Chapter Text
Winchesters.
Stupid, bloody, moronic, arrogant, asshole, dickhead, infuriating, piece of shit, fucking Winchesters.
(He had plenty more words to spare for the brothers, in infinite languages. These were just the most prominent. And, aside from the vitriol, there was an admiration interwoven with his anger. Inventive, clever, determined, united, loving, empathetic… good.)
Gabriel had always known these two were special. He could sense their bloodline, observe their abilities, note the familiar nature of their interactions. He chose to believe in that familiarity, even when he doubted its existence. Winchesters, a family with a fate tied inextricably to Theirs, with all of the possible glory and tragedy that came with it.
Did anyone other than his Father truly understand what that meant? If Dean and Sam played their roles and said yes to Michael and Lucifer, then all would go as planned, but at what cost? Continuing to resist and rebel, however, had brought them nothing but pain up until this point. They could still push towards an alternate outcome, but Gabriel had no idea what that could possibly look like. Nothing he knew of could guarantee the survival of all the Favoured Creations and everything they’d created themselves.
Damn it all, this is the reason he’d put himself in witness protection in the first place. Gabriel, the Messenger of God, had loved his siblings, both older and younger; he’d served as the mouthpiece between his Father, his fellow Archangels, and the lesser angels, ever since they were fledglings. Eventually, everything broke apart around him, and no amount of communication he tried to maintain was able to mend the fracturing, to catch his brother from falling, to keep their family together. So he fled. He retreated to the comfort of creation, shedding his original persona for a new one.
A Trickster.
A Pagan.
And really, how much further away from his reality could he get? Lucifer had fallen after Michael and Raphael cast him out, at their Father’s behest, and Gabriel just couldn’t stand to be around the Heavenly Host any longer – not like this. So he left. Masquerading as a Trickster, taking on the mantle of Loki, earning his place among the other Pagan Deities… he was never quite as influential as he’d been as an Archangel, but he didn’t care. The expectations thrust upon him in this role were far more manageable than they’d been in his previous existence.
Leaving his family had hurt. He wasn’t too proud to admit that. The longer he spent away, however, the more comfortable he felt being surrounded by what his kind considered lesser beings. Pagans, humans, animals, plants, life in general… This was the beauty of his Father’s creation. And sure, he took liberties in the ways he interacted with it, poking and prodding and testing their limits. The results were always meant to be in good fun, for the sake of amusement. Sometimes he pushed a little bit too hard, breaking his toys, and he did feel a little sad at their loss, at times, but he always knew there would be more awaiting him. It may not have been the most glorious existence, but it was his, and it kept him content for countless millennia.
Until those blasted Winchesters showed up.
They started out as two of his favourite playthings. Brothers. If he understood any dynamic in this universe, it was the idea of brotherhood. Sam and Dean held such a deep, unmatched connection with one another, and Gabriel knew he couldn’t break that bond – not really. He did know, however, just how much siblings could bicker and get under each others’ skin without fully tearing each other apart, and he couldn’t resist testing that. Then he did it again, but this time hoping that maybe Sam could come around to accepting Dean’s death and becoming his own man. Too bad that plan had backfired on him. Now, with his brothers prowling the Earth in search of a reality he hoped would never come to pass, he sought the human hunter vessels in the hopes that they could at least just end it, and he could keep hiding without worrying about the intricacies of their family dynamic.
Wouldn’t that have been nice?
Those stubborn, shithead hunters had figured him out, of course. They seemed to have a real knack for stumbling face first into the truth, and once they had him trapped, they called him out, giving him no choice but to reveal his true name. Gabriel.
Oh, how that name felt choked when he spoke it, especially to humans. These two weren’t just any humans, he knew, but the word had laid dormant on his tongue for eons – it would have felt wrong no matter who he spoke it to. A complex emotion twisted within his Grace when he revealed the truth. Understanding passed between them, acknowledgement for the difficulties that accompanied their past interactions, disgust, admiration, fascination… and who’s to say which of the three of them any of those feelings stemmed from?
Winchesters.
Gabriel paced in the modestly sized bedroom he’d created for himself in this safehouse, somewhere deep within the Alps, warded against any and every creature except for his Father. His mind was reeling as he considered his last conversation with those hunters, the ones who had allied with Castiel and worked out the truth behind the Trickster. They had seemed less than pleased with him, and really, who could blame them? Alienating them would be counterproductive, though. Not to mention… Dean, of every being in all of creation, had managed to pinpoint his true weakness, that fear of confronting his family the way he knew he needed to. That human was able to figure it out, but none of Gabriel’s family, especially his older brothers or his Father, were able to pin that down – or maybe they didn’t care enough to.
The thought made him sick.
Gabriel, youngest of the Archangels, taught and led by his older brothers, but always wondering if they ever considered him their equal, had sought belonging and understanding from the fledglings as they were created. Even then, he was above them, but he just didn’t know how to feel about that. There was great love within their family, a constant bond and understanding, but a painful lack of communication, which especially ate away at the Messenger Archangel.
