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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, MIMZ! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAPHAEL.

Admin Rosey: I never really thought that Raphael’s application would be so f u n to read. Macabre? Absolutely. Impassioned? Of course. But hilarious to the point where I was giggling? Definitely unexpected but that is what made this so enjoyable and it is ultimately why this application received a r e s o u n d i n g yes from each of us. There was a perspective that I always envisioned for Raphael but was never able to articulate it myself until you laid it out, word by word, with this application, Mimz. Raphael is such a multi-faceted and character that holds so much potential, and the way that you wove it into every aspect of the application made this so fun to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to produce such a wonderful application! Your faceclaim change to Kendrick Sampson has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias

mimz

Age

Personal Pronouns

she/her

Activity Level

i’ll typically check the dash every day, and i try not to keep replies stewing for longer than a couple of days! that said i can be a little slow, especially around exam seasons.

Timezone

pst

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

miss minnie bleubeard’s blog

IN CHARACTER

Character

raphael, with a fc change to kendrick sampson

What drew you to this character?

short answer: divine amorality sexy HAHAHAHA

long answer: there was something i read a little while ago about some of the best surgeons being able to dehumanize their patients to a rather frightening degree. there’s a level of abstraction that you need in order to not let your empathy get in the way of the practice of medicine; ultimately, a body is a body is a body, right? and then there’s the moral quandary of healing - it is a doctor’s duty to heal, but what does that actually mean? to what extent is a doctor’s duty to relieve suffering? to obstinately prolong life? if the body heals but the mind still ails, is a person healed? what i’m getting at, here, is that in some ways the healer is the most dangerous character of all.

when i read raphael’s bio, there was a quote in that article from a surgeon named david cheever that came to mind: “as a result of anaesthetics, the surgeon ‘need not hurry; he need not sympathise; he need not worry; he can calmly dissect, as on a dead body.’” to me, raphael is an explosion and expansion of this concept. raphael is, quite literally, a medical ethicist’s worst nightmare, and to me, that’s absolutely fascinating. without sympathy, what separates a healer from an educated control freak with a god complex? with raphael, we can extend this concept to its furthest extreme. raphael isn’t even human - how could he even begin to sympathize with an experience so foreign to him? why would he worry about something trivial as human suffering when it essentially exists as a theoretical concept to him? divine beings have no reason to play by human rules, and as a creature raised by god’s side raphael was so far removed from the concept of human suffering that it’s sort of a no-brainer that he developed a sick fascination with it, like a child who managed to con their parent into buying a grand theft auto game and is obsessed with running over pedestrians because the stakes never quite feel real. it’s a perspective i’d absolutely love to explore in a group rp setting because the nature of rp means that it’s kind of...completely unsustainable? like as writers we’re shoving these characters together, which means that raphael will have to be exposed to mortals. there’s room for a lot of character development there, and it seems like something extremely interesting to explore.

BUT HERE’S THE THING⁠—and this is where the character gets really fun, in my opinion. i’ve talked a fair bit about god complexes already, but when applied to raphael an interesting question is raised: how much is a complex, and how much of it is actually being divine? what really made me want to get my grubby little hands on the reins of raphael’s story was seeing the disconnect between the way his connections are written from raphael’s perspective versus the other character’s perspective. it’s a fun little hubristic shade that makes him an unreliable narrator and infinitely more interesting than a simple morality thought experiment. i think it’s easy to see raphael as this super cool, all-powerful master manipulator (i think that’s a pretty accurate take on his self-image, in fact), but he’s not the only player in this game. for every pawn he’s trying to move, there is someone else trying to use him in a similar way, and i don’t know that he truly understands the ramifications of that. see, i think it’s easy to reduce raphael to the points i discuss in the previous paragraphs because that’s what he wants you to think of him. but this is a world of gods and superpowers and magical political intrigue and game of thrones doesn’t exist so nobody can tell him that he’s on the path to becoming a cersei lannister (admittedly i haven’t watched got so this reference might not be right but i feel like it’s right so uh. yeah!). maybe i just like to see arrogant men getting knocked down a peg? this might be a projection of that. i dunno. i just know that there are quite a few mind games and mental gymnastics to untangle with raphael and that’s fun. he’s fun.

also. i would like to once again reiterate: divine amorality sexy. it’s not good, to be clear, and i don’t condone it, but i’m just saying.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

WHEN THE CITY CRUMBLES AROUND YOU AND YOU HOLD ITS VESTIGES IN YOUR HANDS, WHOM DO YOU BLAME?

i think Raphael’s big character arc revolves around a simple question: how far are you willing to go to achieve what you want?

ostensibly, it’s an easy answer: very far. but when your desire is antithetical to your very purpose, when chasing it puts you at odds with the thing you’ve worked to build, do the goalposts move?

(the correct answer is that raphael did not build caelum. he simply destroyed god.)

let’s say, hypothetically, that raphael gets what he wants. the world is thrown into war and chaos and destruction, yadda yadda, raphael gets his blood and his suffering, great. he’s lived through this before (a couple times, actually), so you think he’d realize by now—eventually, the dust will settle. people will tire of suffering. and where will that leave raphael? how many times will you remake the world to watch it burn? can you ever be fulfilled chasing a temporary high?

(the correct answer is no, but raphael is an immortal being. more importantly, he is a patient one. he will wait a million days for rome to be built, if only to witness the single day in which it will burn.)

i think raphael needs to reckon with these questions. i think he’s lived far too long with his mentality unquestioned and that has made him both insufferable and a major threat to society. this is a long and pretentious way to say that raphael honestly kind of needs a hobby whatever the thc-verse equivalent of therapy is, but i think any sort of positive character development is contingent upon a recontextualization of suffering and chaos and raphael’s masks.

of course, this isn’t to say that introspection will only lead to positive character development. perhaps a raphael who looks deeper into his psyche will come to understand that his desires outweigh his role; perhaps such thoughts will push raphael over the edge of propriety and into something more outwardly despicable. no matter what, though, i think that the direction of raphael’s character development will be largely shaped on how he decides to prioritize his⁠ roles and goals.

FOR WHOM DO THESE HANDS HEAL?

let’s discuss the archangels, shall we? despite it all, raphael genuinely loves his brothers. i would argue, even, that raphael believes that his scheming is in service to the other archangels; he’s not blind to the way complacency has softened the angels. at this point, the only true threat to the angels is themselves—if michael wants to to unlock a state of sanctifying grace, it will happen at the hand of one of his kin.

i spoke earlier about raphael’s goals ultimately being futile. this is largely because they are diametrically opposed to michael and gabriel’s goals, and while raphael knows this intellectually, i don’t think he’s quite thought about what the long-term implications of that conflict entails. he’s so caught up in the conflict between michael and gabriel that he’s neglected to consider how he factors into the dynamic. could he be the common ground that brings michael and gabriel together? could he be the final straw that breaks them apart? he is excited for the fighting, the fallout; but has he stopped to consider what the long-reaching effects of such a rift may be?

raphael is breaking his family apart because he loves them. will that be enough, when he is sent to pick up the pieces? whose side will he fall on, if he is to pick a side at all?

DID PYGMALION FALL IN LOVE WITH THE BEAUTY OF HIS CREATION, OR THE BEAUTY HE CREATED?

i said this in the previous section but i’d like to reiterate it: i think a big reason raphael is Like That is because the stakes have never quite felt real to him. raphael’s a pot stirrer, but he’s not a creature of action. to this, i say give him real stakes. to be honest, i don’t know exactly what that entails, because i could see a number of ways in which tangible pressure manifests itself for raphael. perhaps his meddling with michael and gabriel steps too far, and his brothers perhaps the angels become suspicious of his maneuvering, in which the spider is drawn into his own web of intrigue. maybe we apply positive pressure, where the ails of the world require a healer and raphael is tapped to higher purpose⁠—and higher power. maybe raphael will find himself tempted by the very demons he holds in contempt.

the point is that raphael has largely been a character who acts through others. even now, we see this through his grooming of romilda, with his subtle manipulation of michael and gabriel. i want him to become a more active character, either by his own volition or by his hand being forced.

similarly, i’m extremely interested in seeing how raphael navigates the political elements of this verse. i expect it stings a bit to be the only archangel not given a position of leadership; perhaps he holds lingering resentment toward zadkiel for being given a role raphael had expected to receive. does he subtly undermine zadkiel’s leadership? i want to watch him play up tensions with the vices, to hide a vicious war-hawk perspective under the guise of a concerned healer. i want him to smile in abaddon and samael’s faces and plot their suffering in his mind. i want to see the snake slither in the grass, to return to his original form as a spider spinning a web of intrigue across his court. yes, i want a more active raphael, but i think the political drama is ripe for development, as well.

WHEN I SPIT UP MY SINS AND BEG FOR REPENTANCE, WHAT WILL COME UP?

this one’s a long shot, but i could maybe...see...raphael……..falling. i can guarantee you that the idea has never even crossed raphael’s mind, and that he would literally rather be smited than be cast out of caelum, but i can see it. i think he might be happier, actually; if he fell, he could really lean into the chaos and suffering thing without any compunction.

of course, this is something infinitely easier said than done. were raphael to be cast out of caelum, he would have nowhere to go. infernum would never take him⁠—he’s made far too many enemies among their ranks. he could wander the holy land, but he’s far too proud to bind himself to its existing social systems. (he wouldn’t be able to look gabriel in the eye.)

raphael would have absolutely nothing.

but he would also be free.

that’s right, i think that a horsemen-style liberation arc would be an absolute banger for raphael. again, i don’t think it’s feasible unless a very specific set of circumstances happen, but just imagine a raphael with nothing to lose, free to go absolutely apeshit. his only prerogative is to make sure you have a bad day. he is free to sow whatever chaos, whatever suffering he so wishes across the land. WHEW.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, but i don’t see him going down easily.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

entomological curiosity, in short. consider: why did god leave the apple in the garden of eden? why do humans keep animals in glass cases? why do children burn ants with magnifying glasses?

raphael wants to observe the world. a good healer must understand his patients at a fundamental level, and such truths are only revealed when the subject is broken down to its basest parts. you see, raphael was weaned on temperance and virtue; there is a lush decadence to emotional extremes that he finds most fascinating. they are debased. they are crass. they are wantonly sentimental, in a garishly beautiful way.

but this is not all. he wants to stave off boredom, and these are the tools he has to play with. for all of his machinations, raphael is a simple being. raphael has no grand ambitions, no lofty ideals, and that is what makes him so dangerous. he wants to be amused. he wants to be stimulated. he wants to observe a world in which things happen.

ostensibly, this is not as selfish a motivation as it may seem. as a healer, raphael knows something that many do not: serenity cannot exist in perpetuity. it is impossible for the world to remain unchanged⁠—even if the change is not evident, it is happening. an eternal peace is all but a stagnation of the kingdom; the only thing stagnation breeds is degradation. the angels are weakening because they are not being challenged. michael and the virtues may be doing extensive research to find an alternate explanation, but raphael knows this to be the truth.

of course, the irony underlying the selfless explanation of raphael’s motivations reveals the truth of the matter: it is a farce. perhaps it is a lie that raphael has even convinced himself he believes, but it is farcical nonetheless. raphael claims he wants to invoke change because stagnation is dangerous, but riddle me this⁠—if this is true, why has raphael never changed? centuries upon centuries have passed, and the world has changed around him, but raphael himself has remained largely unchanged. he is the orchestrator of change, not its agent nor its subject, and that is just the way he would like things to stay.

Character Traits

CHARISMATIC - there’s a reason very few have cottoned on to raphael’s true nature, and it’s not (just) his pretty face and magical girl-esque aura. there’s something effortlessly captivating about raphael, a pace to his cadence that has you hanging on to his every word, a lightness to his smile that makes you want to coax it out whenever and however you can. everything about raphael puts people at ease, except for his eyes, which tend to put people on edge if he’s not careful. he’s not gregarious or the outgoing sort of charismatic by any means, but he does manage to exude an overwhelming charisma.

PATIENT - it’s important to remember that before raphael turned on god, he waited for him. raphael performed healings for centuries and never raised a hand against his father in that time. think of all the angels that fell, that rebelled; raphael was not among them. no, raphael played the dutiful son, allowing his resentment to fester and boil deep underneath his skin, but never to surface. for centuries he served loyally, biding his time. remember: lucifer fell. raphael did not. which one killed god? as i mentioned in the plot section, raphael will wait a million days for rome to be built to witness the single day it burns. prolonged suffering is perhaps the most beautiful of all. fortitude goes hand-and-hand with patience.

INTELLIGENT - in a few ways. raphael is well-studied, with extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry and history and politics. raphael is emotionally intelligent; he hides his true nature behind a veneer constructed to meet expectations. he may not be as talented as gabriel in this regard, but it is a skillful construction nonetheless.

MANIPULATIVE - i mean. yeah.

ARROGANT - he thinks he’s smarter than god???????????????? tbf god was a bit of a headass in this universe but we’ve all read enough tragedies to know where this kind of hubris ends up going.

CRUEL - there’s a bit to unpack here. i’d argue that there are two types of cruelty: malicious cruelty and callous cruelty. raphael is certainly capable of both, but i think he embodies the latter. with certain notable exceptions, raphael’s cruelty is rarely personal; it is a thoughtless sort of cruelty, the type inflicted upon beings considered expendable. raphael is selfish and petty and powerful, and these traits coalesce into a casual cruelty.

In-Character Para Sample cw: light gore

Look at how they look at him. God’s good little lambs, lined up all in a row, passive and pliant and patiently awaiting benediction. Patiently waiting for Raphael.

Raphael hates them.

No. This is false. It is difficult for Raphael to muster up stronger feelings toward mortals than a vague sort of amusement, the sort of affinity one might have for a particularly stupid kit when it does something surprisingly clever. In this regard, he understands that he differs from his kin. Gabriel, in particular, has developed a particular fondness for the mortals. Why anyone would wish to strip mortals of their most fascinating behavior⁠—to the point of openly defying their Father⁠—is beyond Raphael. He has given up on trying to reason with his brother on the matter.

The first supplicant is beckoned forward. They pray to the Lord and Raphael touches their forehead with one palm, cups their chin with the other. His fingers splay carelessly around a throat all but bared to him and the ceremony is so mechanical Raphael allows his thoughts to wander⁠.

How easy it would be to tighten his grip. How beautiful it would be, to watch the lamb’s naive adoration flash into fear, to watch fear darken into betrayal and resentment and the most beautiful emotion of all: despair. He can feel the pulse at his fingertips. It would quicken in a stress response, he knows. It would quicken, then it would pound, and then maybe it would stop. It all falls to Raphael’s whim. In this moment, Raphael holds their life in his hands. They have all but laid on his sword for the promise of absolution and when they look up at Raphael with their dumb, trusting eyes he can see the sparkling tracks where tears once fell, down the hollow of a cheek into the pool of a collarbone. He finds himself overcome with the desire to trace the fall with his tongue. “Give me your pain,” he murmurs. Let me taste it. Let me understand.

He takes it. He does not taste it. He does not understand.

He releases the mortal. Those beautiful tear tracks are already fading. “The Lord be with you,” he says, and perhaps he even means it. His Father’s gaze burns into his back, even from a world away. He’d laugh at the irony, were he free to. Is this the weight you so desire? he wants to ask the devotee. No, Raphael knows the truth: God’s love is a shackle. God’s love is a leash and it is holding Raphael back from his fullest potential.

“And also with you,” the lamb responds. Their head is bowed obediently in prayer and they shuffle away, appropriately awed. The next supplicant is beckoned forward.

The light of Raphael’s presence obfuscates the darkness in his eyes.

—

Later, much later, Raphael finds himself studying his hands. He flexes them, balls them into fists, stretches his fingers as far as they will spread.

How easy it would be to tighten his grip.

The hand is at once an individual unit and a summation of individual parts. The hand contains twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles connected by over a hundred ligaments and tendons. Wrists connect to metacarpals, which connect to carpals, which taper off into delicate phalanges. Individually, each of these parts are largely useless; were Raphael to take a scalpel and drag it through a tendon, across the joints, the strings would be cut and the puppetry would cease to dance. You would be left with a small pile of carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, loose strings of muscle and tendon. At times, it is difficult to fathom how such mundane component parts are the instruments of extraordinary acts.

Raphael flexes his hand, watches bone shift under skin. If he remembers correctly, mortals have an idiom about knowing your hands, or something along those lines. He will not pretend to be familiar with mortal culture. Did you know that, wings aside, mortals and angels all have the same bone structure?

Of course you did. It is common knowledge that God made all beings in His image, or so the story goes.

This is an easy answer, but one with interesting implications. Let us extrapolate. If mortals and angels are essentially biological mirrors, and each are made in the image of God, does that mean that God will bleed like His creations? Slide a scalpel across God’s knuckles—will His puppets cease to dance?

Raphael could find out. It would take only a single blade, sliced through a single tendon.

Now, Raphael is not so arrogant to believe himself the blade. He would not even consider himself the hand. Such a role requires a particular kind of conviction—

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in bitter disillusionment⁠—the sort inflicted upon Michael. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s capriciousness and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in righteous anger⁠—the sort inflicted upon Gabriel. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s neglect and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in a whetted hunger⁠—the sort God gifted to each of His angels. Hunger breeds hunters and heaven is full— )

—that Raphael simply cannot embody. Rage has never been his forte.

Consider, however, that the hand is controlled by nerve impulses. A spark is all the hand needs to transform from a collection of bone to an agent of action. Yes. He clenches his fists. Here are the bones, the veins, the tendons, the muscle. Angels and mortals all share the same bone structure.

Does God?

Extras

pinterest.

raphael has classically beautiful wings. i’m talking TEXTBOOK cherubic angel wings, with the sweeping white feathers and all. raphael kind of hates them, though he takes a great deal of pride in them.

raphael doesn’t have a signature weapon. he’s proficient with blades, yes, and fights with a surgeon’s precision, not the strongest nor the fastest but eerily efficient in his blows. but he is a healer—at the end of the day, his empty hands are all he needs. (his empty hands are what you should fear.)

raphael hates the heretics pro forma but. but. he cannot deny a certain...fondness for them. the heretics exhibited such dedication to a futile cause; they believed their suffering to be something noble. it’s a laughable notion, certainly, but a sentiment so distinctly human it’s almost charming. should they wish to return, to throw themselves on the knife over and over and over, well. raphael shall not complain. he shall smile beatifically, perhaps abate their suffering, even⁠—and watch them do it again.

in a modern au, raphael is a reality tv producer. ok actually he’s probably a surgeon but i think he’d make a very good reality tv producer. alternately, there is a universe out there where raph fixated on like...baking, or k-pop, instead of suffering. those are good timelines, i think. maybe not the k-pop stan timeline.

raphael is the living embodiment of that dwight schrute “we need a new plague” meme.

#accepted #accepted: raphael

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pengychan · 4 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - John 15:15

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: A good chunk of what happened in this chapter was not planned. I am really bad at planning.

***

“All right, let’s see - three options, no?”

“Yes. Owen Brown, Lawrence Brown, and Rusty Brown. According to the information--”

“It’s Rusty,” Crowley spoke up, causing both Gabriel and Aziraphale to fall quiet and turn to look at him. Gabriel was utterly confused; Azirapale just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain that knowledge. The demon shrugged.

“I refuse to believe any parent whose surname is Brown would willingly choose to pick Rusty as their child’s name, unless there was a demonic intervention. It’s a bully magnet. Must have picked it himself when older. The man’s got a sense of humor.”

A chuckle. “We raised a child whose mother named him Warlock,” Aziraphale reminded him, causing Gabriel to blink.

“You did-- what?” he asked. To his knowledge there were a lot of things an angel and a demon were not supposed to do together - they were supposed to do nothing together, really, except trying to thwart each other at every turn - and Gabriel suspected that ‘raising a child’ came rather close to the top of that list. Maybe slightly below ‘stopping the Apocalypse’.

Crowley ignored him, rolling his eyes. “You know the Satanic nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl must have had something to do with it.” “The who and the what now?” Gabriel tried again. This time, it was Aziraphale to ignore him.

“That is… fair. But we cannot rule out the possibility his parents did pick the name, and that therefore he is not our man. May I remind you we once knew a lady called Farting Clack?”

Crowley chuckled. “Ah, Victorians. That was a fun time. Except when we argued because you wouldn’t give me holy water.”

“I did eventually, give it a rest.”

“You did what!” Gabriel exclaimed, outraged. Only to be, again, ignored.

“Took you a good while, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, excuse me for worrying you might accidentally--” Aziraphale trailed off like something had struck him, and Crowley flinched. They both turned to Gabriel at the exact same time; Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, Crowley’s were hidden behind glasses.

And Gabriel was very, very confused.

“... What?” he asked. The demon’s expression stayed unreadable, but Aziraphale’s anxious one melted in a smile. A very nervous smile. What in the--

“So, three options,” Aziraphale exclaimed, clapping his hands together with exaggerated glee. “Best to start looking into them, no?”

“Er… yes, I suppose. I do need to figure out where they live, at least. Then I suppose I can go by exclusion, visiting each of them.”

Crowley nodded. “Well, good thing we have an expert in tracking people down right here,” he said, and turned to Aziraphale. Gabriel followed suit, only for Aziraphale to blink at both of them like a particularly confused owl.

It… didn’t give Gabriel much confidence over his supposed expertise in tracking down people.

“I am-- no expert in tracking down people.”

Crowley’s turn to look confused. “You tracked down the Antichrist.”

“I had a book full of prophecies to give me pointers. I suspect that counts as cheating.”

“Or as an intelligent use of available resources,” Gabriel suggested. Aziraphale chuckled.

“That does sound better.”

“Ah. Right. We sure could use something like that now,” the demon muttered, and pulled out a phone from the… frankly ridiculously tiny pockets of his trousers, where no phone would fit unless there was a literal miracle at play. “... But at least we have the names and birthday, so there’s that. All right, first one, Owen Brown…”

***

“You’re shitting me.”

“Mr. Brown, I can assure you angels do not do that, either.” Uriel’s voice was calm, but her hands did grip the clipboard a little harder. She had hardly ever visited the lower spheres of Heaven where mortal souls resided before that ordeal, and now she was beginning to see why. “Please, do try to control your language.”

“Right, right, sorry,” Daniel Brown waved his hand, leaning back on his seat. “Not in front of a lady. Got it.”

“... I am an angel, Mr. Brown,” Uriel pointed out flatly just as the man’s wife, sitting by him, raised an eyebrow.

“Since when do you try not to curse in front of ladies? Because I can’t recall you holding back much in the twenty-something years we have been married.”

“You’re not a lady, you’re the wife. You knew the cussing was part of the package by the time we got to the altar, shouldn’t have married down,” Daniel Brown pointed out, and smiled. “Still not a clue why you gave me a chance when we met.”

She smiled back. “One too many drinks.”

“Ah, a drunken mistake, then.”

“The second best mistake of my life.”

“... Wait, what’s the first--”

Uriel held back a sigh. “Yes. Well. Regardless, what I have told you is true. You do have a brother as opposed to a sister as you believed.”

Daniel Brown rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I repeat, there is no need to involve him,” Uriel droned. Mortals were a lot more difficult to deal with than she remembered, but then again last time she had directly dealt with any had been a few millennia earlier, when the trend was showing up with several pairs of wings, a few heads, wheels of fire and a handful of eyes here and there. They would occasionally die of fright but for the most part, once the screaming had ceased, they were cowed enough to politely listen.

And never did accuse them of, quote, shitting them.

“Right, I-- sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I just-- it’s a lot. First I die, it’s kind of, I mean, new. Then I met my wife again - wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I thought I had lost her for-- well, it is a lot.” He cleared his throat again; Liv Brown reached to take his hand and squeezed it. He held it back. “Then, turns out the slightly weird but not-bad-at-all guy who helped me land a job and befriended me was the literal Archangel fuck-- the Archangel Gabriel in exile. And now you’re telling me that Alison is not… Alison anymore, and that I wasted over a decade searching for her-- him-- on wrong information.”

Well. Perhaps it was, indeed, a lot to deal with for any human mind. Uriel made an effort to smile. “Gabriel is currently working on locating him so he can give him news of your passing. If there is anything more specific you wish him to know, within reason--”

“Within reason?”

“Except letting him know you’re sending this message from beyond death. That, I am afraid, is forbidden by current guidelines.” Uriel took a blank piece of paper she had on her clipboard and placed it on the table, along with a pen. “It will be given to Gabriel, and he’ll relay your message once your brother is found. It’s what he does best, after all.”

“... Heh. From announcing the birth of Christ to telling my brother I’m sorry I was a dick. Bit of a downgrade, but life is shi-- crap, anyway.” Daniel Brown chuckled and took the pen, but didn’t start writing yet. He looked at her questioningly. “… Why was he cast out? What happened?”

He’d asked before, and Uriel had told him it was none of his business, if not precisely using those exact words. When that had happened, her memories of Gabriel were few and in-between, and she was no longer sure the events had been precisely as they’d remembered and recorded for future reference.

Now that those memories were back - only of Gabriel, none of them had dared bring up the possibility of trying to remember other angels who were no more - she could tell him the details, if so she wished.

She did not, in fact, wish to. But it was not for her to decide.

“... I will ask Gabriel whether he wishes us to share that information with you,” she finally said. Daniel Brown seemed to realize it was the most he could hope for and he just nodded before he looked down, swallowed, put the pen to the paper, and began writing.

***

“He’s writing back!”

“Is he?”

“Yes. That’s what the dots mean. He’s typing.”

“This was… surprisingly easy.”

“Oh, I know. Whatever demon worked on Zuckerberg got a promotion, I heard. Got to admit, that Cambridge Analytica affair was a stroke of genius.”

“Ah, so that was Hell’s doing.”

“I’m amazed you doubted that for even a moment.”

Gabriel supposed he might have guessed what Aziraphale and his demon were talking about if he focused, but he did not: all he could do was stare at the screen of Crowley’s phone, at those dots as the man at the other end - Rusty Brown, a man with rather debatable taste in t-shirts who, according to his profile, had indeed been born in Plymouth seventy years earlier but did not resemble Daniel in the slightest - wrote his response.

