Chapter Text
“I can’t kill my brother,” Gabriel protested.
Dean didn’t quite glare at him, but it was close. “Can’t or won’t?”
Gabriel didn’t answer. Dean stared at him a moment longer, then headed back into the Elysian Fields Hotel, his frustration and disdain trailing after him like a storm cloud following Eeyore.
Gabriel sat in the back of the Impala for a moment longer, sulking. Killing Lucifer wasn’t his job, and he didn’t want to kill any of his brothers, no matter how estranged they were. Even if Dean had a point about this whole Apocalypse thing not being Dad’s will, what choice did they have? What could Gabriel do about it?
Still stewing, Gabriel got out and tried to test how far he could get now that Kali thought he was dead. Not far turned out to be the answer. He was tied to this do-it-yourself vessel, and said vessel was tied to his ex. Gabriel huffed and started pacing across the parking lot, trying to decide what to do.
Gabriel.
Gabriel halted—he’d thought he’d never hear that still, small voice again.
Go back and make it right.
“Wha—bu—how?”
Go back and make it right.
Mind whirling, Gabriel flew back into the hotel, heading straight for the Winchesters’ room to avoid everyone he knew would be elsewhere. After thinking through the possibilities, he hatched a maybe-crazy-enough-to-work plan and, with a snap of his fingers, hid a message on a Casa Erotica 13 DVD just to be on the safe side. Then he zapped down to the dining room to give said DVD to Dean, get him and Sam to escort Kali to safety, and set up an illusion to confront Lucifer.
Everything went like clockwork until Luci saw through the illusion and turned Gabriel’s own sword against him. Time seemed to slow as Luci caught the hilt and used the sword’s momentum to drive a blow toward Gabriel’s stomach. And before the point could make contact, everything paused.
No. Go back and make it right.
And suddenly Gabriel understood Dad’s meaning. He was just able to wrest the sword out of Luci’s hand before time started again and the blade drove deep into his gut, wounding him to the grace—but not fatally, not yet. He cried out in pain but quickly pulled himself together, getting a good grasp on the sword so it wouldn’t come out too soon and let him bleed out.
Then he cast his memory back... and jumped.
“Hey!” said a familiar voice close by as Gabriel came to. “Hey, careful, take it easy, mister.”
Gabriel frowned slightly without opening his eyes—the voice was younger, as it should have been, but not young enough. There was some kind of commotion going on in the background, and it took a moment for him to place the noises and smells as belonging in a hospital ER. That, the words he was hearing shouted about new patients, the approximate age of the presence hovering in front of him—
He cursed under his breath. He’d landed 23 years short of his mark.
He forced open his eyes to see the battered shade of the not-quite-deceased Dean Winchester looking around frantically. “Hey!” Dean called. “Got a stabbing victim over here! Hey!!”
“Forget it, Dean,” Gabriel groaned quietly. “They can’t hear you—and they can’t help me anyway.”
Dean looked down at him in shock. “Wait, wha-who-wha-huh?”
“I’ll... I’ll explain....” Talking was putting too much of a strain on his wound, and a trickle of grace leaked out around the hand he was using to hold the sword in place. When Dean’s eyes widened slightly, Gabriel decided to skip a few steps and uncloaked his wings. They were still hidden from mortal sight, but Dean fell back a step when he saw them.
“What are you?” Dean demanded, more awed than anything.
“Gabriel. M’name’s... Gabriel.”
Dean cursed quietly as he put the clues together. “What happened?”
“’S a... long story, but... I’m here... to make sure... you don’t die.”
“Yeah, well, no offense, but how do I make sure you don’t die? I mean, you... you’ve....”
“Sword? Yeah. Won’t... kill me yet. Just... stick close.” Gabriel closed his eyes to concentrate on getting to his feet, taking one hand off the sword with the intent of using that hand to push off the floor.
Before he could do so, however, Dean instinctively caught his hand and pulled him to his feet—inadvertently giving him a slight charge of power as he did so.
They stared at each other for a moment, panting, until Dean managed to gasp, “What... what was that?!”
