#angelsxreader

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 BANG

The gun shook in your hands. You paused and reloaded, the sound of the shot still resonating through the room.

Sam and Dean were out on a new case, leaving you alone in the bunker's shooting range. You felt like practicing was the only thing that could distract you at the moment.

The memory was all too fresh in your mind. You tried to push it further and further away but it kept rushing back.

BANG

You bit your lip to prevent it from trembling. Absent-mindedly, you wiped the steady stream of tears away with your jacket sleeve.

BANG

You felt like it was all your fault. You'd been hunting for a while now, you made it your job to protect people. And now you'd failed.

BANG

Your parents, blissfully ignorant with their normal lives. You wondered if they still thought you were in college.

It was supposed to be a simple wendigo hunt in your hometown. It was anything but.

You and the boys arrived in time to slay the thing, but not in time to save the victims. Your parents had been hiking in the forest.

BANG

Blood everywhere. Faces frozen in terror. If only you'd been faster...

"Hey Sugar!"

The voice startled you. You pulled the gun away at the last second but the bullet still hit the chest of the figure in front of you.

"Do you greet all your friends like that?" Gabriel asked. He picked the bullet out and let it drop to the floor.

You put the gun down. "You startled me. You can't just pop in like that!" You shouted.

He chuckled. Did that guy take anything seriously? "I'll make sure to knock next time."

"What are you doing here?" You asked. You reached for the gun but Gabe grabbed it before you could.

"Cas told me what happened. I came to cheer you up." He held the weapon just out of your reach.

“Give that back Gabriel.” You asked, stretching your hand out towards him.

He gave you the look. The ‘I’m up to something but I’m not gonna tell you because magic’ look. He handed you back you gun.

Instead of the usual ‘BANG’ the gun gave out a weak ‘pop’ and sent an orange cylinder flying through the air. You looked the pistol over in your hands. Instead of the deadly silver weapon, you were now holding a piece of orange plastic. “A nerf gun? Really?”

The archangel grinned and pulled out a similar one out of thin air. “We’ll have a showdown. Cas talked me out of costumes but I think I look great in western get up-”

“No.” You stated. “I don’t want to play some childish game with you.”

“You afraid you’ll lose?” Gabriel’s question hit you like a brick.

You shot a dart at his face. The suction cup end stuck to his nose for a few seconds before silently dropping to the floor. “It’s on.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and disappeared. You muttered a quiet “Cheater” and crept upstairs to find him. He was going DOWN.

You snuck upstairs cautiously. You heard something move in the library. You raised the nerf gun and slowly walked inside.

Something hit the back of your head. You spun around as Gabriel fired rapidly at your chest.

You fired back at him, giggling uncontrollably. You dodged as many darts as you could and shot back until your gun clicked. Empty.

You tried to run away but Gabriel grabbed your arm. He pulled you towards the couch, still pointing his pistol at you. "Surrender.”

“Never!” You taunted.

"Then you leave me no choice.” Gabriel dropped the gun and started to tickle you.

You collapsed on the sofa, involuntarily laughing and twitching. "S-stop! Please!” You giggled.

"Tell me you give up.” He said, continuing to poke at your sides.

"I give, I give, you win!” You laughed.

"Say: Gabriel is the best, I owe him my life.”

“Up- up yours!”

“If you insist…”

“Fine! Gabriel's the best and I owe him my life.” You laughed.

He stopped. He stood over you for a few awkward seconds, lips inches away from yours. You'd never really taken the time to appreciate his eye colour; like sunlight through a whiskey glass.

He stared into your eyes before pulling away. "You did well. For a hunter.”

“Thanks.” You blushed. "If think.” You sat upright and Gabe sat down next to you.

"Feeling any better?” He asked. There was a note of sincerity in his voice, one that replaced the usual cocky tone. Then again, he'd never seemed sarcastic towards you.

"Yeah, much better. Thanks for cheering me up.” You smiled. "Can I ask why you did this?”

“Well, I suggested paintball but Dean didn't want the bunker-”

You interrupted the angel. "No, I meant why do you want to cheer me up?” You asked.

"Because I care about you.” He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his golden hair. "Because I-”

“I love you too.” You whispered.

He looked shocked, but the corners of his mouth turned upwards to form that familiar crooked smile. "Good.”

Staring into eachother's eyes, the both of you slowly moved in closer. You could smell the sweet sugar on Gabriel's breath.

You grabbed his gun and shot him in the chest. "I am the champion!” You yelled gleefully.

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A chuckle echoed through the tiny room.

You scowled before stomping over to your stereo and turning off the music.  “Don’t make fun of me, you jackass.”