Maybe it is him, he thought. It would be a stroke of luck for Daniel’s brother to turn out to be the only man they’d been able to find and approach through social media; an easy way to deliver a message if there ever was one. That would be good. Too good, given Gabriel’s recent luck.

And, within moments, a message came to confirm as much.

“I’m afraid you got the wrong man, I have two sisters and no brothers,” Rusty Brown had written. “Sorry - best of luck with your search.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Ah, I supposed that would have been too easy.”

“No such thing as something too easy. I like it when things are easy.” Crowley frowned at his phone. “And here I thought he was the most likely candidate. Let me see…” he mumbled, and began typing. Gabriel craned his neck to see the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if his sisters are among his friends.”

“... Why?”

“If their parents went and named him Rusty, I’m curious to see-- ah, Scarlet and Sandy Brown. Not sure I want to imagine what grade school was like for them,” he muttered, and blocked the screen. “Well. One’s out, two left.”

“And we did find one Owen Brown on the electoral register whose age fits,” Aziraphale added glancing at Gabriel. “If only we could figure out the place of birth, we’d know if he’s the Owen Brown on our list. But it’d be quicker to go speak to him, he lives in Luton. No phone number - probably no landline.”

Gabriel, who had only a very vague idea of where Luton was, nodded. “I’ll go find him, then. I took the rest of the week off specifically for this,” he added. What he was doing for Daniel was of paramount importance, of course, but he was also needed at work and disappearing with no warning would have been extremely unprofessional.

Aziraphale waved a hand. “It won’t take long. Crowley and I can take you--”

“Absolutely not," Crowley declared, cutting him off. Aziraphale turned to glance at him. Crowley crossed his arms and tilted up his chin, clearly ready to stand by what he’d said.

A sigh. “Crowley, it wouldn’t take more than--”

"We're not going with him. We'll put him on the first train, give him a map, and good luck to him."

"Now, dear. Luton is not that far, it would take less than a hour with the Bentley and you wouldn't even need to take the M25--"

"It’s not the M25 that’s the problem,” Crowley replied. “After driving down it while on fire, I don’t think it’s going to ever feel like a problem on a normal day again. Luton is the problem.”

"... Something in particular about it that I don't know about?"

"Last time I was there, I got stabbed."

"Oh. That does sound bothersome,” Aziraphale conceded. “What did you do to--"

"I walked in a pub."

“And then?”

“Nothing. I walked in a pub and got stabbed by someone who decided he didn’t like the way I was looking at him.”

“Were you not wearing sunglasses?”

“Of course I was.”

“Then how would he know--”

“He didn’t. He just was in a stabby mood.”

“Charming,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Luton,” Crowley huffed.

“Well, it was probably quite a while ago--”

“The Nineties were not that long ago.”

“I… can go on my own,” Gabriel dared intervene, trying not to sound overly worried by what he was hearing. “I’ve taken trains to come here, after all. It wasn’t difficult.”

Aziraphale seemed a little concerned regardless, but in the end he relented, and Crowley did drive him to the station the next morning, to catch a train for Luton. With that, the address and money for a cab, Gabriel was rather sure he was at no risk of getting lost.

And he’d make sure not to step in any pub, just in case.

***

“... Not the bloke you’re looking for, no. Sorry, mate.”

“Ah-- well, I suppose it was worth a try. I’ll be on my way. My apologies for the intrusion.”

“No, wait - I was about to go have a pint with some mates, come with us. It’s on me.”

“Really, I cannot accept--”

“You can, young man. Won’t let you go your way looking like someone kicked you. A pint or two always makes it better - just a quiet night out with the lads.”

“Well…” Gabriel hesitated a moment, then relented. A pint or two was nothing he couldn’t take - he’d had nights out like that in Southampton, first with Daniel and then with other colleagues. And besides, the man was in his late sixties; surely, things wouldn’t get too out of hand. In the end, he smiled and nodded. “... Only if you let me pay the second round,” he said.

He did pay the second round. Owen Brown paid the third. A friend of his paid the fourth; Gabriel insisted to pay the fifth.

Afterwards, he wouldn’t be entirely sure any of them was paying at all.

***

Ever since regaining his memories of Gabriel - and before then, really - Sandalphon had wondered what meeting him face to face again would be like. Last he’d seen him, Gabriel had been terrified of him, hiding behind Beelzebub of all beings; it was not a pleasant thought.

He could speak with Michael without fear now, at least, and Sandalphon hoped it was only a matter of time before he would willingly summon him, too, so that they could talk. Clear up, if possible, even if it would be a difficult conversation.

What he had not expected was for Gabriel to summon him by drunkenly shouting his name in the back of a pub in Luton, England, before the eyes of a group of drunken humans who cheered at his appearance like it was a magic trick while someone from inside yelled about not firing fireworks close to buildings.

And Gabriel looked… almost more dishevelled than he’d been when he had been cast out of Heaven, except that now he had No blood on him and a smile on his face almost too wide to be physically possible.

“San-dal-phon,” Gabriel had slurred, throwing an arm around his shoulders before he could say a word and turning to the humans. “This is my friend, guys!”

“I, uh…” Sandalphon had blinked as the humans raised their glasses and cheered. He chose to give a polite smile. “Greetings,” he said. Some responded to his greeting, some just drank, someone put a glass in his hand, and he stared at it for a few moments before realising they expected him to drink.

“Good,” Gabriel was muttering, arm still around his shoulders. Strange as his behavior was, it was… nice to see he was not afraid of him. “Good stuff. Try.”

Ah well, Sandalphon thought, may as well do as he asked. It wasn’t like a glass of whatever concoction the humans had offered him could hurt an angel, anyway.

***

“Uuuugh.”

“Owww.”

“Head hurts.”

“Where are we?”

“... Earth?”

“This isn’t Heaven for sure.” Gabriel sat up, fighting back a wave of nausea, and blinked blearily to put his surroundings into focus. They were in… someone’s back garden, it seemed, on what looked like a semi-inflated camping mattress. “Probably still Luton,” he muttered, rubbing his face, and turned. Whose house was that? He’d only seen Owen Brown’s home from the front, so it was hard to tell. God, they must have been blind drunk to crash like that. The sun was just rising, and he barely remembered a handful of moments from the night before.

Behind him, Sandalphon was struggling to sit up as well, his suit all wrinkled; Gabriel suspected his own suit looked about as much of a mess, and went to uselessly smooth down the front. “You… miracled the glasses full a few times, didn’t you?”

“I think? I-- ah, yes. Yes I did. In front of witnesses.”

“Drunk witnesses. They will either forget about it, or think they dreamed it up.”

“God, I hope so. If Michael finds out, I’m going to be in trouble.”

“You can sleep on my couch if they cast you out,” Gabriel tried to joke, trying to brush back his hair and entirely missing the uncomfortable look Sandalphon gave him. “Agh, my head…”

“Wait, I can fix that.” A touch on the back of his head, and the pain was gone - as was the hangover as a whole, the unpleasant taste in his mouth and the ache in his lower back. Gabriel stood, glancing down - his suit was once again clean and pressed, too.

“... Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He heard Sandalphon standing up as well, and turned to look at him as he miracled his own clothing back in pristine condition. He adjusted his collar, and cleared his throat. “Well, that was… an unusual evening.”

“It was,” Gabriel agreed. “Er… why are you here in the first place?”

“You summoned me?”

“I did?” Ah, he probably had. “... My apologies. I was intoxicated.”

“I could tell. But-- still better than having you scream and hide behind the Prince of Hell, no?” Sandalphon added, clearly trying to joke. His smile froze when Gabriel flinched - at the mention of Beelzenbub, namely, but Sandalphon couldn’t tell. “I mean-- sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up. I know you have… good reason to want us to keep away.”

A sigh. “Do I?” Gabriel muttered, turning to face him fully. “I knew you wouldn’t have harmed me again. And I knew you didn’t have a choice when you did."

“But we sort of did,” Sandalphon said, meeting his gaze. “We could have refused and-- gone with you.”

“Rebelling to God on my account?” Gabriel repeated, and found himself unable to contemplate the thought. “You’d have found yourselves in Hell, and not Earth, for something like that. It doesn't bear thinking about,” he added, realizing the truth of it only as it passed his lips. Say that Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon had indeed refused to carry out God’s order - what then? They would have faced God’s wrath, probably thrown down in Hell, while Gabriel was stripped of his wings and cast down on Earth anyway.

And Gabriel found he couldn’t bear the thought.

“We… we should have--”

“It doesn’t matter. The outcome wouldn’t have changed,” Gabriel cut him off. “It was… out of your hands. No point thinking about it now.”

A long breath. “All right. But I am-- glad we still remember you.”

Something about those words warmed up a spot in Gabriel’s chest. He smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad I never forgot you.”

“If there is anything you need-- anything at all--”

A sudden whistling noise caused Sandalphon to cut off, and Gabriel to pull out his mobile phone from his pocket. The battery was still full - a little miracle by Aziraphale ensured it never ran out - and there was a flashing icon on the screen, that of a text message. The number was not among his contacts, but Gabriel suspected he could guess who it came from.

He simply didn’t really know anyone else whose number could possibly be 666-666-666. No one he was on speaking terms with, anyway.

Are we still on speaking terms?

Gabriel forced himself to ignore the thought, and opened the text message. There was a name, an address, followed by only three words: it is him.

Gabriel read the message again, then put the phone back in his pocket. He briefly touched his breast pocket, where the message Daniel had written was. He had memorized it, of course, so he could relay it to his brother, but what he hadn’t thrown it away; the reason why he had not were a few brief lines Daniel had written on the back of it that were not addressed to his brother.

They were addressed to him.

Thank you for doing this for me. Sorry I didn’t believe you when you said who you were but, I mean, come on. I miss having you around. You’re a good man, what does God know anyway? Hug my brother for me and give the guys at work a pat on the back. PS - Fabrizio was right, putting cream in carbonara does land you in Hell. Warn Łukasz to stop.

“Gabriel? Everything all right?” Sandalphon asked, and he looked up.

“... Yes. I do need a favor, though.”

“Anything.”

“Could you give me a lift to Devon, by any chance?”

***

In the end, Lawrence Brown hadn’t moved too far from his old home in Plymouth. Or maybe he had, and made the decision to return to Devon in his later years; not something Gabriel could blame him for. Built by the sea, Paignton seemed a good place to live.

The house Gabriel found himself looking at, too, seemed the perfect place to spend one’s retirement; a small white cottage with flowers in the garden, and a tree for some shade. However it seemed that no one was home, which was not something Gabriel had really prepared for. After knocking the door a few times to no avail, and briefly considering writing a message with his phone number - not viable, as he didn’t have a pen - he decided it would be best to try again later. Before he went, however, he tried to glance in through the window, just in case--

“... May I help you?”

A voice called out behind him, causing Gabriel to flinch and turn. He found himself facing what, for a moment, looked very much like a cloud; a very white and very fluffy cloud, with four legs, black eyes and a lolling tongue. A-- yes, a dog. Gabriel had been long aware of their existence, of course, but would never cease to be perplexed by the sheer variety of shapes and forms within what was essentially the same animal.

He’d never really wondered how humans had achieved that, but then again, humans were capable of more than he had thought possible for a long time - up to looking at some of God’s most efficient killing machines on Earth and somehow deciding they were going to make friends out of them, tying themselves to said killing machines with a length of rope. Or leather. Or fabric.

In this one case, it was leather specifically that tied that giant, smiling cloud of a dog to its human. A woman, somewhere between sixty and seventy, with gray hair pulled up in a bun, a rather oversized jumper, and thick black-rimmed glasses. She was looking at him questioningly, and Gabriel cleared his throat, giving his best smile.

Come on, he told himself, you’re the Messenger. You have delivered far odder messages than this one. Just don’t start with ‘do not be afraid’. They always freak out when you do.

“I think you may, yes,” he said, still smiling. “My name is Gabriel Archer. I’m looking for Mr. Lawrence Brown. I understand he lives at this address?”

“Oh,” the woman said, “I’m afraid my husband is out for some errands, but he should be back shortly. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she added, not stepping closer. A little wary of a stranger she found peering through her window - Gabriel supposed that was normal, even if he hadn’t showed up in the midst of golden light with a vast array of otherworldly and, he could see it now, frankly unnecessary features for the task.

The fluffy white cloud made a boofing sound, just kind of smiling at him, and Gabriel could see why she wasn’t counting too much on it being of any protection should he turn out to be… what did humans seem to fear again? Axe murderers? Gabriel certainly hoped he didn’t look like one.

“No, we have not,” he said. “Nor have I had the pleasure to meet your husband yet - I have… a message for him. From his late brother,” he added quickly.

Whatever she had been expecting, that was not it. She blinked, recoiling a little. “... From his brother?” she repeated.

“Yes. Daniel Brown,” he said, and saw some recognition in her eyes.

“He… talked about him, a few times, but not much,” the woman muttered, and it was easy to tell, from her expression alone, that it had been a sore spot for Mr. Lawrence Brown - the brother who had rejected him so long ago. She finally took a step forward, clearly reassured he was someone with an actual reason to be there that did not include mugging or violent murder. “Late-- has he passed away?”

“... I am afraid he has. I am sorry,” Gabriel murmured, and he truly was. It felt wrong, on every level, because it should have been Daniel to stand where he stood, to finally see his brother again after so long. He was meant to be a messenger but ah, he wished he didn’t have to be now. “I am here on his behalf, or… at least I picked up the search where he left off.”

“Are you his solicitor, or…?”

“Only a friend. Daniel had been looking for your husband to make amends, but he didn’t know… his current name.”

A sigh. “Of course, he would not,” she murmured, and finally stepped closer, holding out her hand. By her side, the cloud-dog kept wagging its tail, tongue still lolling. “I’m Berenice,” she said. “Lawrence’s wife, though you gathered that much. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Archer. ”

Gabriel smiled. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, shaking her hand. When he let go of it, it immediately went to rest on the dog’s head.

“Well, it is awfully rude of me to keep you standing at my door like a salesman. Do come in. Lawrence should be back soon, or else he would have taken his walking stick. I still would very much prefer if he took it for short walks as well. He has a bad knee and I always tell him that his stupid kneecap doesn’t give a toss how long or short the walk is, when it decides to give in it gives in and he’d be in for a nasty fall without the stick. But he’s a stubborn old goat, of course. Pushing seventy and still acting like he’s twenty.”

Gabriel smiled, thinking back of the numerous occasions Daniel had insisted on picking up more weight than he could reasonably carry in the warehouse, just to show off, only to spend the entire evening complaining about his back ache… and then do it all over again the next day. “Seems stubbornness ran in the family.”

A chuckle. “I am sure he’ll be glad to hear more about what his brother was like,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. Gabriel hoped it would help, although nothing could change the fact he was there to inform Lawrence Brown of the untimely death of his younger brother.

“... I do hope I can give him more than bad news,” he said, and followed Berenice inside, daring to pat that dog-shaped cloud on the head to receive a soft boof and a very pleased look.

Maybe, Gabriel reasoned, the humans were on to something when they took killing machines and chose to make friends out of them.

***

"I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." -- John 15:15

***

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#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #sandalphon #archangel uriel #winging it

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thiswomanshouldbewriting · 5 years

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Do Not Touch Him (for the love of God)

My first Ineffable Husbands fic! I swear this pairing has hit me with the force of a truck, and now it's holding my heart and brain hostage. I can't think of anything else. Yes, the title comes from the tumblr-famous quote: You can break my soul, take my life away, beat me, hurt me, kill me, but for the love of God don't touch him.

Infinite thanks to my beta @simonspierisapeanut

Summary: Agnes wrote no prophecy concerning Aziraphale and Crowley's fate, so when Heaven and Hell came for them, they were not prepared to fight back.

Ao3 link.

(??? There’s no more nice spacer to put in tumblr posts? Or is my tumblr acting crazy again? sigh)

After helping stop Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley had known that Heaven and Hell were not happy with them. They’d been expecting some kind of retribution. They’d just not expected things to go this bad this quickly. Crowley had thought he was being careful, keeping an attentive eye on their surroundings, but one moment they were buying ice creams in the park, and the next they were being attacked from all sides. Oh, they’d tried to put on a fight, but they were just an angel and a demon against the joined forces of Heaven and Hell; they’d never stood a chance. Still, Crowley had done his best (worst?) to try and stop them from carrying his angel away, and the furious pounding in his head reminded him of just how many times they’d had to hit him before he finally stopped fighting.

Now he was standing in Hell, undergoing a trial that had no purpose other than to expose his betrayal to the other demons, and he would have honestly been a lot calmer about the whole thing if only he had known that Aziraphale was safe. In a way, he’d always known that this was coming, that his life would end the moment Hell found out about him and his angel. He just hoped that Heaven would be more forgiving, even though it really didn’t have a great history of being such a thing. He wondered if, right in that moment, Aziraphale was being Damned, stripped of his status as an Angel and plummeted to Hell. Crowley had never truly fit in Hell, but for Aziraphale it would be pure torture. He had done nothing but be kind and compassionate, and he shouldn’t be punished for that.

Crowley wasn’t surprised when he was sentenced to death; he was, however, extremely shocked to see Michael walking in, with a jug full of Holy Water.

“Where is he? Where is Aziraphale?” he asked immediately, and even though he was staring death in the face he had to admit that there was an exhilarating freedom to this, to being able to openly show his concern for his angel in front of everybody else.

“Funny that you ask that. He was asking about you the whole time as we dragged him back to Heaven,” Michael replied with a sickening smile.

“What are you doing to him?” Crowley hissed, clenching his fists in frustration and wondering if he’d manage to punch Michael in the face before being killed by the Holy Water. Unfortunately, the answer was probably no.

Michael pulled out a thing that looked a lot like a human smartphone, and from the way she spoke into it, it was clear that she was calling someone up in Heaven. One moment later, an old tv screen that Crowley hadn’t even noticed lit up, showing the vast, empty expanse of Heaven, and Aziraphale standing with his hands tied between Gabriel and Sandalphon.

Crowley called the angel’s name just as Aziraphale called his. They stared at each other, trying and failing to find the right words to say, when two things happened: behind Crowley’s back, Michael started pouring the Holy Water into a tub, while in Heaven a demon - which Crowley hadn’t noticed up until then - summoned a column of demonic fire.

The horror Crowley felt rising in himself was only comparable to the one he saw on Aziraphale’s face. All of their worst fears were becoming real, but while his angel seemed paralyzed by this, by being ultimately unable to protect Crowley, the demon had simply no more reason to contain his fury. He had nothing more to lose.

“You BASTARDS!” he screamed at the angels, first at the ones in the screen, and then at Michael. “He’s one of yours. You should be better than this.”

“He should have been better. He should have known better, known that consorting with you could only lead to this.”

“But you… you can’t…” He was at a loss, scrambling for the miraculous words that would convince them to stop this madness, when Aziraphale’s voice calling his name brought his attention back to the screen. Crowley looked at him, begging, maybe even praying that he’d find the right words, that he’d give him hope and help him find a way out of this.

“It’s over,” Aziraphale said instead, shaking his head in defeat. That hurt Crowley more than anything the demons had done to him that day; he felt his breath leave his lungs, and he had to clench his fists to stop his hands from trembling. There was no hope.

“I just wish I had listened to you,” Aziraphale went on, doing his best to keep his voice from breaking. “We should have gone to Alpha Centauri when we had the chance. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Somehow, in the sheer tragedy of it all, an old, happier memory resurfaced in Crowley’s mind.

“You’re an angel. I don’t think you can be wrong,” he said, determined to make his angel see that it was not his fault, and it could never be.

Aziraphale went through a lot of emotions very quickly, and Crowley could see them all on the expressive face he had grown to know so well. There was shock in there, and then tenderness, and despair and regret and, finally, determination.

“I love you.”

The angels gasped in shock while the demons snickered in the background, and yet Crowley heard nothing of all of it. All he could see was Aziraphale, his angel, and his eyes full of sadness and honesty and love. It hurt. It hurt more than Holy Water ever could, because it was real and it was wonderful and it was too late.

“No!” he screamed, letting out his wings as he all but threw himself at Hastur, showing him out of the way as he desperately, foolishly tried to make a run for it. He would give them a fight. He would give them hell for taking everything away from him. He kept on screaming, calling Aziraphale, cursing Heaven and Hell alike, but all of his rage could do nothing against the sheer force of numbers. Someone pushed him towards the tub, and when the back of his legs hit the edge of it he lost his balance. As he fell backwards towards his death, he glanced back at the screen showing Heaven, and saw the angels pushing Aziraphale towards the fire. He hoped he’d die before he could hear Aziraphale scream. He hoped he’d make enough of a splash for the water to hit Dagon or maybe Beelzebub; someone had to pay for this. He closed his eyes, plummeting towards the water as he’d once plummeted towards Hell, and braced himself for the pain.

Except the pain never came. He fell into the tub ungracefully, hitting his nape on the edge, Holy Water splashing around and soaking him from head to toe in a second, and yet as the ripples and waves calmed down he sat in the tub, unscathed. For a moment, he was too shocked to fully realize what was going on. Demons were screaming in terror and rage all around him, accusing Michael of tricking them, but they knew there was no trick. They’d seen the Holy Water work, they’d tested it to make sure. Crowley was simply immune to it, and Hastur seemed to be having a stroke.

After taking a moment to make sure that he really wasn’t hallucinating, Crowley gathered all of his courage and dared glance at what was going on in Heaven. It would have been the top of cruelty for him to survive only to see Aziraphale burning, but his angel was standing just fine in the fire, looking at him with the same shock Crowley felt.

There was a beat of silence, and then Crowley started laughing. A hysterical, almost crazy laugh, of adrenaline and relief and disbelief. Aziraphale joined him, still burning in the fire just like Crowley was still soaking in Holy Water. This was a Miracle. Not a miracle, they’d done hundreds, no, thousands of those, but not even with their powers combined could they have ever done something one tenth as powerful as this. This was a Miracle, the kind only God could make, and for some reason She needed them alive. Crowley realized it with shocking clarity, and he was sure that angels and demons were slowly coming to the same realization as well. No one would touch them now. They were safe, and they’d be for a long time.

“Well, as lovely as the company here is, I’m afraid I have to go now. Angel, meet me at our third alternative rendezvous. I trust you remember which one it is,” Crowley said, stepping out of the tub. All demons, including the ones protected behind the glass, stepped back in fear as he dripped Holy Water all around. Michael, the only one who could have at least tried to stop him, looked rather mutinous, but wise enough not to try anything. There were times when even an Archangel had to take a hint.

They arrived at the bandstand at the same time, but from opposite sides. Seeing Aziraphale’s familiar silhouette from afar made Crowley feel too many things at once, none of which particularly demonic. Relief. Happiness. But also trepidation, a nervousness he wouldn’t have been able to explain or describe if asked. He tried to tone it down, to keep a cool facade, but he felt his legs moving faster almost on their own volition, and by the time he and Aziraphale finally reached each other he was almost running. His angel had done the same, and now they were standing at the center of the bandstand, having nearly run into each other, with barely any space between them, nearly touching but not quite. The air between them felt like a barrier, one that, for a few tense moments, they were too afraid to break. They stared at each other, taking in the ruffled hair, the bruises, all the marks of the battle they’d fought and come out of alive.

It was Aziraphale who broke the tension. He lunged forward, doing one thing that, in over six thousand years of friendship, he’d never done: he hugged Crowley. He wrapped his arms around his demon, hands running almost furiously along his back, his arms, as if to check that he was real, that he was alive and as unscathed as he looked. Crowley froze at first, unable to fully process what was happening, but his angel’s hands were so soft and gentle against his skin (and oh, how he hated his jacked for being in the way) that he didn’t care anymore about keeping up his facade. He all but melted in Aziraphale’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his angel and sighing softly as he buried his face against his neck. He had known for a long time how nice Aziraphale smelled, but up close it was simply intoxicating. He wanted to stay buried in his arms like this forever.

“You’re alive,” Aziraphale whispered against his ear, and it was with horror that Crowley realized his angel was crying. “When I saw the Holy Water I thought… I feared…” he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t even quite wrap his mind around it, around the horror that he had felt when all of his worst fears had suddenly seemed to come true, but Crowley understood nonetheless, because he had felt the same.

Aziraphale sobbed quietly into his shoulder for a while, and when he eventually pulled back minutes or hours or centuries later he tried to smile, but there was tension in his eyes.

“You remember what I said right before they tried to kill us?” he started off hesitantly, and Crowley felt his heart break a little, steeling himself for rejection, expecting Aziraphale to take a step back, to say that fear made him say too much, go too fast.

“I meant those words. Truly. And I wanted to know if… if you feel the same.”

Of course I do, Crowley thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, actually. He just stood there, gaping at his angel and trying to form words, but only coming up with inarticulate sounds. After all this time, all this longing, all this fear, he wasn’t sure he could cope with this. The fact that he had spent centuries if not millennia waiting for this moment didn’t mean he was in any way ready for it. So he nodded, slowly, as if he didn’t quite remember how the movement was supposed to work, but for Aziraphale it was enough. He closed the distance between them once more, but this time he went for Crowley’s lips.

Crowley had been sure that tub full of Holy Water would kill him. He had been wrong. This, this was going to kill him. Kissing Aziraphale was everything he’d imagined and even more; sure, it was awkward and a bit messy at first, but it was like coming home, like finally being at peace with the other half of his soul. There was nothing angelic in the way Aziraphale kissed him; it was hungry and passionate, and the thought made him smile against his angel’s lips.

“Could you give me a lift back to your apartment?” Aziraphale asked some time later, as they walked through the park hand in hand.

“I thought I went too fast for you,” Crowley replied, only half-joking. He had always been the one to offer Aziraphale rides and a place to stay. Now, with their roles suddenly reversed, he needed to be sure.

“Not anymore, my dear. Not anymore.”

#Ineffable husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #I live for the angst #Good Omens #Ineffable husbands fic #My thoughts #Sara writes

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forlorn-kumquat · 4 years

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“Welcome, everyone, to Operation: Lost Sheep!”

Around him, angels were groaning in frustration, but Aziraphale sat forward eagerly. He’d been looking forward to the new Heavenly initiative ever since he’d heard rumors about it months ago. Gabriel hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details last week when he’d invited Aziraphale to the meeting today, but he’d assured Aziraphale that he was a perfect fit for what they had planned. And Aziraphale couldn’t wait.

