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You stand in a motel room without a door, puzzled. A moment before, you were in the backseat of the impala.
You looked around, observing your surroundings- it was just a standard motel room, not much better than the ones you'd grown up in.
Your mother was a hunter, like you were told your father was. You never met the man. His name was John Winchester, and you now lived with your two older half-brothers after a hunt had gone sideways with your mother when you were fourteen, leaving you alone. You called the number she told you to call in case of emergencies.
If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean, at XXX-XXX-XXXX. [i can't remember the number lmao]
You had a brother. You dialed the number, and a voice rang through the other end. "Hello? How did you get this number?"
You explained the whole situation to him, and he was understanding; dropping everything and coming to meet you.
You were met with a hug from a man in a brown leather jacket who smelled strongly of beer and motor oil and diners, and that scent was a comfort.
That man that you met was Dean. He introduced his flannel-clad brother, who was quite tall, and gave you another hug.
You had no one else, and so they took you in. Life was very similar to how it was before; though they didn't take you on as many hunts, since you're young, but now that you're sixteen, they're taking you on more.
That's how you ended up in the backseat of the Impala, while your brothers were bickering.
In the motel room, you were met with a blonde man with whiskey-brown eyes, who smelled like halloween night. He grinned at you, before speaking. "Hey, Winchester!" he said. "You're the one Winchester I haven't met yet. Might I introduce myself?" He took your hand, softly kissing your knuckles, then spoke again. "They call me Gabriel, and what may I call you?"
You said your name softly. You'd heard of Gabriel from your brothers; a string of profanity, and words like 'nuisance' came to mind.
"Sit. I'm not here to hurt you," he said, flopping down on one of the motel beds.
You gingerly sat down on the other bed. "Then why am I here?" Your voice was stronger now.
"I just want to make them squirm a bit... And get to know the new face," he said with a smirk. "Now, sugar, why don't we have a little fun?"
"Bear in mind, I'm sixteen," you said.
His eyebrows shot up. "Woah! Woah. Not in that way. I just meant, you know, trying some drinks, get a sugar high, play some Candyland."
"Drinks?" You questioned.
"Yeah, y'know. You ever had a beer?"
You nod. "Once or twice, maybe just a couple sips here and there," you said. "Dean's like a mother hen. He won't let me try any, even though I know by my age he drank like a sailor."
"Not the flex you think it is," Gabriel said. "But I'm all for being the cool uncle, and let you try some. In moderation, of course."
He snapped once, and a glass cart full of bottles materialized. "Let's try a beer first," he said, handing you a bottle.
You must have made a face, because with another snap, it was gone. "Not your thing?" Gabriel asked.
"Tasted like piss," you said sheepishly.
He laughed. "Yeah, it's an acquired taste. Here, try this next," he said, and a glass of something clear appeared in your hand.
"Wow, that's strong."
"Yeah, that's vodka for ya," Gabriel said. "Would you prefer something fruitier?"
When you nod, he snapped his fingers, and a champagne flute appeared in one hand, and he offered it to you.
You took it, eyeing the bubbly pink liquid in it, before Gabriel nodded for you to drink.
It tasted fruity, and it was carbonated like a soda, so it scratched a bit as it went down. "It's nice. What is it?"
"Strawberry champagne," Gabriel said.
"It's pretty good," you said before taking another sip. "What's your favorite cocktail?"
"Oh, I like basically anything sweet," he said. "Alcohol that doesn't taste like alcohol. Enough to get a buzz, but not blackout."
You took another sip of the champagne. "That sounds good. I never really saw the sense in getting drunk," you said. "I've seen Sam and Dean and my mom drunk a lot, and it's not very fun," you added in a softer tone.
Gabriel snapped once, and a fun shaped glass appeared in your hand, with a bright blue liquid in it. It was slightly slushy, with a few ice cubes in it and a mini pink umbrella and an orange slice.
"Is the orange slice for decoration or do I squeeze that in?" You asked.
"Decoration, but you can if you want," Gabriel said. "Try it."
It tasted just like a blue Slurpee had melted slightly, if anything it had a bit of a kick.
"You like?" Gabriel asked.
You nodded. "I think I also like the ones that don't taste like just straight liquor."
"Good on you. At least you're not like your brothers," Gabe said. "They're always at least some level of drunk."
"With their line of work, you can't blame 'em," you said with a shrug.