“I can’t help it, ______,” Lucifer began.  You looked over to see him leaning against the door frame of your bedroom, eyeing you.  “Your footwork needs a lot of practice, my dear.”

“And I suppose you could do it better?”

“You’d be right.”  He straightened before sauntering up to you.  “And you might even be able to persuade me to teach you.”

“No thanks.  I’m not really interested in trading my soul for a fiddle or a tango lesson.”

It was his turn to scowl.  “First of all, Charlie Daniels can suck it.”  His expression made you laugh.  “Second, I’m not looking for your soul.  Just looking for someone to accompany me to the movies.”

“What?”  You cocked your head to the side.  “Is Satan really asking me on a date?”

He rolled his eyes.  “It’s not a date.  It is merely an exchange.  You get dancing lessons so you don’t look like an utter buffoon at your cousin’s wedding, and I get a few hours where I’m not completely bored out of my mind.”

“So, you find me interesting?”  You felt the corner of your mouth begin to lift.

“If you’re going to be difficult about this, ______, I recant my offer.  Have fun looking like a fool at the wedding.”

Shit!  “Wait!”  Thankfully, he hadn’t disappeared.  “Fine.  You teach me how to dance and I will try not to bore you.  OK?”

“Deal.”

Oh fuck.  You’d just made a deal with the devil.  And that easy smirk that slid on his face told you that you were so screwed.

“Why the fuck can’t I get my feet to work right?”  You shut the stereo off with more force than necessary.

Lucifer shook his head.  “Because you keep trying to take the lead.  If I’m instructing you, you have to let me lead.”

You were only ten minutes into your third dance lesson and already you were beyond frustrated.  It was like you’d forgotten everything he’d already tried to teach you.  If you weren’t stepping on his feet, he was stepping on yours because of your ill-placed footwork.

“This is dumb,” you growled.

“Dancing?”

“Yes!”

He rolled his eyes.  “Dancing is not stupid.  Dancing is expression.  Dancing is art.  It’s one of the few things on this measly planet Father gave you that I can tolerate.  It is not dancing that is dumb.”

“So you’re saying I’m dumb.”  You stepped back and folded your arms across your chest, leveling your best glare at him.

“I’m saying you’re impatient and petulant and have very little sense of rhythm.”

You took a deep breath, trying not to get too angry with the devil.  “Why can’t you just snap your fingers and give me the ability to dance?”

“I don’t make deals for souls.  That’s Crowley’s thing.”  He said the demon’s name with such distaste that it made you pause.

“But you’re an angel!  You can just will me the ability to dance and I’ll be able to dance circles around Fred Astaire!”  Were you whining?

“If you want to dance circles around that hack, you’d have to do it in hell.”

“What?”

“How do you think a balding, goofy-looking guy could land movies with Ginger Rogers?”  Lucifer sighed.  “Crowley made sure his spot in Hell consisted of demons constantly breaking his ankles.”

“Oh.”  You weren’t sure you wanted to do this anymore.

“Does that bother you?”

You nodded.  “It’s just...sometimes I forget what really goes on in Hell.”  You studied his features.  As irritating as he could be, Lucifer had somehow wormed his way into your heart.  To be reminded of his past was more than a little...disconcerting.

“______,” his tone was somber, as if he was saddened by the distrust he saw in your eyes.  “Dance with me?”

You bit your lip, contemplating.  You weren’t really comfortable anymore with the idea of dancing with the Prince of Darkness.  Feeling his arms around you would make you forget just who he was and all he’d done.  And friend or not, you weren’t sure you could afford to forget.

With a frown, Lucifer nodded and was gone before you could answer.

“How are you doing, ______?”

You looked up to see your cousin standing over you, a concerned expression on her face.  The worried frown looked out of place, as this was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, or however the expression went.  

“I’m alright.  A little tired, but I’m good.  How are you?”

“I’m great.  Everyone is having a good time.  Except you.”  She, very ungracefully, plopped down in the seat next to you.  “I keep seeing people asking you to dance and every one of them gets turned away.  Now, why is my favorite cousin looking so depressed?”

“I’m not depressed.” You sighed. “I just don’t dance.”  And even if you did, you certainly didn’t want to.  Every time someone had come up and asked you to dance, all you could see was Lucifer’s sad look just before he’d disappeared on you.  You hadn’t seen him since then, and you could admit, at least to yourself, you missed him.

“But you told me you were going to learn!”

“I was supposed to learn from a friend of mine.  He was going to teach me, but...” you shrugged.  “It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, ______...he broke your heart, didn’t he?” Now she looked angry.  So not your intention.

“More like I had a hard time looking past, well, his past.”

“Everybody has a past, ______.  Unless he was some kind of serial killer or something, there’s not much a person can’t move beyond.”

