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The mess was hideous.
Dean lay on the floor in shambles, at least one leg broken and lacerations dotting his bloodied and broken body unpredictably from rabid, swift attacks. His gun had been kicked away from him to one corner, his knife to another, the hand that could have reached for his spare weapon was currently being held down and crushed by the foot of the happily grinning demon standing over him.
The look of triumph on her face was infuriating. Gabriel's normally wolfish eyes were acidic now, pointed and focused and narrowed and oh all of heavens forces could not restrain the fury radiating from the archangel.
She had hurt his property. Dean belonged to him.
How dare she sully Gabriel's man with her disgusting smile.
The trickster saw red.
If anyone foresaw an archangel smashing his fist into something's face, it certainly wasn't the demon. Not that she really even saw him coming, but before Gabriel himself could really think first, he had knocked the woman's legs out from beneath her and pinned her to the ground with knees on the floor on either side of her waist, a hand tightly closed around her throat while his other hand was clenched tightly in a fist, pulled back and ready to let fly. It almost seemed as if he was holding back, but for whatever reason he was, it faded quickly, because he quickly dropped all qualms to smash a pretty bruise into her cheek with his knuckles.
And then again. And again and again and again.
The hand around her throat ever tightening, lips curled in a snarl, and appearance growing disheveled by the second, every hit seemed to just make him feel so much better. Yet, just inside his mind was a nagging little craving for destruction that he could not accomplish by mortal means.
Anyone looking at that last second would've seen the shadow of his flaring wings in the flickering lamp light, the impression of the feathers stretching menacingly across the walls like an impending doom. He hissed through clenched teeth before crushing her windpipe with what inhuman strength he could muster, watching her choke and sputter in horror before a blast of light from his palm quickly dissolved the corrupted soul within the vessel, years on earth desensitizing him to the fact that he had just destroyed an innocent with the rage he took out on the inhabiting demon.
He stared down at the now lifeless corpse for several moments before he came back to himself, releasing her throat and slowly standing to survey the damage.
He was a mess on his own, hair mussed and unsettled from it's usually suave appearance, clothes loose and over-shirt threatening to come off his shoulders. His knuckles were red and painted in blood that most certainly was not his own.
But damn had it felt good.
With a final sigh, he turned to Dean, having at some point curled in on himself to protect what was quite possibly a few broken ribs. It only helped to rile Gabriel back up.
With as much self control as he could manage, he kneeled slowly, hand raised with thumb and index/middle fingers pressed together.
Snap.