#gbb2024

Speakeasy Blues

Gabriel hadn't moved since he'd arrived in the place he had fled to. It wasn't much anymore, a forgotten speakeasy that had once been the height of a good time nearly a century ago. No one would look for him here, in a dilapidated lounge that was half sunken into the earth after one too many earthquakes.

The damp air seemed to cling to him as he stood with his hands clenched around the back of a dust-layered high-backed chair. He stared at its ripped and stained cushion as he gripped the gold-painted wooden frame. The celestial’s hands clenched as he took a deep breath, remembering when the room had been clouded with smoke instead of the wafting smell of mildew, dust, and rotting wood. He closed his eyes in the quiet of the lounge, remembering when it had been filled with dancing, music, and laughter.

Gabriel let a smile grace his lips as he looked around, remembering the people who had once filled the darkened space. He remembered the blonde singer he had loved each time she had performed and the piano that had once graced the stage. His fingers tapped against the weakened wood within his hands, trying to think of the song he had played with her. His head tilted as his gaze fell onto the stage cherishing the memory of performing and mingling with the humans that frequented the basement lounge. 

The celestial had always loved the tenacity of humans and the speakeasy filled with bootleg alcohol had been a place that had been perfect. He frowned wondering what the long-gone people who had filled the bar would say about his cowardice in defending their home. The humans that had defied the law and defended their want for fun and relaxation. They had never backed down nor denied entry here for anyone who needed a safe space while he had hidden away and ran. Gabriel's eyes roamed the wooden floor he knew to be false to the panels that had served as an exit or a hideaway for those who had needed it. He doubted they would have looked at him with anything but contempt if they had known how often he could have helped, had he not been hiding behind the pagans.

He groaned thinking of the gods that had half-heartedly accepted him and tried to get Kali’s near-concerned expression out of his mind and the smell of the fresh deaths of his friends out of his nose. A flash of her watering eyes and open sorrow dashed across his mind, unbidden. His eyes closed tightly against the moment of tenderness in her gaze that he had answered with deceit. Of all his tricks and need to survive her vulnerability and sorrow had filled him with the most regret. Kali had always seen through him, he realized now and hated the complexity of him. She had always hated it. He had offered her lies and avoidance when she wished for something real and passionate. 

Gabriel had never fought her when she distanced herself from him. He knew it would never last, nothing ever did, but it had been his fault. Gabriel had never guessed her reason, that she had discovered what he had been and left. He had assumed it was his casualness and ennui that had forced her out of his bed and that his inability to not hide behind a joke had pushed her away. 

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip at the reminder of her kiss, one she had allowed not just for his blood but for one final goodbye. They had felt something once for each other, had something almost tangible, but he could never be truthful with her or match her fire. He blinked away the memory of her regretful gaze that was coated in pain at hurting him for what she felt was right. Kali had wanted him to believe in them, to fight for something, and he had failed her test and forced her hand. The sight of Sam pulling her away and the lasting burning grip of her hand on his arm haunted him just as much as the scent of their dead comrades. Her grip had felt like relief, forgiveness, and the wish to be forgiven. Gabriel couldn't help but give it to her, he would always forgive her for wanting to live. Briefly, he thought of seeing her if nothing else than to tell her he understood and beg her to take him back. If for no other reason than to not be alone with himself. 

He laughed aloud at the thought. She would hate that. For the Archangel Gabriel, after centuries of lies and tricks, to run to her as an alternative to loneliness. Her tolerance of him had faded the moment their lips parted, and he had broken her heart. Gabriel knew that it had been their last embrace, that burning grip after the gentleness of his murder at her hand. Perhaps Lucifer was right that it was the girl that had made him finally move, that he couldn't leave her to the brutality of his family after so many centuries of her indulgence and affection. 

Gabriel had known that standing up to his family and spitting in the face of his Father's plan wouldn't end well for him. It's why he had let Dean run his mouth because he knew he couldn't. Gabriel hated that he had caved. The archangel groaned leaning forward over the high back before leaning back once more to stand up straighter. 

The old being sighed, feeling his grace coil and fall within his vessel. It wasn't that he regretted picking a side. At least this time around he wasn't a complete coward. He would never regret having found a third option in the species that had once made his current refuge full of life and filled him with purpose for eons, but he regretted staying. Gabriel could have gone an eternity without ever seeing Lucifer like that. He hated having all of his fears confirmed, that the brother that had taught him and cared for him was truly lost to his anger and contempt. 