You snorted.  

“Honey,” your aunt approached you.  “Are you expecting someone to meet you here?  I know you RSVP’d for one, but he’s insistent that he’s supposed to be here.”

You glanced over at the room’s entrance to see Lucifer standing, dressed in a suit, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, smiling sheepishly at you.

“Jesus Christ.”  You had to fight to keep from laughing at your cousin’s outburst.  “Is that him?  The guy you were telling me about?  He’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah, that’s him.  You just run along now to your spouse while I go see why he’s here.”  You walked over to where Lucifer still stood.  

“Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t change what happened.”

You cocked an eyebrow.  “What?”

“Any of it--the apple, the snake, the cage--I can’t change any of it.  But maybe I can make here and now a little better.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Dance with me?” He looked hopeful.

“Luci--uh...yeah...I can’t dance.  You never got around to teaching me.”

“I’ve got a plan to get around that.”  He nodded down at your feet.  “Take off your shoes.”

“What?”

“Trust me?”

Sighing, you kicked your shoes off and left them near the doors.  Lucifer took your hand and led you out to the middle of the dance floor.  “Now what?”

“Stand on my feet.”

“What?  No--that’s dumb.”  You tried to turn back to collect your shoes, but he pulled you towards him.

“Trust me.”

You’d trusted him enough to let him lead you out here, you figured you might as well go all the way.  Scowling, you placed your feet on his and he wrapped his arms around you, just in time for the band to start a livelier number than they’d just been playing.  “Shit, Lucifer, this isn’t going to work,” you hissed.

“I’m not going to let you fall.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you nodded, and wrapped your arms around his neck.  Then he began to glide across the dance floor.  You felt like you were floating.  “Oh my god.”

“I’m not my Father, ______,” he chided gently.  

“I know, just--we’re dancing!”  You couldn’t help the grin that was on your face.

“I know.” He returned your smile.

You were on your third dance of the evening, a slow song, this time, when a thought crossed your mind.  

“What made you decide to show up?”

“I got bored.”

You felt your eyebrow shoot up of it’s own volition.

“That movie--I went to see it.  It was so lame.  I kept waiting for you to make some ridiculous comment or throw popcorn at the screen, but you weren’t there.”

“You missed me?”

He frowned.  “Missing someone would imply that I need them.  I’m an archangel, ______.  We are all powerful.  We do not need--”

“I missed you, too.”  You smiled before leaning in to kiss his cheek.  Then you rested your head against his chest, sighing in contentment.

.

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.

.

A swift kick had you wincing with pain.

“Are you alright, ______?”  

You looked up from the papers you’d been grading to see Gadreel standing over you, a worried look on his face.

“Yeah.  Just...somebody in there thinks Jack’s paper isn’t all that great.  I think I agree.  Jack can do much better than this.”  You wrote a giant ‘C’ at the top of the page before placing it in the pile you’d already graded.

“You’re experiencing discomfort.”  As if to prove him right, another kick had you grimacing.  

“Just the little ones trying to help me grade papers.”  You sat back against the couch, resting your hands against your swollen belly.

He smiled and leaned over, kissing your stomach.  “They are sure to be smart, just like their mother.”

“And brave, just like their father.”  You stifled a yawn.  “I think I might be done grading for the evening.”

He took your hands in his and helped you to your feet.  “They are much more active, the further along you are.  It will be no time at all before we are holding our children in our arms.”  He must have noticed your apprehension.  “Are you nervous?”

“Well, kinda.”  You looked up at him.  “I’ve never--the whole giving birth at home thing, I--”

“You know it is necessary.”  He sounded sorry.  

“I know.  And I’m OK with it.  Just...nervous.”  

He leaned down and kissed your forehead.  “The whole thing will be taken care of.  I promise.”

“I know.”  You flashed him a sleepy smile and the two of you were in the bedroom an instant later.  “I know everything will turn out fine.”

*

“Gadreel?”

You found him in your backyard, surrounded by boards and sawhorses, holding a hand saw.  He looked up from his work, a puzzled expression on his face.  You couldn’t help but grin.

“What are you doing?”

“I am trying to make a crib for the children.  But this tool is extremely bothersome to use.”  He frowned at the saw.

“You know you don’t have to make it by hand, babe.”

“I should be able to make something for our offspring.  Something that is not crafted from angel grace.”

You sighed.  “Sweetheart, I love that you want to make something by hand.”  You walked over and took the saw from his hand and set it down on the sawhorse.  “But why does it have to be made without angel grace?”  He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.  “You are an angel.  That is nothing to be ashamed of.  Just because you use what God gave you doesn’t make it any less special.”  You could see him tense.  “In fact, I think that makes it even more special.  They are half-angel, after all.  They will be proud of that fact, just as I am proud of you.”