"What, you think a bottle is the only way to deal with your line of work?" Gabriel said with a scoff. "Clearly they've never tried talking about their feelings."
"I haven't known them for that long, but I know that Dean's personality is ninety percent repression," you said. "That man could lock away Lucifer himself in his mind the way he does with his gay thoughts."
Gabriel broke into a grin. "Wow. You starting to feel the drink kickin' in?"
You thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah." You scratched at your arm absently, and took another sip.
Gabriel summoned one for himself, and then he noticed your itching. "You good, kid?"
You looked down at your arm, and pulled up your sleeve. Hives; the telltale sign of your allergies. "Shit- what was in the blue one?"
"Uh, not much, lemonade, a shot of vodka, blue curaçao?" Gabriel offered.
"And what's vodka made from?" You asked.
"That one was from rye, I think?" Gabriel said.
"And the pink champagne," you said urgently.
The angel racked his brain. "Uh, champagne is made from a couple types of grapes?"
"I'm allergic to grapes," you said, scratching at the hives that were beginning to creep up your arms.
"Dad damn it- What can I do?" Gabriel asked. "Or would you like me to call Sammy?" he added in a quieter tone.
"Antihistamines?" You offered, as a wave of nausea overcame you. "Can your archangel powers heal it?" The red welts weren't getting any less intense.
"No, because it's an allergy. They have weird limits," he said. Gabe snapped his fingers, and an epipen appeared. "Shouldn't you carry one of these?"
You took the pen and stuck it into your thigh, pressing the button for it to release. The relief was almost instantaneous, and you let out a sigh, before realizing he had asked you a question.
"I guess I'm supposed to," you said after a moment. "We don't have the money usually for one, and we don't stay in one place long enough to get a doctor to prescribe it anyway."
"Shit, that sucks," he said. "Mind if I ask, were you able to get one when you were with your mom at all?"
You shook your head. "Same deal."
"I'm sorry. Are you feeling any better?" He asked.
You nodded. The hives had cleared up pretty quickly, and you felt like you were able to breathe again.
"Sooo... Do you want to taste some more fun drinks?" He offered with a halfhearted smile.
"I think I'll stick with a soda or something," you said, softer.
He nodded, and with a flick of his wrist, the alcohol had all been replaced by an array of sodas. "You know, I do love a nice soft drink." Gabriel cracked open a Baja Blast, and passed you a can.
"I've got vanilla ice cream if you want to make a float," he offered.
You started, "Are you sure that much sugar is healthy? Sam says-"
"Well, Samsquatch's not exactly here right now, is he?" Gabriel said with a twitch of his eyebrow. At your polite shake of the head, he shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He sat back on the bed, and sighed. "I don't know very much about you, hm? Aside from the obvious," he said. "What's your favorite candy?"
"Reese's. Not the cups, the shapes," you said. "Like the pumpkins."
And at that, a bag of the Reese's pumpkins materialized in your lap. "Wow, thank you!" you said, opening one. "These have the better chocolate to peanut butter ratio."
"I couldn't agree more," he said. "I just love the sugar in general, but I prefer those as well."
"Cas says food just tastes like molecules," you said.
The archangel waved you off. "Oh, please. My baby brother doesn't know what he's missing."
"I like mozzarella sticks," you said. "And, to be honest, a lot of things that Sam says are unhealthy."
"That giant has no idea what he's missing, too," the angel said. "He may be cute, but he's got quite the stick up his ass."
You giggled a little bit at that, and offered him a Reese's, sitting next to him on his bed.
Gabriel took one, unwrapped it, and you both did a mock-cheers with your candy.
"Wanna watch something?" Gabriel asked.
"The Walking Dead?" You suggested. "I watch a lot of TV, uh, but I really like it. I like apocalypse media. It's sorta a guilty pleasure of mine," you say.
"Wow. What do your brothers have to say about that?" Gabriel sat back against the headboard, and you sat back with him.
"They say that if I wanted to hear about the apocalypse, just go outside," you say. "But this is different. I like not being one of the ones responsible for fixing it, you know?" You said.
"I know," Gabriel said. "Oh, trust me. I know all too well." He turned on The Walking Dead, and seeing you shiver slightly, a blanket appeared around you and you were now in some flannel pajamas.
Your eyes were growing heavy, and you drifted off to the sound of the walkers, leaning your head on Gabriel's shoulder.