Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At first, the night is silent.

Darkness lingers in the quiet of the dark forest, trees noiselessly swaying in a dainty breeze. A mosquito alights on a low hanging branch, twitching its wings into a laid-back position. A family of squirrels huddle close, tails wound around each other as they shiver. An owl soars silently down to snatch a mouse, and it lets out a squeak of alarm before slumping in the bird’s gleaming talons. The biting cold of the wind whispers of the approaching winter, and the forest listens.

Everything is as it should be.

And then, as if a roaring wildfire rips across the land, everything changes.

At first, the forest looks the same. There’s a silence. The trees still sway. But the animals feel the shifting of the tides, hooting and chuffing in unease. Restless at some strange change in energy.

A light sparks. Flames flicker to life. The shadows begin to writhe. And a different sort of silence falls over the forest.

The brushing of fabric against foliage murmurs through the woods. Breath whistles quietly through the air. Torches illuminate cloaked figures darting through the trees, until the sense of unease eddies into a small clearing.

One figure stands taller than the rest, feet planted on some sort of wooden crate. Their arms raise to the sky as a few stragglers breeze through the trees, and as the mass of dark cloth stills, the leader- for the controlled, at ease air around them marks them as nothing less- pulls down their hood.

Hair tumbles from under the dark cowl, red as a blacksmith’s furnace. It reaches the woman’s lower back as she gives the crowd a knowing smirk, the edges catching the firelight like a sharp blade.

Her eyes are dark as she begins to speak, her voice low and melodic, yet somehow reaching each of those gathered.

“Per ignem facti sumus, et per ignem renascemur.”

Through fire we were made, and through fire we will be reborn.

“As my inner circle, I have promised you all riches beyond your wildest dreams. This is not quite that, but it’s a start.”

The figures murmur amongst themselves, cloaks rustling, before quieting as their leader continues,

“I have captured something you will all reap the benefits of.”

Twisting her arms through the air, she mutters something under her breath, and a reddish glow permeates the clearing. Figures separate, leaving an open circle in front of the leader, and, in a dim flash of light, a dark iron box thuds to the ground.

A flood of strangled warmth rips through the forest, and a shudder echoes through the trees. The cloaked forms lean further away on instinct, as the cage sits.

Taking control again, the leader shakes her hair out of her face and traces her hand down the side of the iron,

“Behold…?”

Clicking once, the cage slides open, and a chain disappears into almost unnatural darkness. Smirking, the woman reaches down and tugs on the chain.

“...the Archangel Gabriel. ”

Out of the shadows, a crouching figure stumbles into the firelight.

What looks to be formerly golden hair is brown, with smudges of dried reddish rust, and similar streaks run across his threadbare clothing. An aura of defeat radiates from him, and he keeps his head down, posture submissive as the circle gasps and murmurs at him.

The leader hushes them, saying something in a lofty, sultry tone to the archangel , and he shifts.

Between one second and the next, enormous golden wings slide into existence behind him, flaring once before they settle. They shimmer with a dancing light, championing the glow of the torches immediately. But as eyes get used to the new light, the wings start to look grimy. The gold is more of a dark, dirty brown, feathers askew. Dried blood sticks to the underside of them, and the muddy colour mixes with the rusty tinge.

The cloaked followers fall quiet, an awed rush of silence ringing through the night, and the wings shift, ruffling before they tuck in closer to the archangel’s body.

“As we all know, Archangel grace, feathers, and blood are priceless. And this is a supply our coven will have for hundreds of years.”

At her words, the coven shuffle closer, almost wary at the energy spilling off the angel. Most of them had never even seen a normal angel, let alone one of His first.

“How did you find him?”

Surprise ripples through the gathering as a witch- because it’s becoming increasingly obvious that that is what they are- steps forward, tipping back her hood.

Her hair is a dirty blond, eyes a steely grey. The upturned nose and natural lilt to her lips gives her face a snobby look, and as she nods to the archangel , her gaze is full of disdain.

The look that the leader gives her is almost fond, and she shakes her head at the younger woman, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the still angel.

“He practically fell into my wards. Somehow, he didn’t have enough energy to put up much of a fight.” She shrugs, the movement apparent by the twitching of her cloak, and rallies her tone, “But that is a story for another time. We will only have to be extra vigilant, for if this thing escapes, it will surely come for us.”

This time the murmurs are in agreement, and the leader smiles, beckoning,

“Now come. You may all take what you need from it.”

As the witches move forward in a mass of dark cloth, the archangel lets out a whimper, the sound breaking in his chest. The mass does not hear it, only the leader, and she bends down to shhh quietly in his ear.

Shuddering, he complies.

As the witches close in, the animals of the forest shiver. It’s as if a raging ice breaks through their burrows, their nests and their hollows. It gets under their skin, pain and misery and fear.

A young mouse squeaks in terror as it wakes from its sleep, and its mother curls closer around it. She disguises her own fear with a lick to the younger one’s head.

As witches withdraw from the iron box, gold tinged blood dripping from their treasure, the glow from the archangel’s wings dims slowly. As time goes by, the torchlight is needed again, setting the lighting from its previous regal shine to a low, flickering warmth.

Quick words draw witches into the shadows as they vanish from the forest as if they’d never been there, and no one stays longer than is needed. The leader stays perched beside the box until the younger witch from earlier, the one who had spoken out, draws her aside, speaking of matters wicked and foul.

The last witch- for only one remains- kneels beside the archangel, her face hidden beneath her hood. He suppresses a flinch at her closeness, tense, but she doesn’t immediately reach for his wings, instead tracing a finger through the blood dripping to the floor.

“Don’t say anything.”

Her voice is but a whisper, a brush of wind through the trees as she touches the chains around the archangel’s wrists. The blood paints them in twisting symbols, runes of power and freedom, and as the witch works, she lets a strange, melodic language pass from her lips. At the sound, the archangel jolts in surprise, before settling down again.

“ You shouldn’t be caged like this. It’s wrong. ” She shakes her head, fingers tracing patterns with the blood, “ I love my coven, but this is too far. To imprison an angel is something that should not even be possible. ”

The crunching of dead leaves alerts her to glance up, as the leader approaches, the snide witch behind her,

“Celeste? What are you doing?”

Her breath coming in a sharp pant, the witch- Celeste- looks down long enough to trace one final line.

“I’m sorry.” She stands in one fluid movement, facing her leader with a sad frown, “Libera, angelus. Ave atque vale.”

Eyes widening, the leader steps forward, words spilling from her lips, and a spiralling mass of dark energy lashes out, and Gabriel flinches back, the pain bubbling in his throat, but the effort is too late. Celeste’s words ring through the air,

Be free, angel. Hail and farewell.

With a cry, Gabriel’s chains break, and he surges from the floor. His wings flare out, gusting wind towards the witches, and for a moment, he is exactly what legend portrays him to be. A golden light shimmers behind him, glimmering into a halo of brightness, and he nods to Celeste. A sound like melodic bells rings through the air, and, with a flap of his wings, he’s gone.

Chapter Text

Sliding his salad onto the table next to Dean, Sam slumps into the seat beside his brother, fork in his hand. The bunker is quiet apart from them, water draining down the sink from the dishes he’d just rinsed. In the doorway to the lounge area, Sam can see their jackets and stuff draped over the furniture.

Okay, mostly Dean’s stuff. Sam puts his away like a normal, neat person.

His brother sits beside him, feet up as he munches on his own lunch. As Sam stabs some lettuce with his fork, Dean groans at the sight, leaning back to kick at the underside of the table as he finishes off a burger and fries,

“I never want to see another wendigo in my life.”

Wrinkling his nose at the grease left on Dean’s plate, Sam spears some salad into his mouth, waiting until he’s finished with it before answering, “I never want to see you eat anything like that in my life, but we don’t always get what we wish for.”

Rolling his eyes, his brother is about to respond when Sam flicks him, raising an eyebrow, “Dude, you’re just sad Cas is busy.”

“No, dude, I’m annoyed because you made me be the bait.”

Sam grins, “It was the best of the options. Would you rather we had let it eat someone else?”

Poking his knife at Sam, Dean narrows his eyes, “I’d rather you stopped gloating about it and moved on.”

“Dean, the only reason I’m still talking about it is because you keep bringing it up. If you want me to stop gloating, stop complaining.”

As they relax into an easy teasing, full of fond glares and mock-frustrated eyerolls, a shudder rocks through the bunker.

Instinctively, Sam springs to his feet, Dean only a second behind him. His brother’s whole body is tense, like the room is about to blow, and Sam realises he’s the same.

“What the-”

Already darting into the doorway, Sam scans the bunker, looking for runes and flashing lights. Dust sifts down from the ceiling as the shuddering fades, and oh,

“It’s the warding, Dean. Something just flung itself against the bunker’s warding with a hell of a lot of power.”

Pulling a gun out, Dean swears under his breath, making his way towards the stairs, and Sam follows, mind whirring, “That much power… It could only be so many things, Dean.”

Snatching an angel blade from Dean’s pile of discarded clothes, Sam continues on, “A prince of hell, an archangel, an extremely powerful witch, maybe. A god . ”

Looking behind him as he pauses up the stairs, Dean gives him a look- as if to say ‘yeah, and?’ - and Sam huffs out an exasperated breath, “I mean, Michael and Lucifer are in the cage, Raphael and Gabriel are dead. I don’t know why a god would ram into the bunker. Whoever’s out there probably wants us dead.”

