Miss Brocklehurst’s displeasure rolled around the room and once the task was done the rest of the girls fled lest they also incur her wrath.

‘Come here, girl.’

Penny was quick to obey, standing as upright as she could, hands clasped demurely in front.

‘You will pick up your books and spend the next hour practicing walking with the proper deportment. Every time you drop a book you will add another ten minutes. Then straight to bed with you! Do I make myself clear?’

Penny nodded, only for the cane to crack over her hands.

‘You will answer with words like the Lady you will become, not nod like some common person.’ ‘Yes, Miss Brocklehurst.’ ‘Better.’

The woman swept from the room and with shaking hands Penny picked up her books, balanced them on her head and set to work.

She retired to bed achy, cold and hungry, pretending to be asleep when the other seven girls entered the dormitory.

It was a large room with beds for twenty that in bygone days would have been full. But since the British Civil War and the Global Conflict the so-called aristocracy was thin on the ground, and the nouveau riche were uninclined to such an…ostentatious use of wealth.

Unfortunately, though the “ladies” – and she really did use the word loosely here – were destined to become some of the cream of the world’s richest people their manners and language when alone was absolutely dreadful, and their ire and spite was directed at her. For when one Lady failed they were all punished in some way. It was supposed to build teamwork and character but in reality it bred hatred and worse.

Even Parker wouldn’t use such language!

Penny kept absolutely still, her back to the room as she tried not to dwell on the spiteful words of the others. At some point she must have drifted off because she awoke to total darkness and gentle snoring.

Time to get to work.

When she’d first arrived she’d been given a snub candle and The Rules had been explained. There weren’t actually many because they were pretty simple.

Do as Miss Brocklehurst says at all times. Meals are 7, 12:30 and 5 precisely. If you are late you do not eat. Electricity is off at 9 pm and back on at 6 am. This candle will last you two weeks. There will not be a replacement. No talking to anyone outside the school will be tolerated.

Penny had swallowed and nodded and done as she was told for six weeks now. In England around now would be end of term and she’d be heading home for a couple of weeks to see her parents.

There was no one at home for her now. Mama had died in the winter and Papa had disappeared on a job in the early spring and within a week she’d found herself here. Miss Brocklehurst had visited only the week before to discuss Penny attending the finishing school.

She didn’t even know where ‘here’ was. Penny guessed somewhere on the south or east coast. There were no distinguishing features to the small area of countryside they were allowed out in, only the faint smell of the sea and the occasional sound of a gull told Penny that the coast was nearby.

Isolating her from her home and what remained of her family was bad enough, but the girls here had had two terms to get to know each other, and they presented a united front in ignoring her, talking loudly about her but not to her at all.

But Penny was made of sterner stuff.

Now, she lit her candle and headed to the bathroom where she pulled out the only thing she’d been allowed to keep from home - a gold locket with pictures of her parents in.

She traced the design carefully. Three rosebuds along the hinge side and her initials etched on the right.

‘Miss you so much.’

And she proceeded to tell her parents what had befallen her that day.

Life in Miss Brocklehurst’s Finishing School For Young Ladies pretty much carried on as normal. There was no school break. Lessons in deportment, Latin, Nature and ‘Gym’ were relentless. Miss Brockenhurst’s constant companion - her cane - was used ruthlessly to quash all unladylike behaviour.

And every night Penny disappeared into the bathroom to tell her parents what “delights” that day had held.

Spring turned to Summer.

A particularly nasty thwack of the cane yesterday had given Penny a spectacular bruise on her hip. She had quickly come to realise that the cane was indeed judiciously applied - hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to do lasting damage. If one stood still and took their punishment.

She had not stood still and had been sent to bed with no dinner and an extra five lashes. Penny wasn’t sure she could last much longer and said so when she spoke to her parents during the night.

Holding the candle aloft Penny walked through the house to the dorm but instead of going to her bed she headed to the bed farthest from the door and the other girls. She placed the candle on the windowsill, knelt beside it and, running her fingers over the rosebuds as she murmured a prayer for her father.

Penny overslept the next morning. Which why she was asleep when police raided the school.

A hand on her shoulder woke her with a start, and she stared into the face of her father before flinging herself at him.

‘You did well, Penny. You did so well.’ ‘Papa! You’re here!’ ‘I’m so sorry it took so long.’ ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here. You’re here.’ ‘And I’m never going to leave you again.’

Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward pulled daughter onto his lap, wiped her eyes tenderly and hugged her close.

‘And Miss Brockenhurst?’ ‘You were right. She’s been using the girls as blackmail material to get their parents to do things and selling the secrets.’ ‘Mama was right. I can’t believe she endured one whole year of this. The physical punishments were hard enough, Papa, but the emotional and mental torments…I shudder to think.’ ‘You’re Mama was a brave, brave woman. Without her documenting what had happened to her we would never have known.’ ‘I just wish she’d had spoken about this to you, Papa.’ ‘I know. Me too, Penny. Me too. And you are just as brave as your Mama, agreeing to go undercover without backup for so long. Congratulations at your very first official mission for FAB and a completely successful one too!’

Hugh kissed his brave daughter’s head, put her down and held out his hand.

‘What would you like to do first?’ ‘I think, Papa, I would like a cup of tea and one of Lil’s special breakfasts.’

