, but no one ever figured it out. He grew hot whenever he thought about it too much.
His stomach growled, low and mean. He had no idea the last time he ate anything, for survival or for pleasure. He had no idea how long he had been in the cell in the first place. He finally gave up marking after day 27.
He thinks they stitched his mouth on day 53.
Gabriel dug his face into the side of the cell wall, hearing movement from outside. It stung the open sores on his face, but it was better than looking his captors in the eye. He always struggled when they took off the cuffs. In the beginning, he smote most of his demon handlers before he was put back in place. Now he only makes it inconvenient.
But he’d fought like Hell when they’d sewn his mouth shut.
He never wanted to relive that. Asmodeus had him bound down to the chair in the throne room that day. They wanted everyone to get a chance to see an archangel be humiliated. He was conscious through the whole thing, thrashing and resisting. He’s covered in blood all over than just his mouth. Add even more injury to the insult.
He remembered the first cut that had been slashed across his face. Blood rolled down his face and he bore his teeth, ripping the fresh stitches taunt. Asmodeus had pulled his face close to his, smirking as he sliced a long gash into his abdomen.
Every open sore, cut, and bruise twinged and throbbed. Never getting the time to heal before they were being fucking open again.
There were loud sounds coming from outside his cell. Probably a squabble, but that wasn’t new. Muffled voices came through the door,. Demons weren’t quiet, unless they were on a personal mission. Was it time to drain his grace again? Some demons had learned that being quiet was better if you don’t want to be noticed quite yet.
“I swear if Ketch was lying, I will personally track him down and kill him right now,” a familiar, older voice said.
There was a resounding click of the lock The door swung open.
“Gabriel…” a new voice whispered.
It wasn’t the same voice, but it was still familiar. The awareness pulls against his mind. He’s heard the voice in his memories.
He pulled his face from the wall slightly, just enough to see who was there. His eyes struggled in the light, but he could tell they were tall. Only one moved towards him slowly.
The figure knelt down to his eye level Gabriel pulled his face away. It was a small act of defiance. Not enough to get beat, but enough to maybe make them angry. A gentle hand touched his knee.
“Gabriel?” they tried again, low and soft. He turned his head again, just enough to see who it was.
He had lost too much grace. He was starting to hallucinate. Or worse, the demons were starting to use it for their own torturous games. There was no way he was looking at Sam Winchester.
Gabriel let out a long,muffled whine and tried to pull away. This was worse than the physical torture they put him through. He didn’t want to be tortured with things he couldn’t have. The simple things like tenderness and humanity, only for it to be taken away.
He wept silently into the wall. He waited for the hand to move, to slap him, stab him, do something. The pain never came. Instead, it moved up to the cuffs on his hands. He heard the satisfying click. The hands moved to the cuffs on his ankles and he heard them unlock as well.
“Sam, we need to get moving before they realize we’re here,” a third, gravellier voice came from outside the door.
He sounded strained, like he was trying not to yell or make a scene. It sounded vaguely like Castiel? Maybe it wasn’t a hallucination.
The gentle hand returned back to his knee.
“Can you walk?” the Sam asked, his voice sounded more hurried now.
Gabriel shook his head slowly. It had been so long since he walked by himself. Normally, they just yanked him out, blinded him, and dragged him to wherever they needed to take him. This is when the illusion would end, if it were one. He would be wrenched back into the harsh reality of Hell.
He felt himself be lifted up into broad arms, with one arm hooked firmly under his legs, the other secured under his back,and hand locked around his chest. The flannel was soft under Gabriel’s face. He buried his face into it.
Suddenly, he was moving quickly. The lights of the hallways that got caught between the gaps when his head was jostled were too bright compared to the dimness in his cell. There were more footsteps and yelling. Shit. They weren’t hallucinations.
“Sam, keep going, we’ll meet you outside!” Dean yelled.
A few corridors later,they were outside. He whimpered softly when he breathed in the fresh air. It was stark in contrast compared to the stale, decaying air of Hell. He inhaled greedily. The promise of having fresh air wasn’t guaranteed. He still didn’t trust himself enough to know if this was real or not.
The sun was too bright for him and his eyes felt like they were glued shut. He was placed on the ground, but only long enough for him to hear the sound of a car door opening. Sam put his hands under Gabriel’s arms to move him inside the Impala. The last time he was in the backseat, he was hiding after faking his death with Kali. Before “dying”.
He opened his eyes to see Sam giving him a guilty look. It made the bottom of his gut wibble uncomfortably and he darted his eyes away. He hated it. Pity. It’d feel less shitty if it was warranted. But deep down, Gabriel thought he deserved this.