Shrugging, Dean looks down, checking his gun is loaded, 

“So we’ll gank ‘em.” As Sam shakes his head, about to protest, Dean hops down a step, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Look, Sammy. If we can kill them easily, we will. If not, it’s better to confront them outside than wait for them to break in, right?”

Reluctantly, Sam nods, and Dean grins, “And if shit hits the fan, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Dean turns back up the stairs, and Sam reluctantly follows, holding the angel blade in front of him. The gun in the waistband of his pants is a reassuring weight as Dean puts a hand on the doorknob, glancing back at him.

Clicking his neck to the side, Sam shakes himself out, then nods, and Dean opens the door.

~

For five in the evening, it’s bright outside, like the sun is closer than usual, and for a moment, Sam is blinded. He holds the blade out in front of him, desperately blinking, and, after a moment, the whiteness pulling at his vision dims. He can see the dark blur of Dean to his left, gun pointed towards the source of the light.

Slowly, it fades from the sun down on earth to a torchlight shining in their eyes, until they can finally make out a silhouetted figure standing before them.

A familiar silhouetted figure.

With a stuttering breath, Sam stumbles back. His heart leaps into his throat and the angel blade wavers in his hand. It’s… but it can’t be…

“Gabe?”

Dean whips his head around quick enough to give him whiplash, but Sam’s vision has tunnelled.

Words ring in his ears, If it isn’t Sammy Winchester! and Sam blinks away the sudden, strange burning in his eyes- which is obviously from the bright light only now fading away.

He’s not… he’s not just imagining it..?

The light fades to a soft glow, and Gabriel’s features come into focus. Shock ricochets through Sam’s system as he takes him in.

Swaying slightly, Gabe is hunched, tense, as if hiding a gaping wound. Blood mixes with dirt in his golden-brown hair, and his eyes, always so playful and alight with energy, are dim, more of a murky brown than a sparkling whiskey gold.

Scrapes and scratches litter his form, and his clothes are streaked with blood and tears. With another distressing bolt of surprise, Sam realises they’re the same clothes from when he had died, three years ago.

“Wait, Gabe? Like Loki? The archangel Lucifer offed?”

Dean steps forward, and Gabe flinches back, stumbling a moment before swaying to a standstill.

“Wait, Dean.” Holding a hand out, Sam approaches the archangel, posture unthreatening. He slowly places the angel blade on the ground, taking the gun from his waistband and putting that next to it. Dean hisses out a “Sam!”, but he only steps forward,

“Gabe? Is that… is that you?”

The angel’s eyes flash, and he stumbles forward, 

Sam.

Jolting, Sam blinks as the word echoes through his head, but before he can say anything, Gabriel’s knees give way, and he lunges forward to catch the fragile figure. Dean rushes forward as Sam tucks his arms around the limp body of the angel, and Sam looks down, concern rushing through him at the vulnerable expression, at the lines of fear and exhaustion etched into his face.

“Please tell me you don’t want to bring him into the bunker.” 

Looking up, Sam winces at Dean’s expression, “Dean-”

“I thought you learnt your lesson with Ruby?”

“Ow, Dean?!” Sam flinches, glaring at his brother, “Also, Ruby was a demon. Gabe is an archangel. ”

Picking Sam’s gun and blade from the floor, Dean shakes his head, “So was Lucifer. Sam, he put you in a torture loop where I died every day.”

“He died for us, Dean. Or- whatever.” Looking back down, Sam adjusts his grip on the angel, scanning for any injuries that would explain this . He doesn’t find any. “Look, why don’t you just call Cas. He can check out Gabe and see if something’s really wrong.”

Kicking at the dusty ground, Dean shrugs, “Whatever, man. Just don’t blame me if things go sideways.”

Smiling, Sam bumps shoulders with his brother, “For what it’s worth, I really don’t think he’s got any tricks. I feel like this is genuine.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he turns back towards the bunker, “Come on. We don’t know how long Cas’ll be, and I need a drink.”

They end up using an old stone cell with a bed in it for Gabe, laying him down on the covers and checking his scrapes and scratches- and by they , Sam means that he did it all while Dean watched, eating potato chips whilst nursing a beer.

The room is probably older than a good half of the stuff in the bunker, with rusty metal in the corners of the room, and the weird smell of old people pee you only really get in rest homes. But it’s more than big enough, and the bed is relatively new.

He goes to start picking up the rust-eaten screws and wires from the ground as Dean watches, occasionally making a snarky comment from his perch on a chair they’d carried down the stairs.

A voice pulls Sam out of his thoughts, and Dean looks up from his food as Cas’ voice echoes down the stairs,

“Dean? Sam?”

Immediately, Dean is up, calling back as he moves out of the room, discarding his chips without a second glance, and Sam spares a last glance at Gabriel- still lying there on the mattress, bandages and supplies in a pile at the end of the bed- before he follows Dean into the doorway, hovering there as Cas shuffles down the stairs.

“Hello, Dean, Sam. What happened?”

Sam starts before Dean can start complaining, “Hey, Cas. Good to see you, man. We, uh, well…”

Wincing, he tries to figure out how to form his response- which, admittedly, he’d had more than enough time to mull over while they’d waited- before shrugging, “It, uh, it’ll be easier to show you.”

A furrow of confusion flits across Cas’ face, and he shrugs as Sam beckons him towards the door, moving to the side as Dean and Cas enter.

Gabriel is the same as when he’d left him, only moments ago. Face pale, body limp. Hair mussed up with dried blood.

Cas sucks in a breath as he enters, and Sam turns to see his eyes wide, face paling to almost the same pallor as Gabe’s.

Right. Even if they weren’t close, Cas had still mentioned Gabe once or twice. And Gabe had certainly been friendly at seeing Cas again when he’d warned them away from finding God.

Giving Cas a reassuring look, Sam pulls a hand through his hair, combing it back from his face,

“He flew into the wards, and when we came outside to see what had happened, he passed out on me.”

Cas flinches at the words, still staring in horror at Gabe, and Dean steps forward, putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder,

“Cas? You good? He’s fine, probably just drained.”

Still staring at Gabe’s sprawled figure, Cas’ reply is a whisper, barely audible in the quiet room, “Dean, you don’t understand. His wings. ”

“His- his what? ” 

Dean’s reply is confused, almost astounded, and Sam leans in, intrigued despite the situation, “I thought your wings were only a metaphysical idea, of sorts?”

“They- they can be brought into this plane of existence, if we want them to. Most angels don’t enjoy it, but…” Trailing off, Cas’ gaze refocuses on Gabe, and his expression makes sense now.

“Can you… can you heal them?”

“Only an enormous amount of grace could heal them. I can help, but unless we find another archangel in the mood to help, he’ll have to recover enough to do it himself.”

He falls silent, and they watch Gabe’s limp form, chest moving up and down with shallow breaths. Dean finally breaks the silence, 

“Are you sure he’s actually hurt? Not just, I dunno, tricking us? It’s kind of his thing.”

Shaking his head immediately, Cas turns his attention to Dean, blue eyes almost burning with certainty,

“No. He couldn’t… he couldn’t fabricate this much.”

Dean, almost overly obviously getting lost in his eyes, nods, before looking away, blinking quickly. Cas doesn’t notice, continuing,

“Whatever did this to him… they took his feathers, his grace, his blood. They used him for ingredients.”

Grimacing, Sam clenches his fists, shaking his head.

“Ok. Cas, how do we help him?”

Stepping closer to Gabe, Cas tilts his head, “I’ll have to pull his wings into this plane of existence, and then you can treat the wounds as you would anything else, and I’ll heal as much as I’m able.”

Shaking his hands out, Sam nods, exchanging a quick look with Dean, “Okay. Alright. Uh, do your thing.”

Nodding back, Cas strides across the room to the bed the angel lays in, putting a hand on Gabriel’s forehead. After a second of silence, a bright, golden light flares, and the sound of feathers rustling fills the room.

And with it, a cry of pain and terror.

Chapter Text

Wrenched from the drifting world of sleep, Gabe cries out, his eyes flying open.

Immediately, pain rushes in, filling his brain until he can barely think. It rushes in like a flood of white, lashing out at any thoughts loud enough to catch its attention.

His back, his head, his true-form sings with the cacophony of it, his wings scream out with the agony as they’re pulled towards something.

Flailing away from whatever it is that’s tugging him towards them, he pushes out his power in a blind flash, but there’s not enough there to do anything. The witches had drained too much of his grace.

The witches.

Using a seed of power to stay tethered to his sanity, drifting along the breeze of thought left by conscious minds, unable to pull anything together enough to put any direction into his floating. His thoughts slipping away from him as he tries to formulate a plan. He needs to get to the Winchesters.

Slowly regaining his power as he attempts to capture a human mind, needing a vessel more than anything else. And someone answering, leaving him clinging to their thoughts as they do something and bam.

He’s stuck. He can’t escape. He barely has enough energy to pull a solid illusion of a form around him, protecting his trueform from the greed of his captors.

Even the thought is enough to send a bolt of panic through him, and- with a final push of his grace, he flings his power over him, pushing a shield of not here not here not here around him.

The magically woven form around him shudders slightly, and he pulls it tighter around himself. Perks of being a God, as well as an angel. He didn’t actually need a vessel, as long as he had something. The form wouldn’t last forever, but once he got his energy back leave him alone let him heal please go away he could recreate his old vessel well enough for it to last him a few centuries.