The youngest of the first four could still remember when they had first taken vessels together, trying out the new humans that were bound to them. They had all been curious about the species their Father had made that was so different from them. A hollow laugh left his lips at the animals they had been content with inhabiting until then, unable to shake the nostalgia that filled him. It seemed impossibly long ago the more he thought about how they were, just after they had locked away the Darkness and before their Father filled his every want to create and entertain himself. Gabriel’s lips swished as he tracked a large crack that ran through the far brick wall. 

Even if Lucifer and Michael had always seemed so preoccupied with each other and Raphael seemed more interested in order than having fun with him, they had been inseparable once. He was sure that at some point they had loved and adored each other, that they had been happy with just each other’s company, and it wasn't a dream he had made to make himself feel better. His gaze followed the crack in the foundation across the length of the ceiling. Gabriel didn’t look away from the crack that went through broken wooden slats that made up the ceiling of the basement he had frequented decades ago. 

They had been happy, he thought as he followed the crack to the other side of the intimate space and stared at a faded peeling poster of a singer that had once been the highlight of the small club before the prohibition. 

Gabriel tore his eyes away from the singer who had given his ears something to smile about once upon a time. Briefly, he considered the bar, sure that it hadn’t been picked clean even after all this time. He still remembered the code to the old safe behind the bar and the hidden places beneath the rotting fake floorboards. Gabriel wished any alcohol that was there would be enough to mean something. He shook his head, hands clenching around the firm wood under his hands as he thought about the lasting image of his brother. 

He shouldn’t have stayed. 

Despite all that had happened between them, he should have known better than to stick around. That he would see something he couldn’t take back, that he would never forget the sight of. While Gabriel would never regret helping the ones this place was built for, he shouldn’t have stuck around to make sure she got out, and that the Winchesters listened to him. 

If he had just let his copies play out without him, he wouldn’t have seen what he had feared the mark had turned Lucifer into and what he was capable of now. One of his hands moved from the back of the chair to touch his stomach, swallowing the indigestion that seemed to float through him at the memory. The hand on his vessel reminded him that it was only a copy and that it hadn't been him his brother had killed with such somber affectionate malice. 

Gabriel opened his eyes and looked back to the broken chandelier that lay discarded and picked apart, someone having had cleaned the pearls and silver decorations from it, before looking to the one that remained semi-attached above him. His eyes coasted over the melted candles that were still in the holders. His frown deepened looking over the faded colors of the once vibrant red chairs and the now dingy whites of the ripped tablecloths. It didn't matter if it wasn't him, his brother had barely blinked at destroying the obstacle he had made in his path. 

At least Lucifer had given the copy the dignity of being looked in the eyes and cradled while being butchered, he thought bitterly as he stared at the broken gaslight fixtures that lined the space.

Gabriel's eyes roamed the place that would be his haven until he thought of something other than the death of his friends, his ex’s sorrow and distrust, and his brother's rotting vessel and disappointment. His fingers clenched around the painted wood once more before his grip loosened, letting his left hand fall from his uninjured stomach. He pushed his hands into his pockets, trying and failing not to think about what Michael thought of all this, of him.

Michael would be disappointed, he mused as he turned towards the bar with a heavy sigh. 

Gabriel wondered if he had known where he was all this time or that he was still even around. As he vaulted himself over the dust and rubble-covered counter he tried hard not to think about it. He wasn't sure it mattered if Michael had known where he had gone all those eons ago, but he couldn't help but be curious how he felt about Lucifer killing him. As he swung his legs around to look behind the bar his gaze flickered over the large cracked dirty mirror and his distorted reflection. His head tilted as he stared at his vessel letting his grace peek through amber eyes. 

Michael and Raphael would at least be disappointed that I'm dead, he thought as he stared at his reflection.

A morbid sort of happiness rolled through him at the stray notion that they would be sad that he had died and that Lucifer had killed him. That his death would mean something to them even after all this time. He stared at himself as he let the feeling grow before squashing it with cruelty. His eyes snapped away from his muddied fractured reflection and didn't linger on the disastrous train of thought. Instead, he let his feet drop to the creaking floorboards and took up the safe, inspecting the metal box before rotating the dial to the numbers he had never forgotten. 

Gabriel chuckled when it opened, smiling briefly at the smell of old paper that wafted from within it. The archangel bent, glancing at the meager contents of paperwork, bonds, IOUs, and the liquor he had stashed away. He hummed looking over his hoarded gifts from Dionysus and Odin, untouched bottles of wine and horns of mead, and fishing them out from their enchanted iron prison. The archangel looked over the threatening note he had left attached to the four containers to ward off the humans from consuming the god-made alcohol with a small smile. 