Gabriel, himself, stood at the front of the room behind an elevated podium, beaming out at the assembled Host. Behind him, a holographic display projected the words “Operation: Lost Sheep” in glowing letters several feet high on the far wall. Occasionally the letters spun around, rearranged themselves, and then reformed in their original configuration. The effect was mesmerizing - and maybe a little nausea inducing - but Aziraphale wasn’t one to complain. Much. At least not where Gabriel or any of the other Archangels could hear him.

“Thank you, everyone, for taking the time out of your day to come to our presentation,” Gabriel went on, ignoring the grumbling and groaning still coming from the crowd. “You have all been invited here today because you are an integral part of our newest mission: Operation: Lost Sheep!”

He paused dramatically, waving a hand at the display behind him, and the projection changed to a cartoonish picture of a sad-looking sheep. Aziraphale loved it.

“Now, some of you may be asking, ‘Exactly what is Operation: Lost Sheep?’” Gabriel paused, expectantly, but when no one from the crowd spoke up, he rolled his eyes and turned to look at Sandalphon.

“What is Operation: Lost Sheep, Gabriel?” Sandalphon parroted, obediently. Aziraphale felt guilty for not having realized that Gabriel wanted him to speak up on cue, but Gabriel had already moved on before Aziraphale could start to figure out how to apologize. Ah, well, maybe he’d have a chance later after the presentation.

“Allow me to enlighten you!” Gabriel boomed, projecting his voice to the back of the room. “Operation: Lost Sheep is our newest mission on Earth and Below. We have been tasked, by the Almighty Herself, to bring our lost sheep, our wayward lambs, home to the flock.”

There was a moment of silence, and then someone shouted from the middle of the crowd, “You’re talking about demons!”

“Indeed I am!” Gabriel confirmed, and Aziraphale felt a little thrill run through him at the words. Reforming demons! He’d never head anything more dangerous, more exciting. He wondered if Gabriel was going to choose him. Oh, he hoped Gabriel chose him!

Realizing that Gabriel was still talking, Aziraphale tuned back in to the rest of the presentation. Gabriel was his usual verbose self as he delivered the rest of his speech, outlining his plan for convincing their fallen brethren to Rise again; there was a lot of quoting of Scriptures and talk of Divine Justice that Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure he was following, but he was confident that it would all work out in the end. He trusted Gabriel.

As Gabriel’s presentation came to a close, Aziraphale burst into exuberant applause, a sentiment only lukewarmly echoed by his fellow angels. Aziraphale leaped to his feet as soon as Gabriel started to make his way down from the podium, pushing none-too-carefully through the crowd to get to Gabriel’s side.

“Gabriel!” he called out, drawing the Archangel’s attention away from the conversation he was currently engaged in. Aziraphale blushed scarlet when he realized just how rude his interruption had been, but he was determined not to let nerves stop him now that he had Gabriel’s focus. “Gabriel, I would like very much to talk to you about being a part of Operation: Lost Sheep.”

“A moment, please,” Gabriel said, to his companion, and Aziraphale’s heart sank when he realized that Gabriel had been talking to Michael and Uriel. But he tried not to let his anxiety show on his face. “Aziraphale,” Gabriel went on, “how can I help you?”

“I wanted to volunteer, Gabriel,” Aziraphale told him. “I want to volunteer to be a part of Operation: Lost Sheep.”

“Well, of course you will be,” Gabriel said, waving a dismissive hand. “Why do you think I wanted you to come to this meeting?”

“I - I wasn’t sure,” Aziraphale admitted, sheepishly.

“You’re not only going to be involved,” Gabriel reassured him, “but I have a very special, very important role for you.” Gabriel paused for dramatic effect, his eyes literally twinkling in the lights. “Aziraphale, I am assigning you to work directly at redeeming the Serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his excited gasp, and he didn’t even try. The Serpent of Eden was the most gossiped-about demon Upstairs, save for Lucifer, himself. Rumors flew about the Serpent, each more outlandish than the last. There were even whispers that he’d single-handedly slew the Antichrist and averted the Apocalypse between Heaven and Hell that had been meant to happen a few months ago. Aziraphale would never admit this out loud, but he’d been grateful that the Apocalypse had never happened; he would have led his platoon into battle at Gabriel’s command because it was his duty, but he hadn’t enjoyed the possibility. If anything, he wanted to thank the Serpent for saving him from having to fight.

Aziraphale had actually met the Serpent, once, although he doubted the demon would have bothered to remember him.

Plus, the Serpent was Hell’s agent on Earth, and if Aziraphale was meant to bring him back to the light, then he would get to have to go to Earth, too. Granted, he had been down to Earth a few times in the last six thousand years, but nothing official.

Nothing that Gabriel knew about, at any rate.

It had been a while since his last trip down, but he was fairly confident that he would be able to get around just fine. He was resourceful, after all, and how much could Earth have changed in only six thousand years?

----------

A lot, as it turned out. Earth had changed quite a lot from the last time he’d been down there. Their cities weren’t quite as he remembered. They were quite immense, if he was being honest with himself, and there were so many more people, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was more than a little lost in the midst of all the noise and bustle surrounding him.

Gabriel had given him the bare bones details of his assignment back Upstairs: find the Serpent and do whatever it took to bring him back into Heaven’s good graces. Gabriel hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details of exactly how he was meant to accomplish that task; he’d simply clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, told him how much faith he had in him, and ordered him to the Quartermaster to be outfitted for his journey down to Earth. He hadn’t even told Aziraphale where to locate the Serpent. He’d just had him deposited in the general vicinity with the instructions to “follow the stench of evil.”

Well, Aziraphale was catching the stench of something, but he wasn’t sure it was evil. At least, not of the demonic sort. No, this smell was coppery and sharp; it had been a long time since he’d smelled human blood, but it was unmistakable. And the smell of blood was accompanied by soft crying and the feeling of distress.

His orders had been clear: look only for the Serpent and do not get distracted by anything else on Earth. But, he couldn’t just ignore someone who needed his help.

And that someone turned out to be a little girl sprawled in the middle of the path, bawling her eyes out. Both her knees and her hands were bleeding, and there was a wheeled board nearby that she must have fallen off.

“Hello, there,” Aziraphale said, softly, crouching down so that he was closer to the child’s level. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“I fe-fe-fell off my skateboard!” the girl wailed, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“That certainly looks like it hurts,” Aziraphale commented, and the girl nodded. “Would you like me to fix it for you?”

“Do you have some band-aids?” the girl asked, sniffling.

“No,” Aziraphale told her, “but I have something much better.” Pausing for just a second to catch her attention, he added, dramatically, “I have magic.”

The flow of tears stopped as the girl stared at him, blinking in confusion. “Magic’s not real,” she finally stated.

“It certainly is!” Aziraphale said, in mock outrage. “I will have you know, young lady, that I am quite the magician. Would you like me to prove it to you?”

“Do it,” the girl challenged, with the air of someone who didn’t believe a word he was saying.

“Well, any good magic is all about misdirection,” Aziraphale said, bringing his hand close to the girl’s left ear. “You want your audience to be completely surprised by what you’re about to - hey, what’s this doing behind your ear?”

Grinning, he brandished a shiny pound coin in his hand. The girl huffed an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” she told him, impatiently. “Even I can do that one. You hid the coin in your sleeve and dropped it into your hand when I wasn’t looking.”

“But you were looking at my hand the entire time, weren’t you?” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Well, maybe,” the girl said, slowly. “But, what about my knees and my hands? You said you were gonna fix ‘em!”

“Didn’t I?” Aziraphale asked.

The girl tore her eyes away from his hand to look at her now-healed knees and hands, mouth falling open in a silent ‘o’. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic,” Aziraphale said, and then he handed her the coin before she could ask any more questions. “And if you want just a little more magic, I’m pretty sure there’s an ice cream cart just around that corner up there.”

“Do you think they have my favorite?” the girl asked.

“I know they do,” Aziraphale told her, with a conspiratorial smile.

As he watched the little girl skate down the path, humming tunelessly to herself, Aziraphale became aware of a presence looming behind him. Slowly straightening from his crouch, he turned around to see a man standing a few feet away, watching him. Tall and thin, dressed in blacks and grays with dark sunglasses and flame-red hair, the man at first glace appeared completely normal and unassuming. Aziraphale knew better.

“You know,” the man said, with a curious tilt of his head, “I couldn’t figure out why I could suddenly sense an angel down here. After all, Heaven hasn’t been interested in having a permanent presence here on Earth since the Garden and the angels who guarded the gates. And I couldn’t imagine why they’d start now - at least not until I saw you for myself.” The Serpent of Eden smiled at him, revealing far more teeth than should ever exist in a human mouth. “Hello, Aziraphale.”

----------

Of all the places on Earth where Aziraphale had expected to find the Serpent of Eden, a duck pond in St. James Park had never been on that list. Neither so, a dining establishment with soft music and pristine white tablecloths. Yet here they were, with Aziraphale gingerly settling himself into a chair pulled out for him by the Serpent - no, Crowley, he was calling himself - and watching as Crowley dropped gracefully into the chair opposite the table from him.

Almost before they’d finished sitting down, a waiter had appeared from out of nowhere as if Crowley had summoned him from the ether. The waiter held out a bottle of wine for inspection, pouring a generous measure in each glass at Crowley’s silent nod. Then he disappeared almost as quickly as he first appeared, before Aziraphale even had a chance to ask about food.

“Um,” he started, hesitantly.

“The kitchen staff knows my usual order,” Crowley told him, as if he knew what Aziraphale wanted. “I had them double it; I think it’s something you’ll enjoy.”

“What do you think you know about what I enjoy?” Aziraphale asked, feeling defensive. What could a demon know about him?

“Angel,” Crowley drawled, pinning him with a pointed look, even through those damnably dark glasses of his. “I’ve been following your little illicit jaunts down to Earth for thousands of years, now. I’ve been watching you.”

The demon could know a lot about him, apparently. Aziraphale swallowed nervously, feeling suddenly very exposed under Crowley’s too-knowing gaze. “You have?” he asked in a small voice.

No one was supposed to know about the times he’d sneaked down to Earth. If Gabriel ever found out what he had been doing-

“Mm-hmm,” Crowley hummed, noncommittally. “Hiding children on the Ark, watching Shakespeare at the Globe, your short stint in a French prison - you’ve been a very busy angel, Angel.” He beamed at Aziraphale, positively radiating smug satisfaction.

Aziraphale’s head was swimming, and he latched onto the first thing he could think of. “Wait a minute, how do you know about the Ark? No one could have known what I’d done unless they - you were where all the other children came from! I couldn’t remember bringing that many on the boat, but I didn’t know how else they could have gotten there.”

“Guilty as charged,” Crowley said, not looking guilty in the least. “God wanted the children dead; I was defying Her. But what was your excuse, Angel?” he pressed, leaning forward like he couldn’t wait to hear Aziraphale’s answer.

“Well, I, uh-” Aziraphale floundered for a second before abruptly changing tactics. “How else could you have known what I’ve done?” he demanded. “You weren’t at any of those other places!”

“I told you,” Crowley reminded him, “I’ve been watching you. You don’t think you really escaped the Bastille by the mercy of the executioner, did you?”

“I - I hadn’t thought about it,” Aziraphale confessed.

Before Aziraphale could say anything else, the waiter was back with their dinner. He presented the dishes with a flourish before heading back to the kitchen. Aziraphale took a minute to properly appreciate the absolute work of art on the plate in front of him before he went back to considering Crowley’s question.

He didn’t remember much of the actual Bastille, to be honest, but he did remember being scared that Gabriel would catch him. Bad enough to have been down on Earth in the first place (and for crepes, no less!), but then to risk discorporation on top of that - if Gabriel had found him out, he’d have discorporated Aziraphale, himself. So when the executioner had marched down and grabbed his jailer, instead, Aziraphale had just assumed that they were finally coming to their senses about the entire Revolution thing.

“Are you saying that you’re the reason that I escaped that day?” he asked, while he ate.

“You’re welcome,” Crowley said, sketching out a tiny bow. “It was actually the closest I’d gotten to you since, oh, Rome, I’d say; I was almost tempted to reveal myself, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Well, thank you,” Aziraphale said, feeling awkward. “Did you, um, did you do that a lot? Intervene when I was down on Earth?”

“Once or twice,” Crowley said, in a studiously casual voice. Once or twice he’d admit to, Aziraphale figured; but who knew how many other times over the years? “What were you even doing in the Bastille?” Crowley went on, after a moment. “They were in the middle of a Revolution; what were you thinking wandering around there dressed like that?”

Aziraphale felt the tips of his ears start to burn. “I wanted some crepes,” he admitted, sheepishly. “No one makes crepes quite like the French.”

“Crepes?” Crowley repeated, an incredulous tone in his voice. “Angel, are you seriously telling me that you almost got beheaded for some crepes?”

“They were very good crepes,” Aziraphale protested, weakly.

Crowley snorted out an inelegant laugh that earned him an angry look from their neighboring diners that he ignored. “You’re going to really enjoy dessert, then,” he remarked.

“Why?” Aziraphale started, but then the waiter reappeared to set a couple plates down in front of them, and he started to chuckle. “Are these-”

Crowley was already nodding before he’d finished his sentence. “Crepes Suzette,” he said, with a laugh.

----------

Much like the demon, himself, Crowley’s home was nothing like Aziraphale could have ever expected. Austerely decorated at first glance, but when he looked a little closer, he kept discovering the most fascinating little details. A fully-stocked kitchen that looked like it had never been used, for one thing. A luxurious-looking bed that clearly saw regular use, even though demons - like angels - had no need for sleep. An entire room filled with the most beautiful plants he’d seen outside of Eden.

“This is simply amazing,” Aziraphale said, trailing his fingers along the leaves of a sprawling, viney plant. Then, he found himself stuck because the plant had thrown out creepers to wrap around his hand and wrist, trapping him in place. He tried to subtly tug himself free, to no avail.

“Behave yourself,” Crowley said, crossly, and Aziraphale was afraid for a second that he’d done something wrong, until he realized that Crowley was talking to the plant. Under Crowley’s stern gaze, the vines shrunk away from Aziraphale, trembling in fear. Aziraphale waited until Crowley had looked away and then he reached out again to give the plant a reassuring pat.

“Don’t coddle them,” Crowley said, and this time his comment was directed at Aziraphale, who snatched his hand away with a guilty flush.

“Your home really is simply wonderful,” he said, trying to change the subject. He followed Crowley out of the plant room, to continue their impromptu tour. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Well, it’s not like Heaven bothered to set you up someplace,” Crowley told him, “and I couldn’t very well just leave you out there all alone.” Gesturing Aziraphale into one of the chairs in the living room, he dropped into another and summoned a bottle of alcohol into his hand. “Besides, who knows what kind of trouble you’d be getting up to out there?”

Aziraphale hunched his shoulders, a defensive retort rising to his lips, but then he caught sight of the way Crowley’s lips twitched. “You’re teasing me,” he stated, flatly.

“I know Heaven doesn’t have much of a sense of humor,” Crowley told him, passing him a glass of liquor, “but if you’re going to be down here on Earth for a while, you’ll learn that humans love to laugh.”

“I have been around humans before,” Aziraphale reminded him. He took a sip of his drink and then closed his eyes in happiness; whatever Crowley had just handed him was wonderful, and he wanted more, immediately.

“But not for very long,” Crowley pointed out, “and then you go a while before coming back down again - your last time down here was, what? During the War? When you were playing spy for British Intelligence?”

“How do you know about that?” Aziraphale demanded, half curious and half embarrassed. Sixty-some years later, and he still couldn’t believe he’d almost gotten discorporated like that. It seemed to be becoming a theme.

Crowley grinned at him. “Does the name ‘Secret Agent Anthony J’ mean anything to you?” he asked.

“That was you?” Aziraphale asked, wracking his brain as he tried to remember all the details of that night.

He’d just been double-crossed by that woman who’d claimed she was British Intelligence and he’d been staring down the barrel of a gun at certain discorporation. He’d been a little preoccupied at the time, but he’d still caught sight of a man dancing down the aisle of the church, claiming to be the real British Intelligence. And he’d warned them of a bomb heading their way, warned the Nazis to run if they wanted to live.

And what could Aziraphale do but use a miracle to get himself and the stranger out of danger? He’d looked for the man in the rubble of the church after, but he hadn’t found him. He’d only found the bag of priceless books that he must have unconsciously brought with them when he’d teleported them out of the church. And then he’d been too busy returning the books to safety and getting back to Heaven before he was discovered to be missing to worry about some stranger.

“You were in danger,” Crowley told him, “and it didn’t look like you were going to get out of it on your own, so I stepped in. Redirected a little bomb, scooped your books up on the way out-”

“You saved the books?” Aziraphale cried, getting a wry look from Crowley.

“Why do you sound happier about that than about me saving your life?” he asked.

“Those books were irreplaceable,” Aziraphale protested. “I could have always gotten another corporation.” He paused as something occurred to him. “I was never really in any danger, in all those times you rescued me,” he said, slowly. “No matter how angry Gabriel was, he would have eventually given me a new body. So, why did you bother?”

Crowley shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable with the question. “I dunno,” he said, with a jerky shrug. “I just remembered you from Eden, and I guess-” He coughed into his fist, cheeks bright red. “You seemed like a decent sort, for an angel. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“But you were putting yourself in danger,” Aziraphale protested, a little more hotly than he’d intended. He thought the liquor, on top of the wine from dinner, was starting to get to him. “You could have been hurt or even discorporated trying to help me. So why would you do it?”

“So, why did Heaven send you down to Earth?” Crowley asked, in a blatant attempt to change the topic. “They’ve never cared about having a representative down here, before.”

“Well,” Aziraphale hemmed, trying to figure out the best thing to say.

He couldn’t very well admit that he’d come down to Earth to try and save Crowley’s soul; as nice as he’d been, he was still a demon, and he’d probably start throwing hellfire or something. Or so he figured; he hadn’t been around many demons, but he knew if one walked up and told him that they were going to try and make him Fall, he’d fight them with everything he had. No, he had to take this carefully, had to make Crowley want to rejoin Heaven of his own accord.

“I think the near-Apocalypse opened a lot of eyes up there,” he said. “Gabriel wants us to have a stronger presence on Earth, to make more a direct impact, like in the old days.”

Crowley snorted, taking a hefty swig of his drink. “Didn’t think Gabriel gave a damn about what happened to Earth, after the last time I saw him.”

“When did-” Aziraphale started, but then he remembered the last time Gabriel had actually been on Earth. “Oh, that’s right, you were the one who stopped the Apocalypse.”

“Is that the story Upstairs?” Crowley asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “Figures that’s the one thing they’d get wrong.”

“You mean, you didn’t kill the Antichrist and stop the Apocalypse?” Aziraphale asked.

“Do I look like someone who goes around killing children?” Crowley demanded, looking offended. When Aziraphale hesitated - how was he supposed to answer that? Crowley was a demon, after all - Crowley shook his head. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, shortly. “And I didn’t stop the Apocalypse, either. That was all Adam’s doing; I was just along for the ride.”

“Adam, being the Antichrist?” Aziraphale hazarded.

“He’s a nice kid,” Crowley told him. “I’ll introduce you, if you want.” He yawned suddenly, briefly flashing that unsettling expanse of teeth before shifting his corporation to a more human-looking one. “Sorry. It’s been a long few days, and I’ve gotten so much into the habit of sleeping that now I can’t go without it.”

“Well, then I should go-” Aziraphale started, half-rising from his seat.

“Go where?” Crowley interrupted him, waving him back down. “I doubt Heaven was kind enough to set you up with a place to stay down here.”

He waited, expectantly, and Aziraphale shook his head. Gabriel hadn’t seemed very concerned about what Aziraphale was actually going to do once he was down on Earth.

“You might as well just stay here, then,” Crowley said, gesturing to his flat. “I’ve got a spare room; you’re more than welcome to it if you want.”

“I - I don’t think my side would like that very much,” Aziraphale said, hesitantly.

Crowley waved away his concerns like he was swatting at a fly. “Eh, what Gabriel doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he insisted. “C’mon, Angel, are you really going to tell me you want to wander the cold, dark streets all night?”

“Well, when you put it that way-”

“That’s the spirit!” Crowley grinned at him, and then surprised Aziraphale further by summoning a tall stack of books with a snap of his fingers. “Here, I know how much you like to read, and I figure you’re not really one for sleeping, so-”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, touched by the oddly-considerate gesture. He hadn’t been expecting that from a demon.

“Just don’t wake me up before sunrise, and we’re good to go,” Crowley told him, pushing himself to his feet with another yawn.

Aziraphale watched him amble off to his bedroom and then turned his attention back to the books, eager to dive in. Earth was turning out much better than he’d ever imagined.

----------

He’d only been reading for an hour or so when he was interrupted by a wild scream that echoed through the entire flat. Dropping his book, Aziraphale shot to his feet, wings out and sword in hand as he looked around frantically to try and find the source of the danger. But the room was still dark and quiet; he could sense no one other than himself and Crowley, and after a minute he put away his wings and his sword.

Another scream, this one coming from the direction that Crowley had disappeared in, earlier. Aziraphale crept down the hall toward Crowley’s bedroom, pushing open the door as silently as he could. Crowley was lying twisted in his sheets, tossing and turning, trapped in the throes of a nightmare. There were tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, and he let out a ragged, heartbreaking moan.

A little voice in the back of Aziraphale’s mind - that sounded eerily like Gabriel - pointed out that Crowley was a demon, and whatever he was dreaming of, it was probably less than he truly deserved. But, deserved or not, Aziraphale just couldn’t let Crowley lie there and suffer. Not when he had the power to do something about it.

Tip-toeing across the room as quietly as he could, Aziraphale reached out and brushed his fingers against Crowley’s sweaty brow. He probed just deep enough to find the source of Crowley’s distress, catching flashes of images - a house on fire, a child screaming - and then he pulled back in horror. Had Crowley - was he really capable of harming a child? The images suggested that he certainly was.

But he remembered Crowley’s offended look when Aziraphale had told him that Heaven thought he’d killed the Antichrist. Remembered all the children millenia ago who’d lived because Crowley had sneaked them onto the Ark. And he just couldn’t imagine that Crowley being able to hurt a child. There had to be some other kind of explanation.

Reaching out again, he put his hand gently back on Crowley’s forehead. “Rest,” he whispered, putting a touch of power behind the word when Crowley tried to twist away from his touch. “Sleep peacefully and dream of only good things.”

Crowley slowly settled as his power took hold, lines smoothing out on his face as he relaxed back against the pillows. Aziraphale watched him sleep for a moment more, then crept out of the room as quietly as he’d entered.

He had a hard time going back to his reading, after that. He spent the rest of the night reliving the pain in Crowley’s voice as he screamed in his sleep, and by the time the sun finally came up hours later, he hadn’t managed to even touch another book.

Crowley was up not long after the sun, shuffling out of the bedroom. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses and his eyes were barely open as he squinted into the sunshine pouring though his open windows, but a quick gesture had a pair of black curtains materializing over the windows and blocking out the light. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he yawned, widely, as he looked around the room.

“Morning,” he greeted Aziraphale, the word swallowed up by another enormous yawn. “How was your night? Enjoy your books?”

“Oh, yes, very much,” Aziraphale lied, shooting the stack a guilty look. He hadn’t even finished one. “How about you? Did you sleep well?”

“Maybe too well,” Crowley admitted, as he walked into his kitchen with Aziraphale trailing behind. “All I want to do right now is crawl back into that bed and sleep for about another month.”

“You don’t normally sleep well?” Aziraphale asked, curiously.

“Not lately,” Crowley told him. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother sleeping at all, with all the nightmares. But last night-” He paused, suddenly, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he looked over at Aziraphale. “Last night I had someone else in the flat,” he said, slowly. “You wouldn’t know anything about why I didn’t have any nightmares last night, would you?”

“You sounded so distressed,” Aziraphale tried to explain. “I couldn’t just sit by and not do something to help you.”

He half expected Crowley to be angry with him - like he imagined he’d be if he found a demon using magic on him - but Crowley once again surprised him.

“Thanks,” he said, gruffly. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale replied. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided to plunge forward. If Crowley kicked him out, so be it, but he had to know. “Um, I saw a couple things in your dreams. A child, and fire…”

Something pained flashed quickly across Crowley’s face before he turned away to grab something out of his refrigerator, and by the time he turned around again, he was wearing his sunglasses to hide his eyes. He kept himself busy chopping some kind of vegetable for several moments, not speaking while he focused on making precise, even cuts. Aziraphale forced himself to stay quiet, determined to wait until Crowley had given him some kind of explanation.

“When Armageddon first kicked off,” he finally said, his voice low, “I was put in charge of switching the Antichrist baby with the baby of the American ambassador. Only there were more people than should have been there, and babies got all mixed around, and the baby the ambassador’s wife ended up with wasn’t the Antichrist. Just a normal human boy. But I didn’t know that, and I was trying to keep the whole thing from ever getting started, so I inserted myself as the boy’s nanny.”

He paused for a second, dumping the chopped veggies into a saucepan and making them sizzle as they hit the oil. He added eggs and spices, stirring the concoction every once in a while until he was satisfied with what he saw. Turning off the stove top, he put everything on a plate and put it down in front of Aziraphale with a flourish, handing him a fork.

“Breakfast,” he announced, unnecessarily, and then sat down in the chair on the other side of the table, dropping his chin into his hand. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley hadn’t made himself anything to eat, but Crowley was looking at him so expectantly that he started to eat. “Where was I?”

“Wrong Antichrist?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Right,” Crowley agreed. “I never meant to get attached to the boy,” he said, shaking his head. “I was just trying to keep him from one day destroying the world. But somewhere along the line, the kid just wormed his way in and wouldn’t leave. And then Hell found out that he wasn’t really the Antichrist, and they found out that I cared for him-” Crowley broke off, coughing, and reached under his sunglasses to wipe at something that looked suspiciously like tears. “They locked Warlock and Harriet inside their home and lit it on fire. It was still burning when I got there, but I couldn’t find them when I went inside, and I thought-”

“You thought Hell had killed them,” Aziraphale realized.