As he curls in on himself, the thread between his wings and whatever is pulling them tugs one last time, before it collapses.

Left in the quiet dark, he tucks his wings around him, focuses on his breathing- the unnecessary but comforting rise and fall of his chest. A reminder that he’s still in control of something.

~

As the cry of pain rings through the room, Sam straightens up, taking a step towards the sound until he’s up against the foot of the bed. The light from Cas fades and a pair of enormous, magnificent golden wings flicker into existence.

The beauty takes Sam’s breath away, shining almost brighter than Cas’ power before they flicker away again, leaving Cas standing over Gabe’s suddenly moving body. The angel takes a wide-eyed step back as Gabriel twists, eyes flashing molten gold as he throws himself away from Cas, a strangled cry ripping out of his throat.

Tumbling off the side of the bed, he thumps against the hard stone floor, but it doesn’t stop him from scrambling into the corner.

Sam takes a step forward, hands out, but Dean hisses at him to stay back, and he falters.

The archangel they had known- bright and warm and full of unrelenting energy- is somewhere else, replaced by a terror-ridden, trembling, blindly fleeing animal. Gabe’s eyes are unfocused, hard to look at but obviously not seeing the room around them. Not seeing Sam or Cas or Dean.

And then he’s gone.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Sam looks around the room, scanning for him.

Dean curses from behind him, and Cas blinks hard, shaking his head as if to get rid of a bug.

“Dammit. He must’ve flown away.”

Immediately, Cas shakes his head, “Not with those wings. We would have noticed. He’s still here.”

Dean moves to stand at Cas’ shoulder, “Dude, he’s gone. He must have left.”

Cas gives him a look, “No, he’s not. He put a glamour over himself but he’s still there.”

Sam shakes his head, a weird sort of fog dulling his senses, “But he’s not. I just- I know he’s not here.”

Cas moves towards the corner Gabe had been in, and Sam can barely even look at it.

“That’s the illusion talking. It, uh… it messes with your perception of him. He must have used the last of his grace to do it. He probably doesn’t even know where he is.”

“Oh.”

Sam looks closer at the corner, glaring, but in the end, he turns away, “I know what you mean, but I just can’t see him. I mean, the amount of power…”

“Well, he is an archangel.” Cas’ shadow of a grin is almost wry, and Sam shakes his head. 

Dean looks everywhere but the corner, “So what do we do?”

“We need to talk to him. Tell him that he’s safe with us.” Cas frowns, “But he won’t let me anywhere near him. I can feel his grace pushing me away.”

As restless energy runs through Sam, he starts to pace, running his hands through his hair, “When we found him… he said my name, like, into my head before he collapsed. It was like he was relieved.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, “I heard it too. It was super loud.”

Spinning to a stop, Sam stares back at the corner again, shaking his head to dispel the sly fog creeping through his thoughts.

“Still, it’s not like I can see him. How am I supposed to do anything?”

Cas grimaces as he takes a step closer, “I think I can help with that. I can give you a version of truesight, stripping away the outer layers of protection your mind has against angel trueforms. You’ll be able to see his vague outline, but nothing enough to hurt you.”

Dean sticks close behind the angel, casting a suspicious look at the corner, “Is it dangerous? If it’ll hurt Sam-”

“It will wear off in an hour or so. And being near to Gabriel like this would only be dangerous to a demon, or a low-level angel. It won’t affect you much more than a soft tug at your soul.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, “That doesn’t sound like nothing.” But Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, quieting him with a smile,

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be fine, I trust Cas.”

Casting a look at the angel in question, Sam nods to him, “Okay. I’m ready.”

Cas steps towards Sam, hand reaching out, and with an expression of concentration, he touches Sam’s temple.

A rush of power pours through Sam at the touch, like lightning and burning and sunlight all at once, and he stumbles back a step, blinking furiously. Lights dance across his vision, swirling around each other like pirouetting ballerinas.

After rubbing at his eyes, Sam looks back up at Cas, and immediately sucks in a breath, surprise and awe exploding through his brain.

The light has formed into iridescent wings, spreading over the room like dandelion fluff in a shimmering rainbow, and Cas’ eyes are an electric blue, like lightning striking the sea. The slight sense of otherworldliness that’s usually constant around him has been upped to an almost humming energy surrounding him. Cas smiles at him, and a chill runs down Sam’s spine.

Dean taps him on the shoulder, “Dude, you okay?” And Sam turns to see the same dandelion fluff alight on Dean’s shoulders like dust, sparkling specks clinging to his form.

Sam nods, distracted, “I’m good.”

Cas’ deep voice explains something to Dean, but Sam isn’t listening. He turns to the corner Gabe is supposedly in, and his breath stutters in his throat.

Golden sunlight dances through the air, as brilliant as the northern lights as it reflects off the stone floor. It reminds Sam of being underwater, watching the light twirl across the surface.

Behind the glimmering light is a shadow of bronze, wings curled tight around a form like starlight on fire. And the form itself is the colour of melted gold, like the whisky of Gabe’s eyes.

Slashing across the light in violent little cuts is a bleeding silver, dissipating before it drips to the ground.

“Sam?”

Sam tears his gaze away and back to Cas, the angel raising an eyebrow at him. As his brow tilts up, his wings lift, just a bit, and a small part of Sam’s mind wonders how expressive angel wings are.

“Right, right. It’s just so…” Trailing off, Sam gestures to everything, and Cas nods. Dean just looks confused.

Cas’ wings twitch, and he nods, “I know what you mean, though these aren’t even our entire true forms. If you were to see either of ours, you would combust. Mine is the size of the Chrysler building, and Gabriel’s is almost beyond your comprehension.”

Waving a hand to encompass himself, Cas continues, “This is only what angels and demons usually see if the being they’re looking at is in a vessel.”

Tucking the information away for later, Sam nods, turning back to take a few steps towards Gabe.

“Alright.”

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, Sam takes an uncertain step towards Gabriel, the golden strands of energy curling around his legs. There’s a strange pull in his gut, and he stops.

But it fades after a second, and he kneels beside the dark whisky form,

“Uh, Gabe? Can you hear me?” 

Fidgeting, he shifts into a more comfortable position, glancing up at Cas and Dean. Cas nods, wings tucking inwards, and his brother shrugs at his look.

Sam huffs at Dean, turning back to Gabe with a tentative expression, 

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but, ah, it’s Sam. Sam Winchester. I, ah, I don’t want to assume, but you seem scared? Of whatever did…” Waving to his body, Sam winces, “Did this to you. But you’re safe here. We’re in the bunker, and there’s all types of warding put up.”

“The, uh, the Men of Letters? If you’ve heard of them? They set this whole place up and there’s wardings for everything we’ve come across so far. You, ah, you probably realised when you slammed into them. We’ve made some improvements too, so it’s safe.”

“But I don’t know.” He shrugs, not entirely sure where he’s going with this, “If you could tell us who’s after you- if someone’s after you- that would be great.”

“Cas and Dean are here, they’re behind me. Cas, uh, he’s the one who touched you earlier. He was trying to move your wings so that we could help you, and he wasn’t trying to hurt you. But we won’t do that again unless you let us. You’re safe here.”

~

Slowly, as Gabriel’s breath scrapes through his shuddering body, he relaxes slightly.

Sound floats down, calming and safe, from somewhere in front of him, but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to let down his guard. His grace weaves around him in a shield of power, the remnants of his desperate supply fading quickly. But he can’t let it go, not when something might snatch him back.

He shoves the pain hooking at his thoughts to the side, visualising a box to lock it in, and it fades slightly, leaving his mind just a bit clearer.

He can’t keep his shields up for long, not with the quickly draining reserves of grace he has left, so he has to figure out a way to get out of there. A way to get safe.

When he had escaped- he had escaped!! - he hadn’t known where he was going, only had launched himself away from the witches, broken wings barely keeping him from crashing.

So he was somewhere strange, with not much hope of flying out- at least, not without damaging his wings much worse, and the longer he stayed there, the less likely he was to escape.

He spreads his awareness out, hesitant tendrils ready to retreat if needed.

In front of his form- right in front of it- is a battered human soul, quiet and still. It doesn’t seem to be doing anything against him, just resting there, in front of him.

He wraps a tendril around it, making sure to keep attention on it as he continues branching out.

A little further away is another soul, shadowed with some dark trauma matching the first human’s stains. He, too, seems to just hover, though his thoughts are anything but calm, buzzing away like a swarm of wasps in the back of Gabriel’s mind. He retreats slightly from the human’s thoughts, tendrils looser around him, and moves further out.

Next to the second human, so close Gabriel doesn’t know how he’d missed him, is another angel, grace carefully outstretched to his own. Flinching away from the brushed contact, he sucks in a breath, surprise tightening the tendrils of grace extended around him. A feeling of alarm rings out from the second human, and he calms himself, letting his grace ease.

He has to know.

After a moment, he reaches back towards the angel, ready to lash out or retreat if need be.

But when he brushes the lightly swirling grace, it only touches back, reassurance flooding through the contact.

Gabriel?

Doubt pools into Gabe’s mind, and he pauses a moment, what if it’s a trap? But if it is, there’s nothing he can do about it either way.

Who is it?

Relief tangles through the grace of the other angel, and he sends a flitting smile of emotion towards Gabriel,

Castiel.

Castiel. His little brother. He was with the Winchesters.

Were the twin souls Sam and Dean? It’d make a lot of sense. And if he was with the Winchesters- if he was with Sam…

Cassy?