Running around as a Pagan god was bound to catch up with him eventually. Loki caused chaos, demanded blood, slept with every person who would drop their pants. He missed being Loki. Missed having no responsibilities and silver-tonguing himself out of trouble. Yet, part of him didn’t want to be that side of him anymore. The thought slipped away before he could dwell on it any longer.
Sam moved away and went to start rifling through the trunk. When he returned, he placed a large red bag in the seat beside him. He climbed into the back of the car with him, shutting the door. He quietly went through the bag, looking for something. Gabriel stared at the motions with mild curiosity. The numbness he felt in his cell, however, was slowly draining from his bones leaving a dull ache in its path.
He let out a long, tense groan and pushed his face into the leather of the seat. Sam broke his focus away from searching at the sound.
“Hey, easy,” Sam soothed, placing one of his hands back on his knee.
The touch didn’t do anything to ease the ache, but it was a sort of comfort from the pain crawling inside his skin. It took a bit longer for Sam to find what he was looking for, but soon he pulled out a pair of scissors.
Gabriel saw them glint out of the corner of his eye and jerked back slightly. He was an archangel, sure, but he was running only on the dredges of his grace. He really didn’t want to have the stitches pulled out just yet. They hurt like fire going in, he knew they would hurt like hell coming out.
Sam lowered the scissors, “Do you want to wait until we get you somewhere safe?”
Gabriel looked like a cornered animal right about now. He nodded slowly as he put away the scissors. He had no idea why Sam Winchester would ever be nice to him like he was being now, considering all the things that he had done to him in the past.
The last time Gabriel had saw Sam was at Elysian Fields. He looked much older, more tired than he did back then. His hair was longer and the frown lines on his face were much more visible. His baby-faced physique was gone and in its place stood a tired, worn down soul. Not that his soul was very bright to Gabriel. With his grace struggling to recharge, all he could see was a dim halo around Sam’s figure.
Sam opened his mouth to say something before there was a sudden commotion from outside. Both of them turned to look out of the front window towards the source of the noise. Dean and Cas came sprinting out of the old building, a few demons tailing close behind.
Dean slid towards the car and threw the driver door open, climbing inside. Cas stabbed a demon clean through before smiting the other one. The car purred to life, as the seraph jumped into the car before they took off down the road.
“Jesus, you’d think they thought we were stealing him or something,” Dean said. There was hint of stress still laced heavy in his tone.
“Dean, this is no joking matter,” Cas said. He gripped the dashboard as they turned sharply.
“There’s no telling how long they’ve had Gabriel and the reinforcement number proves they weren’t going to give him up without a fight.”
“No shit, Cas,” Dean grumbled, running a hand through his hair.
Gabriel watched the exchange with tired, yet amused eyes. Good to know that they still acted like an old married couple, no matter how long he had been gone. He began ebbing off into sleep against the leather of the backseat.
Sam’s hand never left his knee, rubbing calming circles. The gentle touch helped pull him into unconsciousness.
Gabriel awoke to the sound of gravel crunching beneath the Impala. The car was quiet, except for the sounds of breathing. The engine died down. The hand was still on his knee. Had Sam kept it there the whole time? Or had he put it back when he knew they were close to arrival? Deep down, he hoped for the former.
Nobody was moving even though the car was off. He shifted against the seat and all of them jumped at the sudden movement.
“Apologies, Gabriel, we weren’t sure if you were asleep or not,” Castiel said, turning in the passenger seat to look at him.
Something akin to bitterness colored his face, wearing a firm frown and downcast eyes. Dean sighed, pulled the keys from the ignition, and got out of the car. He looked tired. They all did.
“Hey, Gabriel, do you need me to move you again?” Sam asked.
Gabriel nodded slowly. Not being able to speak was exhausting. He wasn’t even sure if he could talk with how long it had been.
Sam moved the medical bag to the floorboard, before pulling Gabriel into his arms, getting out of the car. Castiel moved towards the trunk of the car, where Dean was waiting.
The sun hung low on the horizon. How long had it been since he had actually seen the sun? Tears pricked at his eyes at the sight. Crying over a sunset was so raw and human, almost frightening even, to someone as old as Gabriel. He turned his head away from the sight and hid his face away into the safety of Sam’s old flannel.
He was carried down the stairs of the bunker and placed into one of the chairs in the study. The warmth of Sam was gone. Gabriel pulled his legs up in the chair closer to him. His fingers gingerly felt around his ankles at the marred flesh. He would’ve healed himself already, if his grace wasn’t so depleted. He felt himself wincing against his own touch.