“I didn’t find out until later that Warlock had broken one of the windows so that he and his mother could escape,” Crowley said. “Not even a scratch on them, it turned out, but for a while, I thought I’d lost them both. And ever since that night, I keep having nightmares about it. Only in my nightmares, they never escaped, and I was too late-”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Aziraphale said, the only thing he could think of in the moment.

Crowley jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “I’ll live with the nightmares for a while, and then something else will replace them,” he said, sounding not nearly as bothered by that prospect as he should have been. “Warlock and Harriet are all right, and that’s what counts.” He straightened up, suddenly, looking straight at Aziraphale, rather than over his shoulder as he had been. “How’d you like to meet them?”

“Meet your humans?” Aziraphale said, slowly.

“Well, they’re not mine, but yeah,” Crowley replied. “If you’re going to be down on Earth for a while, you might as well start meeting some of the people who live here. And I think you’d really like these two.”

Aziraphale couldn’t really see Crowley’s eyes though his dark glasses, but he imagined a bit of a manic look in them. He figured that Crowley wasn’t offering to introduce him out of a genuine sense of friendship, but more that he wanted to check on the humans after his nightmare and he was using Aziraphale as an excuse. But, he was determined to not make Crowley regret that decision, to prove his trustworthiness.

“I would be honored to meet your friends,” Aziraphale told him.

----------

The house in Tadfield was small, and cozy, and full of love. So full, in fact, that Aziraphale could feel it even as they were still driving up the street. He wondered if Crowley was able to sense it; demons couldn’t sense that kind of emotion, or so the long-held belief in Heaven went, but Aziraphale had seen enough from Crowley since coming to Earth to realize that perhaps Heaven had been - well, not wrong, per se, but misinformed.

There was a woman kneeling in the dirt in front of the house they pulled up next to. She waved at Crowley as he got out of the driver’s seat, sending little bits of dirt flying everywhere. “Warlock!” she called, turning back toward the house, “Anthony’s here!”

There was an excited yell from inside the house, and then a small blur shot out the front door, headed unerringly toward Crowley. “Nanny!”

The blur turned out to be a child, a long-haired boy who threw himself straight into Crowley’s arms, trusting the demon to not let him fall. And Crowley caught the boy and swung him around in an arc, making him laugh wildly as he wrapped his arms around Crowley in a tight hug.

“I missed you so much!” Warlock cried, as Crowley set him back down on the ground.

“I’ve only been gone three days,” Crowley told him.

“You’ve been gone forever,” Warlock corrected him, solemnly. “You haven’t even seen our new tree house, yet.”

“New tree house?” Crowley asked, and then Aziraphale didn’t hear any more as the boy was dragging Crowley away into the back garden. Which left him standing rather awkwardly with Warlock’s mother and no proper introduction.

“Er, hello,” he offered, giving the woman a small smile and a wave.

Luckily for him, she didn’t seem nonplussed by anything that had just happened. She looked after her son with a fond smile on her face before standing up and walking over to Aziraphale with her hand extended.

“Harriet Dowling,” she introduced herself, as he shook her hand. “Anthony called ahead and mentioned he’d be bringing a friend with him.”

“Crowley called me his friend?” Aziraphale blurted out, before he could think better of it.

Harriet chuckled. “He is rather mysterious when it comes to his feelings, isn’t he?” she said, affection clear in her voice.

“He’s certainly…something,” Aziraphale agreed, hesitantly.

“Do you have a name, Anthony’s friend?” Harriet asked.

“Aziraphale,” he replied, but then he wondered if he should have chosen some kind of alias, like Crowley had done. Probably not to many humans walking around named after angels, after all.

Harriet didn’t seem to find his name unusual, though. “Pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale,” she said. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea while we wait for the boys to finish playing around?”

“I would,” Aziraphale said, as he followed Harriet into the small, cozy house.

He took the seat she’d indicated in the living room while she disappeared into the kitchen. The house had the same loved feeling on the inside as the outside, only stronger. The strength of the emotion wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and he could feel himself practically melting in contentment. Clearly Harriet and her son cared for each other greatly. And he was pleased to see that they had such a strong influence on Crowley’s life; it would make it that much easier to redeem him and raise him back up to Heaven.

He was pulled from his musings by the sound of Harriet returning from the kitchen, a tea tray held in her hands. She handed him a cup as she sat down on the sofa beside him, and he wrapped his hands carefully around the mug, taking a sip of what turned out to be truly-excellent tea.

“So, have you known Crowley long?” Aziraphale asked.

“Anthony’s been with us practically since the day Warlock was born,” Harriet told him, handing him a picture from the coffee table of a stern-looking woman in sunglasses holding an infant. “Of course, he was still Ashtoreth back then - and he still is, some days.” Harriet giggled, looking suddenly years younger. “Once every couple of months or so, we’ll get Arthur to watch the boys, and then Deirdre, Anthony, and I will go out on the town for a ladies’ night.”

“So, Crowley’s a fixture in your life,” Aziraphale said, looking over the family pictures on the wall, most of them featuring Crowley in some fashion. “Are you and he-” Aziraphale trailed off, not sure how to finish the question. He remembered what Crowley had said about Warlock being important to him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was another reason at play.

“Oh, no,” Harriet said, thankfully not sounding offended by the almost-question. “No, after my divorce, I decided that I didn’t need the hassle of that kind of relationship, again. Anthony is simply a very good friend; nothing more.”

“You were married?” Aziraphale asked, carefully. He had been wondering where the American ambassador was; this didn’t look like the kind of place an ambassador would live.

“For about five years,” Harriet told him. “Well, I was married to him; he was married to his job. Warlock and I were a distant second. And I put up with that until Warlock was almost three, but the breaking point-” She trailed off, wiping surreptitiously at her eyes. “Let’s just say that Tad turned out to not be the man I thought he was. But Anthony convinced me to leave, even found us this house and stayed with us for a few years until I was able to get back on my feet. And even after he moved to London, he was here almost every day; he still comes by regularly to spend time with Warlock.”

“Sounds like you care for Crowley a great deal,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh, Warlock and I couldn’t imagine our lives without Anthony,” Harriet told him. “He’s been a real godsend.”

Hearing a bright peal of laughter, Aziraphale turned to see Crowley staggering into the room, Warlock and a blond boy hanging from each of his arms and being pulled behind him across the floor. The boys were laughing and smiling, and the love Aziraphale could feel from them just about knocked him off his feet.

“Yes,” he said, softly, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched Crowley with the boys. “Yes, he really is, isn’t he?”

----------

“You’re going out of town?” Aziraphale asked, unsure if he’d just heard Crowley correctly.

“For a few days,” Crowley told him, misting the last of his plants. “I should be back by the end of the week. You’re welcome to stay here while I’m gone - don’t coddle the plants, though. You’ve given them enough bad habits as it is.”

So saying, he turned and glared at the room full of greenery, making the plants visibly quiver in their pots.

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge,” Crowley went on, heading back toward the living room, “I don’t know if there’s actually anything in there right now - I usually just miracle up anything I need if I want to cook - but you’re welcome to whatever there is.”

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale pressed.

“Just taking care of some business,” Crowley told him, without answering his question. “See you in a few days, yeah?”

And then he was gone out the front door without another word.

Aziraphale stared at the closed door, uncomprehendingly. Business, Crowley had said. But he wasn’t human, he didn’t have a job. He didn’t have any business on Earth, unless - unless he was performing some kind of mission for Hell.

But that didn’t make any sense. Everything he’d learned from and about Crowley over the past few days indicated that Crowley wanted nothing anymore to do with Hell - and the feeling was mutual. Crowley’s part in stopping Armageddon had made him persona non grata both Downstairs and Up, and Aziraphale couldn’t imagine what Hell could possibly want from Crowley after what he’d done.

Well, he wasn’t going to get any answers until Crowley returned. But, he couldn’t just sit around for the next several days and do nothing. If nothing else, he had to find something to keep himself from dwelling on all the possibilities of what Crowley was up to.

So he spent the next several days wandering around London and exploring the city. He’d already poked a little bit around Soho; now he branched out and familiarized himself with the rest of the city. He met people, discovered new and interesting places, enjoyed many different and wonderful restaurants.

And he worried. He couldn’t help it; he was supposed to be down here specifically to redeem Crowley and bring him back into the Host, and here he was, alone, while Crowley was off somewhere mysterious doing who only knew what. He found himself anxious for Crowley to return home.

Crowley had promised that he’d only be gone for a few days. By the time he came back, more than a week had passed. It was late at night when the door to the flat opened, and Aziraphale looked up from his book to see Crowley stumble in from the hallway, filthy, and injured, and clearly, utterly exhausted. He made it to the middle of the living room before he noticed Aziraphale, and then he stopped and blinked at him in confusion, like he wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was doing there.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, carefully, and Crowley looked at him silently for so long that he was afraid he wasn’t going to get an answer.

Then, finally, Crowley seemed to shake himself all over, light coming back into his dull eyes. “Fine,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “Just - just gonna sleep.”

He headed toward his bedroom, stumbling into the wall as he moved unsteadily down the hallway before disappearing. There was nothing but silence for several seconds, and then a loud crash. Worried, Aziraphale followed him.

He found Crowley sprawled on his bed, blankets hopelessly tangled around his legs. He was lying on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow at an awkward angle. The small lamp that had once stood on the table by the bed was now on the floor, the light bulb shattered into tiny pieces.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prompted, cleaning up the broken lamp with a snap of his fingers. “Are you sure you’re all right?” When he didn’t get an answer, he continued, “Would you like me to heal those injuries for you?”

“They’ll go away on their own eventually,” Crowley mumbled into his pillow, words muffled by the fabric.

Well, that wasn’t exactly a no, and Aziraphale couldn’t just let him lie there in pain, so he snapped his fingers and directed a bit of magic Crowley’s way. Crowley sighed as his injuries disappeared, slumping further into his bed. Aziraphale stood there, unsure if he should leave or not, when Crowley lifted his head just far enough to look at him.

“If you’re gonna just stare at me, you might as well pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable,” he grumbled.

Then before Aziraphale could do anything, Crowley snapped his fingers and summoned Aziraphale’s favorite chair from the living room, along with the book he’d been reading. Aziraphale sat down, still unable to take his eyes off Crowley.

“What happened?” he finally asked, when the silence began to grow unbearable. “You said that you were taking care of business, but what could have resulted in you looking like this?”

Crowley groaned, and then flopped over on his back so that he was staring up at the ceiling. Still not looking at Aziraphale, but it was better than before.

“You remember when I told you what Hell tried to do to Warlock and Harriet?” he said, after a long minute had passed. “Well, they figured out that kids are my weakness. I can’t hurt them, can’t stand watching them get hurt. And Hell can’t kill me - they tried, but they failed - so they do the next best thing to torture me.”

“They go after children as a way to hurt you,” Aziraphale said, horrified.

“Hastur doesn’t actually kill the kids; he’s not a complete monster, and Hell has no use for kids’ souls, anyway,” Crowley told him. “But, he’s willing to do a hell of a lot, and he makes sure I know that it’s all my fault that it’s happening.”

“You can’t be blamed for what Hell does to people!” Aziraphale insisted, but Crowley wasn’t listening to him.

“Hastur likes to call me up right before he starts,” Crowley went on, “and by the time I get there, it’s usually just in time to clean up the mess he leaves behind. This time, he was still there, and we got into a bit of a scuffle before he fled.”

‘A bit of a scuffle’ was a bit of an understatement, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Crowley’s injuries would certainly suggest otherwise.

“I took care of the kid, erased her memories,” Crowley went on. “No need for her to remember what happened.”

“I could lay a protection around the child and her family,” Aziraphale said, as inspiration struck. “Demons can’t circumvent angelic magic, after all, and I’m supposed to be down here to make a difference, aren’t I?”

Not the kind of difference he’d been originally assigned to, but he would find a way to justify the magic to Gabriel when he made his report. Besides, helping the humans that Crowley so clearly cared for would only make it easier to bring Crowley back to Heaven.

“You’d do that?” Crowley asked, sounding surprised. “Forgive me, Angel, but I thought Heaven had gotten out of the business of acting so directly in human affairs.”

“Well, it’s not just a human affair if Hell is getting involved,” Aziraphale said, “and that’s exactly what I’ll tell Gabriel, if he asks.”

Crowley smiled, crookedly. “You’re a good one, Angel,” he said, his words slurring slightly as his exhaustion started to catch up to him.

Aziraphale smiled as the demon started to snore, softly. “So are you, my dear.”

----------

“Where are you taking me?” Aziraphale asked, for probably the sixth time.

His hands itched to pull off the magically-obscured sunglasses that Crowley had him wearing in place of a blindfold. To heighten the mystery, he’d claimed. Aziraphale was pretty sure he hated mystery.

“It’s a surprise, Angel,” Crowley said, just as patiently as he’d done the other five times.

“But why are we driving?” Aziraphale protested. He couldn’t hear any distinct enough sounds to determine exactly where they were, and it was starting to make him anxious. Crowley could be taking him anywhere and he’d have no idea. “Couldn’t we have just teleported to where we’re going, like civilized beings?”

“You said that you wanted to experience Earth like humans do,” Crowley reminded him. “It’s a nice day, lots of sun; there’s nothing more human than taking a drive in the sunshine.”

“Yes, but-” Aziraphale started, and then he cut himself off with an abrupt squeak as Crowley took a corner on what felt like two wheels, the Bentley moving at a speed that made his heart leap into his throat.

He let out another squeak when Crowley casually tossed an arm across his chest, pinning him gently against the back of his seat to keep him from being thrown around the car. His chest burned at every point of contact, echoed by a heat that he could feel creeping up into his cheeks. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat, torn between pulling away from Crowley’s arm or just giving up and leaning all the rest of the way into the touch.

“Don’t worry, Angel, we’re almost there,” Crowley reassured him, misinterpreting the reason for his sudden silence. Aziraphale wasn’t too inclined to correct him.

They drove in silence for a few more minutes before Aziraphale could feel the car finally start to slow down. They came to a smooth stop, and he reached for the glasses only to be stopped by the feel of Crowley’s hand on his wrist.

“Bear with me for just another minute, Angel,” he said, his voice startlingly close to Aziraphale’s ear. “Trust me, this is going to be worth it.”

Aziraphale nodded, too overcome by some unnamed emotion to be able to speak. He sat quietly in his seat, making no move to get out of the car until he heard the passenger door of the Bentley open, and then Crowley guided him out of the car with a hand on his elbow. And he kept touching Aziraphale, one hand on his arm and the other on the small of his back as he steered him around the front of the car and up onto the sidewalk. They walked so close that they were touching from hip to chest, and Aziraphale could feel the heat of Crowley’s body seeping into his own. He soaked up the warmth. He reveled in it.

“Okay, we’re here,” Crowley said, suddenly, pulling Aziraphale to a stop. He stepped back, taking his hands away from Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had to restrain himself from leaning backward to follow the touch.

Instead, he busied himself with pulling off his sunglasses and folding them up carefully to put them in the breast pocket of his coat. When he finally looked up from his intense study of the sidewalk, he realized that they were standing in front of the old bookshop Crowley had introduced him to last week.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, not understanding.

Crowley just smiled at him and nodded toward the dusty shop window. For a second, Aziraphale still didn’t get it, but then he saw the sign in the corner: ‘Opening Soon!’

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, excitedly. “Did someone buy the shop from Mr. Mullens? Oh, that’s wonderful, now it won’t have to close!”

“Someone didn’t buy the shop from Mr. Mullens,” Crowley said, lowly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I bought the shop. For you. As a present.” When Aziraphale stared at him, unable to find words, Crowley quickly started to backtrack. “I mean, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want it. It’s really big, and I might have overstepped, and I’m sorry, we can just go to lunch and I won’t mention it again-”

“Crowley, I love it,” Aziraphale interrupted him, before Crowley could panic his way into giving the shop away to the first person they saw. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, abruptly running out of steam. “You, uh, you like the shop?”

“I love the shop,” Aziraphale repeated, emphatically.

“You want to look inside?” Crowley asked, pulling a small golden key out of his jacket pocket.

“Yes!” Aziraphale said, snatching the key from Crowley’s outstretched hand and dashing toward the door.

Crowley followed behind at a slower pace, closing the door softly behind him as he watched Aziraphale prowl around the stacks. It had only been a week since Aziraphale had been to the shop for his first and only time, but he loved it just as much now as he had when he first saw it. He wandered through the shelves, running his fingers lightly along the dusty spines and using a bit of magic to restore the delicate books to their once-pristine condition. There wasn’t as much damage as he feared; the previous owner had clearly cared for his books a great deal, and Aziraphale silently vowed to love the shop just as much.

“Crowley, this is wonderful,” he said, as he rejoined the demon in the middle of the shop. “I don’t - I don’t know how to ever thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Crowley said, with a jerky shrug, his cheeks pink. “I just remembered how much you said you liked this place, and I figured you’d need a place here on Earth to call your own, if Heaven’s going to leave you down here for the long term.”

“Well, thank you, anyway,” Aziraphale said, and then seized by an impulse he couldn’t name, he went up on his toes and pressed his lips to Crowley’s cheek. Only for the briefest of seconds, but long enough to earn him a startled look, Crowley’s mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he stared at Aziraphale.

“Nghk,” he croaked out. “Angel, you-”

“I don’t know why I did that,” Aziraphale confessed, the horror of what he’d just done dawning on him. “Crowley, I’m sorry-”

“I’m not,” Crowley interrupted him. “You can - you can do that again, if you want.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale protested. “Kissing, it’s - it’s a sin. It’s Lust. And I’m an angel, I can’t just-”

“Humans-” Crowley’s voice croaked on the word, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Humans kiss each other all the time without being lustful,” he said, carefully. “They kiss to say hello, to say good-bye-”

“To say thank you?” Aziraphale ventured, just as cautiously.

“Exactly,” Crowley said. “And I know you like your human traditions.”

“I wouldn’t want to eschew human tradition,” Aziraphale agreed, his eyes never leaving Crowley.

“Hell forbid,” Crowley said, with a wry twist of his lips.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, softly, and then before he could lose his nerve, he lunged forward and pressed his lips to Crowley’s.

Their first attempt at an actual kiss was clumsy and awkward, Aziraphale’s nose smashing against Crowley’s, painfully, and their teeth knocking together with an audible click. He almost pulled away to apologize, but then Crowley’s hand was on his cheek, guiding him back in close.

“Like this, Angel,” he breathed, and then he kissed Aziraphale again, properly this time.

Aziraphale had devoured an untold amount of books since humanity had invented the written word, no few of them on the topic of romance. A common theme he’d come across was the idea that being kissed properly brought with the sound of a chorus of angels singing. He’d always considered it to be a bit fanciful and ridiculous before, but now he was starting to see why humans would have phrased it that way. Maybe there was no actual chorus of angels, but he certainly felt like breaking out in song as he kissed Crowley.

When they finally broke apart an eternity later, Crowley pulled back only far enough to be able to look down at Aziraphale, fingers brushing against the back of Aziraphale’s neck in a gentle caress. There was something almost unbearable affectionate in his eyes, a warmth that Aziraphale basked in.

“Was that all right, Angel?” Crowley asked, a hesitant note in his voice, like he was afraid that, after all that, Aziraphale could possibly reject him.

“That was more than all right,” Aziraphale told him. “My dear, that was perfect.”

-----------

So, too, were the following days. Long walks hand-in-hand through the park, feeding the ducks at the pond, lazy dinners at the Ritz, spending nights curled around each other in the cozy warmth of the bookshop - Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how things could get any better.

Well, maybe one thing…

“My dear, we need to talk.”

“Well that sounds ominous.” There was a lightness in Crowley’s tone that was belied by the tension in his body, the way he looked poised to vanish in a heartbeat. Aziraphale was sure he would, once he’d heard what Aziraphale had to say.

“I have something to confess,” he went on, instead. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“Honest about what?” Crowley asked, confused. “Angel, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not here on Earth just because Heaven wants an agent down here,” Aziraphale told him. This was so hard to say, but Crowley deserved the truth, even if he never wanted to speak to Aziraphale after. “They sent me specifically for you. To redeem you,” he elaborated, when Crowley only looked more confused. “Operation: Lost Sheep, Gabriel called it. They want to redeem demons and bring them back to Heaven.”

“Heaven wants to redeem my soul,” Crowley echoed, slowly. He didn’t look elated at the idea, but he also wasn’t leaving, so Aziraphale felt hopeful.

“You could be so much more than a demon,” he said. “Crowley, you could be an angel, again. You could come back to Heaven, be a part of the Host, be with me-” He broke off as Crowley slowly shook his head, looking sorrowful. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

“Heaven may have sent you down here, but they never expected you to succeed, you know?” The question was phrased in a casual tone, but there was something tense in the lines around Crowley’s eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked. “Gabriel personally picked me for this assignment. He told me that he had great faith in my ability to bring you back to the side of Good, faith that I could make you an angel, again.” A horrible thought occurred to him, and Aziraphale desperately hoped he was wrong. “Don’t you - don’t you want to be an angel again?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I don’t think it matters to the Archangel Fucking Gabriel if I do or not,” Crowley said, which wasn’t the kind of answer Aziraphale had been looking for. “I don’t think Gabriel sent you down here to try and redeem my eternal soul.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Aziraphale protested. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand what Crowley meant.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, and there was something so careful in his voice, like he thought Aziraphale needed him to be gentle. Aziraphale both loved and hated him for it. “Angel, there was never any Operation: Lost Sheep. There was never any mission from God to try and redeem demons. Gabriel was just using you to further his own agenda.” He sounded so apologetic, like he was sorry for everything he was saying. Sorry that he was ripping Aziraphale’s entire worldview apart.

“No,” Aziraphale protested, shaking his head, but Crowley wasn’t done.

“Think about it, Angel,” he insisted. “Gabriel and the other Archangels have spent the last six thousand years gearing up for the Apocalypse, for their epic battle with the forces of Hell. They had thousands of troops ready to march on Earth, for the glory of Heaven. And in less than an hour, Adam stopped the Apocalypse before it could even get started. He ruined all of Gabriel’s glorious plans.” Crowley sighed, looking suddenly very tired. “I may not remember much of Heaven, Angel, but I do remember Gabriel. And Gabriel does not like being made to look like a fool.”

“Then why am I here?” Aziraphale demanded, furiously. “If all Gabriel wants is his precious war, then what am I doing here? What’s the point of me being on Earth?”

“Because you’re their sacrificial lamb,” Crowley said, not even bothering to try and soften the blow. “They sent you down here to die, Angel. They wanted me to do their dirty work for them, wanted me to kill you so that they could use your death as an excuse to restart the war they so clearly want.”

“No, you’re wrong.”Aziraphale stumbled backward, away from the hand that Crowley reached out to him. “Gabriel wouldn’t do that to me. He’s not a demon.”

“And he’s not about to accept a bunch of demons in his precious Heaven, either,” Crowley shot back. “Think about it, Aziraphale. What’s more likely: that Gabriel is willing to send angels into the bowels of Hell to try and redeem demons, or that he’s lying to you about all of this? Let me give you a hint; Gabriel doesn’t give a damn about anyone other than himself. He certainly doesn’t care about a bunch of demons.”

“You’re lying,” Aziraphale protested.

“I’m not,” Crowley replied, insistently. “What reason would I have to make any of this up? Why would I lie to you?”

“Because you’re evil,” Aziraphale shot back. He ignored the hurt look that flashed across Crowley’s face; it was nothing more than another attempt at manipulation. “You’re nothing more than that pathetic snake that lured Adam and Eve into sin - you even tried to do it with me! And I can’t believe that I was stupid enough to think that you’d ever be capable of changing your ways.”

“Aziraphale-”

“You’re wrong,” Aziraphale insisted, still backing away from Crowley. “You’re wrong, and I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong. Heaven would never do this to me.”

------------

Back in the bookshop, it took almost half an hour to get the transportation circle set up correctly in the middle of the floor. He then had to go through all of the steps of the ritual that would allow him to enter the circle without immediately destroying his corporation. Finally, he had to make sure that the candles would safely extinguish themselves after he was gone; he’d grown inordinately fond of the old bookshop during his short time on Earth, and he’d hate to have anything happen to it.

After all that, simply stepping into the circle to go back to Heaven seemed almost anticlimactic.

Before stepping into the circle, he cast one last, longing look back at the door. A large part of him was still hoping for Crowley to burst into the shop, ready to apologize for all the things he’d said. Ready to change his ways and rejoin the Host. Ready to come home to Aziraphale Heaven.

But the door stayed firmly shut. Crowley wasn’t coming. Heaving a disappointed sigh, Aziraphale stepped across the border of the transportation circle and let it carry him back to Heaven.

The circle had flared brilliantly white when he first stepped inside, leaving him temporarily blinded as he stumbled out on the other side. Rubbing futilely at his eyes to try and clear away the spots that danced in his vision, Aziraphale looked around as he tried to get his bearings. He’d landed in the quartermaster’s office, not far from where he’d originally departed. The office was empty save for the quartermaster’s desk and the illuminated globe spinning in lazy circle on its axis.

Aziraphale found himself swamped by a wave of homesickness as he stared at London on the globe: homesick for the delights of the city, for his beloved bookshop, for the demon who’d introduced him to so many wonderful people and places…

“Stop it,” he told himself, firmly, his voice bouncing off the walls of the empty room. “Crowley made his choice, and it wasn’t with me. I have to learn to live with that.”

Too bad he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounded.

Aziraphale left the quartermaster’s office in search of Gabriel, determined to put the whole Crowley situation behind him once and for all. He’d confess to Gabriel that his part of the mission had been a failure, that there was no way to redeem the Serpent of Eden. Then he’d accept whatever chastisement Gabriel deemed acceptable and rejoin his proper place in Heaven, far, far away from Earth and everyone on it.

He found Gabriel in his office, poring over a stack of glossy paper on his desk. He rapped lightly on the door frame to get Gabriel’s attention.

“Excuse me, Gabriel, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”

Gabriel looked up, and Aziraphale was driven back by the force of his glare. He was used to all sorts of looks from Gabriel - disappointed, upset, even angry - but this was downright murderous.

“Get in here and close the door,” Gabriel commanded, before Aziraphale could say anything. Aziraphale crept into the office and shut the door behind him with a soft click, keeping a wary gaze on Gabriel the entire time. “Sit down, Aziraphale.”

