I'm Only A Man With A Candle To Guide Me

Send 👋 to smack my muse on the ass.

Gabriel straightens from where he had been bent over and neatlyinserted into a cubbyhole behind the Bunker bookshelf.  Naturalsangfroid enables him not to bump his head as he wiggles backout of the space into which only he, among the Bunker inhabitants,would fit in search of a particular spellbook.  He quirks the rakish trademark eyebrow at the man who dwarfshim by nearly a foot.        “Well lah-dah, Angsty Green Giant,” he drawls, nodding his head       toward the particularly verdant flannel Sam wears, “I know I got       a natural musk that attracts the Shortness-Challenged from      miles around, but this ain’t really the time an’ place fer ‘bend       me over a desk.’” 

He shifts his weight, extends the pair of grilling tongs in his hand towards Gabriel and sniffs. “Nah, just thought you could use some help reaching anything that might’ve fallen too far back. What with your big head and little arms.”

Yes, he’d noticed Gabriel’s compromising position upon first entering the library. And like any self-respecting Winchester, he’d immediately thought of every conceivable way to troll the occasional-resident Trickster. Remembering the pair of tongs stashed in one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen had taken a hot second. Sneaking back out, retrieving them, and power-walking his way back to the library had taken a little longer, but the impish glee that came from finding Gabriel in the same exact position had been worth it.

       “WOW, dishonor on you an’ your cow, buddy. My head is big cause          of my massive ingenious brain. An’ as for my ‘little’ arms, they could          friggen pluck the Voyager 1 from orbit.  So shush.” 

Nevertheless Gabriel seizes the tongs.  He snaps them at Sam’s nose tip.         “No touchy.”

 He turns and wiggles himself back into the narrow space, thusly armed, and procures the book.  He hums the dramatic theme to 2001: A Space Odyssey and at the crescendo of “DAAH-dahhhh,” hands the title over. 

He takes the book, opens it, and skims through it quickly as he lets the pages fall from his fingers. Lots of words, a few diagrams and sigils here and there. A more academic and less practical approach to spellcraft, then. Finding a work-around the whole Archangel grace thing for portal making was going to be fun.

Gabriel eagerly awaits Sam’s riposte, donning a rakish expression for the sake of camaraderie and humor.

When it comes, however, that expression devolves into a stinkface. Ordinarily the answer would be “yes,” owing to his capacity to scry texts and unlock carefully safeguarded vaults of information within his brain–there’s a fair enough argument that Archangels, given the right circumstances, are as omniscient as God–but.  Right now, the tank, as he’s put it, is running a little low.

      “I don’t wanna,” he covers for himself brattily, and reaches for the        book.

Fucking Sam has it held just out of reach.

      “ … You’re pushin’ your luck, bitch.  Givvit.”  

He  tries to reach it again, and grunts. 

Sam’s smirk morphs into a small smile at the familiar name-calling.

Luke 2:8-20

[8] And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. [9] An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. [10] But the angel said to them,         {  "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy           that will be for all the people. [11] Today in the town           of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.           [12] This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped           in cloths and lying in a manger.“ }

[13] Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

gabriel & down to the second by zach berkman

i want to dream right down to the minute right down to the second i can feel my every breath unfold

//So if you look closely at the beautiful gifs made by @subcas, of Gabriel’s reaction when Lucifer, of all people–ultimate source of all his trauma, direct or indirect–has the gall to DEFINE him to Jack, by way of introduction….

Then you can clearly see the progression of a severely depressed, disillusioned, and hopeless trauma survivor, from surprise to rage to hasty emotional compartmentalization to resentful anger.

In this scene, Lucifer, in the background, prowling around touching Jack’s arm (blech) and trying to win his favor, says “see, thing about Gabriel, class clown.”   And Gabriel reacts to BEING TOLD WHO HE IS BY THE PARENT FIGURE WHO TRIED TO KILL HIM, THEN GOT HIM IMPRISONED AND ABUSED: 

Watch:

That’s a face of, “I cannot believe you’re doing this. I cannot believe you, my perpetrator, and the perpetrator of so many other atrocious instances of use and abuse, are DECIDING WHO I AM, and RECONSTRUCTING THE NARRATIVE IN YOUR FAVOR, because you have the CONTINUED POWER TO DO SO, to make that narrative for your INNOCENT CHILD to consume, and in doing so, RE-VICTIMIZE ME.  I further cannot believe that you think THAT BECAUSE I ONCE LOVED YOU, I WOULD BE COMPLICIT IN THAT RE-VICTIMIZATION.” 

 Followed by, “Actually, yes, I can believe it. Oh, what fresh hell.  I CAN believe it.  That is exactly what you would do and I won’t be part of it. I won’t even engage at all.”  

(And indeed Gabriel does perpetually disengage, over and over, until cornered by Lucifer later, when they’re alone–which I think is…awfully tactful and even kind of him, undeservedly, considering….and that’s when he says, “fine, fucker, here comes the truth bomb.”) 