“I am not worthy of you, ______.” He hung his head.

You reached up to lift his chin.  “I call bullshit, Gad.  You are the best man I know.  You are a terrific husband, and you’re going to be a great father.”  You took his hands in yours.  “Are you nervous?”

“Terrified.”

You smiled.  “You’re going to be great.”

“How do you know?”

“Faith.”

He sucked in a deep breath before embracing you gently.

*

You stared at your mess and growled.

It was official.  You hated everyone and everything.  Especially that stupid little black dress that taunted you from its place in your closet.

Well, it wouldn’t be doing that anymore.

“Is it alright if I come in?”  Gadreel knew you were moody and had wisely chosen to avoid you while you’d been angry.  

Now that your anger had begun to melt into misery, you were ashamed of your behavior.  “Only if you want to see me crying uncontrollably.”  Already, tears had begun leaking from your eyes.

“What happened, ______?” he asked, stepping over the carnage.  

Bits of black fabric were strewn around your room, and it made you want to cry even more, watching him survey it all.  “I hate being fat.”

“You are not fat, ______.  You are pregnant.”

“Thanks for the update.”  You scowled.  “I’m still fat.”  You tried to fold your arms across your chest, but thanks to your belly, you were unable to keep them there.  “I hate this!”

“I’m going to take these.” He waved his hand and the scissors you’d used in combat disappeared from the corner of the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being so damned emotional that I can’t even stand having a dress in our closet.  For being as big as a freaking house.  For everything.”  You began to cry in earnest, hating your inability to control your own feelings.

“I love you, ______.  And you are beautiful.”  He took you into his arms and kissed the top of your head.

“You have to say that ‘cause this is your fault,” you cried into his shirt.

“Not at all.”  He began to sway you gently.  “You are even more beautiful now, carrying my children, than you were when I first met you--and you were breathtaking then.”  

You shook your head against his chest.  He held you at arm’s length to look you in the eyes.

“Do you know what it means, to someone like me, to have found someone like you?  Someone who loves him and has faith in him?  Do you know what you’ve given me?”  

You shook your head.

“Hope.  You’ve given me hope for the future.  Our future.  The world’s future.  Just looking at you, my offspring growing inside of you, ______, I realize there is hope for me.  For me to become more than just ‘Heaven’s longest running joke’ and actually be someone to be proud of.”

You clung to him and sobbed, this time, out of overwhelming happiness.

*

As you looked at the two tiny wriggling babies in Gadreel’s arms, you sighed.  Labor was finally over and your family was absolutely perfect.  He’d picked your daughters’ names and you were thrilled with the choice.  They were the living embodiment of the gifts you’d given each other, and the names couldn’t have been more appropriate.

.

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. . “Son of a bitch!”

“Everything alright, ______?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Gabriel appeared next to you.  You dropped your cell phone when all of your muscles tensed at his sudden presence.  It took everything in you not to turn and slug him just out of instinct.

It wasn’t enough that you were already irritated.  No, you had to have the shit scared out of you on top of that.

“Fuck, Gabriel!”  You growled, choosing anger instead of tears.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” You snatched your cell phone up from the ground.

“Sorry.” He sighed.

“No.”  So much for not crying.  “I’m sorry.”  Tears formed in your eyes and blurred your vision.  You looked up, trying hard to keep them from falling, to no avail.  “What the fuck is wrong with me?”  Your anger mixed with your sorrow and you hurled your phone at the wall across the room, getting a brief sense of satisfaction when you saw it break on impact.  “Damn it.”

“Hey, hey.”  He slowly reached for your hands and grabbed them before you could destroy anything else.  “It’s my bad.  I thought you realized I was behind you.”  He held your hands loosely in his own, wanting to make sure you realized you could pull away if you needed to.

“I hate feeling like this, Gabriel.  I hate it.  I don’t like being scared all the time.”

He nodded.  Half of you wanted him to pull you in for a hug so you could cry on his shoulder and the other half felt nauseous at the thought.  He sighed again.

“I can do a lot of things, ______.  Unfortunately, making you forget isn’t one of them.”

“Why do you put up with me?  I don’t even want to be around me when I get like this.”  You pulled your hands from his and angrily wiped the tears from your face.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  He smiled, and you felt your anger begin to recede.  “Who were you trying to call?”  He nodded towards the pieces of your broken phone.

“I was gonna call my parents.”  You cringed as you looked over the damage you’d done.  Gabriel had gone out of his way to bring as many of your own things from your apartment to his hideaway, and you’d just destroyed your main link to the outside world.  “It was their anniversary yesterday, and I forgot.”  You ran your hands through your hair, tugging the strands harder than you needed to, thanks to your stress.