Without even trying? A Winchester had figured him out.
He kept pacing, back and forth, back and forth, and if the carpet beneath his feet was truly something earthly and not an angelic conjuration, it would be worn thin.
This whole “clever realization” thing was a huge part of why Gabriel had latched on to the brothers in the first place. Even beyond being destined to serve as vessels to Michael and Lucifer, they were special, fascinating, intriguing… Paying particular attention to them was nothing short of thrilling, especially when they noticed his presence. There was something familiar and satisfying about interfering with their lives to the point of drawing their attention, sheer amusement at the way their expressions twisted, and their souls cried out in indignation.
The stakes were higher now, though, which left far less room for fun. The End is Nigh. As much as Gabriel just wanted it all to be over, to avoid his brothers’ feud and just retreat into the life he’d built for himself, the light behind the Winchesters’ eyes had stirred something in him. For so, so long, it had laid dormant, an inexplicable part of his Grace he was sure had been put there by dear old Dad. He struggled to embrace it, but it was not something he wanted to reject. What was the word for it? How could he even begin to find the language to describe that twisting feeling within the very core of his being? Maybe there was something in Enochian, but even then, he wasn’t quite sure.
The closest word he could find was hope.
Once upon a time it would have been unthinkable to extend that feeling, whatever it was, towards these two hapless brothers. The first barrier was his Father’s Will, because if Gabriel held on to even a minute grain of faith, he could not defy that. After he began to push against what once seemed to be the Universal Plan, he found himself faced with the barrier of humanity’s limits. These Winchesters had defied countless odds, sure, but how could they possibly face a Cosmic Destiny beyond the likes of even Gabriel himself? Still, they persisted. After watching them for as long as he had, and putting them through that final test in TV Land, Gabriel could not deny it any longer.
He owed the brothers some assistance – or, at least, a couple of answers.
Even though it was Dean who had figured him out, he found himself wanting to speak to Sam. The younger Winchester had no reason to trust him and every reason to hate him (didn’t they both?), but something nonetheless tugged at Gabriel suggesting that Sam might be a better place to start. Winchesters were stubborn, neither option would be easy, but Sam was more likely to listen before shooting than Dean was.
Or, maybe, he just didn’t want to admit to Dean just how much he’d managed to get under his skin.
Nobody ever said existence would be easy, not even for the highest celestial beings. For some, this decision, this procedure, this upcoming conversation… it would be practically second nature, as easy as any task. Gabriel, however, was looking to draw on sincerity, something he’d eschewed on principle since he’d taken up the Trickster mantle. Perhaps that’s why he felt compelled to reach out to Sam, first. Winchesters were stubborn, but Sam seemed so much more willing to hear him out and lend a sympathetic ear than his hot-headed older brother. Dean would never buy any degree of sincerity from Trickster Gabriel, but Sam… Sam just might, if he was careful enough in his approach. All he needed was a moment, just enough time to speak and pique the child’s interest.
And if he could win over Sam? Dean would surely be close to follow.
Another crappy night in another crappy motel. For most people, this would be a low point in their lives, paying pennies and living off scraps, but for Sam, this was the closest to normal he’d felt in a while. Ask him just a couple of years ago if he could ever find relief in the simplicity of hunting a ghost, and he would’ve laughed in your face. Now? It was a welcome break from angels, demons, and the looming, crushing weight of destiny.
Dean was already snoring away on the bed next to his, plunged into the deepest point of what would likely be a fitful sleep. Neither one of them seemed to be sleeping well, lately – not that they routinely managed a full, uninterrupted eight hours of rest under the best of circumstances. It was so much heavier now, though, even after a lifetime of hunting and living on the road. Things had never felt this… astronomical, before, and the consequences of their actions, tragic and dangerous as they’d always been, had never threatened the entire world so fundamentally as they did now.
Sam sighed as he watched Dean’s chest rise and fall, envious of the momentary peace his brother was experiencing. While he’d been able to get just enough sleep to continue functioning, Sam wasn’t sure he’d fallen that deeply asleep since before that fateful day in the Chapel.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his palms against his eyelids and leaned against the headboard, wishing for nothing more than to be swallowed up by his surroundings. God, he was tired. He just wanted to rest. It had been several weeks since he’d uttered a prayer, but Sam wondered if maybe now was the time to start again. Would anyone hear his prayers, with the sigils branded on his ribcage? Would they reach anyone who could have any hope at helping him, or would they be intercepted by the Archangel he supposedly shared a destiny with? How could he make anything right in the state he’s in, broken and hollow and desperate for redemption?
He sat there for several moments, his breaths deep and deliberate, hoping that, if nothing else, he might get a temporary reprieve from his misery. Instead, he was jolted back to reality by an all too familiar voice.
“Heya, kiddo. Betcha didn’t expect to see me again so soon.”