As he leaned back, Gabriel gripped the mead tighter, perhaps worse than Michael’s disappointment and probable disapproval was what Loki would think in the aftermath of Elysian Fields. He frowned, standing and tucking the wine bottles under his arm. It wasn't enough to get him drunk but maybe the god-made booze would give him something better to think about than debating whether he had truly broken his deal. Gabriel was trying to be confident that he hadn’t technically broken their arrangement. 

Loki had made him swear to never return to them and he hadn’t. The idea of siding with either of his brothers and returning to the Host had never crossed his mind, unlike eons ago when he had first run. The first time around Gabriel had hedged, his affection for his family had him debating for longer than he’d ever admit before he had chosen to run and hide. The apocalypse was everyone’s problem, and he had tried to tell the others to leave, to stop trying to fight something older than they had any true concept of. The pagans were strong, but they were of Man and Earth, not the fabric of the universe. 

As he turned to look over the dingy tablecloths, layered in dust and debris from behind the bar he couldn’t help but wish that someone had listened to him, that someone other than Kali had gotten away. Gabriel wanted to believe that Loki would see that he had only been trying to help, to protect Odin and the others who had died a senseless death. 

The celestial didn’t want to think about Odin or Loki any more than he wanted to think about his brothers or what he was going to do now. He held tighter to his liquor as he walked around the bar. Besides, it was Kali and the Winchesters who had dragged him into a fight and outed him, and he had never willingly gotten involved until after Odin's death. If anything, breaking his deal and getting involved could be seen as a revenge attack. 

Gabriel frowned at the logic, pausing in his steps beside the bar. No, no, even if he had been backed into a corner it was his celestial family that had caused Odin's death. Loki would question it, or why he had been there to begin with. He hung his head, flicking open one of the wine bottles before taking a long drink from it. 

“All out of plans, eh?” He groaned to himself after he swallowed, leaning against a barstool. “What the fuck am I gonna do now?” 

Gabriel glared at the derelict space that offered no answer and slumped further against the bar, clinging to the alcohol he would need to drink faster. He sniffed, glaring back at the bottle before drinking the rest in one go. He licked over his lips, tossing the bottle and listening to the satisfying crash of glass behind him. Gabriel hummed at the sound that filled his mind and the space before walking briskly, towards the stage and the rooms that waited behind the faded ripped curtain. As he reached it, he opened the second bottle, jumping on the old stage just as the earth quaked under his feet. He tilted his head back as he drank, and the building sank deeper into the ground. The youngest archangel ensured that the shockwaves went unnoticed and that the waves appeared more natural than all the disasters that Lucifer and Michael were making with their apocalypse. 

Gabriel didn't stop drinking, giving up on the appearance of breathing for the need to get the slightest bit tipsy on the off chance he would find a silver lining at the bottom of the bottle. He didn't stop as the old club fell deeper into the hole it had fallen into, and the lights flickered on around him. He only turned when he had finished the aged wine whose taste was more comforting than its lackluster effects. The archangel hummed as the colors brightened within the faded fabric throughout the lounge, and candles were restored and lit. His eyes rolled to the bottle frowning at the idea of smashing it when he was going to the trouble of fixing the place. Gabriel rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and tossing it over his shoulder, missing the sound of it shattering when it disappeared into the ether. His stride didn’t break as he turned on the old stage, his steps healing and mending the rotting broken wood. 

The archangel didn't pay any mind to the wood that returned to its polished glory under his feet, or the dust shaking itself from the heavy curtain as his fingers folded it back. Gabriel sighed as he walked off-stage and toward the backrooms, the stage lights turning on, and the music he had loved to hear wafted through the musty air like a somber farewell from a passing specter. 

Gabriel turned looking over his shoulder and grimaced at the illusion of the blonde singer in all of her glory that thought would enhance his drinking, but only served to leave a bitter taste floating in his grace. The archangel paused in his stride, looking back at the horns in his hands and grumbling at the slight buzz he wanted to keep. He debated drinking it, the stinging knowledge that it could be the last taste of true mead he'd have in a long while made him pause in downing it. He didn't spare the ghost of his own making another glance, brushing past the mended curtain. 

Perhaps he'd never get more mead, perhaps Loki would hate him now, and his siblings would mourn him or forget him. The archangel didn't know what he would do next, but he knew he had stashed more godly wine in the back. There would be no hiding from whoever was victorious and here was as good as any place to get caught, but if he was lucky the Winchesters would succeed in opening the backdoor he had given them.