“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”  

You frowned.  “I can’t believe I broke my fucking phone.”  Fuck, could you get anything right?

“Here.”  He snapped, and your phone was once again whole, and in his hand.  He held it out and you accepted it, quickly dialing the number to try and distract yourself from the reminder of everything you’d had on your mind.

“Mom?”

“______?  Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  I’m sorry I forgot to call you yesterday, but--”

She cut off your apology.  “Honey, you need to come home.”  

“Home?”  You hadn’t told her about leaving your job or your apartment.  How in the world did she know you weren’t still there?  Had she tried to contact you before and realized you weren’t there?  How much did she know?

“Yes.  Your father and I need to see you.”

“What’s going on, Mom?”  She only ever referred to your dad as ‘your father’ when something was wrong.

“It’s just--we miss you, honey.  It’s been too long since we’ve all gotten together and caught up on things.”  Her tone was off.

“Oh.  Well, I guess I can see about coming by.”  You looked over at Gabriel and smiled hopefully.  He frowned.  “I’ll see what I can do.  You know...work and everything.”

“You’ve gotten a new job?”

“Y-yeah.  Something like that.”  This was fucking strange.

“Maybe your new boss can let you come by this afternoon.  We’d really love to see you.”

“I’ll try.”

“See that you do.”  Her tone indicated she was done with the conversation.

“Happy anniversary, Mom.  Love you.”

“OK.”  Then the phone beeped to let you know she’d ended the call.

You looked up to see Gabriel still frowning.  “Something’s wrong.”

“Did she say what?”

“No.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “Still, there’s just--it’s weird.  I don’t really know how to explain it.  But I know something’s wrong.”

Gabriel braced himself, as if preparing for an argument.  “Maybe I should check things out.  I know you want to go see them and make sure they’re alright, but I’ll go first.”

“OK.”  You weren’t going to fight him on it.  Not after... “Be careful, though, OK?”

“Always.”  He snapped his fingers and vanished.

.

*Sugar?*

What’s going on?  He’d been gone nearly ten minutes and you were ready to crawl the walls.  Are they OK?

*They seem to be fine.  But I get what you mean about it being weird.*

How so?  Ugh.  Why couldn’t he just spell it out for you already?

*Well, how religious are your parents?*

Um...The normal amount, I guess?  Why?

*They’ve got some pretty extreme paraphernalia and warding up in their home.*

What?

*Well, there’s at least a half dozen demon traps drawn around their house.  And...oh, shit.*

What?!

*They have a sigil for summoning Metatron on their wall.  Fuck.*

Why do they have that?

*My guess is Metatron came here, looking for you, after we broke out of heaven.  They essentially have him on speed-dial.*

Are they OK?  Did he hurt them?  Fuck!  If he hurt them, you were going to do everything you could to kill that fucker.  Even if it killed you in the process.

*They’re fine.  Completely human and in fairly healthy conditions.  Just--he’s probably convinced them that he needs to find you.  I can’t think of any other reason why they’d have that on their wall.*

I need to talk to them.

A moment later, Gabriel was beside you.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.  If they have that sigil, they’re probably going to use it.”

“How do you even know they have that sigil?”

"I could see it through the window." He frowned.  "They-uh-have their home warded against angels and I couldn't actually get inside."

"How could they summon Metatron if their house is warded?" None of this was making any sense.

"He's got the Angel Tablet, sugar. He can do a lot of things I can't, being cut off from Heaven."

So then why did your mom insist on you going there? "Something is seriously wrong, Gabriel. She wants me to come over, but they warded against angels and...shit. I really need to see her."

"______..."

"Somewhere other than the house.  Can you let me know when they leave or something?  I just--I fucked this up--I put them on Metatron's radar.  I need to fix this." You stared at him, pleaded as best you could with your eyes. "Please?"

"Alright." He looked like someone who was about to do something, knowing it couldn't end well.  Still, you had to try.  "When they leave, I'll take you to them."

.

It was the next day before Gabriel let you know your parents left their home.  You'd spent the 24 hours waiting and worrying.  Your mind wandered to all the possibilities that might have happened, and you grew agitated with fear.

.

"There they are."

You spotted your parents entering a grocery store.  Gabriel nodded and the two of you made your way in as well.

"Mom?"  You caught up to them just as they entered the dairy section.

"______?" Your dad was the first to respond. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to the two of you."

"We're shopping right now ______.  We'll be more than happy to talk to you at the house."

“We could grab some coffee or something?”

“And let the milk sit in the car?”  Your mom rolled her eyes and tried to push her cart around you.  You grabbed it and forced them to stop moving.  “If you really need to speak with us, ______, you can do it at the house.”