The doors of the bunker slammed shut. They walked back down the stairs to join him in the study. There was charged silence as they stood around him. He shifted in place, his eyes darting at every possible exit.
“Gabriel, you know we need to remove those stitches eventually, right?” Cas whispered gently.
His breathing sped up at the thought, his mind screaming in protest. The blood rushing in the back of his ears grew cold and his muscles visibly tightened. Sam threw his hands up in surrender.
“Or do you want to get cleaned up first?” Sam asked.
Gabriel exhaled, shakily relaxing his body against the chair. As much as he was dying to take them out, the idea of a warm shower pulled in his chest with urgent want. He was aching to get the blood and dirt off of him. He was tired of his face pulling and stretching against the dried blood every time he moved.
“Do you want to try and walk?” Cas asked.
He shook his head. His eyes couldn’t focus. He waited on Sam to pick him up and take him to wherever the showers were. The chance of autonomy was greatly appreciated. But Gabriel was just too drained to make the effort.
Dean grunted in disapproval. Sam and Cas glared at the sound. He threw his hands up in defense.
“I’m gonna go unpack,” Dean said, as he picked up the duffle.
Gabriel was being lifted again. Sam must be getting tired of picking him up over and over again, Gabriel thought. But then again, he didn’t weigh that much anymore. Cas followed closely behind as they made their way down the corridors of the bunker. When they arrived at the men’s shower room, Sam paused in front of the door.
“Hey, Cas, can you run and get me some clothes from my room, that way he’s not waiting in the cold for them?” Sam asked before pushing the door open with his foot.
Cas nodded before walking off towards Sam’s room. Gabriel saw a tinge of sadness (Maybe it was regret? Guilt?) behind his face before he turned away.
Sam placed him on the tiles of the shower floor. He looked unsure about what to do next.
If his mouth would have been open, he would’ve made some offhand remark, “Don’t you want to undress me, big boy?”
It feels like a lifetime ago since he was able to make someone blush with some casual innuendo or double entendre. Right now, however, he just wanted a shower.
He gestured at the rags on his body, ”Yes, you can take my clothes off .”
Sam sighed and knelt down in front of him. He reached his hands forward, “Are you sure you’re okay with me doing this?”
Gabriel stared at him with wide eyes. Why did he care so much about this? It messed with something deep in his chest. Made him ache in an entirely different way than his physical ailments. When was the last time someone asked him permission to do something so intimate like this? The demons just stripped him down and threw these dirty, old rags on him before tossing him in the cell. His eyes began to burn with the emotions his body was forcing him to endure.He closed them before nodding for the okay.
Sam’s hands slowly lifted the shirt over his head, tossing it to the side before moving to the pants. He pulled them off, averting his eyes when he realized that Gabriel was entirely naked underneath. He tossed them with the shirt into a pile. He stood up and leaned over, turning on the showerhead.
The shower just barely missed Gabriel. He noticed Sam taking his flannel and jeans off,too. He quirked an eyebrow in Sam’s direction and gestured to the sudden lack of clothes.
“I’d rather not have to take off wet jeans later,” he said, leaning into the shower stall to check the temperature. Deeming it warm enough, he pulled both of them into the small stall, sitting on the floor behind the archangel.
Gabriel let out a long moan when the shower water hit him, not giving a damn who heard. He fought to keep the tears from earlier back. It felt so good to feel the warmth seep back into his bones. He didn’t realize how cold he had been until now. He heard the click of a bottle open. He opened his eyes, turning his head just enough to see soap being poured on a washcloth.
“Can you work on cleaning up your body while I work on your hair?” Sam asked, handing him the cloth, “It’ll probably go much faster if both of us work together.”
Something hurt inside of Gabriel. Earlier Sam was rubbing soothing circles on his knee and now he doesn’t want to do anything but get things over with. He bit it down, knowing it was probably just the lack of grace playing with the basest of human emotions.
He took the rag from his hand and slowly began to soap up the top half of his body. Soon, two hands began to rub slow, methodical circles into his scalp, working the shampoo into his hair. Gabriel had begun to let out small whimpers at the touch. His body wasn’t used to such a tender feeling and it was starting to bubble over inside him.
Gabriel ached to seek out the hands that were now running their fingers over the dirt of his scalp, pushing back further into the touch.
He tried to avoid his open sores as long as possible, until he heard the shower room door open again. Castiel walked in with a handful of clothes in his arms and a towel draped over his shoulder. He set them down gently on the sink counter before walking over to the stall Sam and him were currently in. There was obvious confusion in his face, but he didn’t let onto what he was thinking.