Gabriel held up a finger, then focused on healing the wound enough that he could safely withdraw his sword. After he’d done both and caught his breath a little better, he explained, “Human... human souls... they’re powerful. An angel can... draw power from... touching a soul. I didn’t... didn’t mean....”
“Wait—touch—are you sayin’ I’m a ghost?!”
“Not yet. But your body’s... hurt bad. You all were, but... you worst. Look, let’s... let’s head someplace... less obvious, huh?”
Dean ran a hand over his nose and mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Can I just....”
Gabriel shook his head. “No point. They can’t... see you, even if... if they’re awake. You can’t... too many docs. And you don’t... want to see....”
“Dammit, Gabriel—”
“They’ll be fine... John and Sam. ’S why... why I’m here. Partly. Let’s just....” Gabriel stowed his sword and began dragging himself toward an empty break room he sensed nearby.
Dean was clearly torn, but whether he realized there was nothing he could do at the moment for his brother and father or whether his native curiosity simply won out, he followed Gabriel cautiously. Once they got to the break room, Gabriel set out a chair for Dean and snapped up some coffee and three chocolate éclairs for himself. Dean tried to snitch an éclair but was foiled by the fact that he couldn’t grasp solid objects in this state. Gabriel didn’t tease him about it, though; he was too focused on gaining what energy he could from the sugar and caffeine.
Once he’d downed one éclair and half of the coffee, Gabriel finally made eye contact with Dean again. “Okay. Talking hurts, so short version: You, coma. John, guilty. Sam, fine. Car, not. John gives Sam list. Bobby and Sam get car. Bobby recognizes stuff on list as being for summoning. Sam brings stuff, picks fight with John. John summons Azazel.”
Dean blinked. “Who’s Azazel?”
“Yellow-Eyes.”
“What the hell is Dad gonna summon him for?!”
“Deal. Colt and his life for yours.”
Dean’s mouth fell open. “But—”
Gabriel held up a hand. “He loves you. And you matter.”
It took Dean a moment to get past all the low-self-esteem things that wanted to come tumbling out. He finally managed, “And why would Yellow-Eyes go for it?”
“Sam.”
“Why? Why Sam?”
“Long story short?” Gabriel picked up one éclair and turned it so the unfrosted side faced Dean. “You,” he said, pointing to the pastry. Then he pointed to the filling and said, “Michael.” He set that éclair down and picked up the other. “Sam,” he labeled the pastry, then pointed to the frosting. “Demon blood.” Then he pointed to the filling. “Lucifer.”
Dean turned so pale, he almost looked like a true ghost. “Is... is that... I mean, are you saying my brother is....”
“Not yet, no. That’s the plan, though. You’re Michael’s vessel. Sam is Lucifer’s. You both say yes; they duke it out; Mike kills Luci; and the world ends.”
“Say yes—you mean, possession?”
“In a sense. They need permission.” Gabriel looked at the ‘Lucifer’ éclair before taking an annoyed bite out of it.
Dean slumped back in the chair as he processed what Gabriel had just said. “So... so what do we do? How do we stop it?”
Gabriel swallowed. “’S why I’m here. It’s not Dad’s will.”
“Dad—you mean God.”
“Mm.”
“God sent you here to stop this.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, then, why now?! Where the hell were you when Mom died?”
Gabriel grimaced as the pain from his stab wound flared, and he pressed a hand to it. “’S where I was headed.”
Confused, Dean frowned and shook his head. “I... I don’t....”
“Forget it. If I can, I’ll explain later. Main thing is, I’m here now. I heal you, John doesn’t deal, and the whole thing goes off the rails.” Gabriel took another bite.
Dean gave him a long, searching look. “Can you? I mean, you just took a sword to the gut. That’s not something you just shake off, even as an archangel.”
Gabriel nodded and swallowed. “Have to go slow. Cover my tracks. Hide us all—me, you, and Sam. But I’ll do this, Dean.” He looked Dean in the eye. “I’ll do it if it kills me.”
Before Dean could come up with a response, they heard footsteps coming toward them down the hall. Dean looked at Gabriel, wide-eyed. Gabriel managed a smile and a wink before Sam trudged wearily into the break room.
“Sammy....” Dean stood up.