Chapter Text

Sam continues to talk as curls of golden energy wrap around his ankles, spreading to graze over Dean before flinching away from Cas. At the same time, Gabriel sucks in a stuttering breath, shuddering away from the room and further into the corner. Cas freezes, and Sam stops talking, keenly watching between the two angels. Dean is tense beside Cas, eyes sharp as they focus intensely on Cas’ face. Looking for a reaction.

But for a moment, Cas doesn’t give one, face impassive and body still. Even his wings refuse to flutter, iridescent feathers motionless as the golden tendrils of energy fall back, like mist over the water. But, as Gabriel draws his form up slightly- something Sam can only really see because of his close vantage point- the feelers extend again, reaching forward to brush against Cas. Blue-white energy hesitantly rises to meet it, and Cas’ expression softens.

Curiosity burning at him, Sam looks back to Gabe, and, as he does, the archangel’s tense frame relaxes, sinking into the wall behind him. The golden energy retreats from the room, breaking from the loosely interwoven shield around Gabriel and dissipating. The wings curled so tightly around the archangel loosen, and the whisky light dims as the tension drips from his frame.

In place of the terrified stillness, his hands tremble slightly from where they lay against his knees, and his breath is longer, more stuttered.

“Gabriel?” Cas’ voice breaks Sam from watching the archangel, and Sam leans to the side as Cas lowers himself to Gabriel’s level, “It’s safe for you to come out now.”

Stirring slightly, Gabe moves himself to face Cas, keeping his eyes squeezed shut for a second before opening them. His eyes- the same molten gold as the energy still dissipating in the air- are wide, unfocused as he flits to Cas, wings spreading slightly as he meets his gaze, skims over Dean- behind the two of them by the heavy staring Sam can feel from over his shoulder- and lands on Sam.

Raising a hand to carefully brush against Gabe’s arm in comfort, Sam smiles tentatively, “Hey, Gabe.”

~

Sam is a sight for sore eyes, after so long in the dark. The warm smile after snarls and scowls. The worn plaid after dark cloaks. The welcoming pulse of his soul after the dark malevolence of most of the witches.

As tremors unbalance his form, Gabe feels a flood of tiredness push through him, an early alert of his low grace. He tips forward slightly, and Sam catches him, steadying his slightly trembling body. Gabe’s arms snake around his waist as he re-centers himself, untangling the Grace tugging him away from the physical world.

Thanks for the warning, grace. Not like he didn’t already know.

“Sam.”

The kid’s eyes are a warm brown, flecked with green and blue in a way that makes them almost shimmer in Gabe’s golden glow. His hair is longer, messy and smooth, like a TV commercial. Gabe lets a smile pull at his lips,

He’s missed that pretty face.

He looks around further, at the stone walls, wards humming quietly through the physical objects. There’s a bed in the centre of the room, headboard pressed up against a wall- must have been what Gabe had been laying on before he woke up. Towards the middle of the room is Dean, looking awkwardly suspicious, and in front of him, eyes bright and alert, is Cas. Gabe’s little brother. Gabe focuses back on Sam, the taller Winchester crouching next to him,

“Where am I?”

Surely they’re somewhere safe, not just another crappy hotel room. They’ve got to have found somewhere after so long since Gabriel had seen them last.

“The bunker. It’s a Men of Letters stronghold we found a while back. It’s warded to hell and back.”

So you’re safe.

The last part is unspoken, hanging in the air around them, and Gabe hates that Sam knows he needs to hear it, but the reassurance does its job. He can feel himself relaxing, bit by bit, and, though it’s by no means enough to put him anywhere near at ease, it’s better than how he’d been half a minute ago.

He pulls a smile up for Sam, in thanks, then, hesitantly, asks,

“How long has it been?”

“Since you, uh, you died? Three years. I’m sorry.”

Three years. How much of that had been Gabriel drifting without purpose, and how much of it had been the witches? How long had he been there, locked in a box warded against anything he could do with so little grace, being farmed for ingredients?

Shuddering, Gabriel looks down, studying the dirty fingernails of his vessel. He can feel the atoms making it up, can sense how loose they are. But he can fix that later. It’s not an issue.

“Gabriel,” Cas leans in, blue eyes sharp, “What happened to you?”

Flinching back from the question, Gabe tenses up again at the thought. His little brother looks apologetic but he doesn’t understand none of them do.

“Oh, Cassy. What didn’t happen to me?” He hides his flickering fear under a weak smirk, “A better question, what happened to you. Sandwich, you look like Dad threw you off a big-ass cliff! Dean-o looks no better!”

They’re successfully distracted by his words, Sam giving him a look of perplexed conclusion as he looks down at himself. Dean does the same with a scowl, and Cas shakes his head at the two,

“He means your souls. They’re scarred, unusually so for humans. But it doesn’t matter. Gabriel, what happened to them was years ago. I’m sorry, but we need to address what happened to you, and stop whoever had the power to do that from coming after you.”

The smirk falls from his face as Cassy shrugs off the attempt at shifting the conversation. If the witches came after him… But he could fight them off. Maybe not now, but if he got some sleep- if he healed. He can already feel worming tendrils of sleep pulling at his consciousness.

“My beloved Cas. My favourite brother. I will absolutely warn you for whoever is coming after me, after I take a much needed catnap.” Waving off Sam’s concerned objection, he flicks a hand in his direction, ignoring the trembling still visible along his fingers, “And they didn’t do this because they were powerful, so you don’t have to worry about that. They did this because I spent Dad knows how long in that place, and they never let me heal. Not once.”

He forces his mouth to stop moving, spilling out the fear and anger from the bundle he’s wrapped it in. The silence that greets his tirade shows that he didn’t stop quite fast enough.

“ Anyways, after that horrifying infodump, goodnight.”

He staggers to his feet, moving the three steps to the bed like a drunk, before he falls face first into the covers.

“Gabe, wait-”

But he’s already surrendering to the darkness, letting it cloak him in cool shadows.

Goodnight, Sam-a-lam. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

~

Carefully adjusting the blankets to fit around Gabriel’s boneless form, Sam watches the angel’s face. His expression is relaxed in sleep, the lines of stress smoothed out by the peace of dreamless slumber. Whatever Cas had done to his sight was still there, if fainter, and it wreathed Gabe’s face in dark golden energy.

What had happened to him?

The entire time he had been awake, Gabe had been on edge, constantly as if someone was about to attack him. The air was practically humming with tension the entire time.

Sam leans back, moving to lean against the wall as he turns back to Dean. His brother’s shoulders are still powdered with white fireflies of light, which shift as he moves towards Sam. 

“Do you trust him now?”

Dean shrugs, “Dude seemed pretty freaked, and Cas trusts him, so I guess he’s legit. I’m more worried about whatever messed with him. Not much can catch and keep an archangel.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, “But you heard what he said. It wasn’t power that did that to him, it was exposure.”

Dean’s gaze turns to the angel laying beside them, “They still had to trap him in the first place.”

Nodding, Sam’s thoughts turn to the expression on Gabe’s face as he had diverted their questions, teetering between snark and a lurking petrified terror.

As he mulls everything over, Cas walks in, scuffling his feet so that they can hear him come in. The habit had come in after he’d surprised Dean into spilling coffee all over his trenchcoat, and it was a lot better than the angel continuously sneaking up on the brothers.

“Dean. Sam.”

Sam smiles, nodding in greeting as Dean grins, “Hey, Cas.”

“Did you find anything that’ll help with healing Gabriel?”

Holding up a dusty box, Cas nods, “This is the root of a Lanthian Tree. They’re only found in Purgatory but they can boost the grace of an angel. It’ll give Gabriel enough energy to get out of the slump he’s in.”

“Slump?” Sam leans closer, intrigued. He’d never really been able to get Cas to talk much about angels, so the word catches at his interest.

“Every time he wakes up, all the grace he’s healed goes into keeping him awake and protecting him. There’s an instinct as an angel, when we’re weak, that forms a sort of shield around us. It’s what you felt pulling at you when you moved closer to Gabriel, earlier, but it isn’t usually that strong unless danger is near.”

Sam nods, looking back to Gabe. He can’t feel it now, so that must mean he feels safe? Or relatively so, anyway.

“Do we have any Allosaurus feathers?”

The question catches both Sam and Dean off guard, and they stare at Cas. Dean raises an eyebrow, “Dude, what?”

“Allosaurus feathers. It’s a type of dinosaur. From the Jurassic period?”

“I know what an Allosaurus is.” Sam ignores Dean’s indignant ‘I don’t’ to give Cas a questioning look, “But they didn’t have feathers, or,” He amends his statement, “Scientists don’t think they did.”

Cas gives him a look, and Sam frowns, “They did have feathers?”

“Of course they did.”

Shaking his head, Sam runs through the storage lists in his head, “Uh, no. We only have that angel feather you gave us.”

“Do we need it?” Dean moves to stand closer to Cas, and the angel nods.

“The process will be a lot quicker if we find one. If you’re alright here-” He nods to Sam, “-Dean and I can find one while you stay with Gabe. When he wakes up, just give him the Lanthian root and he’ll absorb its power. You’ll have to mix it into water- make him tea. The root is already grounded.”

Dean shoots him a look as Sam nods, and he smiles at his brother, reassuring, “I’ll be fine, Dean. Just… watch out for whatever did that to Gabe. I’ll text you when he wakes up, if you’re not back by then.”