“I can’t go back to your house.”  You weren’t going anywhere without Gabriel.  You weren’t about to make that mistake twice.

“So then, he was right.”  Your parents exchanged a look that worried you.

“Who?”

“How could you do such a thing?  How could our daughter--” The disgust on your dad’s face made you want to cower.  Gabriel placed his hand on your arm in an attempt to offer you comfort.  “And you!”  He turned his venom on Gabriel.  “Convincing our daughter to sell her soul to the devil?”

“Whoa--back the crazy train up a sec...” You looked over at Gabriel to see he was more worried than surprised.  “Dad, this is Gabriel.  He’s my friend.  And not once has any deal with Lucifer been made regarding my soul.”  Well...none that you knew of, anyway.  

“Gabriel, the archangel?”

Gabriel is surrounded by a ring of holy fire.  Dean and Sam Winchester have him trapped.  They don’t understand who he is, but they are tired of his games.

“Yeah.  That’s me.”  Gabriel's voice brought you back to the present.

“He’s an angel, Dad, so there’s no way--”

“‘Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness,’” your dad spouted off.

“I’m familiar with the verse, yeah.”  Gabriel was having a hard time reigning in his sarcasm.  But, you supposed, an angel being accused of getting someone to sell their soul to the devil probably called for a hefty dose of sarcasm.  And it didn’t help that your parents were shit-talking his brother.

“Mom, Dad, please.  If you’ll just sit and talk with me for a minute, I can explain--”

“There’s nothing to explain.  Either turn yourself over to God, or face eternal damnation.”

“God...” Shit.  How to explain this without sounding sacrilegious.  “God’s not up there.  He’s not in Heaven.  The guy you met--that was Meta--”

“Enough!”  Your father snapped, drawing a few stares.  “I will not have my daughter be a servant of Hell,” he hissed as soon as no one was looking at you.  “You will come back home with us.”

“I can’t.”  How did you get him to understand?

“Then I have no daughter.”

It was as if time had stopped.  Your heartbeat accelerated to the point that the beat was all you could hear.  You blinked, your brain still taking time to make sense of the words he’d just said.

“What?”  You looked from your dad to your mom, hoping for some reprieve...some indication that you’d misheard.  “Mom, please just--”

“Do not speak to me.”  She gave you the same glare she used to give you as a child--the one that always made you wilt whenever you were in trouble.  It was still very potent.  “I had hoped you’d love us enough to see the error of your ways.  However, I will not have a child I conceived commit such heinous crimes against Heaven.  If you refuse to repent, you are dead to me.”  She jerked the cart back, out of your grasp, then pushed it around you.

You stared at the spot where your parents had been standing, completely dumbfounded.  What the fuck had just happened?

“Hey, cupcake?  You still with me?”  Gabriel stepped around you, placing his hands on your shoulders and moving so he was in your direct line of sight.  “I’m gonna get you out of here, OK?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn’t get the words to come out.  You weren’t even sure what words you actually wanted to say.  So you closed your mouth again and hoped your eyes could convey your consent to getting the fuck out of there.

The next instant, you were back in the room you’d spent the last month in, recuperating from what you thought was Metatron’s worst torture.

“I was afraid something like this would happen.”  Gabriel sighed.  “I didn’t--I shouldn’t have brought you to see them.”

“I asked you to take me, didn’t I?”  You found your voice and jerked away from him.  “It’s my own fault.”

It was finally beginning to register--everything that had just happened.  Your parents, convinced that Metatron was God, had... And the way they'd spoken to you. You couldn't remember ever hearing them so cold and callous before. How could they say all that and not feel something...anything?

“It’s just...aren’t they supposed to be there for me, even when no one else is?”  One by one, tears began to fall.  “Your family is supposed to support you.  Believe you.  Believe in you.” You sucked in a breath.  “They’re supposed to be in your corner when the rest of the world is against you.  But mine...”  You turned back to Gabriel, suddenly angry.  “I hate this.  Fuck, I hate this.  I hate that my parents just fucking disowned me.  I hate that Metatron fucked up my life.  I hate that I’m a fucking prophet of the fucking Lord.  I hate God for doing this to me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”  You wiped your tears away just in time for more to fall.  You rubbed your face again, harder than before.  “I hate this.  You should’ve just left me in that fucking cell.”

“Stop.”  Gabriel grabbed your hands and held them away from you, keeping you from rubbing your skin raw.  “Stop right there, ______.  There was no way I was leaving you in that cell.  There was no way I was letting that bastard keep you.”

“He took my family away from me,” you choked out.

Gabriel let go of your hands and wrapped his arms around you.  “I’m sorry I can’t fix this for you.”