But the point? Just.  How PROFOUND this violation is on Lucifer’s part. He knows exactly what Gabriel has been through and he still tries to establish the discursive framework of who Gabriel is and what that past did or didn’t do to him, thus throwing Gabriel’s own evaluation of his own trauma into question, just like Loki did previously (which is classic abuser behavior, and a form of exerting power through gaslighting).  And then he asks Gabriel to put the metaphorical gun back to his own head and HELP HIM LIE to Jack, for LUCIFER’S benefit, and ONLY Lucifer’s.  

And I think that is part of what makes Gabriel so desperate later, to distract and attack Michael, to “stop running”: Gabriel really has been fighting the good fight this season, a hero not only by being a survivor of extreme abuse, but also in helping the good guys WITH NO PERSONAL BENEFIT WHATSOEVER, but all the goading from all the disparate voices, be they Dean screaming “KILL LUCIFER” (again) or Loki calling Gabriel “a joke who’ll die for nothing,” or Sam low-key guilting Gabriel “the world needs you,” to Lucifer saying Gabriel’s the “class clown” and NOTHING ELSE … got to him.  

Gabe before trauma was supremely self-confident, and would have laughed this shit off as uninformed ignorant short-sighted opinion.  Gabe post-trauma has no idea who he is, because whether he’s the Trickster or the Archangel, the associations are painful dead-ends.  Gabe post-trauma has an external locus of control: a Cognitive-Behavioral Psychology term for where you place your sense of, among other things, identity, and self-worth.   Gabe post-trauma listens excessively to the views and judgments of others in order to collect data on who he is and what the hell he should do next. As he says to Cas, he has no idea what he’ll even do in the future if he survives.   

So even when he puts up the good fight, says no, and rebukes Lucifer?  Lucifer is still under his skin.  

Send 👋 to smack my muse on the ass.

Gabriel straightens from where he had been bent over and neatlyinserted into a cubbyhole behind the Bunker bookshelf.  Naturalsangfroid enables him not to bump his head as he wiggles backout of the space into which only he, among the Bunker inhabitants,would fit in search of a particular spellbook.  He quirks the rakish trademark eyebrow at the man who dwarfshim by nearly a foot.        “Well lah-dah, Angsty Green Giant,” he drawls, nodding his head       toward the particularly verdant flannel Sam wears, “I know I got       a natural musk that attracts the Shortness-Challenged from      miles around, but this ain’t really the time an’ place fer ‘bend       me over a desk.’” 

He shifts his weight, extends the pair of grilling tongs in his hand towards Gabriel and sniffs. “Nah, just thought you could use some help reaching anything that might’ve fallen too far back. What with your big head and little arms.”

Yes, he’d noticed Gabriel’s compromising position upon first entering the library. And like any self-respecting Winchester, he’d immediately thought of every conceivable way to troll the occasional-resident Trickster. Remembering the pair of tongs stashed in one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen had taken a hot second. Sneaking back out, retrieving them, and power-walking his way back to the library had taken a little longer, but the impish glee that came from finding Gabriel in the same exact position had been worth it.

       “WOW, dishonor on you an’ your cow, buddy. My head is big cause          of my massive ingenious brain. An’ as for my ‘little’ arms, they could          friggen pluck the Voyager 1 from orbit.  So shush.” 

Nevertheless Gabriel seizes the tongs.  He snaps them at Sam’s nose tip.         “No touchy.”

 He turns and wiggles himself back into the narrow space, thusly armed, and procures the book.  He hums the dramatic theme to 2001: A Space Odyssey and at the crescendo of “DAAH-dahhhh,” hands the title over. 

He takes the book, opens it, and skims through it quickly as he lets the pages fall from his fingers. Lots of words, a few diagrams and sigils here and there. A more academic and less practical approach to spellcraft, then. Finding a work-around the whole Archangel grace thing for portal making was going to be fun.

Send 👋 to smack my muse on the ass.

Gabriel straightens from where he had been bent over and neatlyinserted into a cubbyhole behind the Bunker bookshelf.  Naturalsangfroid enables him not to bump his head as he wiggles backout of the space into which only he, among the Bunker inhabitants,would fit in search of a particular spellbook.  He quirks the rakish trademark eyebrow at the man who dwarfshim by nearly a foot.        “Well lah-dah, Angsty Green Giant,” he drawls, nodding his head       toward the particularly verdant flannel Sam wears, “I know I got       a natural musk that attracts the Shortness-Challenged from      miles around, but this ain’t really the time an’ place fer ‘bend       me over a desk.’” 

He shifts his weight, extends the pair of grilling tongs in his hand towards Gabriel and sniffs. “Nah, just thought you could use some help reaching anything that might’ve fallen too far back. What with your big head and little arms.”

Yes, he’d noticed Gabriel’s compromising position upon first entering the library. And like any self-respecting Winchester, he’d immediately thought of every conceivable way to troll the occasional-resident Trickster. Remembering the pair of tongs stashed in one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen had taken a hot second. Sneaking back out, retrieving them, and power-walking his way back to the library had taken a little longer, but the impish glee that came from finding Gabriel in the same exact position had been worth it.