Dean nods, and Cas holds a hand out towards Dean. His brother looks at it in confusion, and Cas raises an eyebrow, “It would be quicker to fly.”

“Right, right.” Dean nods, almost flustered, and hesitantly takes the angel’s hand. “See ya, Sammy.”

“Goodbye, Sam.”

And in a flutter of wings, they’re gone.

The fading light dancing across Sam’s eyes shows Cas’ wings extending to what must be their full length, feathers glinting in the dim, gold light radiating from Gabe’s unconscious form. He flaps them once, and the two of them disappear in an eddy of blue-white light.

~

This time, when Gabe wakes, it’s like slinking out of the shadows. Slow, quiet, not knowing quite what’s waiting for him but sure it’s something safe.

He can feel his grace lingering in the air around him, curling around his form and the bed around him. Strangely, it’s wrapped loosely around a soul beside the bed, resting on whoever it is like some sort of comfort blanket.

As he carefully extracts it from the human- Sam, or Dean? Hopefully the younger Winchester, or Cassy might feel the need to stake his claim more thoroughly- he rouses himself quietly, letting his eyes drift open and awareness extend beyond the sleeping alertness.

Head resting on a desk that hadn’t been there earlier, laying in a chair that also hadn’t been there earlier, is Sam. It looks like he’d fallen to sleep whilst reading, his hair spread like a blanket over his face.

A rush of amusement mixed with fondness weaves through him, and he grins, quietly pulling himself into a sitting position.

If this is the view, he’s not complaining.

Chapter Text

After a minute of Gabe watching Sam, the man rouses himself, yawning before he sees Gabe.

“Gabe, you’re awake!”

Running a hand through his hair, Sam seems to magically fix his bedhead, and Gabe smirks, overall feeling a lot more secure than the last time he’d woken.

“Heya, Samoose. Sleep well?”

Blinking a few times, Sam takes a moment to orient himself, before smiling softly, “Good to see you up.”

Shrugging, Gabe gestures to himself, “Well, up is a strong word, Samsquatch, but I’m most certainly awake.”

As he talks, he shifts into a different position, one less clear that he’d just been watching the Winchester. While Sam was awake, it was one thing- Gabe could suggestively flirt all day- but while he was asleep, well… Gabe wouldn’t be surprised if Dean would get him thrown out, regardless of the sort of dire need.

Sam moves to his feet, shaking out his long limbs, and moves away from the bed, “Cas told me to give you some special tea when you woke up.”

Glancing around the room, Gabe feels a spark of unnecessary panic. There’s no tea in the room.

As Sam takes a step towards the door, he straightens up, “ Wait- ” And Sam pauses, turning to face Gabe.

He tries to hide the- uncalled for- desperation twisting his face, but can’t stop the quiet trembling as he admits, “I, uh, I can’t be alone again…”

Face hardening, Sam nods, and he tenses up. Wait, what-

But the gentle giant only halts before his bed, “I’m going to pick you up.”

Gabe’s eyebrows shoot up, and he gives Sam an incredulous look.

“What, do you think you can walk up a flight of stairs? The tea will help you, and if I can’t leave you here, you’ll have to come with me.”

Oh. That makes sense.

“Well, if you put it that way, Sam-a-lam…” Smirking, he wiggles his eyebrows, and Sam rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick him up.

Gabe throws his arms around his neck, grinning, and leans into his chest, “Forward, my knight in shining armour!!”

The strong arms wrapped around him are enough to soothe the tremors as they move up the stairs, and Gabe lets his head rest against Sam’s warm, plaid shirt as he takes in his surroundings.

The place is literally a bunker, all stone and iron. Built to withstand bombs and missiles. And angels.

He remembers the shuddering pain of the wards flaring to life around his body, burning like red-hot coals at his already screaming wings.

But that’s over now, and the wards are probably the only things stopping the Ignis Magi from tracking him down. It wouldn’t be hard, with the amount of his grace, feathers and blood they have.

But no. They weren’t going to be a problem. Because Gabriel was going to get stronger. And then he was going to hunt down their leader and burn the soul out of her.

Sam adjusts his hold on Gabe, and he leans closer.

For now, though… he’s comfortable where he is.

As they move into an obviously more lived-in part of the bunker- clothes strewn across couches and takeout containers scattered in corners- Sam lowers Gabe to a clean couch.

“Just stay here. I’ll make the tea and bring it over.”

Gabe lets himself sink into the cushions as Sam moves into the open kitchen, pulling mugs from the cupboard. As he busies himself, Gabe pulls a blanket from the foot of the couch and wraps it around himself, relishing in the warmth bleeding through. Letting his eyes droop, his mind drifts as he listens to Sam in the kitchen.

After a minute, the noise quietens, and he can hear footsteps thud towards him. Sam’s soul drifts closer, and he pulls himself into a semblance of consciousness, opening his eyes.

Sam’s face is haloed by the lights above him as he stands there, and in his hands are two mugs, cracked and stained with age and use.

“Why, thank you!”

Pulling himself into a more upright position, Gabe takes the offered cup, moving to let Sam sit beside him. As they settle- he can feel Sam’s eagle-sharp gaze on him the whole time, assessing him with that analytical mind of his- a thought pops into Gabe’s mind,

“So, where are Dean-o and Cassy? I can’t feel their romantic tension in the nearest mile.”

Sam shakes his head, rolling his eyes as Gabe twists to face him, “They went to go find an Allosaurus feather for you. Cas said your recovery would be much faster if he found it for you.”

“Good old Cassy.” He grins, feeling a rush of affection for his younger brother. They had never hung out more than any of the other fledgelings had with Gabe, but Gabe remembers him. The slightly strange little guy who elbowed Balthazar whenever he got too intense, who shuffled his feathers when he was awkward and didn’t like the feel of the white tunic Gabe had worn for a while.

Sam nudges him softly, drawing his attention back to the room, and he blinks, “Hmm?”

“I said, how are you feeling?” Smiling, Sam shrugs, “Evidently tired?”

“Pfft.” He smirks, “Not with you beside me, Sammikins!”

“So… yes.” At his muttered denial, Sam shakes his head, “Pretending you’re fine isn’t going to help anyone, Gabe.”

Looking away, Gabe sips at his tea, running his gaze over the room.

There are two couches across from the one they’re laying on, in a C shape around an old TV. Said screen has a single sock hanging over it- Gabe can practically see the stench- and on the floor beneath it is a plastic takeout container.

On a table next to the middle couch is a stack of enormous books, almost as tall as Gabe’s vessel and looking just as likely to fall over. 

And when Gabe peers closer, he catches the engraved bone handle of a dagger peeking out from under the couch opposite him. There’s a spark to it, that, if his exhausted grace is right- which it will be- implies that it belonged to Brutus- one of the senators who had killed Caesar. Gabe can feel the metallic tang of blood tickling at the back of his mind.

“They were witches.”

The words are out of his mouth almost before he can think about them, but he squares his shoulders- figuratively, he can’t be bothered actually- and turns back towards Sam. The moose’s eyes are wide, and Gabe barges on before he can say something stupid like, ‘ I’m sorry ’ or ‘ That’s an awful thing to go through ’.

“When- when Luci stabbed me, I didn’t die. I just drifted between life and death- perks of being a God as well as an angel. The witches just happened to catch me at the wrong time.”

Shuddering, he shrugs, “They call themselves the Ignis Magi- fire witches. Their leader- Belladonna- was smart, she didn’t let me heal, and every time I’d regain some Grace, they’d take it away.”

Sam’s mouth is open in… shock? Gabe doesn’t know. But he looks like someone’s just punched him where the sun don’t shine. His brown eyes sparkle, and his eyebrows float upwards. Even his hair seems to wilt.

“Gabe, I…”

The wild slashing of feathers through the air interrupts them, accompanied by Cas and Dean’s frantic entrance. Flinching, Gabe leans backwards before he can control his reaction. His pulse races in, thrumming through his body, before he scowls,

It’s Cassy. Get your act together.

At the same time, Sam rockets to his feet, gun immediately in his hand, and the pain and sadness vanishes from his expression as he turns to his brother.

They appear in the middle of the living room, weapons drawn. Cas’ face is pale, one arm pulled around Dean. His grace dances around the two of them in an intricate defence. The hunter’s gun is drawn, smoke wisping from the barrel. A splattering of blood dots his plaid, and his expression is fierce. Blood dribbles down his face in a nosebleed, and Gabe stiffens.

Witchcraft.

“Dean!” Sam is already over at Dean’s side, hovering over him, and Cas slides his arm away, tucking his Grace closer to himself.

Dean lowers his gun, shaking his head at Sam’s worried look, “It’s fine, Sam.”

“What happened?”

Dean shoots a look towards Gabe, and he stares back, a hollow feeling flickering in his gut, “We got the feather, but there were these witches. They were looking for Gabriel.”

Cas nods, giving Gabe an apologetic look, “They were using your grace to track us.”

“But they still won’t be able to get through the wards, no matter what magic they have. They were built to withstand it.”

Gabe shakes his head, suddenly paranoid of being thrown out, “They’ll go after you every time you leave.”

Sam looks over, and his expression changes. Face softening, he moves back over to the couch, “Gabe, we’re not going to kick you out. No matter what the witches do, if you want to stay, you can. As long as you want.”

The words soothe his nerves, but his eyes still flick to Dean, who shrugs, tucking the gun into his waistband, “Dude, I may not like you as much as Sammy does, but I’m not gonna throw you to the dogs.”