“Gabriel, I can’t heal your physical wounds until you clean them,” he said, looking at the injuries.
Gabriel pulled his limbs closer to him. He knew Castiel was bluffing. As much as he loved his baby brother, he knew that he just didn’t have enough juice to heal him properly. Healing humans was one thing, healing something that was higher than him was difficult even at full-winged fighting power.
Castiel seemed to sense that Gabriel called his bluff and pulled off his trench coat and suit jacket. Gabriel only had seconds to realize what was going on when he suddenly caught the motion of the sleeves Cas’ shirt being pushed up and the look he gave Sam.
Almost immediately, Sam had pulled Gabriel into his lap, holding him firmly against him and locking his arms down while still having access to his wrists. Castiel took the opportunity to grab the forgotten washcloth from the shower floor and start to lightly dab around Gabriel’s exposed wounds.
It stung like someone had poured Holy oil on them and thought it be a great idea to light it on fire. Gabriel would have howled if he could. He writhed violently, trying to break free. Sam struggled to keep him down, while Cas kept repeating soothing words to try and placate him, avoiding a knee to the face. Castiel finished cleaning his wrists, he moving to his ankles, which proved to be a more difficult task.
Gabriel wept without aim.He hated feeling so weak and emotional. He used to pick and choose what emotions he portrayed. There were no words coming from Castiel anymore, ones that he could hear at least. He started to hear the soft sounds of Sam humming behind his head. Even though one hand was still wrapped tightly around his arms, keeping him in place, one hand moved up to soothe through the archangel’s hair.
Gabriel finally began to wear out. He slumped against Sam’s chest, closing his eyes tightly. He breathed heavily through his nose as he tried to level out his breathing, flinching everytime Cas found a particularly sensitive spot. The rag was gone almost as soon as the whole ordeal started. Gabriel opened his eyes slowly, almost deliriously. His body was beginning to protest being awake.
He let out a small set of puffs through his nose, as if he was laughing, looking at the drenched angel in front of him. Even Sam seemed to find it somewhat amusing because he could feel the other’s chest jump faintly underneath his back.
“We can dress them later after you’ve dried off,” Castiel said, pushing his soaked hair out of his face, “In the meantime, I’m going to dry off and change into something more...dry.”
Cas picked his trench coat and suit jacket up from the ground, exiting the bathroom in a shuffle. The two waited until they could no longer hear his footsteps. One grinned and the other quirked the edges of his mouth. The warm water was beginning to run cold and Gabriel began to shiver.
“Come on, time to rinse off,” he said. He locked his arms under Gabriel’s, lifting him closer to the spray. He kept him there long enough to get all of the shampoo and soap off.
Gabriel was wrapped in a large bath towel. He reveled in feeling of the fluff of the towel, sinking further into it. His eyelids dropped against his wishes as he struggled to stay awake while being surrounded by warmth.
Sam let out a small snort at him when he came back from the stall.
Gabriel shot him a glare, ”And what exactly are you laughing at? ”
Sam took a smaller towel from the counter. He dropped it on the archangel’s head before turning to the set of clothes on the counter.
He began to ruffle down his hair with the towel, while Sam rifled through his clothes to see what might fit him. It had been a long time since he had taken a shower for his own pleasure, but at least he could handle this. Standing wasn’t really an option.
Sam paused for a second before turning to look at Gabriel. “Cas does know he could have just dried himself without having to change…?”
Gabriel’s tired expression dropped for a second as he realized what Sam meant. His baby bro was probably going to snag some clothes from his precious Dean. He hoped he could get this theory confirmed soon, if anything to bring some amusement back into his life. That is one thing he would never get ruined for him: teasing the shit out of his family and their friends (or lovers, maybe, in this case).
Sam seemed content that had brought some life back into Gabriel. He held up an old worn hoodie and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring. Gabriel decided his hair was dry enough when he could feel the water seeping through the towel to his hands, tossing the thing up on the counter.
“Time to get you in some real clothes,” Sam said, lifting Gabriel up on the counter, “It’ll be easier if you sit here.”
The towel around Gabriel got tugged off and he was given a pair of underwear.
“You’ll, uh, have to that yourself,” Sam coughed, averting his eyes again.
Gabriel let out a snort through his nose in response. Such a girl, he thought to himself. He struggled only for a small bit before getting them over his hips, snapping his fingers when he was done.
It hurt him to know clothes didn’t just appear on him like he hoped.
Sam turned to look back at the archangel. He knew that it bothered him, but kept quiet about it, which Gabriel appreciated deeply. He hooked on arm around Gabriel’s midsection and lifted him to hover over the ground. Sam picked up the sweatpants with his free hand and gave part of them to Gabriel to be put on.