“I need to talk to you about the demon, Crowley-” Aziraphale began.

“Shut up,” Gabriel snapped, a harsh tone in his voice that Aziraphale had never heard. “What in the name of Hell are you doing back here?”

“See, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about-”

“Shut. Up.” Gabriel repeated, the force of his magic freezing Aziraphale’s words in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound could emerge. “Do you understand,” Gabriel went on, glaring at him, “just how many months of planning you’ve ruined? Bad enough that a demon stopped the Apocalypse we’ve been working toward for six thousand years, but then you don’t even have the decency to die down on that miserable pile of mud like you were supposed to.”

He glared at Aziraphale like he was expecting some kind of answer, and then waved his hand impatiently to unfreeze his voice.

“Crowley was right,” Aziraphale said, when he could finally speak. “You don’t want to redeem him, or any other demon. You just want your war with Hell.”

“Our war with Hell has been foretold,” Gabriel told him. “And I’m not going to let the likes of one scrawny demon and his pet Antichrist stop me from my destined role in Heaven’s victory.”

“Everything Crowley and Adam did to save Earth, and you just want to destroy it,” Aziraphale accused him. “What about God’s command to love humanity?”

“We’re doing this for humanity,” Gabriel told him. “Those little mud-grubbers are so young, so clueless; they don’t know what’s best for them.”

“How is destroying humanity doing what’s best for them?” Aziraphale demanded.

“We’re not destroying all of them,” Gabriel said, with a dismissive wave. “Just a couple billion or so. And anyway, all the really bad ones will end up in Hell, so it’s like Earth gets a big do-over!”

He beamed at Aziraphale, like this was somehow good news. Aziraphale, for his part, was completely speechless. He couldn’t imagine how Gabriel could be so casual about the impending destruction of the entire planet.

“Anyway,” Gabriel went on, when Aziraphale was silent for long enough that it started to become awkward, “this war is going to happen, Aziraphale. It has to happen; it’s the Great Plan. And we all have our roles in the Great Plan, don’t we?”

“Last time, mine was meant to be at the head of my platoon,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Why would you send me to Earth, then?”

“Oh, I gave command of your platoon to someone else,” Gabriel told him. “No, Aziraphale, like I told you when we started this: you have a very special role in all of this. You’re going to be our martyr. Of course, I’d rather the demon had killed you, himself,” Gabriel went on, oblivious to the horrified look on Aziraphale’s face. “But, I can adapt. I’m flexible like that.”

“I’m not going to just roll over and let you kill me!” Aziraphale protested.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “It’s cute that you think you can actually stop me,” he said.

He waved a hand and Aziraphale felt his knees buckle underneath him, sending him crashing painfully to the floor. His vision started to darken as Gabriel came to stand over him, and he suddenly felt very small.

“Don’t worry, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, his voice growing more and more distant by the second. “You should be proud of the part you’re about to play. None of this could happen without you.”

----------

It was hard to measure time by Earthly standards, especially in the bright, shadowless cell he’d woken up in. He’d been taught that there was nothing worse than darkness, but he’d argue that darkness had nothing on the unending light he was being subjected to. There was no escape from the blinding blaze that lit up every corner of the cell, nowhere for him to hide. The light seared painfully even through his closed eyelids, making his head pound and his heart race. It was so bright he couldn’t even see anything outside the cell; for all he knew, the entire Host was an eager audience to his captive humiliation.

It was hard to measure time in the cell, but he figured it had to have been at least a couple of days by the time the light finally snapped off, leaving him blinking away ghostly afterimages as he was plunged into sudden darkness. Rubbing at his eyes, Aziraphale squinted to try and make out the blurry figure heading toward his cell, a figure that revealed itself to be Gabriel once he was close enough.

“I hope you enjoyed our accommodations,” Gabriel said, a nasty smirk spreading across his face. “Get up, Aziraphale.”

“What now?” Aziraphale asked, warily, standing up and moving away from the door that appeared at a wave of Gabriel’s hand.

“Now? Now you’re going to be executed,” Gabriel told him. “Move.”

Aziraphale tried to resist, but another snap of Gabriel’s fingers had his feet unwillingly stumbling forward, carrying him out of the cell to Gabriel’s side. He glared at the Archangel, but the effect was rendered useless when Gabriel simply turned and walked away, the force of his magic dragging Aziraphale along in his wake. Gabriel pulled him down a series of twisting hallways to a part of Heaven he’d never seen before, a big open space with windows overlooking Earth, below. The room was empty except for Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon, and someone who positively oozed demonic energy. The figure turned away from their conversation with Michael, and Aziraphale was shocked to recognize Beelzebub. What was the Prince of Hell doing in Heaven?

“What, no audience for my execution?” Aziraphale demanded, as they came to a stop in the center of the room.

“You are a failure and a traitor to Heaven, and your execution is strictly need-to-know,” Michael told him, her voice bouncing off the walls of the empty room. “The Host does not need to know. The Host will only know what we tell them about your fate.”

“The Host isn’t stupid,” he protested, weakly. “They’ll figure out what you’ve done.”

“The Host doesn’t want to figure out what we’ve done,” Gabriel informed him. “They want this war just as much as we do; they don’t care what we have to do to make it happen.”

“Surely, some of the other angels-”

“You can’t possibly be this dense,” Gabriel interrupted him, rolling his eyes. “None of the other angels like you, Aziraphale, no one’s going to care that you’re gone.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Gabriel!”

Aziraphale sagged with relief, as much as Gabriel’s magic restraints would let him. He hadn’t let himself hope for any kind of rescue, but trust Crowley to come sweeping in like a knight in shining armor, anyway. He managed to crane his head around to see Crowley standing in the doorway, his wings mantled behind him and a tire iron held in his fist like a sword. He looked ready to take on the Archangels and Beelzebub, singlehandedly.

“Let. Him. Go.” Crowley said, each word falling into the stunned silence with clipped precision. His wings flared with each step he took into the room, and the tire iron glowed with an unearthly energy, like flames of hellfire licking along the surface.

“Do you really think you can challenge all of us, Crawly?” Beelzebub said, derision dripping from their voice.

“Or die trying,” Crowley shot back, fearlessly.

“You’ll die, then,” Uriel said, and then she struck out at him before Aziraphale even saw her move, a gleaming sword held high in her hands.

Crowley met her sword with his tire iron, the metal glowing brightly for a moment before shearing away in a clean break. Undaunted, Crowley lunged forward with the longer of the two pieces, aiming for Uriel’s chest. She blocked the blow with a disbelieving laugh, but the sound cut out abruptly when she - and everyone else in the room - realized that Crowley had managed to drive the shorter piece straight into her side.

She stumbled backward, pulling the tire iron shard out of Crowley’s hands. Glaring viciously at him, she yanked the piece out of her side and tossed it away. Dark blood oozed sluggishly from the rapidly-closing wound under her fingers.

“The next one won’t heal up so nicely,” Crowley threatened, darkly, brandishing what was left of his tire iron. “For the last time, let Aziraphale go.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Beelzebub said, before any of the Archangels could answer him.

They snapped their fingers, ropes materializing out of thin air to wrap around Crowley in a crushing grip, covering him all the way from his mouth to his toes and hefting him into the air. The tire iron clattered to the floor, falling from his nerveless fingers. He struggled, but he couldn’t break the grip of the Prince of Hell.

“Watch and learn, traitor,” Beelzebub said, crossing the room to stand in front of Crowley. “You may have escaped punishment before, but you won’t be so lucky this time.” With another twitch of their fingers, they spun Crowley around to face Aziraphale.

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” Michael said, impatiently. “We have more important things to attend to.”

Gabriel nodded at Beelzebub. “Lord Beelzebub, if you would, please?”

Beelzebub waved their hand, and a roaring column of hellfire sprang to life in the center of the room. Without a word, Gabriel used his magic to drag Aziraphale forward, closer and closer to the flames. Behind him, he could hear Crowley’s screams through the rope around his mouth, and he twisted around to see Crowley struggling fruitlessly against the hold Beelzebub had on him.

“Crowley, I’m sorry!” he called out, trying to be heard over the roaring of the hellfire and the frantic beating of his own heart. “I didn’t mean those things I said, I’m so sorry, Crowley, I lo-”

The rest of his words were cut off when Gabriel slammed his fist into the side of his head, making his ears ring and his vision blur.

“Just shut up and die, already,” Gabriel snapped at him.

“Don’t do this,” he begged Gabriel, trying desperately to shrink back from the searing heat. “Please, Gabriel. God can’t possibly want this to happen.”

“God’s not here,” Gabriel told him, and then he put his hand on Aziraphale’s back and shoved him directly into the middle of the fire.

He expected there to be pain. He expected to scream and writhe in agony while he waited to be discorporated. He expected a growing darkness as he died, and then a complete and total nothingness.

Instead, he felt nothing from the fire. He heard the roar of the flames, watched tongues of fire dance across his skin - but he remained whole and unharmed. And after a few seconds, he realized that Gabriel’s magic was gone and he could move again.

He strolled out the fire to see Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel staring at him in wordless shock. Gabriel was the first to recover, his face contorting with fury. “How?” he demanded. “How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted.

“You did something, didn’t you?” Gabriel accused him. “Down on Earth, you and that demon, you did something-”

“No,” came a new voice, before Aziraphale could say anything.

A woman came walking across the empty room, although Aziraphale couldn’t have said where she came from. She was bathed with a light that seemed to come from within herself. Her face was - her face - every time Aziraphale tried to look directly at her, a wave of white static washed across his brain. She was…ineffable.

“This was not Aziraphale’s doing,” God said, Her voice like the peal of terrible bells. “It was mine.”

No one moved as She glided across the room to Aziraphale’s side. The other angels seemed to actually be frozen in place, although Aziraphale could see Gabriel’s eyes moving rapidly back and forth, something like fear in his expression. Aziraphale empathized, because he was feeling no small amount of fear, himself.

“Lord,” he breathed, unable to form a more coherent thought.

“My child,” She said, smiling at him. “I am very proud of you, Aziraphale. You should be proud of yourself.”

When She moved away, Aziraphale reflexively gasped for a breath he didn’t truly need. He watched Her move to where Crowley was still hanging in midair, by himself as Beelzebub had fled. She raised a hand to cup his cheek, the ropes melting away under Her touch, and Crowley staggered as he hit the floor, his wary eyes never leaving God even as he leaned into the hand on his skin.

“You came,” he whispered, hoarsely.

“You have always been so brave, so strong,” God said, “no matter what I asked of you. How could I be any less?”

“I’m not-” Crowley started to protest, but then trailed off into speechlessness, too stunned to speak.

“You have always loved humanity,” She went on, “even more than I ever could have dreamed of. You have been their stalwart guardian, even when it would have been easier to turn your back.”

“They needed me,” Crowley said.

“So do they still,” God told him. “Both of you,” She added, turning to Aziraphale. You will protect the Earth and its people. And neither Heaven nor Hell, not angel nor demon, will interfere with your mission.”

Her voice rang out, the words resonating through Aziraphale’s bones and imprinting themselves on his very soul. From the terrified looks on the Archangels’ faces, they’d experienced the same effect; Aziraphale had no doubt that all of Hell heard it as well. He opened his mouth to say something, and then his vision went white and a roaring sound filled his ears.

When he could see and hear again, he was standing in the middle of the bookshop. He heard a wheezing breath from behind him, and he spun around to see Crowley standing in the shadows, a stunned look on his face.

“You’re alive,” Crowley said, wonderingly, and then he lunged forward to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. “Angel, I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I thought that, too,” Aziraphale confessed, shakily, holding as tightly to Crowley as he dared. “I was so - Crowley, your wings!”

“What about my wings?” Crowley demanded, pulling away and spreading his wings out to their full length to inspect them. His eyes went wide with shock.

Because his wings were no longer their velvety, lustrous black. Instead, his wings were now soot gray with the tips a deep crimson, like they’d been dipped in blood. The effect was striking, to say the very least.

“What happened to my wings?” Crowley demanded, tearing his eyes away from them to look at Aziraphale. “Did they look like this up in Heaven?”

“No,” Aziraphale told him, shaking his head. “No, your wings were still black up there. It was just after we arrived here-”

“After God sent us here,” Crowley corrected him, abruptly. “Better take a look at your wings, Angel. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s changed.”

“Why would God change our wings?” Aziraphale asked, even as he stepped away from Crowley to manifest his wings. As predicted, his wings were an identical match for Crowley’s, gray and red.

“What if She didn’t just change our wings?” Crowley asked. “What if She changed what we are? What if you’re not an angel, or I’m not a demon?”

“But then what are we?” Aziraphale asked, cautiously.

“If I had to guess,” Crowley told him, “I’d say human. Or, at least as human as it’s possible for us to get. You heard Her; we’re to protect humanity. Heaven and Hell certainly haven’t been doing the job, so it’s up to us.”

“And we become something new in the process,” Aziraphale said, wonderingly. “Something beyond Heaven and Hell.”

“You know what that means?” Crowley asked him, a slow smile creeping across his face. Off Aziraphale’s confused look, he elaborated: “It means we’re free, Angel. No Heaven, no Hell. Just us.”

“Free,” Aziraphale echoed. “I don’t know if I know what to do with freedom,” he confessed, sheepishly.

“That’s the best part,” Crowley told him. “We can do anything we like.”

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #kumquat writes

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hereyougo-flamingsword · 5 years

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Let Aziraphale Say Fuck, a ficlet

It was one of their post-Apocalyptic trips to Tadfield that started it.

Well, it was their EXIT from Tadfield that really started it, with the boy formerly known as the Antichrist tripping on a rock and falling on his face while waving them off.

"FUCK!" He cried out.

The angel and the demon turned as one to look at the boy, but he was already getting up and running away, presumably to avoid the wrath of that shitty old neighbor watch man.

Crowley thought, well, he must be fine, if he's running like that, no need for any discreet little miracles, time to go home.

Aziraphale, however, looked positively astonished.

“Did…Did Adam just say-?”

“-Fuck, yes, yes he did,” observed Crowley.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and did one of his…indignant wiggles.

“Did you teach him that?” he accused Crowley. "It positively smacks of your...demonic interference."

Crowley gaped back with a little indignation of his own. "What? He's the ANTICHRIST! In terms of demonics, he outRANKS me."

Crowley was taller than Aziraphale, in this corporeal body anyway, but Aziraphale still found a way to look down on him, a disapproving pout on his lips.

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale," Crowley protested, "He’s twelve! Swear words were practically invented for preteens to use. And I should know!”

Aziraphale sighed. “You didn’t invent swear words, Crowley,” he said, his mouth twitching in amusement despite it all.

Crowley deflated. “Fine, you got me there. I do like encouraging folks to use them, though, even if it’s not technically a sin.”

He sighed, and looked over at Aziraphale. “The day I get YOU to drop the f-bomb, now...THAT’LL be the day,” drawled Crowley, lightly punching him in the arm.

Aziraphale stiffened up.

“Ivealreadysaidit,” he mumbled.

Crowley blinked, not daring to believe his ears. “What?”

“I’ve already said it!” Aziraphale burst out, his tone of voice reminding Crowley of a certain missing-sword incident from six millennia ago, “Once.”

Crowley straightened up, mouth agape.

“Are you kidding me, angel?” Crowley said incredulously, “You said FUCK?!”

Aziraphale nodded miserably.

“Ah-bu-wha-I-“ Crowley sputtered, “When?”

“I was-I was being discorporated! And sent back up to Heaven, where I thought I had lost my one chance to avert the apocalypse! It’s HARDLY an inappropriate thing when it’s said in THAT context,” Aziraphale explained, automatically on the defensive.

“I don’t give a FUCK-" Crowley dragged out the CK sound irreverently, "-about ‘proper context’, angel,” Crowley said, complete with air quotes, “I’m just so MAD that I wasn’t around to HEAR it!!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” muttered Aziraphale, stiffly walking on.

“Awwwwhhh,” Crowley groaned, long and drawn out, and put a skip in his step to catch up with him.

“Six thousand years," he lamented, "I have been waiting, no, IMAGINING, that I would get to hear you say my FAAAVORITE naughty word, and what do you do? You just go and say it without me there!”

Aziraphale ignored him and continued to speed-walk to the Bentley.

“You’ve GOTTA do it again," pleaded Crowley, "PLEASE."

Aziraphale stopped. “Out of the question,” he said icily, and then continued to walk again, even quicker if that were possible, forcing Crowley to actually put effort into catching up.

“Oh, come on, it’s not like Heaven is watching you right now, it’s the perfect time!” argued Crowley.

"Crowley I can’t just SAY it, even if Heaven isn’t watching! Unlike some present company, I have to have the proper...FEELING behind it, or it holds no weight and I simply can’t do it!”

"Proper feeling, my arse, I’ve just said it four times! Gets more fun every time you do, let me tell you."

"Maybe so, but you're a DEMON, Crowley. You're...accustomed to such things.”

"Aw, angel, please? For me?" whined Crowley.

"No, I won't do it," said Aziraphale with a note of finality.

Crowley deflated, and opened the drivers side door. "Fine. But if the ‘propah feeling’ comes over you again, make sure to call me! I dont want to miss the second coming of Aziraphale saying the dreaded fuck word."

"IF I ever say it again," Aziraphale mumbled, as he, too, opened the door to the old Bentley and got inside.

“Oh, Crowley, I have wanted to take you here for years!" Aziraphale said as they hurried along the sidewalk, "It's a LOVELY little place, handed down through the generations in a family ive known since the eighteenth century! Surely you've heard me talk about the Baldacci's?"

"I hear a lot of things from you,” Crowley complained, “You can’t expect me to remember them ALL.”

Aziraphale bristled a little. “Well, you will remember them after THIS,” he said smugly, as he pushed open the door.

Twenty four minutes and three seconds later, Aziraphale came bursting back out of the door, simmering with anger, Crowley trailing behind.

"The nerve! The audacity! The unmitigated GALL!" Aziraphale said, as he stomped down the small side street.

"First they serve us awful, absolutely DREADFUL food, and then they kick us out for daring to send it back??” he complained, hands flying everywhere.

Crowley seemed to remember that it was some choice non-compliments to the chef that Aziraphale gave that got them kicked out, but he didn't bring it up.

"Honestly, uh, angel, w-we could just go to the place next door," Crowley said instead, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, "S' not a big deal, really-"

"Oh, its not about LUNCH, Crowley, I am just so-so betrayed! I taught that-that ruffian's great-great-grandparents how to MAKE spaghetti when they were just children in Italy! I’ve known their family for generations! And they have the NERVE to tell me that the garbage they just served me was the ‘old family recipe’??”

He suddenly stopped, and turned around to face at Crowley, arms splayed out toward him as if he simply must MAKE him understand the gravity of the situation.

"Their sauce was made of ketchup, Crowley! KETCHUP! Don’t they have any FUCKING respect?!” Aziraphale’s voice cracked on the pivotal word, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide.

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

"Ohhh," Aziraphale groaned, closing his eyes and fists in self-exasperation which quickly turned into self-annoyance with gritted teeth. "Oh!! Why did I do that, it wasn’t even WORTH it!"

He looked up at Crowley in guilty silence. Crowley was still very aware that his mouth was still hanging open, and was working on turning it into a goofy grin. Hearing Aziraphale swear, properly SWEAR, was so much better than he had ever imagined.

If Crowley had ever celebrated Christmas, he would think that this was Christmas come early.

"Ohhh, it was worth it to ME," he drawled, unable to get rid of the wide smile on his face. "I'm so, so happy I got to witness that."

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, STOP it, please.”

"I’m serious, angel! That just made my whole fucking day," he said, his grin turning to a contented one, "I dont even care what happens next."

"Oh, that’s easy for YOU to say," Aziraphale grumbled, sitting down hard on a bus station bench, “It just RUINED mine.”

Crowley sat down beside him, his euphoria simmering down a little as he finally got a good look at Aziraphale’s face.

The angel’s face was creased with shame and self-hatred, his hands folded in his lap just as rigidly as his whole body was sat on the bench. Crowley hadn’t seen him this uptight since before the Apocalypse--he was actually, unironically, extremely upset about this.

But, after about two seconds of thinking about it--Crowley realized that it made perfect sense. It had taken six thousand years and an averted apocalypse to get Aziraphale to admit that there mayyybe was a problem with how Heaven handled things. The conditioning of Heaven’s fucked up moral values was still buried deep inside Aziraphale’s immortal soul, and that was the kind of thing that couldn’t be undone in a matter of a few months. Crowley could say fuck however much he wanted(in solidarity of course), but there was still that voice of Heaven inside of Aziraphale that told him that if he deviated in any way from what they thought an angel should be, he was worthless as a being--even if that deviation was simple as saying a swear word.

Probably sounds like Gabriel in there, thought Crowley, The wanker.

Suddenly, Crowley had an idea.

“You know, angel,” Crowley said, throwing an arm around Aziraphale’s mortified shoulders, “In Heaven, on my most recent visit...i heard Gabriel say fuck.”

Aziraphale gasped. “He did WHAT?!” he said, begging Crowley with his eyes to tell him more.

“Oh, yeah,” said Crowley, sadistic glee growing on his face as he delivered this piece of schadenfreude to Aziraphale’s eager ears, “Called himself the ‘Archangel Fuck-ing Gabriel’, right to my face. Well, right to YOUR face, I should say.”

As he spoke, the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth turned up. “I suppose...that does make me feel a bit better about it.”

Aziraphale turned and rested his head on Crowleys outstretched arm, giving him a smile.

A real, wide, grateful smile, that shone with heavenly love that the real heaven could never measure up to.

“Thank you," said Aziraphale warmly.

Crowley seized up. Six thousand years of demonic conditioning could make a person react strangely to certain things as well.

"R-right, now come on," said Crowley, standing up and holding out his hand, "I'm sure there is SOMEWHERE in this city where you can get Italian food that isn't made of ketchup."

"Oh ho ho,” said Aziraphale, grabbing Crowley’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up, “My dear boy, there is! And, as it happens, it's just up the street from here!”

With a renewed spring in his step, Aziraphale strolled down the street, pulling Crowley by the hand.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #first fic idea

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easypeasybreezy · 5 years

Text

Take a Chance on Cupcakes

This is for @idabbleincrazy‘s Blogiversary Challenge! Yay! You give me a deadline, and I will wait until the last possible moment to meet it 😅 My prompts were Take A Chance On Me (Abba), and “Frost the damn cupcakes.” I’m sorry, but the song just had to get in there ha.

Sabriel, ~1150 words, no warnings, angsty fluff? lol

Gabriel cupped Sam’s face, leaning forward, and oh my god this was happening. Closer and closer, he let himself be drawn in, until they were just a couple of inches apart. Then Sam panicked. He stopped and pulled away.

“Sam?” Gabriel questioned, his voice soft.

“I-I’m sorry, Gabriel. I can’t.”

His face fell, and Sam swore he could see tears forming in his eyes. Before Sam could say anything else, Gabriel was gone.

Sam placed his head in his hands with a groan after remembering that moment from a week ago for what seemed like the thousandth time. Since then Gabriel had avoided him, hiding from him in the bunker and ignoring his calls. Sam wanted to talk to him, to explain his reaction, but Gabriel seemed determined to give him the cold shoulder. However, today he couldn’t run out on him.

Tomorrow was Jack’s birthday, and Gabriel had volunteered to make dessert for the small party they were planning. Even though Gabriel could just snap up whatever dessert he wanted, Sam knew he would take the time to hand bake everything from scratch for his nephew. He could count on Gabriel being stuck in the kitchen for a few hours at least.

Though now that Sam had the opportunity to speak with him, he was finding it difficult to start. He’d been sitting in his room for the past hour, trying to work up his courage and think of what to say. Sam shook his head, sighing. There was no point in waiting any longer. He pushed himself off his bed and slowly left his room.

Sam arrived at the kitchen to see Gabriel aggressively mixing cake batter with a wooden spoon, back turned towards the doorway. He had to have noticed Sam’s presence, but did nothing to acknowledge him. A dozen cupcakes sat on the table, along with a bowl of frosting and a piping bag. Sam took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Can I help?”

Gabriel paused the stirring, seemingly having a mental debate with himself. Finally, he reached a decision. “Fine,” he huffed, turning his head towards Sam and pointing over his shoulder. “Start frosting those.”

Okay, that was probably a good start. Maybe if he stayed quiet for a bit, Gabriel would cool down. Gabriel got back to attacking the cake batter and ignoring him, and Sam sat at the table and filled the piping bag with frosting. He frosted one cupcake, then two, and he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was deafening. He had to try to fix things with Gabriel.

Sam placed the piping bag down and spoke up. “Look, Gabe-“

“Frost the damn cupcakes,” Gabriel responded, still not facing Sam.

Sam’s voice grew heated. “No, listen Gabriel. It- it’s not you, it’s me.” Sam almost cringed at the words that came out of his mouth, but he couldn’t deny that they were the truth.

Gabriel let out a bark of laughter. “Riiiight,” he drawled.

“No really, dammit, look at me. I like you, ok? A lot.”

That got Gabriel to stop what he was doing and face Sam, an unreadable expression on his face.

“It’s just, I don’t have the best luck with relationships,” Sam continued, deciding that he already got this far, so he might as well confess to everything he felt. “Whenever I get close to someone, it usually doesn’t end well.”

“Sam…”

“I don’t want to lose you.” There. He said it.

Gabriel’s face softened, then he frowned. "I am an archangel, remember? It’s gonna be kinda hard to get rid of me.”

“I already thought you died twice!” Sam replied, nearly shouting. “I can’t go through that again.”

“And you Sam?” Gabriel snapped back, taking a step towards him. “When you died, I felt, well, like I couldn’t go on anymore.”

Sam felt like his heart stopped beating. He stared at Gabriel, eyes wide. He didn’t know... Was that really how Gabriel felt?

Gabriel seemed to realize the intensity of what he had said, and stepped back, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “But uh, we made it through it, didn’t we? You came back, I came back. We’re both here, right now. Sure, there’s a risk involved with starting any relationship. However,” Gabriel paused and grinned, “I think the reward is worth it.”