Feeling a pricking at his eyes- he’d never be this all over the place if he wasn’t so tired- he pulls at a smirk, “Good, ‘coz you boys couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. ”

~

Sam settles down, pulling one of the books he’d gotten from the Men of Letters’ library from the pile he’d thrown onto the table. Dean slumps on the couch opposite, laptop on his lap, and Cas sits beside him, watching the screen.

They’d given Gabe a more comfortable room, once he was pretty much napping on the couch. He was down there now, having taken the Allosaurus feather. Cas said his wings looked better already.

“How do we get rid of the witches?”

His brother looks up at the question, raising an eyebrow at his expectant look.

“We gank ‘em.”

Shaking his head, he closes the book, bookmarking his page, “It’s not that easy, Dean. They have archangel feathers, archangel grace. We won’t be able to easily kill them.”

“We have an archangel. Surely he can take care of them.”

Sam runs his hands through his hair, pushing it behind his ears, “But how long will that take, Dean. We can’t pressure him into it before he’s ready, and we’ll need to leave the bunker sooner or later, no matter what.”

Cas leans forward, “It’ll take him a week or two to get back to a stable state, and much longer to recover fully. If someone needs help between now and then, the witches will be an unnecessary obstacle.”

“So we get rid of them.” Sam shrugs, “Gabe can tell us what he knows about their strengths and weaknesses.”

Dean gestures to his shirt, “Cas can track them with the blood on here. I hooked one of them in the face before we left.”

Thinking, Sam leans back.

They had loads of witch-killing bullets in storage. They had an angel on their side.

“I’ll see what Gabe says when he wakes up.”

Cas picks up an old sock from the couch beside him, dropping it on Dean’s lap, “He should be starting to feel better soon, and then he’ll sleep less. At the moment it’s a survival instinct, but usually angels have no need for it.”

Scooting away from the sock, Dean shoots Cas a look, “Gross, dude. This is Sam’s. ”

“Dean, don’t-” His protest is too late, as Dean picks the sock gingerly up and flicks it towards Sam. It lands on the couch where Sam had just been sitting, “ Dude, if you’re getting annoyed by my stuff, clean up your own.”

He gestures to the various bits and pieces around them, and Dean rolls his eyes, “They add to the aesthetic.”

Wincing, Cas leans away, “They really don’t, Dean.”

Chapter Text

“I’m going with you.”

Gabe pushes the lingering pull of sleep away, straightening his back to look up at Sam as he stands in the main living room of the bunker. Even before he can finish the sentence, Sam is shaking his head, giving him an apologetic look, “It’s too dangerous. You’re still recovering from what they did, Gabe.”

“It’s been three days, Gigantor, I can look after myself. Daddy Dearest taught me that much.”

It had, in fact, been three days since the witches had ambushed Cassy and Dean. And Gabriel was much better now, thank you very much.

Crossing his arms, he raises an eyebrow,

“Plus, if something happens, I need to know about it. I can’t just stay here while you all risk your lives for me. I’m not that much of a douche.”

Annoyingly, Sam doesn’t fold. He only mirrors Gabe’s crossed arms, “You could get hurt.”

Gabe tries a different route, smirking, “Do I detect a hint of worry for yours truly?”

Sam leans back slightly, resting a hand on Gabe’s shoulder with a fond smile, “Of course. Believe it or not, Gabe, we care about you. I care about you.”

Ugh. What can he say to that.

Luckily, Dean chooses that moment to lean over from where he’s talking quietly with Cas, “We can’t stop him if he wants to come, he’ll probably only do more damage to himself. He can stay in the car or something, just for backup.”

Grinning, he nods in agreement, “Dean-o’s right, you can’t stop me if I set my mind to it.”

Sam turns a glare onto Dean, who raises his hands in surrender, “Sorry, sorry. Just thought I’d point it out.”

As Dean moves back towards Cas, Gabe pulls at Sam’s hand, weaving his fingers through his own as he drags it onto his lap, “Okay, in all seriousness, Samshine, I know you’re worried. But have you considered that I worry about you? And Cassy- he’s my baby brother. I don't want any of you to get hurt when I could stop it.”

Sam wraps his other hand around Gabe’s, engulfing it in warmth, and his face softens. Gabe presses his advantage, “I’ll stay in the car unless you need me, okay? I can keep in contact with Cassy, and if you need me, I can rush in! Otherwise, what’s the harm in bringing me along?”

~

As Dean pulls up to the old warehouse that the spell is tugging them towards, Cas nods from the back seat next to Gabe, “This is it.”

Sam scans their surroundings as Dean turns the Impala off.

To their right is a string of abandoned buildings- some sort of experiment had gone wrong a year or so ago and they hadn’t cleared the area yet, though Gabe and Cas assured them it was completely safe. Some of them have smashed windows and evidence of looting, but others are like they’ve just been left.

Behind them, the street disappears into more buildings, and Sam can just see the broken down front of an old car, rusty with age. The sun is low in the sky- Sam checks his watch, it’s 3:42 PM- and it washes everything in a slightly yellow glow. The light reminds Sam of Gabe’s dancing grace, and he can’t help but glance towards the archangel.

His face is absent as he watches Cas- the two of them probably conversing on angel radio- but a flicker of mouth is turned up in a tiny smirk. His eyes, shadowed by the light of the early evening sun, are a dark gold.

Moving his gaze away, Sam looks to their left. Where the spell directs them is a large warehouse, almost ordinary in its unremarkable nature. Light grey paint peels off dark wood planks, and the cold metal door hangs on its hinges. But the witches- or at least the one Dean had punched- were in there, and who knows what would happen once they went in.

“Sam? You ready?”

His brother’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he taps the enormous amount of bullets on his person, “Yeah. Cas, Gabe?”

He twists back to face the two angels, and they nod. Gabe puts a finger to his temples, before shooting finger guns at Sam, “If either of you two need me, just pray. I’ll be listening- got nothing better to do seeing as you’ve grounded me.”

Dean rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to Sam, “He’ll be fine.”

As Gabe makes an offended noise, Sam smiles back at his brother. Thanks.

With a nod, Dean opens the driver’s door of the Impala, pulling himself out, and Sam echoes him. Cas follows from behind, shutting the door before Gabe can slip out. The archangel pokes his tongue out, and Cas huffs, raising an eyebrow. Gabe rolls down the window, concentrating on getting it down before poking his head out, 

“Anyone have anything sugary in here? I had a little look, but I couldn’t find anything, and I can’t use my grace to get some because, well…” He gestures to himself, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Dean moves to Gabe’s side of the car and eyes him, pointing at the fingers dangerously close to smudging on the paint, “Don’t do anything to Baby.”

“Oooh!” Grinning, Gabe leans further out the window, “Touchy!”

Ignoring him, Dean turns to Sam and Cas, and Sam gives him an amused look. Huffing in indignation, Dean turns to the warehouse in front of them, pulling out his gun, “Let’s get this over with.”

Rolling his shoulders, Sam shoots one last reassuring look to Gabe before following, gun ready. Cas follows behind, angel blade out as Dean pushes open the door. It creaks as it swings open, and the three of them collectively wince as they step quietly inside, following a musty old hallway as it heads into the heart of the warehouse.

When they get to the entrance to the open space, Dean slows, a finger on his lips. Sam adjusts the grip on his gun, listening in.

From inside the room, he can hear the rustle of robes, the whisper of Latin barely caught by his ears. He can’t even hope to hear what they’re saying. Dean flashes fingers, ten, fourteen, and Sam nods.

Fourteen witches in there. They can take out at least four or five if they’re quick about it to start. The rest’d be harder. Sam glances back to Cas, who nods at the questioning look, and they both turn back to Dean.

Gun ready, Dean counts down, flashing the numbers on his fingers.

Three.

Two.

One…

They burst through the door, and shots ring out. Sam shoots at the first witch he spots, bent over beside another witch as they hover above something on the ground. He gets the second one before it’s able to even rise.

Cas tackles a witch as she lunges towards Dean, blade flashing in the dim light, and Dean- recoiling already from a shot- whirls to fire a few more bullets towards witches. One of them catches a witch in the arm, and he cries out in pain. Another witch- maybe one in charge, by her posture and the way the fight flows around her, with dirty blond hair and stormy grey eyes-  lets out an angry shout, and turns to Dean, enchantment on her lips. Sam turns his gun on her, loosing three bullets towards her before she can spin away.

But the distraction costs him as he feels a yanking tug at his chest, gasping as he turns. A witch, young and youthful, stretches a hand towards him, fingers curling into a vice-like grip around his heart. He shudders, his body frozen, and the witch snarls, anger sharpening her gaze.

A shot rings out, and she crumples to the ground with a cry of pain. The weight on Sam’s heart eases, and he sucks in a shuddering breath, turning to Dean, who grins before turning back to aim at another witch. Sam moves quickly backwards, covering his brother’s back as they turn in a tight circle.

There’s a burst of light as Cas manages to impale one, and then the angel is whirling to the next, blade at the ready.

Sam catalogues the room, scanning it for a second under Dean’s cover fire.

There are eight witches left, scattered across the room. One of them has some kind of magic shield up already, and three witches hide behind it- Sam’ll have to deal with them in a moment. Two witches advance on Cas, but he brandishes the angel blade, ready. 

A witch- the one Dean had shot in the arm- darts to the back of the room and out a back door before Sam can stop him, and near where he was, further away from the fight, is another witch.