She smiled impishly at him before bringing the locket up to her lips and pressing the middle rosebud.

‘Bring the car around, Parker.’

It takes days for Gabriel to learn how to speak again. 

Centuries spent in Hell with his lips sewn shut has taken its toll. The first few days spent in the Men of Letters Bunker have Castiel and the Winchesters putting Gabriel's muteness down to confusion, then madness. Gabriel is sure he heard Dean implying that the archangel is giving them the silent treatment out of spite for not looking for him after the Elysian Fields Hotel, and sure, Gabriel is a vindictive SOB, but he's not unreasonable. He wanted the Winchesters to believe he was dead. He didn't want to be found. That was the whole point of the ruse, and if Dean took three seconds to think about it, even he would have come to that conclusion. Oh, but Gabriel is in full control of his mind, which makes his current predicament even worse. The only person in the room with something to say and he can't even talk!

His muteness has less to do with willingness and everything to do with ability. He has to relearn how to form words with his lips, how to position his tongue properly in his mouth so he doesn't aggravate his already-present speech impediment—you try learning how to speak every single language ever known to man, dead or otherwise, and not develop some kind of lisp. More practically, Gabriel has to get over his very irrational fear that using his vocal chords will somehow result in them snapping in half like oversized glow sticks. That was Asmodeus' favorite torture when Gabriel got lippy, way back when he first got sold to the Prince of Hell and still had some fight left in him. 

His lips are still swollen and sore when he speaks his first words in centuries (pornstars... they were pornstars, Sam), and maybe he could have come up with something more original and more heartfelt in response to Sam's very moving speech, but at this point he's still not convinced that this isn't an illusion and so he'd rather play his cards close to his chest. Revealing weak spots to a demon is rarely advisable and Gabriel's been fooled in the past. The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth, making him want to retch. His lips throb for hours after that, despite Sam kindly cleaning the blood with a cold, damp cloth which he uses to dab the blood away. So, the comfort aspect of the illusion is new, granted, but Gabriel remains on his guards nonetheless. Demons are fickle creatures. 

It takes weeks for the bruises on Gabriel's body to fade. 

There are a lot of bruises, a parting gift from his former master who beat him halfway to death on a daily basis, just for the sport of it. The beatings in themselves became a much needed reprieve from Asmodeus harvesting his grace. That pain is nothing like Sam and Dean can ever imagine. Castiel can perhaps relate on some level, though part of Gabriel hopes that his younger sibling never had to go through the torment of having your very essence siphoned straight from the source. Some bruises are still fresh, a direct consequence of the fight that ensued when Asmodeus came to reclaim Gabriel from the bunker, and then, from his showdown with Loki. Killing the demon prince and the gaggle of Pagan demi-gods drained Gabriel of the very last reserves of grace he had, nearly killing him in the process, and would that really have been such a bad thing? Gabriel isn't sure anymore.

It takes weeks for Gabriel's bones to set, and until they do, he's been put on bed rest by Sam 'Motherhen' Winchester. Lounging in bed for the first few days felt like a luxury after centuries of torture, especially when Sam came back one afternoon with a portable projector under his arm, which he hooked up to his computer so Gabriel could watch TV all day. Not only did the Sasquatch go out of his way to set Gabriel up with a worldwide VPN, but he also emptied a backpack full of sugary treats and snacks directly in Gabriel's lap. Sam my-body-is-a-temple Winchester indulging Gabriel's sweet tooth is... oddly nice, actually. 

Gabriel's not used to ‘nice’ anymore, hasn't been for a long time. He lost faith in ‘nice’ long before his time in Hell. Cherry on the metaphorical cake, Sam settles next to Gabriel on the bed (after getting explicit verbal consent, because you can take Sam Winchester out of Law School, but seemingly not the lawyer out of Sam) and just sits there, messing about on his laptop and not expecting anything in return. It becomes their little routine until Gabriel's bones are more or less fully healed, though Sam eventually slows down with the treats and tries incorporating fruit to Gabriel's diet, like a psychopath. 

Dean finds an old pair of crutches in one of the bunker's many rooms and offers them to Gabriel, who flatly refuses anything to do with them. It's one thing to be coddled back to health by Sam, quite another debasing himself by hobbling around with these hellish contraptions. He'd rather suffer, thanks. 

Despite all the physical ailments plaguing him the first few weeks in the Bunker, what troubles Gabriel the most is the fact that he can't feel his grace at all, not a single stirring, not even a measly tremor. It probably shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, seeing as his body has been left to heal the human way. Castiel’s attempt at healing him fails spectacularly, which is the only indication that Gabriel isn't entirely human yet. It is physically impossible for a seraph to heal an archangel. Cassie is simply too low on watt to touch the powerhouse that is Gabriel, which means that his grace is inside him somewhere, except maybe... dormant, or something. Hell if Gabriel knows! The only person in the entire universe who might know how to fix him has been AWOL for several thousand years. 

It's disorienting at first, going about his day without feeling the familiar push and pull of his grace inside his vessel. Gabriel thought he knew how to act human without the help of his grace, courtesy of adopting his Pagan persona to evade Heaven's gaze. That is to say, he took his powers for granted before they were cruelly ripped from him. This is the closest to human Gabriel has ever been. And he decides very quickly that he doesn't like it.