Sam gave Gabriel a small smile in return, pushing Gabriel’s earlier words to the back of his mind. “That’s true I suppose, but,” he sighed. “I- I just don’t think I’m ready.”

If Gabriel was upset to hear that, he didn’t show it. “Alright. I get it,” he said, then an almost mischievous smile appeared on his face. “But, if you change your mind, I’m the first in line.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Uhh, sure? Yeah.”

“I’ll be around, okay?” Gabriel continued, still smiling. “Just, take a chance on me, Sam.”

Those words sounded familiar to Sam, but he couldn’t quite be sure. Would Gabriel really…?

Gabriel moved to the table, placing his hands on it and leaning over towards Sam. “That’s all I ask of you honey.”

Sam squirmed in his seat a bit as Gabriel gave him a wink and backed away. That did confirm his suspicions though. “Are you quoting ABBA at me?”

“Maybe,” he answered with a smirk, rocking back on his feet.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head.

Gabriel then paused for a few moments, his face growing serious. "I meant it all though,” he said quietly. Sam nodded at him, and Gabriel cleared his throat. “Right, well, better get back to baking,” he announced, awkwardly turning back to the cake batter.

Sam watched as Gabriel separated the batter into pans, everything he had said racing through his mind. Gabriel really cared about him, he couldn’t deny that. And he definitely had feelings for him as well. What was holding him back? There never seemed to be a calm moment in their lives. If he didn’t let himself be happy now, he might not ever have the chance. Reaching a decision, Sam stood up from the table.

“Alright.”

Gabriel closed the door of the oven, just having put the pans inside, and turned back to Sam. “Huh?”

“Alright Gabe. I- I think I’ll take that chance.”

Gabriel’s mouth dropped open as Sam smiled at him. Then a huge grin came over his face, and he ran to Sam, enveloping him in a tight hug. Sam returned it with a chuckle, holding him tight against his chest.

“We’ll be okay Sam. No matter what happens, we’ll make it through,” Gabriel said softly, pulling away to look up at him.

Sam found that he now agreed with those words. He moved his hands to hold Gabriel’s face, and this time, Sam leaned down and closed the distance between them. He pressed their lips together, and oh yeah, this was definitely the right choice.

#dabbles1stblogiversary #sabriel #my writing #can you tell i have no idea how titles work?#im not sure what was happening here #lol

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themadamelibrarian · 5 years

Text

Brother's Keeper - Part 20 of The Adventures of Baby Castiel

Rating: Mature Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester (inferred) Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Gabriel (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Angelic Possession, Casifer, Self-Sacrificing Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Implied/Referenced Torture, Angry Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer Redemption, Angst, Fluff, Alternate Season/Series 12 Summary: With Castiel possessed by Lucifer and having fled after being discovered, the Winchester's have no idea what to do next. Desperate for help, Sam prays to someone he has no hope of hearing from.

Notes: This started out as a conversation between @princessofsabriel (princessofsabriel.tumblr.com) and @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell and myself. This is what happens when we open a google doc.

Thank you, to you beautiful snowflakes for helping me write this. It was great fun to collaborate with you and to have you as co-authors.

This is kind of an extension of the Adventures of Baby Castiel verse but can be read separately.

-----------------------

Share this story and show support for the creator!

Tagging: @copperseraphim @thenanahunter @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @idabbleincrazy @truxblooded

LINK TO AO3

Sam watched his brother’s shoulders slump in defeat after Lucifer fled with his newly acquired vessel. The light in the older hunter’s eyes grew distant with grief for his best friend. Castiel was his friend too, but to Dean, he had always been something more. Whether either of them wanted to admit it or not.

He stood up from where he’d been thrown, and rubbed his temple to try and stop the spinning. He had an idea forming. There was only one being, besides God himself, that Sam could think of might be able and willing to help them save Cas. Figuring nothing was impossible in this shit-show that was the Winchester’s life, Sam took a chance. The being he thought about most likely was dead, but Sam had to hope against hope that life would give them a break just this once. So, taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes in silent prayer:

“Gabriel? I’m not sure you can hear me. Hell, I’m not even sure you’re alive. But we need your help if you are. Well, Cas needs your help, actually. I’ve told you about the whole Amara-deal already, so I’ll skip that, but Cas he… he got it into his head that Lucifer could beat her. I don’t know exactly what happened but somehow… Lucifer possessed Cas. Gabriel, Lucifer is in Cas’ body. Cas is still in there and he fought his way to the front to stop Lucifer from killing me, so I’m assuming he’s conscious. But we need to get the devil out of there and… well, you’re the only one I could think of that cared enough about him and had the ability to help. Please, Gabriel. If you’re out there, please help!”

Releasing a breath, Sam imagined his soul reaching out to Gabriel’s grace, pleading for him to help them. Maybe he wanted to stay out of more of the Winchesters’ messes, but this was his little brother, surely he’d come out of hiding to help him; to save him?

He waited for almost a full minute and was just about to sigh in defeat as yet another prayer went unanswered when 180 pounds of pissed off archangel landed behind him with a swish of wings.

.oOo.

Gabriel had had enough. He really did. Before now he’d been content to sit in the background, letting the Winchesters figure out how to unscrew the universe. Since the last time he tried to help, Lucifer shoved a blade into his chest. The result of which was him hopping into a pocket dimension and spend the next several years trying to recharge. A meager trickle of healing energy coming from prayers, which he’d grown used to over the centuries. It was peaceful until he started hearing Sam’s prayers. It amazed him how much blind faith the youngest Winchester had. For all Sam knew, Gabriel was nothing more than stardust.

Focusing in on the prayer, he let all else fall into a quiet hum as Sam spoke. When the prayer concluded, Gabriel was filled with a feeling of despair. Lucifer was free. He couldn’t believe it. And what made it worse was that he was in Castiel’s vessel. Squashing his little brother’s grace like so many grapes. Grace wasn’t meant to be treated like that. This could kill Castiel and Lucifer knew it.

“That selfish, conceited, willful… ASSHOLE!” Gabriel roared. His feelings of sadness melted away at the thought of the Angel he raised, little Castiel, being treated in such a manner. The little fledgling he taught how to fly, soothed away nightmares of the pit and how to not call Lucifer a ‘birb’. Running on pure rage alone, he snapped his fingers to change into something more appropriate than a pair of pink silk boxers before flying to the source of Sam’s prayer.

“HOLD UP A SECOND! LUCI DID WHAT!?” he growled without greeting when he landed behind Sam, “Where is he?”

Sam jumped in surprise at the sound of a voice behind him. Whirling around with a gun drawn ready to blow a hole in whoever it was; what he saw was not what he was expecting. There stood Gabriel clad in black jeans and a matching leather jacket. “You… you answered? You’re really alive?”

Gabriel frowned at the hunter because that was not an answer to his question.

“Yes, Sam. I am alive. Yes, I’ve heard all of your prayers and yes, I’ve chosen to ignore them because guess what!? When you fuck up the world then it’s your fucking problem to fix it again. Last time I tried to help I got a fucking sword imbedded in my gut. Now, answer the fucking question? Where is Lucifer with Castiel’s vessel!?”

Sam just stared at him, stunned at the near biblical wrath rolling off the angel.

“More than likely in Hell” came the answer from behind him and he turned around to find Dean with his fists clenched at his side. It was a testament to how powerless Dean must have felt at that moment. He didn’t even bat an eye at the fact that a supposedly dead archangel was standing in front of his little brother.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed and a growl, that probably shouldn’t make Sam’s toes curl the way it did, escaped his lips through clenched teeth.

“And you! If it weren’t for YOU, Dean fucking Winchester, making my little brother feel like less than the trash on the bottom of your shoe, he wouldn’t be in this situation!” Dean lifted his eyes with a hurt expression, but Gabriel was in no mood to stand down: “Yeah, that’s right! I know exactly what happened here. Sam has been a fountain of knowledge with his prayers. I’ll finish with you later because right now I have a brother to save!” With that, he flew away.

.oOo.

Gabriel didn’t know where he was exactly in relation to his siblings, but he could feel the cold, oily slick caress of Lucifer’s grace. He missed the days when Lucifer’s was warm and soft, but he can’t think about that now. Pushing aside his wave of nostalgia, he spread his wings wide, letting them flex in ways that he’d not felt since the last Heavenly war. Landing, he eventually caught sight of Lucifer sitting against a tree as the sunset in the West. He could see a hint of Castiel’s grace flicking against the barrier of Lucifer’s and it made Gabriel’s stomach roll.

“Lucifer,” he called out sternly.

“Gabriel,” the Prince of Hell drawled with a mouth that was supposed to belong to the cherub Gabriel raised. Granted, envesseled angels never used their own mouths but that wasn’t the point in Gabriel’s eyes. The point was that the voice was stolen. Angels aren’t meant to share a vessel. You don’t possess another angel, damnit!

“Good, you remember my name. Now get out of Castiel and slither back to the hole you crawled out of,” Gabriel snarled as he cautiously approached the older archangel.

Lucifer looked up with a smile, stroking a finger over Castiel’s cheek, “Now why would I do that?”

“You know why, Luci. Get out,” Gabriel hissed between clenched teeth.

Lucifer let out a laugh that sounded unnatural coming from Castiel’s vessel. Rolling up to his feet, he walked up to Gabriel, invading his personal space. “And who’s going to make me, Messenger? You?”

Gabriel grabbed ahold of Lucifer by the lapels and forcibly shoved him into the tree, pinning him in place. “If I have to, MorningStar. And let me tell you something. You can try and kill me. You can fight with Michael and bitch about the humans, but you touch our little brother? You hurt our brother, my brother, and I’ll send your ass so far back into oblivion you’ll wish I had killed you. I’ll carve you a new fucking cage out of your own grace, you big bag of dicks!" It was just a split second of a moment, but Gabriel caught the flinch of panic that came over Lucifer’s face before he hid it behind the cocky mask once again. Letting a smirk grow on his lips as he got up in his brother’s face once more, the anger still burning bright in his eyes as he promised: “Brother. I spent centuries watching the beings of the world come up with new and creative ways to torture one another. I even invented some myself... Last time we met, I had no actual intention of hurting you. You were my brother and I loved you. But this time, Luci-this time you fucked up real bad. You went and did the one thing I just can’t accept. You went and did something we all know is forbidden. And what’s worse...” with a growl, he pressed his nose up against Lucifer’s. “you went after my kid!”

Lucifer laughed loudly, the sound grating as it didn’t sound like Castiel at all. “Oh, Gabriel, how little you know. Castiel accepted me. He gave his consent, of his own free will.” He made quotes around the words free will and shoved Gabriel away. “Your precious little ‘child’ said yes to me when my own Vessel refused. Castiel consented. And who am I to deny a consenting Vessel? He’s still here, with me, not even fighting me much. Only when his precious Dean was in danger.” He began circling around Gabriel like a predator, smirking. “You can ask him if you’d like. I’d allow that much.”

Gabriel’s frown deepened as he listened to Lucifer’s words. He wasn’t that surprised to hear that Castiel had consented to the possession, he’d gleaned that much from Sam’s mind. No, what surprised him was how little Lucifer cared for the angel he was possessing. Even last time, when he’d thought he’d killed Gabe, he had wept for his brother. Now, he was possessing another brother, an angel he’d helped raise, and he wasn’t even a little sorry about it.

“Luci, what the hell happened to you? You used to be the light once. You were the best of us all. Now, look at you. Your grace is black and oily and fucking disgusting, feels more like a demon than an angel, and you’re possessing Castiel’s vessel. CASTIEL, Luci! You raised him as much as I did. How can you do this to him? How can you wilfully crush our little bird?” He tried to look at Lucifer like the brother he’d once been, tried to get him to feel enough to let Castiel go of his own free will. But the creature that stood before him didn’t care. He knew that already. Yet, he still needed to know how the angel that has once shone the brightest of all could fall so low.

“Because none of you are my family anymore!” Lucifer roared. “Father lost that when he ordered me to Fall. Michael lost me when he threw me into the Cage after I grabbed Lilith and introduced Sin to mankind. You lost that in that shitty motel with your… your pagan friends- no, before that! You ceased to be my brother when you ran and hid from us. And Castiel lost that when he threw a molotov at Michael in Stull Cemetery not that long after I thought I killed you!” Castiel’s… no Lucifer’s chest heaved, “Didn’t any of you think of what the Cage does to an angel? It strips you of everything but your basic instinct to survive. It forces you to think like a villain- and if you can’t, it makes you insane. Why else do you think our older brother is still the Cage and not free? All he can do is sing show tunes and jack off like a disgusting hairless ape. I had to adapt. And with adaptation comes a whole new set of skills. Unfortunately, not all those skills are good and wholesome. The angel you knew is gone, Gabriel. He’s never coming back. Father forced him to be this way. Father wanted the Devil- why else do you think he gave me control of the Darkness’ prison in the first place? Because he knew that I would fail. ”

Gabriel looked at his brother as he ranted, his heart almost breaking for him. Almost. Because the asshole still had Castiel trapped inside his own vessel’s mind and that was just unforgivable, no matter how much life and your family had gone and screwed you over.

“You know what, Luci? I almost feel bad for you. Yeah, you got screwed over. Yeah, that sucks. You go start as many apocalypses as you want and throw your fucking temper tantrums and maybe daddy will come back just to scold you for it. But you know what?” Letting his wings flare out behind him and his sword glide into his hand, Gabriel lowered his voice into a threatening tone, “Dragging Castiel into this? That’s the last straw. That, my brother, is what’s going to end you”

Lucifer laughed. “Oh, Gabriel, so scary,” he mocked. “Here’s the thing though. You kill me with your special angel stick,” he pointed to the archangel blade casually, “you kill your baby brother. And I don’t think you want that, do you? It seems to me that I win... again. So tell me how exactly you plan on doing this. Because I am curious.” He cocked his head sideways like a puppy and smirked. “Remember, I taught you everything you know about tricks. And after being in the Cage for millennia? I’ve learned a few more. Not to mention that my Vessel is not all what he seems, oh no.” His smirk grew into a malicious smile. “So, if you’re prepared to die- again. Come at me. I promise I won’t damage you - much.”

Heaving a sigh, Gabriel let his shoulders relax as he pretended that he hadn’t thought of that before coming here. Lucifer had taught him every trick, that was true, which was why Gabriel was about to do something that his big brother would never expect of him. Without warning, Gabriel reached up and grabbed the sides of Lucifer’s face, smashing their lips together in what could be seen as a kiss but that wasn’t Gabriel’s intent. Taking advantage of the surprise, he pushed every ounce of his grace into the already crowded vessel, praying to his Father for guidance and that what he was doing wouldn’t kill them all.

.oOo.

Blinking with eyes he hadn’t used in millennia, Gabriel looked around at the blackened landscape surrounding him. The sound of thunder echoing over his head and the only illumination from peels of lightning in the sky. “Castiel?” he whispered as he looked around. At first, he heard nothing, so he called out again. This time a small sound reached him. A child’s voice calling his name a short distance away. With another flash of lightning, he saw Castiel standing a few feet away, but this wasn’t the Castiel he remembered from the warehouse. This being was smaller… covered in filth with wings that looked as if they’d been plucked and then haphazardly had their feathers glued back on. Gabriel ran toward the child and fell to his knees in front of him, “Castiel, oh Father help me.” he breathed. Castiel looked up to Gabriel, scared blue eyes meeting the archangel’s golden ones. “Ga’riel. I’m scared.”

“Castiel!” Lucifer called, looking for the child-like fledgling. “Where are you, Castiel? We were just getting started!”

Castiel looked behind him in the direction of Lucifer’s voice, his little bedraggled wings quaking in fear. “Don’ let ‘im get me,” he whispered harshly.

Gabriel scooped him up into his arms and held him close. His large golden wings wrapped around the smaller angel protectively. “I won’t, Nugget. You just hold on to me and I’ll take care of Lucifer,” he whispered quietly into Castiel’s ear, “Now I want you to be very brave and think about Lucifer going away. Far away. Focus every ounce of your grace on that, okay? Can you do that?”

Castiel buried his face into Gabriel’s shirt, nodding as he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Gabriel’s words. “Yes, Ga’riel.”

“Okay, here we go,” Gabriel took a deep breath and in a voice that echoed in Castiel’s mind, he began a recitation he’d never imagined he would ever need. “Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco, Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco, Aborro te ut, Angelum omnium obsequendum, Domine expuet, Domine expuet, Deum adempiremus veritas”

Lucifer cringed as the chant took place, glaring at his brother. “Traitor, ” he hissed before he was expelled from the Vessel that his baby brother was occupying and ending up in his True Form. Looking around, he groaned. Now he was without a Vessel and needed one. But he felt... powerless? What words did Gabriel utter?? Or was there something more sinister at play?

.oOo.

A flash of light brighter than the sun nearly blinded Gabriel, but he clamped his eyes shut and waited for the darkness to come again. Opening his eyes he looked at the ancient child in his arms. “Castiel, are you okay?”

Castiel let out a choked sob as he clutched onto Gabriel. “I only wanted to help.”

Gabriel’s heart broke at the sound of his brother crying against him. “It’s okay, Cassie. You were a big help and very brave. I’m so proud of you. You helped me make Lucifer go home.” Leaning back so he could carefully pry Castiel away from him his collar, he wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Can you continue to be brave for me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said in a small, watery voice, “I’ll be brave.”

“That’s my angel.” Gabriel smiled at him while sitting him on the ground at his feet. “I’m going to leave your vessel because it’s bad for both of us to be here, but I’m going to take you someplace safe so you can rest.”

Castiel looked like he was going to protest but then his mouth set in a hard line that spoke volumes about his true age. Nodding he took a step back from Gabriel, his wings drooping to the ground. “Okay.”

Gabriel ran his hand over the top of Castiel’s head, using a touch of his grace to clean the grime of Lucifer’s possession from him. The sky around them lightened with each passing moment that the Devil was gone. “I love you, Castiel and I promise to make this right,” he promised and with a reluctant sigh, disappeared from the seraph’s mind. Once he’s back in his own vessel, he pulled back from the ‘kiss’ with Castiel’s vessel and let his brother’s limp body fall into his arms, saying, “Hold on, baby bro. I’ll take care of you.” Opening his wings, Gabriel flew to one of the warded homes he’d kept over the years. Landing in the master bedroom, Gabriel changed Castiel into a pair of silk pajamas with a snap of his fingers. Taking a moment as he tucked the covers up around the Angel’s shoulders to gather his thoughts and plan out his next step. On one hand, he needed to find Lucifer and put an end to this farce. On the other hand, he needed to keep Castiel safe. Bending down, he kissed Castiel on the forehead and for the first time since he left Heaven, he knelt at the bedside and prayed to his Father, hoping that he’d be heard.

“Father, I know I’ve not spoken to you in a very long time and I don’t deserve your mercy. But please help me. Guide me as you once did so that I know which is the right path. I can’t do this alone.” he pleaded as he bowed his head until it touched the bed with his hands clasped behind his neck. “Mea Culpa. Mea Maxima Culpa,” he whispered to the air.

.oOo.

Dean had been wandering the halls of the bunker while Sam rested after having his soul ‘bad touched’ by Lucifer. What Gabriel had so bluntly said to him wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought himself since finding out that about the Devil’s possession. It just confirmed his own thoughts. He’d been a terrible friend and if he had to do it all over again, he’d change that. Hell, if he was given another chance with Castiel alive and well, he’d make it his mission to make the angel feel like a real part of the family.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an ungodly howl of rage from the dungeon. Grabbing the gun he seemed to always keep in his waistband, he charged down the halls until he reached the entrance. Stopping in his tracks, he’s confronted with the sight of a boy no older than 12 years. A child he’d never seen before, throwing themselves at the invisible barrier created by the Devil’s trap. “What the hell?” he whispered to himself as he took a cautious step inside.

The kid stopped their tantrum-like behavior and grinned maliciously at Dean. The kind of smile the hunter had not witnessed since Lilith. “I should have known,” the boy seethed, “I’ll tear Gabriel apart for this. I swear I’ll kill that traitorous runaway.” He stopped in his tracks and stared at Dean with a finger pointing to the ceiling, “There’s no way you’d be smart enough to do this.”

Dean glanced up to see that the usual symbols had been changed if only slightly with glyphs he didn’t recognize. Looking back to the boy, he finally recognized the look of disdain on his face. “Lucifer,” he said.

“Good for you, Ape. Want a banana for the effort?” Lucifer huffed as he turned his back on Dean to study the symbols etched into the walls. “Have to figure out how he weakened me,” he grumbled.

Dean’s heart leaped into his throat when he heard Lucifer admit that he was weakened. At that moment, vengeance caught hold of Dean, making him discard his gun in favor of the Angel Blade they’d left on the table from when Crowley had been their prisoner. With blade in hand, he threw it across the room, catching Lucifer unaware. “Hey, douche-wad! How big are you now?” Dean shouted as the weapon sunk deep into Lucifer’s back, piercing his heart.

Lucifer felt the blade pierce his chest and looked down in shock, touching the tip. Looks like Mikey killed me after all, was his final thought. Then with a gasp, the room filled bright light as his Grace shattered into oblivion; killed by his older brother’s True Vessel.

.oOo.

Gabriel stayed kneeling beside Castiel’s bed, trying to gently coax his brother’s grace to heal with touches from his own. “Come on, Little Bird,” he murmured as he worked. “It’s safe now. Gabriel’s here and I need you to come back. Please, Castiel.”

He was about to send another wave of grace deeper into Castiel, maybe even try to enter his vessel again to try and coax him out, when he heard his doorbell ring out the opening bars to Stairway to Heaven. Confused at who or what would know the house was here, let alone have the balls to ring the bell, he rolled up to his feet to go find out.

Opening the door with a jerk, he looked around ready to tear a new one into any girl scout he might find on his stoop. When he didn’t see anyone, he let out a sigh and promised himself to hunt down the culprit later. He was about to close the door when he heard a small coo from the rose bush beside the door. A rose bush that had not been there before and was blooming blood-red flowers. Letting his blade slip into his palm, he approaches the bush and pushed the branches of the bush aside. Nestled underneath was a basket, woven from reeds in a style he’d not seen since Moses. “What in the world?” Gabriel mumbled as he knelt down and drew the basket out of the garden. Sitting it beside him, he opened the pitch covered lid and gasped at what he saw inside. A baby. No, not a baby. A fledgling with wings in the shades of the rose-colored dawn. The fledgling looked up at Gabriel with a toothless grin and waved a piece of parchment at him. Reaching out, he took the letter from the baby and read.

Gabriel-

This fledgling is in your’s and Castiel’s hands now. It’s your fallen brother, Lucifer, whom everyone, myself included, wronged. This was never meant to be the plan, but it’s the way that it turned out, and for that, I am sorry. We all should’ve seen the warning signs, and I should’ve done something different with Amara. I thought that our Morning Star, the brightest of our Host, would be able to handle it. I was wrong. We all were.

Lucifer died shortly after you banished him from Castiel’s Vessel, but I offered to bring him back- but he’d have to start all over again. He accepted.

All Lucifer ever wanted was a chance at redemption, but we denied him that right- until now. You are the best choice at raising him, as Michael is still in the Cage and Raphael is no more. I believe that with Castiel’s help and the Winchesters’, we can regain our Morning Star once more.

Please, show him the kindness and compassion he once had.

Father.

“Lucifer?” he breathed out in disbelief as his eyes wandered back to the fledgling. Little Lucifer reached up with chubby hands that opened and clenched in a clear signal that he wanted to be picked up. Tucking the letter back into the basket, Gabriel lifted him out of the makeshift nest and held him to his chest. His wings automatically unfolding to wrap around them in a protective gesture. Lucifer’s eyes lit up with joy at the sight. His hand instantly reaching out to grab one of Gabriel’s feathers to stuff into his mouth. Smiling, Gabriel smoothed his hand over the fuzz on top of the baby’s head. “I think I’m going to call you Lulu. Cas didn’t seem to mind his nicknames and maybe it’ll keep you from taking yourself so seriously.” Standing up, he took the new bundle in the house to meet his sleeping brother.

.oOo.

Days later, when Castiel wouldn’t speak except to ask for Dean, Gabriel went to get the Winchesters. After an hour of arguing and explaining with little Lulu strapped in a sling around his chest, they finally agreed to come to Gabriel’s house. On the third day since their arrival, Dean’s was taking his turn spending time with Castiel, trying to coax the Angel out of his protective shell. Gabriel took advantage of the time to rest his grace and get some quality time with Lucifer.

Once again wearing the wrap sling with Lucifer tucked safely inside with only his head poking out, Gabriel found Sam sitting on the back porch watching the sunset. “Hey Kiddo, you look like someone who’s thinking too hard. What’s on your mind?” he sat next to the youngest Winchester. Lucifer whined and turned in his sling to nuzzle his face more into Gabriel’s chest, yawning softly, his wings fluffing up in contentment.

Sam shrugged as he glanced warily at the infant in Gabriel’s arms. “I was just thinking about what to do next. Amara’s still out there even though we haven’t heard anything from or about her since all this went down with you and Lucifer. I guess I just worry that something is going to come down on us and without help, we won’t make it out of this one.

Lucifer turned at the sound of his name, opening bright blue eyes to look at the hunter before hiding himself behind his still visible wings shyly with a squeak. Gabriel lifts Lucifer out of the sling and cradles him against his shoulder. His hand gently petting over his wings as he silently watched the sun sink below the horizon. What could he say? Don’t worry, it’ll all work out in the end? He just couldn’t say something like that right now. At least out loud. Everything seemed so chaotic at the moment.

“So.” Sam asks tentatively. “You going to stick around and help with Amara?”

Gabriel took a deep breath and turned to look at Sam. Nodding solemnly he answered softly so as not to startle the baby. “Dammit, I knew you were gonna be my death one day, Winchester!” he paused to consider his answer. Yeah, I’ll help. I’m no Luci, though, but I’ll do what I can,” he stopped to place a gentle kiss to the side of Lulu’s head while his mind whirled a mile a minute.

Lucifer contributed to the conversation by biting down on one of Gabriel’s invisible, golden feather and nuzzling more into Gabriel’s shoulder. “ Esiasacahe” he mumbled.

Sam reached over to pat Gabriel on the knee. A fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. You’re better”

“ Esiasacahe! ” Lucifer pouted and gently, but firmly pulled on a feather.

