Work Text:
Gabriel knew it was clichéd, sitting on a mountaintop praying, of all things. Very clichéd. But it meant something to Gabriel. Before the Fall and the War, whenever He would want to speak with one o.f his archangel siblings, He would summon them to His Throne Room; when He wanted to speak with Gabriel, they always seemed to go down to earth and sit in the snow on a mountain somewhere.
Angels were light and fire and glory and wrath and brightness, but Gabriel liked the cold. It had always reminded him of the fun times that he'd had with his Father. Lucifer might have been the favourite, Michael the eldest and Raphael the healer, but He and Gabriel had the same sense of humour.
So it was utterly understandable that when Gabriel wanted to be alone, to pray to his Father, that he'd come back to where he'd gone so many times in the past with Him.
He freed his wings with a thought; spread all six, gloriously golden feathers stretching in the wind. Enjoying the stretch, he sank down onto his knees, trailing his feathers in the snow. Prayer. He snorted. Who was he kidding? He hadn't prayed in millennia. Not since Lucifer went nuts and Heaven went insane. Wasn't sure he still remembered how to pray.
When he'd left because he couldn't handle being ignored by his brothers or forced to watch them fight each other. If he's honest with himself - and he tries to be, because really? Who else would be honest with him as an archangel and a pagan God (Castiel, his mind supplies traitorously)? - if he's honest, he'd say that a large part of the reason he left Heaven was his Father. He wouldn't listen when Gabriel begged and pleaded. He thought that He had stopped caring and Gabriel just couldn't handle that.
"Father, I don't know where You are, or if you're even out there. But please, if You are, please, just tell me what to do. What do You want me to do? You brought Castiel back; I'm sure of that, even if Raphael isn't. But for what? So he could be slowly stripped of his Grace? His power? If helping humanity is what you want, then why allow Michael to cut Castiel off?" He held his to stop a reply that even he knew wasn't coming. "I know, I know. Free will. It sucks sometimes. You suck sometimes." He raised a brow at that, smirking slightly. He could remember telling his Father that before on occasion. And he could remember the smirk he received in return along with the His reply.
I'm not here to be liked by everyone, Gabriel. Sometimes a god, and a father, must do things that his sons disapprove of. However else will you learn?
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned--" He paused and laughed to himself. "No, no, I can't start it that way. I've never been pompous or formal. That was always Michael. You made me this way - well not exactly this way. I helped some. What I'm trying to say is, I'll talk to you how I used to.
"Father, I left Heaven - You probably know that - I left and I went native. Hid amongst the pagans. I wonder if You know that? You do seem to know a lot. Whatever. What better cover was there for a prankster archangel than a Trickster god? None really. Looking back, it was probably a stupid cover, that if Michael and Raphael had even used an ounce of their considerable brain power, they'd've been able to find me." He froze and cocked his head; had his brothers been able to find him? Certainly no one came to bring him home. Did that mean that Michael was okay with him skipping out? Or did he not know where Gabriel had gone other than somewhere on earth?
"Fuck. Ah, oops. Sorry Father. Forgot that You dislike swearing. So I became Loki. Made a name for myself. Carved out my own little niche in Your little world. But even then, I couldn't run from myself. I could run from Heaven as much as I wanted, but from myself?" He shook his head. "Impossible. Once the Archangel of Last Judgement, always the Archangel of Last Judgement. I guess that is where the deadly pranks came in. I saw the follies and sins and faults of humans and I felt compelled to judge them. I know I killed hundreds of them since I skipped out and that there can never be any forgiveness for that. After all, humans are Your little babies. But the more I suppressed my angelic nature, the more the need to judge came. Eventually I forgot who I was, why I was doing what I did. I enjoyed it." He shuddered at that. How could he have enjoyed it. "I was vicious, petty, broken. And I... I..." His voice broke.
"Father I don't want to be that way anymore. I want to be your angel again. Your archangel. Please Father, please. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to be not broken. Tell me how I'm supposed to help stop Michael and Lucifer. If that's what You really want. Tell me that You want the world to end, that You want me to sound my trumpet and call the Host to raze the earth. Please Father, please!"
He trailed off, curling in on himself, wrapping himself up in his wings and sobbed, rocking gently. "I can't let them destroy the world, Father. I can't unless that's what You want. But how can I kill my brothers whom I love?
"And how can I tell Sam how I feel? After what I have done to him, to Dean. It's stupid. I might as well give up." He snorted again and smiled wryly. "Yes, Dad I know. You hate it when I give up. I should fight for earth, for Sammy. But at the same time, they're my brothers. Daddy, please."
As the sun set, his sobs trailed off and he felt a warm wind surround him, trailing through his feathers in the most intimate of caresses. He gasped and tensed, but the wind paid no heed and carried wrapping up him until it reached his brow where it turned into phantom lips.
I am proud of you, my son.
Gabriel's jaw dropped and he reached a hand out, waving it in front of him. Nothing was there. He heard a chuckle and frowned. "Father?"
Gabriel, another voice caressed his Grace, tearing through him with sorrow and pain and loss. Tell the Winchesters I'm sorry... Castiel's voice trailed off with a sharp pain.
"Castiel!"
Go. Your brother needs you, my son. Remember, I'm so very proud of you.