“Hey,” Sam said to Gabriel, oblivious to Dean’s presence. “This seat taken?”
“That one’s saved. This one’s free,” Gabriel replied, pointing to the chair that sat between his and Dean’s.
“Thanks.” Sam pulled out the chair Gabriel had indicated and dropped into it heavily.
Dean gave him a searching once-over before sitting down again.
“Problems?” Gabriel asked.
Sam groaned. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Just got t-boned by a semi; my dad and my brother are still unconscious.”
“You should be in bed.”
“Can’t. Not ’til I know they’re okay.”
“What good are you gonna do them if you collapse?”
Sam shook his head. “That’s not the point. They’re all I’ve got left, and... we were just starting to be a family again, but now... it’s like we’re at war.” Then he huffed. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“You’re fine.” Gabriel moved, grunting softly in pain as he shifted position. “War, huh?”
But Sam was instantly alert, his own troubles evidently forgotten for the moment. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m dyin’. But you’re what’s important right now.”
“Aw, come on,” Dean objected at the same time Sam replied, “ME?! I just got dinged up. I’ll be fine. What’s wrong with you? Do you need me to get a doctor?”
“Got one,” Gabriel smiled. “Tell me. Who are you at war with? Your family?”
Sam didn’t look too pleased at Gabriel’s refusal to drop the subject. “Well... yes and no. I mean, me and Dad, we have our problems. But that’s not....” He huffed again. “Tell me, do you believe in demons?”
Gabriel nodded, his smile gone. “Had a few dealings.”
Sam looked down at the table. “Yeah, well... so have we. Some days I wonder if all of Hell is after us.”
“Not all of Hell, no. Just one faction.”
Sam looked up, frowning. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“What do you know about me? About—about us? And how?” Sam didn’t seem sure whether to take that statement at face value or not.
Gabriel closed his eyes and opened them a few seconds later. “I know I can stop this attack on your family before someone dies.”
Sam shook his head a little. “How can I be sure I can trust you?”
“What can I do to prove it?”
Sam sighed, and Gabriel understood why; even if he didn’t already know the score, Sam was practically broadcasting his memories of events earlier in the evening. They hadn’t been able to detect Azazel with their usual tests. But then something occurred to Sam. “If you know about us... you probably know what’s going on with my brother right now.”
“I do.”
Sam nodded and considered how to phrase his request. “If I asked you how to make sure he recovers, what would you charge me?”
“Nothing. Because that’s why I’m here.”
“What... what do you mean? Are you a faith healer or something?”
“I can heal him. And you need to have faith.”
Sam swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll trust you. What do you need?”
“For you to keep my presence a secret.”
“I can do that. Anything else? Supplies? Books? Anything?”
“I can hide you from the demon, but it will hurt for a few seconds.”
Sam blinked. “O-kay. Not that I object, ’cause I don’t, but why?”
“Why?”
“Why do you need to hide me in order to heal my brother?”
“Because if the demon finds you, he’ll find your brother.”
“Why’s he so interested in Dean?”
Gabriel chuckled softly. “Now that is a long story.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up. “Sorry, just... seemed like a random request. Go ahead.”
Gabriel reached out and laid his hand flat on Sam’s chest. There was a flash of light and a searing jolt of pain through his ribcage.
“HEY!” Dean objected, and then the brothers chorused, “What’d you do?”
“Warded you. In a way that can’t be undone even with broken bones.” Then a small pained noise escaped Gabriel as his wound flared again.
Dean reached out and touched his arm. Gabriel pulled in a deep breath as the pain eased and spared Dean the briefest flicker of a grateful glance—he wasn’t willing to alarm Sam by acknowledging that Dean’s soul wasn’t tethered too closely to his body at the moment.
Then he looked over at Sam again. “I’m... better now.”
Sam swallowed. “Look, are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
“Let me see your brother.”
Sam nodded. “Sure. Wait here; I’ll go see if they’ve moved him to a room yet.”
Gabriel nodded in return and watched him walk out. Then, as soon as Sam was out of earshot, Gabriel turned to Dean. “Thanks.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. What did you do to him?”
“Sigils. I’ll do the same for you as soon as you’re stable enough for it not to cause problems.”