“It’s too much,” you cried against his shirt.  “I don’t think I’m strong enough--it’s just too much.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of your head.  “But you are going to be OK.  You are strong and brave and amazing.”  He began to rock you slowly, humming a tune you recognized as Amazing Grace.  

.

When you finally began to run out of tears, one thought started running through your mind.

Family don’t end with blood.

.

.

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.

.

Ten seconds.  

Twenty.  

Thirty.  

Your lungs started to ache.  You needed oxygen.  You struggled with all your might, but the fucking box wouldn’t move.  Trying to buy yourself more time, you began to exhale as slowly as possible.  But once that was done, you had no back up plan.  On reflex, you breathed in, water filling your lungs.  You coughed and sputtered, trying to clear it, but it was only replaced by more water.  You panicked and fought with the box again, to no avail.  This was fight-or-flight mode, but you had no strength to fight and no where to fly.

You felt dizzy and your movements became more sluggish.  You body continued to try and breathe, only to choke on the water again.

*Fight it, ______.  Don’t stop--once you stop, you’re...* Gabriel’s voice in your head began to fade out as your body began to shut down.

You’d tried.  You’d given it your best efforts.  But, at least you could go, knowing that Metatron hadn’t broken you into giving up Gabriel’s location.

*______* You looked over at Gabriel, your vision starting to darken.  *Close your eyes.*  You frowned, unsure of why he was asking that, but closed your eyes anyway.  A moment later, a bright light flashed, and you felt the water heat up around you.  *Keep them closed.*  You nodded dumbly, unable to do much else.

Suddenly, the water began to spill away from you.  Your body drifted with the flow, until something took hold of you.  You had no strength to fight against it, and whatever it was, it was much warmer than the cold that had begun to seep into your bones from the lack of oxygen and blood flow.

*I’ve got you, cupcake.  Just don’t open your eyes.*  Well, that was certainly doable, seeing as how you didn’t even have the strength to open them.

Something pressed, hard, against your chest.  You felt the water being forced from your lungs, and you were able to gasp in much needed air.

“Gabriel--” You hadn’t meant to open your eyes, but you supposed nearly dying was a good enough excuse.  Instead of the face you’d grown accustomed to seeing, with the golden hair and whiskey eyes, a glowing form with several pairs of eyes stared back down at you.  Each set of eyes was attached to...well, a face, you supposed.  But there was just so much to take in, you weren’t sure where to start.  “Gabriel.”

There was no second-guessing with who was holding you.  This was Gabriel.  Not some fake copy Metatron had made.  100% Gabriel.  You weren’t sure how you knew, because this looked nothing like your friend, but you knew.  Gabriel had you, and that meant you were going to be OK.

“Hey, pumpkin.  Guess you can see my true form without being turned into a pile of ash.”  None of the mouths seemed to be moving, so you weren’t exactly sure where the voice was coming from.  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“You saved me.” Way to state the obvious, brain.

“Sure did, sugar.  And now, I think it’s time for you and me to amscray before Meta-douche gets back, yeah?”

“K.”  Gabriel held you to him tightly, just as your eyes drifted shut.

.

You weren’t sure what woke you up, you just knew you were hungry.  And that it hurt to even open your eyes.

“______?”

You froze.

Then everything came rushing back to you in a jumbled mess.  The cell, the torture--Gabriel torturing you.  No--Gabriel saved you?  But then why could you still feel his fists, his blade...Metatron.  Was this just Metatron screwing with your brain?

“Sugar?”  You blinked a few times to adjust to the light.  He was sitting in a chair next to...wherever you were.

“Ga-Gabriel?” Your throat felt like it was on fire.

“Hey, sweetheart.  How are you feeling?”  Sugar, then sweetheart...good.  Stupid nicknames.  That had to mean this was Gabriel.  The real Gabriel.

“Like... hit by a truck...backed up...ran over me again.”  You groaned, trying and failing to sit up.  “...the hell happened?”

“Little less hell, a lot more heaven happened.  Unfortunately.”  He frowned.  His frown deepened when he reached out to touch your hand and you instinctively jerked away.  You dropped your gaze from his face, hoping he’d just ignore your reaction.

“Metatron--is he...”

“Still up there?  Yeah.  Also unfortunately.”

“He--he’s not going...”

*Think it.* Obviously, he’d sensed your pain at having to use your voice.

He’s not going to win.  I...I had a vision.  The Angel Tablet was broken--I think that’s the source of his power.  He was in chains.

*Good.*  You could feel the anger radiating from him through your mental link.

What’s wrong?

*This.* He reached towards you, and you hissed at the pain jolting through you at your movements to get away from him.  *What did he do to you?*

Gabriel, you don’t want to know that.