“I heard you the first time, Lulu.” Gabriel winced at the pain from the pull.

Sam looked unashamedly at Lucifer for the first time since his arrival, asking, “What did he say?”

“Brother,” Gabriel said with a small smile as he turned the infant around to face Sam. “He said ‘brother’.”

“ Esiasacahe, ” Lucifer purred happily. He pointed at Sam importantly. “ Zizop (Vessel)! ”

#My Writing #Supernatural #Fanfiction #spn fanfic #Lucifer #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Gabriel

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javocjovian · 5 years

Text

Fully Loaded, SPN Bingo

Title: Fully Loaded Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444402/chapters/41228144 Square Filled: Breeding Kink Ship: Sabriel Rating: E Tags: BDSM, Heavy Bondage, Gags, Multiple Orgasms, and a whole lotta cum Summary: Gabriel finds out that Sam wants to be bred. Mindless Sabriel smut ensues. Word Count: 3541

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Quote:

“Can you take one more, baby?”

“Yes...” Sam groaned.

Gabriel loved that. Sam was so wrecked, so completely undone and overwhelmed with pleasure, yet he always answered Gabriel. And he always answered yes.

Fully Loaded

Everyone knew that Gabriel’s appetites were insatiable. He wasn’t shy about it. Often times it took several partners at once to quench his thirsts, and he’d often go for days at a time. Sure, having a stable partner would be nice, but it wasn’t for him. It was impossible really. What single human could satisfy eons of want? Harems of boundless, imperishable energy? In other words: an Archangel?

Sam Winchester. The answer was Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester was everything Gabriel thought didn’t exist, no, couldn’t exist, in a human. He discovered this when Sam prayed to him out of the blue. He’d heard Sam’s voice through the endless drones of countless prayers in his head that Gabriel had on auto-block. For some reason, Sam’s voice got through to him. It intrigued him. It was rough, desperate, possibly wounded. Gabriel decided to investigate from afar and slipped invisibly into Sam’s motel room. Sam wasn’t alone, or injured.

Gabriel found Sam having his way with two girls at once, the evidence of hours of debauchery displayed around them. And Sam… Sam was thinking of Gabriel while he came. All three times. His thoughts were so depraved and endless that even Gabriel was impressed.

It seemed that Sam was more than pretty looks, plaid, and stupidly unwavering determination. He had a secret need he kept bottled up in his daily life, and Gabriel was determined to free it.

Gabriel decided to reconsider his policy on stable partners, and dropped in on Sam while he was alone. The following few months were the best of Gabriel’s, and Sam’s, life. Their love affair seemed to defy both body and mind. They were so deep in each other that they didn’t know how they’d gone so long without it.

Sam was the sensible one on a hunt; the responsible, level-headed, figurative angel on Dean’s shoulder. With Gabriel, Sam was a slut. Gabriel could get Sam to shout, to beg and plea, to absolutely moan on Gabriel’s cock. And even though Gabriel had dominated Sam a million different ways, Sam was always ready to take it again and again. Gabriel loved getting Sam riled up in public, then whisking him away and making him come over and over again. Sam loved being filled up with Gabriel’s cum. Sam’s stamina, his body, his voice, it was all Gabriel’s, and it satisfied a need that neither realized that had.

One night, something slipped out while Sam was being fucked. He’d said the magic words that ignited a spark of lust so deep in Gabriel that he pulled out and changed tactics immediately.

Sam wanted Gabriel to breed him.

A minute later, Gabriel had magicked Sam’s room into a virtual BDSM dungeon. Even though Sam had seen this trick before, and even though he’d just been having his hole stretched by archangel cock, the gesture triggered a jolt of arousal that was shockingly new, and mind-numbingly deep. Sam was speechless. He would have fallen on his knees even if Gabriel hadn’t put him there. Gabriel was immensely pleased by Sam’s reaction. Once Sam broke into a breathless smile, Gabriel began binding him.

Sam was on his knees facing a short, leather cube. Gabriel strolled around Sam, tracing his fingers over Sam’s broad, bare shoulders, “You should have said something sooner, Sam.” Gabriel said, a wicked smile lifting his pointed face. When he was behind Sam, he put a leather collar around his neck. Sam tilted his head anxiously as Gabriel pulled his hair out of the collar.

“I’ve been wanting to breed you for years.” Gabriel whispered against Sam’s ear, then pushed Sam’s head down onto the seat, “You’re the perfect specimen.” His eyes raked over Sam’s bent body.

Sam huffed a nervous, but pleased laugh.

Gabriel attached the collar to the seat so Sam could barely lift his head, and definitely couldn’t look behind him. He did the same to Sam’s wrists, so his hands where on either side his face and he couldn’t lower his arms. Gabriel was happy to see Sam’s back rising and falling with each shallow breath. Gabriel kicked Sam’s knees apart, then bound those, too. Sam couldn’t speak.

“You know, archangels aren’t like other angels. We’re hard wired with the need to... progress our kind. Yet...” Gabriel sighed, “As with all of dad’s creations, their deepest, most instinctual drives are the ones most forbidden. Kind of a double-bind, huh?”

Sam gripped the seat as thick, leather restraints encased his thighs and ankles. Gabriel attached those restraints to rings on the floor, capturing Sam’s legs and holding them spread apart. Sam’s breath hitched.

“Oh my god, Gabriel.” He said as one word.

Gabriel smirked. He introduced one more prop to the scene: a ball gag. He raised his eyebrows at Sam.

Sam sometimes gave Gabriel a look that Dean referred to as ‘bitch-face’, but Gabriel better. It was a knowing, goading look that never failed to get Gabriel going, and it was look he gave Gabriel in that moment, despite being breathless with want. Gabriel grinned and opened Sam’s mouth. Sam rested his chin on the seat obediently while Gabriel placed the gag into his mouth. He smoothed his thumb up Sam’s tongue, because he could, then popped his fingers out and tied the strap around his head.

“Luckily...” Gabriel bent down to murmur in Sam’s ear, “This vessel can’t really knock you up.” He smoothed Sam’s hair behind his ear for him, “But dad help me, I’m going to try... all night long.” He said with relish. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed. Gabriel touched Sam’s forehead, making sure he could still check in with him telepathically, and he felt Sam’s lust roaring at him. Oh yeah, Sam was ready for this. Gabriel walked back around Sam and out of view.

Since Gabriel had just been fucking him, Sam’s ass was already wet and nicely stretched. Sam curious testing of his bonds proved his inability to move. Still, he jumped when he felt Gabriel’s cock teasing his spread entrance and his restraints answered him with resounding denial. It gave Sam a submissive high and his breathing slowed. All of his senses amplified. Gabriel slowly pressed back into Sam and Sam moaned into his gag. Gabriel let out a sigh as his cock sank deeper than ever in that spread, arched position Gabriel’s shape filled Sam so perfectly. Sam’s stomach dropped, feeling so full of archangel cock already. Gabriel rubbed his palms over the forced arch in Sam’s spine, then around the V shape of his hips and lower stomach. Sam’s muscles jumped again, giving Gabriel’s cock a pleasant twitch.

“Oh Sam...” Gabriel smirked, “You feel so good like this.” He pressed his hips against Sam’s ass, rubbing him teasingly, “I’m gonna come right here. So deep in your body that you’re going to be leaking for days. Is that what you want?”

Sam was already panting around the gag. His body spoke for him. He spread his legs what little he could and buried his head in the seat, elongating himself like he knew Gabriel liked. Gabriel smirked. He pulled out a little, than sank back in deep. Sam groaned.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” Gabriel goaded him, running his fingers over Sam’s firm, muscular stomach, “You want to be filled up so bad. You want me to breed you full of nephilims…”

Sam moaned in consent, dipping his hips in the hopes of getting some stimulation to his cock. He was already heady, desperate. Gabriel gave him another deep thrust, making Sam moan again.

“There you go. Feel it Sam.” Gabriel raked his nails down Sam’s back, making him shiver and buck.

Gabriel reared up and, in the next second, resumed his abuse of Sam’s hole. He thrust slow, but once Sam realized he wasn’t stopping again, he shivered and moaned. Gabriel kept teasing Sam’s vulnerable, exposed back and stomach while he fucked him.

“You’re still so tight, Sam. Even after Chicago. I’m going to have to keep breeding you until your ass remembers me.” Gabriel pumped into him at a steady pace.

Sam writhed uselessly in his bonds. Somehow, this felt different; different from all the other wild nights spent being fucked by Gabriel over and over again; Even different from that long weekend in Chicago where Sam was tied to the bed for four days straight, Gabriel replenishing his needs by angel grace. This felt deeper, more raw, and so deliciously violating. Sam groaned through his gag in ecstasy as Gabriel fucked him senseless.

Gabriel groaned in pleasure as he had his way with Sam, smiling breathlessly. “Should’ve known, Sam.” He panted, “You always love it when I come in your ass. You’re addicted to the stuff, aren’t you? My Archangel ‘grace’...” He grinned, “Should’ve known you really wanted me to put nephilims in you.” Gabriel could already feel himself leaking in Sam’s ass.

Sam groaned and trembled in approval. He could feel the lube from earlier being replenished by Gabriel’s precum, and it made him dizzy in arousal.

“I’m gonna plug you after this, Sam. Gonna keep all that cum in you. Then I’m gonna fill you again.” Gabriel gave him a particularly deep thrust, “And again.” Another thrust, “Want to see how much of me you can hold.”

Sam’s legs trembled. His position suddenly felt that much more exposing. Gabriel had put him in the perfect position to let load after load of his cum fill Sam’s ass.

“How long do you think it’ll take before you overflow?” Gabriel seemed to be reading his mind, “Six, maybe seven times?”

Sam made an incoherent noise.

“You’re right. Let’s try eight.” Gabriel teased, “Should only take a few hours.”

Sam’s whole body was rolling in wave after wave of pleasure, each one punctuated and spurred on by Gabriel’s thrusts and taunts. Then Gabriel found Sam’s sweet spot and Sam clenched around him, his feet scraping the floor. Gabriel loved it when Sam did that, so he kept rubbing his cock over the spot, making Sam thrash and moan for more. Sam’s hips were trying to buck, wanting to ride Gabriel’s dick and get some friction on his own, but Gabriel was only concerned with his own pleasure, and it made Sam feel so perfectly used. He was only there to be bred by Gabriel. Sam groaned in submissive ecstasy, clenching uncontrollably every time Gabriel hit that spot. Gabriel was going to come while he used Sam like a sex toy.

Sure enough, Gabriel groaned hotly and his cock throbbed in Sam’s ass. Gabriel’s hips shuddered to a halt, pressing hard against Sam’s ass. Sam felt Gabriel’s cum seep into him deeper than it ever had, and Sam gasped a moan around the gag. Gabriel tilted his head back, thrusting lazily through his pleasure.

“Yeah, Sammy. You love this.” Gabriel breathed. He came a lot, more so than usual anyway. Sam wondered if he was doing it on purpose. Gabriel answered his question unconsciously, “I want your belly full, Sam. I want you pregnant. You’re gunna look so gorgeous.”

Sam bit back a whimper. He’d never been so turned on his life.

Gabriel didn’t pull out when he was finished. He readjusted his stance, as if getting comfortable buried in Sam’s ass, then began feeling Sam over again.

“Hmm.” He purred, “One down. Ready for more?”

Sam nodded weakly, his body vibrating in arousal.

“’Atta boy.” Gabriel squeezed his ass. He felt around Sam’s front and traced his fingers along Sam’s impressive human cock. Sam shook and moaned. Gabriel grinned. He dabbed his thumb at Sam’s leaking tip, then brought the substance to his lips and licked it. Sam was sweeter than candy. Gabriel sucked it off his thumb, letting Sam hear it.

That was all the attention he gave Sam’s cock for another two rounds. Gabriel kept fucking and coming, fucking and coming. At one point he pulled out to get Sam some water, and he really did plug him. By that point Sam was already feeling full, and the plug just made it all the more staggering.

Sam was doing so well that Gabriel decided to let Sam come the next time. Sam was more than okay with this, but the prospect of it ended up making everything even more intense. Sam was tearing up and sputtering around his gag as Gabriel worked his prostate like a pro, rubbing and gliding into it with every thrust. When he reached around to tease Sam’s cock, Sam clenched up so hard that Gabriel lost his breath and shivered.

“Oh, Sammy.” Gabriel panted, “Keep doing that and I’ll make you come every time.”

Sam groaned. He couldn’t control it, but he gave it his best shot. Gabriel kept swirling his thumb around his head and making Sam buck. Then he finally gripped his cock and gave Sam a genuine stroke. Sam shouted in pleasure, his ball gag vibrating, and clenched down again. Hew was going to come already. Gabriel smirked knowingly. He gave him a few more lazy strokes and then was Sam coming all over the floor. His whole body seized up and toppled over the edge with help from a few more jabs to his prostate. The feeling of Sam clenching around Gabriel, so full with three rounds of cum, had Gabriel coming for a fourth time. It seeped out around Gabriel’s cock and dribbled down Sam’s inner thighs. The sensation paired with Sam’s orgasm made Sam go limp. The pleasure from his orgasm sparked through him a few more times, then Gabriel was leaning over his back and kissing him. He scooped a hand under Sam’s chin, feeling his spread lips. He checked in with him telepathically again and, to his surprise, Sam wanted him to keep going.

So he kept going.

Gabriel fucked Sam through his post orgasm high, until he reached that point of hypersensitivity that made Sam shiver. He whined and whimpered, but he still didn’t want Gabriel to stop.

“Mm, Sam.” Gabriel purred approvingly, “You’re even more twisted than I thought. Can’t get enough of my cock, can you?”

Sam nodded desperately, sparks of pleasured pain wrecking him with every thrust. He was so full that Gabriel’s thrusts felt like he was fucking the cum deeper into his body.

Gabriel loved it. How was Sam so perfect? So defiant yet so submissive? Gabriel came for a fifth time, his cum now leaking out around Gabriel’s balls in earnest, “I don’t think we’re going to reach eight, Sammy.” He said honestly, groping Sam’s cum coated balls, “But I have an idea.”

Sam liked the sound of that, even if he was leaning entirely on the seat and looking like he’d just lost a fight to pack of werewolves.

Gabriel decided to treat Sam to his second orgasm of the night. He gave Sam a little taste of Archangel grace, through his cock of course, and Sam felt himself rejuvenate, so to speak. He realized then what Gabriel was about to do. Gabriel pulled out of Sam, but he didn’t plug him again. He got down on his knees.

Sam blindly felt Gabriel’s tongue lick up his spread hole, catching some of the cum that was seeping out. Sam’s cock twitched. He loved with Gabriel rimmed him. Gabriel’s tongue was pure sin. Gabriel reached between Sam’s legs and played with his balls, massaging Gabriel’s cum into them. He scooped up some of that cum and used it as lube to jerk Sam off. Sam groaned. Gabriel even nudged some of the cum into Sam’s cock with his finger. It didn’t really work, but the effort of trying to fill Sam there, too, made Sam moan desperately.

Gabriel’s tongue swirled and sucked as he made out with Sam’s hole, letting himself get nice and messy. Sam could picture it well enough, and it made his balls tighten. Gabriel slid a finger into Sam while he rimmed him, and began massaging the cum into Sam’s prostate. Sam bucked and gasped. Within seconds, Sam was coming again. He moaned hotly, loving that Gabriel kept going until Sam went numb. He lay gripping the seat, relying entirely on his bondage to keep his trembling ass up for Gabriel to abuse. Gabriel knew he’d broken him right then and there.

Gabriel scooped up some of Sam’s cum and added that to the lube in Sam’s ass. Then he was standing up once more and breeding him again. Gabriel got well passed eight, making a pool of cum at the floor between Sam’s legs. When he sensed Sam had gone completely submissive, he freed his collar and wrist restraints from the leather seat, then removed his gag. He pulled Sam up so he could rest his back against Gabriel’s chest as he fucked him. Sam stayed exactly where Gabriel put him. Gabriel held him up by the collar and kissed him, letting Sam taste their cum combined on Gabriel’s tongue. Some of it seeped out the side of Sam’s mouth.

Gabriel got to orgasm number twelve before he finally began feeling the effects of losing so much bodily fluid. One more time ought to do it.

“Can you take one more, baby?”

“Yes...” Sam groaned.

Gabriel loved that. Sam was so wrecked, so completely undone and overwhelmed with pleasure, yet he always answered Gabriel. And he always answered yes.

Gabriel fucked him one more time, whispering words of encouragement into Sam’s ear, “You’re so full Sam. I’ve got you right where I want you. So full of my cum. So well bred and well fucked. I want you to wear a plug from now on so I can keep you full of my cum. So I know that where ever you are, under all those clothes, you’re still being bred by me. Over and over again. Want you to masturbate full of my cum, let it seep into you. Wanna see you pregnant, baby.”

That was it for Sam. His cock throbbed and he came once more, without Archangel assistance, without Gabriel even touching his cock. Gabriel prided himself on being able to do that. Gabriel had a hand on Sam’s belly and one on his collar, and he kept muttering into his ear. Gabriel came after him, bucking up into Sam’s body and filling him with one last, plentiful load of cum.

Gabriel held Sam against him, spooning him and soothing him through Sam’s body-wrecking orgasm. Gabriel reached down and stroked the last few drops out of his cock while, true to his word, he plugged him again. Sam barely felt it, but he knew what Gabriel was doing. He felt one last surge of white hot pleasure, then he felt his body give out.

Gabriel carefully undid Sam’s messy bindings. When he sensed Sam wasn’t going to be able to stand, he scooped him into his arms. Gabriel was a full head shorter than Sam, but with his grace he could lift Sam as easily as a feather. By the time Gabriel was lowering Sam down, his bedroom had been transformed back to normal. Gabriel lovingly left the pool of cum, however. He couldn’t possibly take down that work of art. Not yet.

Gabriel slid into bed with Sam, miraculously clean. He kissed Sam, worshiping his body as Sam worked through his submissive haze. Gabriel knew Sam had returned to him when he shifted his hips, feeling his plug. Sam got a little jolt up his spine. He opened his eyes at Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled, “You were great, Sammy.” He nuzzled him affectionately.

Sam smiled and got comfortable in Gabriel's arms.

Gabriel kissed his temple, “So… what do you want to name all our kids?”

Sam laughed. He voice was raspier than normal. He pulled the covers up and put his arms around Gabriel, “Well… we gotta name at least two after my parents. Because you know Dean will pick something ridiculous like Led Zeppelin or Green Arrow.”

Gabriel chuckled.

“You can pick the rest.” Sam said. He honestly didn’t care.. Gabriel could have gotten him to agree to anything in that moment.

Gabriel seemed to sense that, because he starting looking around the room and reciting off the first things he saw, ending with, “...Jacket, and Doorknob.”

Sam laughed and threw a pillow onto Gabriel’s face, “You forgot Cum Puddle.”

“Sticky Nut Juice.”

Sam grinned, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that?”

Gabriel propped himself up on the pillow happily, “Oh, that’s staying. I’m going to build a memorial plaque. Years from now, future Men and Women of Letters will see it and know that Sam Winchester got the best lay of his life right here.” Gabriel sighed fondly.

Sam shook his head in amusement, “Well, the last part’s true.” He said.

Gabriel grinned at him.

“How many kids are we having?” Sam asked lazily.

“A hundred.”

Sam looked at him, “I thought it was twelve?”

Gabriel gave him a flirtatious look, “Just planning ahead, babe. Why don’t you get some sleep? You’re going to need it.” He winked at him.

Sam huffed a laugh but, like always, he did as his dom said. He put his head down on Gabriel’s chest and Gabriel played with his hair while Sam caught up on some desperately needed sleep.

#spnkinkbingo #sabriel #gabriel #gabriel supernatural #Gabriel spn #archangel gabriel #archangel #SamWinchester #Sam Winchester #archive of our own #my writing #sticky nut juice

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 6 years

Text

GABRIEL JOINS TEAM-FREE-WILL

"Sam!" Dean yelled out, as the vampire advanced towards a passed-out Sam, lying in a heap on the stone cold floor, hoping it would trigger a response. "Hey! Sammy!"

If Dean's yelling at the top of his lungs had produced more effect than making the vampire turn, and snarl at Dean baring his fangs - more as in caused Sam to wake up with a jolt and seize the silver knife and cut down the vampire's head with it - what happened then would not have happened. But it did.

"Hi." Came an unexpectedly calm voice, and with a loud swoosh of wings - one learns the difference between wings and wind after the first million times an angel flies in front of you - a figure materialised, in front of Sam, almost like a shield. Before Dean could process how an angel had come to their aid - because Cas was getting the victims home and no way was he back so soon - the man had sliced through the neck of the Alpha Vampire, who was headed towards Sam, with a flourish of his blade. "Merry Christmas." He spoke, his eyes turned to Dean, in a voice way too cheerful for someone who'd just killed a vampire.

The man's eyes shone with a twinkle in the poorly-lit room, and Dean ran his eyes down the short guy, sporting a smug, self-satisfied half-smirk as he stood in the middle of the room; golden eyes with tints of orient, brown jacket too big for him, and silver blade in hand. "Archangel," Dean recognised, and forced a smile on his face for the man who'd just saved his brother's life. "Gabriel."

"Random hunter," the shorter man grinned back, imitating Dean. "Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut, observing, as Gabriel kneeled down next to Sam, and touched Sam's forehead with two fingers.

Sam shivered, and his eyes widened open, jaw dropped as he gasped for breath. "Agh!?" He let out, as he struggled to get to his feet.

"Agh to you too, Sleeping Beauty." Gabriel straightened, and Sam too stood up in a second.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed, having to look down at Gabriel.

"Saving your gorgeous ass, duh." Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly. "Even platypuses learn stuff faster than you. I healed you, by the way. The cracked ribs are okay now, and how about you go see a doctor next time when you begin to feel pain in your ches-" he noticed the glares Sam was shooting at him, "Oh, Dean didn't know? Of course! You guys seriously do not share enough stuff for the codependent relationship you have. One would think that when you live with a..." He droned on, in his highly-intelligent voice he reserved for, everyone.

Sam sighed, tuning him out, since Dean was now shooting daggers at him with wide eyes. "Thanks for saving my life, jerk." He muttered.

"You're welcome, Samsquatch." Gabriel said instantly, continuing with his lecture. "As I was saying, you must be more sharing as huma-"

***

"He wants to what!?" Dean thundered.

Castiel sheepishly bit his lip. "It's what he said. I didn't know what to tell him, so I came to you."

"So, what!? He comes up to you and says, 'Hey, Cassidy' - I know he calls you Cassidy Cas, don't pretend like I am wrong - 'I wanna be a part of your-" Dean would've continued ranting to his best friend, expressing his anger at Gabriel through rudeness and loudness which was wasted on Castiel, who knew Dean too well to get irked up at the yelling.

"I could hear you through my headphones in my bedroom, at least fifty metres away." Sam entered the Bunker Kitchen, where Dean and Castiel had been basing their argument, with a mug in his hand, and got to filling his mug with coffee again. "Whatcha yelling about? Gabriel?"

"That jackass told Cas that he wanted to be a part of Team Free Will, since clearly, he, that is Cas, wasn't enough angel for our briga-" Dean began furiously.

"Gabriel wants to hunt with us?" Sam cut him off calmly. He knew Dean could get incredibly worked up if someone hinted that Castiel was inept, even his own brother - you know, angelically, Gabriel and Castiel are brothers - but the proposal sounded interesting. "Us 'mere mortals and seraphim'." He drew air-quotes.

"Yes." Castiel breathed out, with his usual unreadable expression. "He asked me how he could 'sign up'."

Dean rolled his eyes, slapping a hand to his forehead. "I'm not working with that-"

"Amazing appealing, athletic, adorable, Archangel." Completed Gabriel, entering the room casually, actually walking for a change.

"This is private. You can't just walk into the Bunker Kitchen in front of us when we're talking about something private." Sam informed Gabriel, because Dean was too busy turning red.

"You want me to fly here and stay invisible?" Gabriel propositioned, blinking and looking up at Sam through his eyelashes, innocently.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're none of the stuff you said, except the last one. Unfortunately."

"Hey, hey, hey, there's no need to get rude." Gabriel smiled crookedly. "Remember, I'm of the same brethren who can do this," He waved his hand in the air, and as per habit, Dean and Sam gulped to see if their throats were still working. "And stop your lungs from getting air by blocking off all air supply."

"See?" Dean pursed his lips, and almost complained to Castiel. "This is why i dont wanna work with him! He's always threatening to kill us!"

Gabriel feigned shock. "When did I ever!?"

Sam laughed, at the look of betrayal on his face, and noticed as Gabriel looked at him intently. He closed his mouth mid-laugh, suddenly conscious of the pair of dazzling golden eyes on him, and spoke in a more serious voice. "Listen. Gabriel, you actually wanna join us?"

"It's been my dream since, like, I don't know, forever!" Gabriel imitated a teenage fangirl who might've been asked to become the lead singer of One Direction.

Sam stifled another laugh. "Well, then, I'm sorry to disappoint you. We're not looking for more members."

Gabriel protruded his lower lip mutinously, looking like a kid who'd been denied lollipops. "But..I am the Archangel Gabriel."

Castiel nodded his head thoughtfully, turning to Dean. "He would be a pretty good addition.."

"I am not working with him!" Dean crossed his arms. "This is the guy who killed me hundreds of times in a time loop he created to torture Sam into learning to live without me."

"Hey, I know I seem like the type to be perfect but even I make bad decisions. At that moment, it seemed correct." Gabriel shrugged, and turned back to Sam. "And plus, Sam forgave me for it. He was the one who had to go through it. Why can't you?"

"Probably because I'm not Sam Forgives-everything-Good-to-everyone-Never-hate-anyone Winchester." Dean snapped back.

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean.

"What? Its true!" Dean defended.

Sam, encouraged by the insult, turned to Gabriel, with new determination to prove his brother wrong. He didn't forgive everything. He wasn't going to. "For your information, Gabriel, I haven't forgiven you." Steely expression, check.

Gabriel squinted. "Yes, you have. You're just saying that to prove Dean wrong."

Sam sighed, again. Of course, Gabriel could read his mind. He didn't even have to touch him for it. "Get out of my brain, Gabriel. As I was saying, we're not looking for members."