“Sigils? Where?”
“Ribs. All the way around.” Gabriel took another bite of éclair.
Dean’s eyes widened.
Gabriel chewed and swallowed and continued, “Won’t hide you from humans, but it will hide you from angels and demons both. And it matters, believe me, ’cause some of my brothers are just as invested in jump-starting the Apocalypse as Azazel is.”
Dean shook his head. “This is....”
“Yeah.” Gabriel popped the rest of the éclair into his mouth and downed it quickly.
Sighing, Dean rubbed his forehead. “Okay... what now?”
“Now, we wait for Sam to sneak me into your room. Then I’ll ward it, and then we’ll all get some rest. I want you to stick close, and not as a generator. Right now, you’re Reaper bait if you wander off.”
“Reaper? Like Grim Reaper?”
Gabriel nodded. “They’re neutral, really, unless they’re bound with a spell like that woman in Nebraska used. The one that’s here is just doing her job. But her job list includes you right now.”
Dean sighed. “All right. I’ll stick close.”
“Thanks. Should make my job easier.”
Dean reached to help him up.
Gabriel waved him off. “No, Dean, not unless I need it. Besides, Sam’s got a safer idea.”
Sam walked in seconds later, pushing a wheelchair. “They’ve moved Dad and Dean into separate rooms. Here. Even if you’re okay to walk, this’ll be faster.”
Gabriel smiled. “Thanks, Sam.”
Sam gingerly lifted Gabriel out of his chair and into the wheelchair. Then he handed Gabriel the last éclair and his coffee before pushing the wheelchair down the hall toward the room where Dean’s body was currently resting. Dean’s soul kept pace beside the wheelchair, and Gabriel, taking a page from Douglas Adams, used the energy he gained from polishing off the éclair and coffee to keep a small someone-else’s-problem field around the three of them so that they attracted no attention at all as they went.
They walked inside and Gabriel drew a sharp breath. He’d known Dean would be in bad shape, but he hadn’t expected this. “Oh, Father,” he breathed.
Sam introduced Gabriel to the nurse as the boys’ uncle, but Gabriel barely paid attention to the list of injuries she reeled off—most of the internal bleeding had been stopped and other injuries had been treated well enough to heal with time, but there were intracranial swelling and lesions on Dean’s brain that would kill him without a miracle.
Gabriel was there to bring the miracle, sure... but was he well enough to do it in time?
He licked his lips and reached out, stroking gentle fingers over Dean’s forehead. The gash on Dean’s forehead closed, and the monitor readings improved slightly—not enough to attract attention yet, and not enough to bring him out of the coma, but enough to get him out of immediate danger. Inside, the lesions started to heal. And beside him, the image of Dean’s shocked soul flickered, taking on the appearance of the body on the bed.
Then Gabriel pulled his hand back, reserving some energy, while Sam thanked the nurse and ushered her out of the room.
Dean gasped, “What did you just do?”
“Started the process,” Gabriel whispered. He also took stock of the private room, noting a recliner that was no doubt intended for any family member who might want to spend the night. Then, as Sam closed the door, he spoke up a little. “Hey, Sam... get me to a wall, would you?”
Sam came back into the main part of the room. “Sure, which one?”
“Any of ’em will do.”
Sam pushed the wheelchair to the far wall.
Gabriel took a deep breath, braced himself, and put his hand flat against the wall.
Dean moved closer. Sam took a step closer. “What are you doing?” rang in unison.
Gabriel just closed his eyes and released a burst of power, setting wards around the room that would be invisible to the human eye. Then he fell back in the chair with a pained gasp. “There... warded.”
“Hey... Gabriel?” Dean gasped.
“Sam... could you... recliner?”
Sam lifted the slight form and carried him to the recliner.
“Thanks... just... gotta rest. Go... go check on your dad?”
“You’re sure?” Sam asked. “Can I do anything?”
“No, it’s... it’s okay. I’ll be all right.”
Sam nodded and headed out.
Once the door was closed again, Gabriel finally looked over at Dean, eyebrows raised to acknowledge his question.
Dean met his eyes. “I feel... odd.”