“Tell me, ______.”  You didn’t mean to flinch, but you did, and he definitely noticed. “Please, sweetheart.” Somehow, he finally seemed to understand that your name coming from him wasn’t going to be a source of comfort.

“He--he just...” You swallowed, but it did little to sooth your throat.  He just...hurt me.

“Yeah, I get that he hurt you.  What I want to know is how he hurt you when he was wearing my face.”

I’m pretty sure all the cracks in my skull are courtesy of him as you.  My knee--which I think is dislocated, at least two broken ribs, and the toenails that were ripped out.  I don’t really know after that.  It all kind of...blurs together.

“Did he...” His voice trailed off, and you knew just where his train of thought went.  Tears began to fall from your eyes at the thought of the question you didn’t want to answer.  *Did he rape you?  As himself or as me?*

Gabriel--

*Please, ______, I need to know.*

Why?  Why do you want to know that?  Why do you want to know how violated he made me feel even though he never actually raped me?  You were angry now--angry at Gabriel for making you think about what you’d been through.  Why do you want to know how he made himself look like you and then made me think he was going to...please...I don’t...

You were in full blown hysterics now.  Gabriel moved towards you, probably to offer some sort of comfort, but all you could see was that leer on his face and feel him pinning you to the floor, his fingers on your skin, and hear his voice telling you that he could take whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Stop...please.” You curled yourself into a ball, not caring about the pain, just wanting to get away.  You were shaking, your sobs violently racking your body.  “No!”

*______, sweetheart.*

Even the voice in your head did little to calm you.  This was all just another way Metatron had found to torture you.

You felt his hand on your shoulder and you lashed out as best you could, swinging your all but useless arms at him.  “Don’t fucking touch me, you sick fucking--”

“Fuck.”

.

Dean Winchester stalks around Metatron, who is chained to a chair.  He lists crimes Metatron has committed.  Things like Kevin’s death, and casting out the angels.  He is holding an angel blade aimed at Metatron’s throat.

.

*Please let me help you.*

You looked up, startled to see Gabriel standing across the room from you, a helpless look in his eyes.  “What?”

“You’re bleeding again.”

You turned your attention down to your hands, noticing that you’d torn whatever bandages Gabriel had put on them, and they had started bleeding freely.  Now that your adrenaline was receding, the pain from your struggling hit you, hard.  Gabriel sensed your distress and had a bucket ready for when you started dry-heaving.  Nothing came up, but there was something comforting about having some sort of receptacle, just in case.

“I’m sorry I can’t heal you.”  He moved to the opposite side of the bed once your nausea subsided, giving you some much needed space.  “I guess I burned up too much of my grace when I busted you out of that box.”

“Burned up?” Finally, your breathing was returning to normal, and you were starting to come down from your panic.  Not relaxed, but less out of control.  You fought to push it down--bottle up your fear and anger and anxiety.

“Not having access to Heaven limits my grace.  I don’t have the same capabilities as I once did.  And breaking out my true form did a number on it.  It’ll take a few days before I can completely heal you.”

“I’m sorry.”  He’d only been trying to help you, and here you go, attacking him.  It wasn’t his fault Metatron had fucked with your brain.  “I’m so sorry.” All you felt now was an intense, heavy sadness.

“For what?”

“I fucked everything up.”  You started crying again.  You were much more subdued--or at least, you appeared to be.  Inside, it felt like a fist was squeezing your heart, trying to cause you as much pain as possible.  “If--if I had just...I’m so fucking stupid.”

If you had just not snuck out to go meet with Shelly.  If you had actually put some thought into your actions that day.  But you had to go and be stupid, even knowing that so many people--things--beings--whatever would want you dead.  You brought all this on yourself.

“Why didn’t you just tell him where I was?”

“What?” His question caught you off-guard, momentarily halting your tears.  “Gabriel, I couldn’t--you--you’re m-my best friend.  I couldn’t j-just sell you out.”

“I’m your best friend?” He cocked his head to the side, studying you.

You nodded.

“Then, will you let me rebandage your hands?”

Biting your lip, you nodded.  You held your hands out towards him, but they shook at the idea of him having to touch you to rewrap them.  He smiled briefly, before snapping his fingers.  New bandages were around your wounds before you had time to blink.

“I’m guessing, the less touching right now, the better?”

“I’m really sor--”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing, absolutely nothing, to be sorry for.  Not for meeting up with Shelly, or for being scared of me, or anything else your mind is telling you is your fault.  We’re going to figure this out, OK?  You and me.”

“Why--why are you being so nice to me?”

“Never had a best friend before.  Kinda like how it feels.”