Immediately, Sam knows she’s their leader. Belladonna, Gabe had said.

But before they can do anything to her, they need to get rid of the witches behind the shield.

Tapping Dean lightly on the leg, he moves away, and Dean strides towards Cas, gun blazing at the two witches.

Sam moves to a different angle, firing at the witches, and they duck, scattering. One of them pulls out a familiar feather, golden and glowing, and Sam swears. They mutter a few words, and, before Sam can fire another round at them, they thrust a hand out.

A wave of energy hits him in the chest, like a train barreling towards him, and he smashes against the wall. His head explodes with pain, and he crumples to the ground, eyes squeezed shut. Dean calls out his name, and, through the haze of pain, he looks up. Through blurring sight, he sees Cas impale the second witch, and Dean shoots the witch who had cast the spell in the shoulder. They fall to the ground, and Dean turns his gun on the last two- not including the pair in the back of the room. The sound of the gunshot seems to echo in Sam’s head, rebounding from one side to the other like a rock song at full volume.

Struggling, he pushes himself to his feet, using the wall as support, and presses his palm against his forehead. The pain skyrockets, and his knees buckle. He only just manages to catch himself before he’s on the ground again.

“Sam!”

Blinking hard, he raises a hand to wave at his brother, I’m good. Cas appears next to him, and he flinches violently, setting his head off again before he realises who it is.

“Hold still.” There’s a cool hand on his head, and suddenly it’s like he’s bathed in sunshine. Warmth curls through his body in a soothing wave, and the pain recedes, barely an echo of it remaining before it disappears.

And then he can stand up again, jerking to his full height and giving Cas a grateful nod.

But they have bigger problems. A cruel, tinkling laugh carries down to them, and Sam looks up to see the blond witch grinning at them, shark-like intent evident even from a distance. Belladonna stands beside her, and in her hand is a small vial of golden energy.

Gabe.

Hissing Latin at them, she smashes the bottle on the ground, and, at the same moment, Cas shoves Sam aside. He’s thrown to the ground, and as he whirls, flames catch around the angel.

Cas cries out as he’s caught, and Dean fires at the two remaining witches, but, with a lazy incantation, they’re deflected. The younger witch sneers, muttering her own spell, and their guns fly out of their hands. Another throwaway phrase and he can’t move his feet.

Shit.

And then the witches are advancing, the firelight dancing in their eyes as they draw closer. Sam pulls against the magic pinning his feet down, but it doesn’t give, Gabriel’s grace strengthening the witches’ power. Belladonna stops in front of Sam, just out of reach, and Sam scowls as she watches him struggle,

“Look what we’ve caught! Two delicious hunters and an angel. My, will people be wanting the three of you.”

Sam spits at her, remembering the fear in Gabe’s eyes as he’d told him about her, “Fuck you.”

“No need to be rude!” She grins, playful, as she looks him over, “Hmm, is it you who’s involved with the archangel? Or your brother?”

She turns her gaze to Dean, who struggles frantically, “Leave him alone, bitch!”

“What you did to Gabe was unforgivable.” Sam eyes her up, just a step closer, and she shakes her head.

“You, then. Well, I’m going to leave him a nice little present. Saoirse?”

She holds a hand out to the younger witch, who places a vial of dark crimson blood in her outstretched hand. At Sam’s look of horror, she shrugs, as if to say, ‘Blood magic, am I right?’

Dean struggles harder, Cas pacing the bounds of his circle, but Sam’s eyes are fixed on Belladonna.

What’s she going to do?

She uncorks the vial, pouring some into her hand, and her voice rises into a chant of latin.

Through fire we were made, and through fire we will be reborn. I call upon Melinoë to curse this man…

His eyes meet Dean’s across the room, and his brother calls out his name, panic lacing his tone. Sam pulls at his legs, and the younger witch- Saoirse- smirks at his efforts. Her steely grey eyes seem to taunt him as he struggles.

He closes his eyes for a second, embracing the darkness, and a thrum of energy rushes through him. Wrenching his eyes open, he swears.

Behind Belladonna, glowing golden wings spread to catch a nonexistent breeze, is Gabriel. His face is set, eyes hard, and as Sam watches, Belladonna gasps. Gabe’s eyes glow with an unearthly gold, and Belladonna clutches at her chest. Surprised, Sam can see the tip of a silver blade poking out from between her ribs.

“Hasta la vista, asshole .”

Saoirse cries out, lunging towards Gabe, but he pushes her towards Dean with barely a thought. His brother’s feet unstick as Saoirse slams into him, and they tumble to the ground.

As Belladonna’s knees give out, the spell pinning Sam’s feet to the ground vanishes, and he stumbles a step forward. Belladonna snatches his hand before he can pull away, and, as Gabe twists the blade deeper, she snarls, as much rage in her tone as there is pain,

“Incipiat.”

Let it begin.

And he plummets into the darkness.

Chapter Text

The world is quiet around Sam. Cold and dark. It’s as if he’s the only being in the universe.

Even with his eyes wide open, there’s nothing ahead of him. It’s like everything is muted, turned off by whatever had hit him in the warehouse.

The warehouse.

But somehow, he’s not worried about what had happened. Casting his mind back to the witches, to Gabe and Cas and Dean and the witch Saoirse, he feels at peace. Like he’s watching the memories from behind a glass window.

Shaking his head, he tries to move forward in the darkness, to find purchase, but his feet aren’t even touching solid ground. It’s like he’s floating- no gravity or air, even his breaths are just a rise and fall of habit.

He reaches a hand out to touch something, anything, but is faced with emptiness.

And then the darkness moves.

“Hello, Sammy! I haven’t seen you in a long time…”

A chill runs down his spine at the sing-song tone. The familiar, sickening tenor that still haunts Sam’s dreams.

Lucifer.

“I gotta say, I’ve missed you, buddy.”

The darkness ripples around Sam, and then it’s gone, replaced with something far worse.

The Cage looks just as it did before Sam was pulled out of it. Everything about it is the same, down to the slight shift in atmosphere he can feel in his bones.

The glow of light is dark and electric blue, streaks of lightning illuminating the darkness outside. Chains fade into the distance of the dark clouds, hooked onto the bars of the Cage. Who knows where they end up… What look to be iron- but aren’t, as proven by the multiple times Lucifer had thrown his entire strength at them- bars criss-cross the edges of the too-small space, accompanied by metal sheets across the floor. It looks like it could fall to pieces at any moment. But Sam knows the hard way how indestructible it is.

The scent of the place is a flashback in itself. A metallic tang slices at his nose, warring between blood and metal. And the frizzy static of lightning, like the sky before a massive storm. The smell of power, usually stronger after a bout of Lucifer and Michael throwing themselves at each other, true-forms flashing with glowing grace. It’s the only time he felt close to Adam, when he saw the archangel shove him to the backseat in a frenzied defence against Lucifer’s slipping sanity.

What Sam can hear sends chills down his spine as he stands there, frozen trying to take everything in. The ominous creaking of metal and slow rolls of quiet thunder are the only things audible in the cage- apart from occasionally Sam’s screams.

But something’s missing. One thing that pulls at the shadows, surrounding him in a feeling of intense discomfort.

And then he appears in front of Sam, grin like the Cheshire cat.

“Did you miss me?”

~

With a cry, Gabe shoves the dark corpse of Belladonna aside, diving into Sam’s mind as the Winchester tips back, eyes fluttering closed.

His grace pulls at his command, not used to being used, but it gives after barely a thought.

Sam’s head- though he tries to ignore it- is filled with sectioned off boxes and rooms, each labelled with something or other.

Gabe spots one with ‘witches’ on it, another titled ‘angel grace’. Both are near the forefront of Sam’s mind, their doors closed. Gabe gets the sense that if he tried to open either door, they would lead to neatly shelved information.

But he moves past them, past one with ‘Crowley’ pasted across it, one with ‘time travel’. But he doesn’t move in, continuing past them to the darkness in the back of his mind. Where he can faintly feel the tug of Sam’s consciousness, dulled by space and whatever curse Belladonna had laid upon him.

One door catches his eye as he moves past, chains wrapped around it and boxes piled up nearly high enough that he can’t see the label. As it is, he can just see the scrawled letters ‘-eath’. He slows to a stop, curiosity warring with respect for Sam.

But if he just looks at the label… it’s not like he’s going to open the door or anything…

A hand- he’s visualising himself as his vessel, so he does have hands- reaches out, and he shifts a box- ‘planes’- out of the way.

He sucks in a breath as the words come into light, and curses himself, of course.

‘Mom and Jess’ Death’.

Moving the box carefully back to where it had started off, Gabe steps back.

“I’m sorry.”

He’d heard about what had happened when he’d gone looking into the brothers, and he’d seen the heartbreak sometimes reflected in Sam’s eyes for no reason Gabe could name.

This wasn’t Gabe’s business to nosy into.

Turning, he continues towards Sam’s tug, putting on a burst of speed at the undercurrent of urgency in the atmosphere of Sam’s mind.

~

Lucifer is just like he had been in the cage, all sharp grins and slouched posture. Always leaning towards Sam.

“How-?”

“Oh, Sammy…” Lucifer interrupts him almost before he even thinks of the question, “I’ve always been here, or… a part of me has… but I’ve been waiting for something to push you over the edge! Whatever just whooshed a bunch of archangel grace over gave me a nice boost- thanks for that, by the way. Who’s grace was it?”