Gabriel frowned a little. “Define... odd.”
“Stronger.”
“Stronger how?”
“I don’t know. Just... stronger.”
Gabriel shrugged with his eyebrows. “Huh. Could be... the wards, could be... physical... dunno.”
“I want to help you.”
“Dean....”
“Let me.”
Gabriel looked at Dean for a moment before sighing and nodding.
Dean’s hand closed over Gabriel’s forehead. As soon as it did, power flowed into Gabriel—power that he recognized as beyond human or angelic origin. It wasn’t enough to heal him, but it did ease the pain and refresh him.
He drew a deep breath and let it out again as Dean backed away. “Thanks, man.” And thank You, Father.
Dean nodded and looked at himself. “I look so sick.”
“Yeah. Well, you’re stable. I can’t heal you too fast, but... I’ll do more in a little while. Maybe get those sigils in place.”
Dean nodded again.
“And we’re safe here. So... hang loose, huh?”
“Sure.”
Gabriel nodded and leaned back with his eyes closed. He rested that way until Sam returned.
Sam chewed his lip anxiously as he made his way to his father’s room. When he got there, he met a nurse exiting the room.
She smiled. “Your father’s awake.”
He smiled back, relieved. “Thanks. How is he?”
“Angry.”
“Angry? About what?”
She shrugged.
He sighed. A grumpy Dad was not on the top of his list of things he wanted to deal with at the moment. “Okay. Thanks.”
She smiled again and walked away, leaving Sam to steel himself for the coming conversation. He took a deep breath and let it out again, then walked into the room.
John started talking as soon as Sam made it into the lighted part of the room. “Sam, thank G-d! They wouldn’t tell me anything! Have you seen your brother?”
“Hey, Dad,” Sam replied. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. He’s in pretty bad shape, but... he’s gonna pull through.” The mystery healer hadn’t told Sam from whom his presence needed to be kept secret, but Sam had a gut feeling that John was high on the list.
“Good, good. Here.” John painfully reached in and slid a card from his wallet. “This should cover the insurance.” Then he looked at him. “How are you, Sammy?”
Sam pocketed the card—bearing the name Elroy McGillicuddy?!—and shrugged. “I’m vertical.”
“Which tells me nothing. Did a doctor check you out?”
“Yeah. I’m a little banged up, but nothing too serious.”
“Good.” John tilted his head. “Eye, huh?” He traced where Sam was cut up. “Sight okay?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t get near anything vital.”
“Good.” John groaned.
“What’s the story with you?”
“Busted arm, shot in the leg... I’ll be fine.”
Sam nodded. “Good. Glad it’s nothing worse.”
John smiled slightly and leaned back, and Sam saw different sized pupils.
“Dad? Is... is your head okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? I mean...” Sam gestured toward his own eyes. “You’re... looking kind of concussed.”
“No big deal. Dean’s priority right now. I don’t know how long that card will hold, so we need to get out of here as soon as we can.”
“Dad, that might take a while. He’s in a coma.”
John went pale. “You said... you said he would be fine.”
“He will. But right now, it’s touch and go.”
John growled, “If you had shot me like I told you to—”
“Dad, I am not going to apologize for not killing you! You and Dean are all I have!”
“You had a chance to stop this once and for all!” John then winced and leaned back, eyes screwing shut as he battled his pain.
Sam wasn’t about to let the matter drop, however. “No. No, not if it meant destroying our family. Nothing is worth that, do you hear me?”
“Stopping this demon is everything, Sammy. Everything.”
“We’ll find another way, Dad. We’ll get you and Dean back on your feet, and then we’ll find Yellow-Eyes again. I am not letting either of you die, not even for this.”
John sighed deeply.
Sam shook his head. “I mean it, Dad. I don’t want you dead.”
“Let me rest.”
“Sure. I’ll be in Dean’s room.”
“Okay.”
Sam really didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t provoke another argument, so he sighed. “Night, Dad.” Then he left, intending to go outside to call Bobby and drop the insurance card at the nurses’ station before heading back to Dean’s room.
Unseen by Sam, John waited; then when the door closed, he opened his eyes, reached for a pad and pencil, and began to write.