Once the pants were on, Sam set him back down on the counter. When he turned around and began walking towards the shower room door, there was a panic that jumped into Gabriel’s chest. He isn’t going to leave me is he?
“I’m going to run and get a comb to get the knots out of your hair, do you think you can put the rest of your clothes on while I do that?” Sam asked. His face flushed with concern, before he added, “I’ll be right back, you know?”
Fuck these feelings that kept screwing him over. He threw him a cocky sort of grin and waved his hand in dismissal, hiding the slip up behind mock arrogance like he would have before all of this.
Sam’s face grew withdrawn. Gabriel felt a pit grow in the bottom of his stomach. Fuck. The door shut loudly. He dug his palms into his face in distress. Why the fuck would you do that? He struggled to bring his knees towards his face.
He began to get frustrated with his legs; he had pulled them up earlier, why couldn’t he now? Tears pricked at his eyes and he twisted his lips against their bounds wryly. Heat flushed his face and his breathing grew heavy. He vowed not to cry, but then he picked up the soft red fabric of the hoodie. All the anger, frustration, hurt, uncertainty, and fear burst free.
Gabriel kept his hands against his eyes, hoping it would slow the emotional outburst down. He wanted to just cry without it seeming like it went against all his character. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stopped torturing himself for a moment. He stared at the shell he saw staring back at him. The stitches in his mouth stood out angrily against the pale of his skin. The scars on his body seemed to jump out at him now that the blood was gone. Damn demons.
He didn’t want to look at himself anymore.
Sam ran back in at the sound of something loud breaking, only to find Gabriel gripping his hand close to his chest. Blood was pooling, dripping onto his still bare chest and onto the sweatpants he was borrowing. The mirror lay in large pieces around him.
“What the hell?!”
Gabriel’s chest was heaving heavily with his sobs. The anger that was still simmering inside him quickly cooled off, turning his blood ice cold at the sight of the brush being tightly gripped in the other’s hand. His face shifted from rage to fear. His breathing began to whiffle and shudder from keeping it held back, but he didn’t dare make any sound now that he had an audience.
Sam’s anger seemed to drain just as fast as Gabe’s did and the brush that had been clenched tightly in his hand, relaxed in his grip. He dropped the brush to the ground with a loud rattle. He walked slowly over to him, keeping his movements light to show that he wasn’t angry anymore.
Gabriel just held his hand closer to his body, shying away from the approaching man. It didn’t do much as gentle fingers rested on his wrist and he only tried weakly to pull away before the hand was being uncovered.
Sam opened his mouth to say something before closing it. He quietly pulled the other’s hand under the faucet before turning it on. He flinched when the water hit the open wounds but made no noise otherwise. Gabriel grabbed the towel he had used to dry his hair to try and wipe the blood off his chest.
Sam stopped him before he could.
“Hey, you don’t know if glass bits are stuck in it, let me get a new one,” he said. He struggled to find one in the shelving unit stuck to the side of the wall.
Gabriel didn’t move his hand out from under the water. Something was clicking in the back of his mind like a fork stuck in a garbage disposal.
Don’t move it until you’re told to.
It kept replaying until Sam came back with a washcloth.
“Dean is going to throw a bitch fit when he sees this,” Sam said, “I’ll tell him it broke because you passed out or something.”
Gabriel wasn’t looking at anything anymore. He wasn’t responding to his words, clutching the rag tightly in his fist. He was staring into the corners of the tiles on the floor, trying to get lost in them completely. Gabriel didn’t want to be awake anymore. The longer he was awake the longer he had to deal with his unstable emotions and uncontrollable actions.
Sam caught the glassy look in Gabriel’s eyes. He picked up the flannel from the floor to wrap around the open cuts on the archangel’s hand. He quietly picked up his unresponsive charge and carried him out of the shower room.
Gabriel didn’t want to focus on anything except the lights that lit up the hallways of the bunker. He barely noticed being sat down on the end of a bed, until a soft hoodie was being maneuvered over his head and arms. Looking down, he managed to read out the words “Stanford”.
It smelled stale, like it hadn’t been pulled from the drawer in a long time, but Gabriel still caught the faintest breath of old perfume and smoke.
“Listen, we’ll take the stitches out in the morning but you have to promise you won’t hurt yourself again until then,” Sam said. Looking at Gabriel was painful.
Gabriel flopped backwards against the pillows on the bed. His body swiftly pulled him back into unconsciousness, not really noticing how the hoodie was too small for it to ever fit Sam.