Sam edges away as the devil draws closer, hands trailing along the bars of the cage with a predatory grin, 

“That’s none of your business.”

Panic thrums through his bones, and he fights to control his breathing, tense. He can’t see how scared Sam is.

But of course, it’s Lucifer. Sam couldn’t hide anything if he tried.

“Aww, it’s alright. No need to be frightened! This’ll be just like old times.”

This time he can’t control his shudder as it rips through him. His back hits the bars as he edges backwards, and his breath catches in his throat. Lucifer only smirks, flashing his canines, “What? Not excited?”

He doesn’t bother replying, knowing any speech would only fuel Lucifer further. But the devil moves closer anyways, stalking towards him like a lion and its prey.

“Oh, Sammy. How I’ve missed our little talks!”

Lucifer stops in front of him, and as he tilts his head up, flames reflect in his eyes. He raises a hand to Sam’s cheek, softly running a finger down his face, and smiles gently, “Oh, how I’ve missed you…”

His touch is spiders scuttling over Sam’s skin, and he leans further back, trying in earnest to get away from the nightmare that is real, 

“ Please- ”

~

Gabe bursts past the curtain of thick darkness, his grace flaring to expel it, and looks around.

They’re in a cold cage, dark iron rigged around the area. Immediately, Gabe can feel the magic flowing through, somehow familiar. But he’s too busy to figure out why.

Backed into a wall, terror flashing in his eyes, is Sam. His hair is askew, his very soul leaning away from the figure crowding him in.

And the figure, one hand raised to caress Sam’s cheek, is familiar too.

Grace flashing in a coiled mass of red and black, even the energy he’s giving off is enough to recognise. But with flared wings in vibrant scarlet and golden sparks jumping towards Sam, his presence is unmistakable.

But it’s impossible for him to really be there.

And yet… Gabe’s grace doesn’t lie.

Lucifer turns to face him, one hand still resting on Sam’s throat, and his eyes flash with some unrecognisable emotion.

~

As Gabriel hovers behind his Sibling, Raphael, there’s a resounding bang. It echoes through the darkness, ricocheting off the world and into the in-between spaces.

Michael finishes his work, moving towards them.

His true form is still, like the surface of a lake in winter, and his wings are tucked away. His expression is blank, cold.

It is done.

Raphael nods, and his grace, torn and dim, shrinks back from the apathy in Michael’s eyes. Gabe hurries to nod too, not wanting those eyes to fall on him.

But Michael doesn’t even glance down, turning away. And, in a whirl of wings, he’s gone.

Raphael slumps incrementally beside him as their Brother disappears, and takes a step towards the dark shape in the distance, before shaking themself.

With a shudder, they turn to Gabriel,

Say your goodbyes, little one.

And then, with a soft brush against his grace, Raphael is gone too.

Gabriel trembles, suddenly alone in the cold darkness. The only thing he can see is the hulking shape in the distance.

So he moves slowly towards it, dread shadowing him as he draws closer.

Chains extend into the darkness, imbued with power. And connecting to them..?

Is a cage.

As he gets close, the deafening silence is broken by hoarse laughter. Gabriel shudders.

This is not how it should be.

As the thought rings out, the voice goes silent, and as Gabriel stops in front of the crisscrossing bars, someone appears in the shadows.

Red grace flickering around him, wings torn and burnt as they flare out, is Lucifer.

Gabriel’s older Brother is worse for wear, the fall down from Heaven having scorched and ripped at his true form.

What was that? Lucifer’s voice is broken and scraping, no longer the honey smooth enchantment of Before. This isn’t how it should be?

Gabriel shrinks back at the fire dancing in his Brother’s eyes, and Lucifer reaches a hand through the bars.

It’s alright, little brother. You have no need to be afraid of me. Not like our old man.

Feathers fluffing in a swirling mass of fear and indignation, Gabriel glances around, Do not speak of Him like that, Brother.

Ugghh. Lucifer groans, and Gabriel’s wings flutter with anxiety, Brother mine, what worse can our father do to me now.

Lucifer, it is not His wrath I am worried about. It is you. I do not want you to stay in here, but after what you did..?

Lucifer scoffs, his wings flaring unconsciously before he flinches at the pain. His expression flashes to one of deep rage, After what I did, brother?! Who stood by and watched as our father cast me out for nothing!!

Stumbling back, Gabriel brings a wing in front of his face to shield himself from the lashing explosion of angry grace, but the cage catches it. He straightens up, trying to mask his terror with righteous affront, You slaughtered angels, Lucifer-

And I was right to do it!!!

Tripping over, Gabriel’s breaths are ragged and uncontrolled as he watches flames take over the light of his Brother’s grace. Screaming in a dark fury, Lucifer flings himself at the bars, and the world around them shudders. Still, the cage does not break.

Backing away, Gabriel flaps his wings, he cannot stay there.

No! Don’t run away from me, brother!! You will do as I say or-

~

“Little brother? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Gabe takes a step back, his grace flashing as it curls around him. Sam’s eyes are wide, frightened, and Gabe can’t leave him. He takes a deep breath, letting himself relax, 

“Ah, Luci. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you have somewhere to be.”

His brother scowls, turning further- though his hand still rests on Sam’s throat. New goal, get Sam the fuck away from Lucifer.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, brother, but so do you.”

Gabe reigns in his flinch at the insinuation, but raises an eyebrow, noticing the frail strands of grace binding him to Sam’s consciousness,

“You’re barely even here, Luci. A strong gust of wind would blow you away, you’re clinging on by your fingertips. ”

The taunting does its job, as Lucifer snarls, stepping towards Gabe. His hand leaves Sam’s throat as he moves towards Gabe, 

You think you’re so high and mighty, little brother. His voice rings in Gabe’s head, and Gabe shivers at the familiar honeyed tone, But you couldn’t stop your little family from falling apart back then, and you’re just as powerless now!

Flaring his wings and letting grace flash in his eyes, Gabe raises his head, “I don’t care what you say anymore, Lucifer. You can’t manipulate me like you did before the fall, because I know who you are, now. ”

Red tendrils of grace branch out from Lucifer, and Gabe’s eyes flick to Sam, slowly edging away from the devil. Lucifer catches the split of attention, and smirks, 

“You don’t even care about me, brother. I can see it, you’re drooling after Sammy.” Gabe tenses, scowling as Lucifer moves back towards Sam, “But he’s mine, little fledgeling.”

Gabe tracks Sam as Lucifer pulls him away from the wall, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on Sam’s shoulder to watch Gabe. Sam meets his gaze, eyes hard, and Gabe nods indistinctly, raising an eyebrow at Luci,

“Samshine doesn’t belong to anyone, boyo.”

As he says it, shaking his head, Gabe gathers his grace, letting it hum through him. Sam shoves Lucifer backwards, darting over to Gabe as he unleashes his grace.

When the light fades, Lucifer is bound to the bars of the cage, golden energy roped around his limbs.

He laughs, the noise like glass in his throat, “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

But Gabe isn’t done. He exchanges a look with Sam, “Sure, bro, but you know what’ll sever that last bond?”

Lucifer sees the look between them and goes still, Gabe can practically hear the gears click. Gabe lets his grin rise like the sun as he steps forward, Sam beside him, “Sasquatch here booting you to high hell. Adios!”

With a surge of power at his back, Sam steps forward, a cry on his lips, and smashes Luci, right in his smug face.

There’s a flash of gold, and-

You’ll pay for this!

And then he’s gone.

Chapter Text

The next few days are a bit of a haze for Gabriel, and the weeks following everything are slow and quiet. He spends half his time napping the lack of energy off- whatever Lucifer had been- a kernel of grace?- it had taken more energy than he’d like to admit to throw Luci out- and the other half talking with Sam and Cas.

They’d let him stay in the bunker- Dean had apparently been won over by Gabe rescuing Sam from Lucifer- for as long as he wanted, and the two were good conversation.

Sam, he had talked through what had happened with Lucifer in the Beginning, because despite the monster he was now, he wasn’t always that way. Sam deserved to know what had led to the angry, conniving version of the Morningstar- and maybe it felt good to talk to someone about everything.

In return, Sam shares a few little things about the cage. About how whatever Lucifer had been, there was no excusing his actions.

Cas talked about how things had been in Heaven, after Gabe had run away. About Michael closing himself off, and Raphael slowly breaking. He tells Sam- and Dean, after a while- how it had been Before God had left. Before everything had fallen apart, when the stars were still being made and the universe created.

Gabe told stories about Creation. Of the rush of creating stars and planets. Designing each and every one to be different and special.

The two angels talked about the first humans they had met. The sparks of God’s love in each of them. In Sam and Dean, too.

And Sam and Dean told them of hunts. Of journeys into other worlds, where their lives were a TV show.

Of the rise of Dick, and of everything Gabe had missed, chained in the dark.

Even Dean began talking, first about monsters and weapons, and then… as the rest of them confessed to darkness and pain, he talked about Hell.

About the torture and the tortured. The constant pressure and the pain and anger. 

And the four of them would talk. Talk about their feelings and troubles.

I know. Winchesters talking. Ya thought it was impossible, but turns out, they just need an emotionally vulnerable archangel to push them along.

And slowly, as weeks turned to months, Gabe started feeling at home. Safe in the quiet bunker, where nothing could hurt him. Sam, Dean, and Cas kept hunting, and Gabe helped where he could. He gradually gained control over his life.

And then the angels started to fall.