"But you're only three!" Gabriel protested.

"And that's enough." Dean growled back.

"Yes," Castiel added. "As Charlie put it," Castiel spoke almost proud of himself to be quoting the redhead whom he had absolutely come to admire, "Sam's the smart one. Dean's the sexy one. And I'm the nice one."

"There's so much wrong with that, but I'll point that out later." Gabriel replied cheerfully, making his eyebrows wiggle. "Fine, let's say that it is true. You got a smart one, a sexy one, a nice one. What about the genius immaculate delightful one?" He finger-gunned himself.

Sam rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. "I don't think we need one of those, Gabriel."

"Puh-lease," Gabriel smirked back. "You guys so totally need one of those. I mean, you do manage to save the World each time, but you die so many times in the way." He rolled his eyes casually.

"As if you don't," Sam retorted. "I mean, you've died almost as many times as..." He thought about it. "Almost half as many times as Castiel." His death count was the least of all of them. Dean was in the hundreds, Sam was well over 10.

"So I've got you believe." Gabriel reciprocated, tossing his head with a look of mystery.

Sam sighed, once again. "Look, Gabriel, if Dean doesn't wanna work with you, we can't do anything about it. We can't let you enter unless everyone is willing."

Dean still had his arms crossed against his chest. "I can't trust you. You're too strong."

"That's an advantage, dumbass." Gabriel said, suddenly serious, his eyes gleaming with authority. "You don't get it. I am far stronger than the rest of you. I can teleport you to the moon if required, faster than your angel can, even if he still had his wings. I can heal you all, angels even. For most monsters, my true form is enough to turn them to a pile of dust. I'm one of the four strongest beings of God's creation, and for the first time in aeons, I actually want to use my powers for the good of mankind. I can just go back to being the Trickster, or doing nothing at all but chilling on Netflix from Neptune with a planetful of magical girls and candies, but I actually want to do something notable. Like you guys. Prove myself to daddy- to God. An-"

"Dean." Sam turned to Dean, cutting Gabriel off. "I trust him." He spoke singularly.

Dean looked a lot less negative, and hesitated. "But, Sam.."

"I trust him too, Dean." Castiel added.

Dean smiled smally at Castiel. "He's telling the truth?" He questioned the angel. Castiel could tell when a man was lying, something told his angelic grace.

"I wouldn't know, physically," Castiel replied truthfully. It was an Archangel. He was just a Warrior angel of the garrison. "But I think so, yes."

Dean stared at Gabriel for a minute. Gabriel stared back, holding his gaze.

"Fine, you're i-"

"I knew you were not just beautiful with no brains." Gabriel grinned back, cutting him off. "Awesome, I'm one of you guys now! Cassidy, say the tagline in your growly-sex-voice now!" He commanded.

Castiel sighed, as Sam smiled. "Tagline?"

"Oh, you know, 'family business'-" Gabriel spoke in a voice octaves lower than his usual.

"Saving people, hunting things, the family business." Sam obliged instead. "Welcome to the team. You're family now."

"What now?" Gabriel grinned.

"Strippers and Ice Cream at Bob's?" Dean proposed.

"Hey, you officially hangout with me now." Gabriel cut him off. "That's a thing of the past. We're going for champagne and French food I'll pay you ten bucks to pronounce correctly. So tell me, guys, any of you got any special preferences? On a cloud? Dinosaur era? Mariana Trench?"

"Show-off," Sam muttered under his breath, as Gabriel blissfully ignored him and continued listing stuff which had Dean almost sing in pleasure.

"Or we could go visit the first Oper- oh, I almost forgot. Here's my contract. Sign under your names, boys, on the first and last pages." Gabriel produced a lengthy paper document out of air. "You don't need it. It's just got stuff saying how you agree to accept me as your boss, and how you'll all get matching tattoos of my nam-"

"Gabriel!"

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evdarcy · 3 years

Text

An Unusual Hero C5S1

Please remember, this is unedited and unfinished, but will hopefully fill in the holes that were left and answer some questions without leaving too many others. HOWEVER I will answer all and any questions if you want to leave me a comment.

Next update - Friday 23/04/2021

Luc watched the asphalt disappear as the road fell away beneath them. Each mile they drove from the City of Sin made him relax further into his seat.

It was madness. Everything was so far off the radar of reality it was hard to believe. It was like he was in one of his earlier action films, the dialogue had been just as bad, the explosives as severe, and the bad guys from an unidentifiable foreign nation, but there hadn’t been a prop gun in sight.

Maybe someone had slipped something into his drink while he’d been partying and this was all a dream. Yes, that was it, his drink had been spiked and this was a drug-induced nightmare.

He would wake up shortly and find Linda standing over him, would feel her hands on him either to try and arouse him or to hurt him—he couldn’t remember which was worse. Just knew he’d rather today be real than go through either of those scenarios again.

He knocked his head against the passenger window as he leaned against it and stared out at the passing landscape. God, he was a dick for thinking such a thing, but he just couldn’t go through another day in Linda’s presence.

He stared up at the sky as Sarah kept them on course to wherever the hell she was taking him. Yes, it was bonkers, but it was real. No drugs. No dreams. Everything he’d just experienced had really happened. Yet, strangely, he wasn’t as freaked out as he thought he should be. Instead, it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from him.

He was free. For the first time in twelve years he was free of Linda. He was free of his agent and his demands. Phil, God rest his soul, was no longer breathing down his neck, watching his every move and reporting back to either of them.

He took a deep breath and just stared out the window at the passing dessert and enjoyed the feeling of having nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to report to.

He shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t be revelling in what he’d had to do to get out from under Linda’s thumb, but by God did it feel great to not be returning to her that night. That, for however long the Demon was out there, he didn’t have to go back to his wife.

He got lost in his selfish, happy musings, daydreaming of where he could go and what he could do, that he had no idea how long they’d been driving or how far they’d got when Sarah finally turned her attention to him.

‘You’re not going to say anything? Ask what the hell is going on or something? Hey!’ She snapped her fingers in front of his face to try and get his attention. He turned to her as she clicked off the radio, cutting Bon Jovi’s “Living on Prayer” off mid-chorus. When he raised his eyes to hers as she glanced between him and the road, she asked, ‘What day is it?’

‘Monday?’ He blinked at the question. Didn’t she know?

‘And your name?’

‘William Roberts.’

‘What?’ Her head snapped towards him for a moment before refocusing on the road.

‘Luc, Luc Truman,’ he quickly corrected, trying to stop himself from reacting. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn’t used that name in over fifteen years. ‘Sorry, your questions are similar to a scene we have coming up next series.’ He shifted in his seat as the the woman next to him narrowed her eyes for a second at his slip.

‘And who do you play on the show?’ she said the question slowly, as if she still didn’t believe him.

‘Why are you asking me such stupid questions?’

‘I’m checking you’re not going into shock. Character name. Now.’

‘Gabriel, the archangel. Charged by God to ensure that the sands of time fall properly and that Lucifer doesn’t succeed in changing the fate of the cosmos. Happy?’ He crossed his arms as he looked at her pointedly before turning back to the road.

The flicker of the white lines hypnotised him and allowed his mind to sink into nothingness. Perhaps, it would lull him to sleep and he’d be able to—

‘Umpf!’ His arm and chest exploded in pain. ‘What the fuck?’ he looked around as he rubbed at his bicep. Sarah was back to glancing between him and the road.

‘I said stay with me. You’re likely to go into shock after everything you’ve been through. We need to get you something sugary, something to keep you going. Tell me something. Keep talking to me.’

‘Fuck you,’ he told her instead. ‘I’m not going into shock, I’m just… processing what the hell happened! I mean, you blew up that car and tore a hole in the wall of the hotel!’

‘Yeah, and?’

He stared at her incredulously. ‘There were people in there, just enjoying themselves! They’d done nothing… They didn’t deserve that!’ He was shouting, which, given what he’d just witnessed this woman do, probably wasn’t the best of ideas.

He watched Sarah’s fingers tighten on the wheel, her knuckles turning white, as she listened to him. Her face flickered, only momentarily, with sadness and regret, before it smoothed back into a blank slate.

The heartless bitch.

‘We are more important,’ she replied with a shrug of her shoulder. If this was a film he’d say something witty, a one liner that would follow him throughout his career. He’d do something other than just stare at her with his mouth open, but this wasn’t a film and he couldn’t believe she’d just said that.

He was a freaking household name and while people fawned all over him, he didn’t believe himself to be above the public. Save for the fact he’d appeared in some movies and shows, he was no more special than Joe Average. He didn’t have any special skills, couldn’t perform an operation on someone, couldn’t work out the complex mathematical formulae for solving world hunger, or knew what was needed to send man into space. He was a pretty face in a sea of thousands of other attractive men. He’d merely caught a break.

Nothing. Special.

Who the hell did she think she was, the freaking Queen of England?

Wait.

Luc squinted at her, tilting his head slightly to try and see if she looked familiar that way. Was she one of those British royals? She didn’t look familiar so he didn’t think she was anyone news worthy. Not that he would know. He was forbidden from watching anything other than The Entertainment Buzz, the channels locked out by Linda and Lars. It was only through his co-stars that he heard about world events and they weren’t really the type to be watching CNN or even Fox News during their free time. Although Nick did watch a lot of ESPN.

‘Look,’ she said interrupting his thoughts before she softened her voice. ‘I get it; it’s shocking, it’s horrible, it honestly is! Do you really think I want to hurt or kill a bunch of innocent bystanders? No, no I don’t.’ She vigorously shook her head. ‘Trust me, enough people have been hurt by that son of a bitch, but you need to understand how invaluable we are right now.

‘We know what the Demon looks like.’ It was almost like she was pleading with him. ‘Don’t you understand? In the whole freaking world, we’re the only two people who have seen his face and lived to tell the tale.’

‘So what’s the plan? We go to the police or the FBI and turn ourselves over to them for WITSEC? Not being funny, but that’s going to be a little difficult for me! I’m kinda recognisable.’

‘Hell, no!’ she exclaimed as if it was the worst idea in the world. ‘We’d be dead before sunset. Don’t you get it? I had a team hand picked by the UK’s Prime Minister and the President of the United-fucking-States and one of them betrayed me. You don’t think that a precinct full of cops isn’t going to have at least half a dozen officers who can be bought or, worse, blackmailed?’

‘But—’

‘No.’

Luc felt the car accelerate as her mouth formed a tight line. With her eyes focused firmly on the road ahead, Luc knew there would be no discussing the matter.

The car’s tyres rolled beneath them, catching a pot hole or a bump in the road every so often, breaking up the whirling noise they made as they raced over the otherwise smooth surface.

Sarah tapped her nail against the steering wheel, a repetitive beat that held no rhythm. Her eyes stared ahead, focusing as she tried to keep their little car as inconspicuous as possible on the highway. Too slow or too fast and they’d be remembered by other drivers or noted on the traffic cameras.

Luc turned to stare out his own window, watching the desert flying by. He might be free of Linda and Lars, but he had to decide if this woman was simply going to be their replacement. Was she going to determine that she was more important than him in the long run.

‘Who are you?’ he finally asked, snapping under the silent tension.

She glanced his way out the corner of her eye, her finger silencing as she seemed to debate something. Finally, she let out a long bone-weary sigh. Her shoulders sagged and her hands relaxed on the wheel; it was almost as if all the fight had gone from her. She eased her foot off the accelerator and the car slowed slightly, much to his relief.

‘Elizabeth Sarah Whiston, but I go by Sarah.’ She held out her hand. ‘Long time fan.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ he said hesitantly as he took her proffered hand and carefully shook it. ‘And that makes you…?’

‘Dead.’

‘Beg pardon?’

‘Officially, Elizabeth Whiston is dead.’ She turned her gaze back to the road as she spoke. ‘She died twelve months and twenty-six days ago when the school she taught at was attacked by the man known only as The Demon. Five hundred and eighty-four souls were killed, and another fifty-one taken for his business.’ She actually used the air quotes, taking her hands off the wheel for a second. Luc had to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing hold of it.

‘Unfortunately, Sarah bled out on the floor of her stock-cupboard after heroically getting fifty-three students and two staff members to safety. Terribly sad.’

Wait. What?

This woman had saved a bunch of people, faced the Demon—not once, but twice—kicked ass and took no names, and she was a teacher?

A fucking teacher?

Of what? Kicking the shit out of things? Survival one-oh-one?

‘You’re a teacher?’

‘Was. Look,’ her voice was devoid of emotion and Luc, for some reason, knew that whatever she was about to tell him was all he was going to get from her. For now.

‘I survived the attack. I was shot and technically—technically—I did die. As they airlifted me to the hospital I flat-lined. They kept it quiet that they managed to revive me. They threw me in an army base for almost twelve months, trie- trained me’—she stumbled over her words slightly—‘in all sorts, while they figured out what to do with me.’

Luc wondered what exactly she’d been trained in. There was clear evidence of handling guns, hot wiring cars, and blowing shit up, but what else could she do?

Actually, he hoped he never found out. He had a feeling he’d only discover what was sure to be an extensive list of skills if they were ever in trouble, and that was something he really didn’t want. He’d seen enough from today to last him a lifetime.

‘I don’t get much time for world news,’ he lied, ashamed at the fact as he damn well should be. ‘So fill me in on this demon-guy.’

‘Seriously?’ She sighed and muttered something that sounded like Americans. ‘This demon-guy has been terrorising Europe for over half a decade. He sprung up out of nowhere. One day there was a report that a Sunday school class had disappeared from a chapel in Romania. We have no idea if that’s where he’s from. Personally, I don’t think it is, but then I’ve never been asked my opinion’—she seemed a little put out by that—‘despite the fact I’m the only one who’s not only seen his face, but talked to the wanker too.’

Oh, she was definitely pissed off about that. He decided to keep quiet, he didn’t want her directing that anger on to him, but he agreed with her. The guy’s accent hadn’t been quite right to his ear. Too clean and nondescript. Almost like when Casey did an American accent. It was too general, no regional variants, and his English had been too good for a second language speaker, even one who spoke it fluently.

‘So, where was I? Oh yeah, Sunday school. Then there were groups of friends who’d go out and never come home. Then in Hungary, a few months later, schools were hit. He aimed for the high schools, or their equivalent, took some of the kids that were under thirteen—or looked it—and killed almost all the rest.’

‘But why kids?’

‘I don’t know!’ she said, incredulously. ‘Why does anyone do anything horrible in this world? So, this went on across Europe: Slovakia, Czech Republic, Austria, Germany, etcetera. All the way until he got to the UK last year.’ Her fingers tightened on the wheel again. ‘We were pretty arrogant. As an island nation we thought we were secure, but Europe has a free movement agreement, passports aren’t checked across the mainland and those in the EU have the right to live and work anywhere within its boundaries…’

‘That sounds… How the hell do you check on people?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘We learnt our lesson. The moment my school was hit—the first and only in the UK—Prime Minister Edwards closed the borders. People were stuck in airports and docks. The Channel Tunnel trains were stopped midway through the tunnel, those going to France were pulled back to London, those coming to the UK were sent back to Paris.

‘Man did we upset the EU big time, but there was uproar across Britain; riots kicked off and the public forced through an emergency referendum to leave the block immediately and shut down the borders completely to any nation without VISAs and checks, and so on. We didn’t care about trade agreements, we wanted our kids safe.’

‘Sounds like chaos,’ Luc said shaking his head. How the hell hadn’t he heard about this? Surely someone on set would have been talking about it? Casey! Casey must have said something at some point… But he drew a blank.

‘That doesn’t begin to describe it. Those who were in the UK on holiday had to immediately report to their embassies. There were queues for miles in the capital as people scrambled to get to them, less they face being arrested when they got to the airport to go home. Honestly, how the hell did you not know about this?

‘Anyway,’ she continued without waiting for an answer. ‘Even those with British passports had to go through verification checks on re-entry. Every single child being escorted through a port—sea or air—is now questioned extensively. It pretty much killed the tourist industry across Britain, but we set a precedent.

‘Nations across Europe were segued by their country men to follow our example.’ Sarah indicated off the highway onto route 191 heading north. ‘They protested, picketed, and the French even marched on the Palace of Versailles while the President was addressing their Congress. People decided enough was enough and governments buckled under the pressure.

‘They rebuilt borders and put immigration checks back in place; the EU, EEA and the European Court of Justice, pretty much all collapsed as countries took back sovereignty. Since then the Demon has been quiet.’

Luc made to speak, but she pre-empted his question.

‘The US became worried that he might be planning a move to hit them next, hence why they began working with the UK and agreed to help secure me.’ She scoffed at that. ‘Thousands of kids taken over that time and they decide that I’m the key to the bastard’s downfall. I won’t bring any of them back, but I will damn well do what I can to ensure that I get justice for them all.’ Her knuckles turned white again, and Luc didn’t doubt that she spoke the truth, felt it right down to the core of her being.

‘I’m sorry,’ he offered.

‘But seriously,’ she said glancing at him. ‘How did you not know this?’

‘Probably because my agency handles my life. Between them and Linda, I’m lucky to take a shit without someone pencilling it into my diary. Watching world news events isn’t going to get me my next role or land me those extra zeros on my contract renewal from the Network.’

Sarah frowned at his comment, opening her mouth to say something before shutting it again and letting silence fall between them, for which Luc was grateful.

He contemplated what the woman next to him had been through, what she’d witnessed. She said she’d faced the evil son of a bitch that day, that she’d spoken to him. What had he said?

‘That’s why we’re important,’ he said a while later, breaking the heavy silence within the car. ‘Because we can bring The Demon down?’

She laughed bitterly. ‘Fuck no! If I can’t shoot the son of a bitch when he’s standing in front of me, I’m not going to be able to hunt his arse down and kill him.’

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, holding it between her teeth as she considered something. A million calculations seemed to fly through her eyes as she weighed every piece of information she had. Finally, she added, ‘We’re the distraction.’

Any questions, please drop them in the comments. Next update on Friday!

#AUH #fangirl #Unpublished #unedited

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thewhiterabbit42 · 7 years

Text

An Honorary Winchester

Part 1 of Out of Grace (human Gabriel series)

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word count: 10938… oops

Tags: Smut, fingering, unprotected sex, human Gabriel, short reader

Summary: It would be great to have an archangel in your back pocket. Too bad this one’s human and in as much of a bind as you are when you find yourselves smack dab in the middle of a werewolves’ den.

Author’s note: This was written for @gone-to-fight-the-fairies Supernatural’s Summer of Heroes Challenge (I’m sorry this is late!). My quote was: Scott Lang: “On my Signal, run like hell.”

All tags are at the end. If you find a line through yours, it wouldn’t work :(

Special thanks to my beta @sumara62, first of her blogname, Queen of the Commas, Purveyor of Descriptives, and (likely) Receiver of Headaches thanks to my muse operating in one tense and my story being written in another. Also to @blondecoffeecake for all the encouragement and for answering important science questions. Thanks ever so much for being my sunshine.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

This was not good.

Your eyes scanned the room through the hidden vantage point within the wall, and they widened as four more figures entered through the main door.

This was more than not good. This wasn’t even bad. This was straight up ugly.

In all your time of hunting, you’d never had the odds stacked so terribly against you. This particular group of monsters was well-organized, and well-funded enough to have their own bunker-like structure. They also appeared to be far more well-numbered than anyone originally anticipated.

If you hadn’t slipped down a hill and crash landed through the smallest window in existence, you might not have been so in need of a well-timed rescue.

At least you weren’t alone. Gabriel had managed to squeeze himself through the frame while Sam and Dean circled back to try and find the main entrance. These days, however, Heaven’s weapon was looking a bit less terrible and far more soft.

Might have had to do with how many bags of skittles the man ate… or how he was, in fact, an actual man now.

Gabriel didn’t like to talk about how he lost his grace. All things considered, it wasn’t hard to figure out it likely had something to do with Lucifer. The last time anyone had seen him as an archangel had been back during the apocalypse, saving the Winchester’s asses. It might have actually been the last time anyone had seen him, period, before you stumbled upon him hitchhiking his way back to the brothers.

You’d never met any of them before that. Now, you couldn’t get rid of them either. Except, it seemed, when you actually needed their help.

“You have a plan?” He murmured.

Well it certainly wasn’t to get screwed. At least not by the pack of werewolves congregating in the room in front of you.

You wracked your brain, trying to come up with a solution, though the way he was practically on top of you was making it awfully hard to think about anything other than the way his dulcet tone caressed your ear or how his breath was ghosting warmly over you.

It wasn’t his fault. He was mostly this close to keep from being heard, though it did mean his lips were as close to your ear as they could be without actually touching. This might have been as close as they’ve been to any part of you other than the back of your hand.

You swallowed, doing your best to also ignore the way his chest was brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“Don’t die?” You finally replied. You practically heard his eye roll through the mounting tension.

“If there’s anyone I’d rather get screwed by the Winchesters’ with, it’s you, but I’d much rather those prepositions be reversed,” he whispered.

“You mean positions?” You questioned absently, doing another head count in hopes the last several had been inaccurately high.

“I meant exactly what I said.” A smirk sang through his words and when you finally got the punchline, your eyes were the ones rolling heavenward.

You knew he was just trying to keep things light, to keep you both calm, and possibly even distract you a little while he came up with a plan. You also knew it was all just bravado. Gabriel had been a regular part of your life for so long enough now that if any part of that statement were true, he would have made a move already, because, unlike you, he was not a coward.

“So… you would rather get screwed with the Winchesters’ by me?” You informed him, tone as dry as your smile. “Because I want you to know upfront, I have a two dick maximum.”

You turned your head to gauge his reaction. His nose grazed your temple as he let out a short, amused, puff of air through it.

“Ok, maybe not quite what I meant, shortcake,” his voice was a pleasant rumble in the back of his throat, though a single note of exasperation rang softly through his tone. “Besides, you should know by now I don’t play well with others and I’m not really a fan of sharing. Candy. Toys. Anything.”

You were about to tease him about that one time he had to share a bed with Dean because you and Sam refused to (and because that particular motel carpet was liable to give you some infectious disease just looking at it) when the door across the room opened again.

The addition of four more guests had the playful remark dying in your throat.

You turned your attention fully back to the two dozen or so monsters milling about, having tea, eating cookies, chatting about the weather and how many bodies they had to hide this summer or whatever it was that werewolves made small talk about.

The breath he let out was the heaviest sound you ever heard him make, and his hands came down on your shoulders. You were wearing your favorite jacket, broken in just right. The leather was old, worn, supple, and well loved, so the fact his fingers were moving over that at the moment didn’t really surprise you. Neither did the anxious drumming that scurried down the side of your arms, halting just above your elbows.

Gabriel liked to touch. Anything soft, smooth, furry. The easiest way to cheer up the ex-trickster was to plop something cute and fuzzy in front of him (and though he’d never admit it, making surprise trips to pet stores and humane societies was one of your more often used pick me ups for him). He was particularly fond of things like silk, satin, and velvet, but textures in general seemed to draw him in.

His touch often came when things were idle, when he was bored and in need of something to occupy his attention, or something to keep him grounded as his mind whirred away. When it didn’t have to do with sensory stimulation, it was tied to his nerves. It was a tossup as to whether or not it was the second or third one of those driving his need to have his hands on you at the moment.

Likely a little of both.

He guided you back along the passageway, moving you far enough away to be out of their earshot. He released you, pacing slightly as he continued to think. His nervous energy was infectious, and you shoved your hands into your pockets, hoping to find something to fiddle with. You forced yourself to at least act like you were calm, however, and you leaned back against the wall, once again trying to think of a way out of this mess.

“We gotta make a move,” he finally said, breaking the silence as his movements stilled. Despite his assertion, his gaze remained uncertain, muddying the waters on just how necessary he felt it was.

“We should to wait for Sam and Dean,” you answered. You were outnumbered twelve to one. If you had found this place a few days ago, you might have had some hope within the dozen people being kept prisoner not far from where you stood. Now, however, the majority of them were weak with hunger and thirst, and you couldn’t risk putting them in harm’s way in the condition they were in.

Gabriel stepped closer, placing his hand above your head on the wall as he leaned in toward you.

“We’ve been waiting” he reminded emphatically, trying to keep his voice at a low hush. “We wait any longer and our backup is going to need backup before coming in after us.”

He was right. He was also so close you could feel his breath across your skin. It smelled like citrus and sweetness, and you’d put money on it if you reached into his pockets you’d find a fresh skittles wrapper in there.

You were about to crack a joke about it when the look on his face shifted and he suddenly pinned you beneath a strange stare. It was packed to the brim in a way you’d never seen before, and there was no way you could hope to untangle all the threads woven through gold within the few short moments you had.

“Alright, the plan is, on my signal, run like hell,” he declared, leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, you could only look at him. Working with and even existing around the former archangel had been a significant learning curve for you. It had taken you some time to pick up on his subtleties, to see past his facades, and to also calibrate your bullshit detector, which was currently giving you all sorts of off the charts readings.

“Gabriel…”

“The door on the other side of the room is the key,” he spoke over you, pushing things right along. “You know which one I’m talking about?”

You pursed your lips, irritated, but you nodded. It was one of several leading into it, but likely the only one that led out considering it was where most of the werewolves came through.

“Good. Head straight for it. Don’t look back,” he finished.

“What are you going to do?” You demanded, suspicious of just how this plan of his was supposed to work.

“The usual. Bring a little pandemonium and chaos to the party. Liven things up. Or unliven them, ideally,” he smirked, though it seemed a little stiff. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, and what he brought up for your inspection had your eyes widening.

“Is that a grenade?”

Where the hell had he gotten that?

He grinned. “Always wanted to play around with one of these bad boys. I’ve been guaranteed this one’s filled with silver. Guess we’ll find out how reputable my man really is.”

He quickly pocketed the weapon before reaching down to his side. He unclipped his gun, handing it to you with that same intent stare as before.

“Take it,” he ordered.

You glanced at the pistol, your stomach sinking as you realized what the real plan was.

Your father always warned you never to find yourself a good man. Good men, in this life, Sport, mean you die a widow. Find yourself one you can trust with most things, but who’s selfish enough not to sacrifice his entire world for yours, unless that’s all that’s left to throw at something.

Gabriel, was not a mediocre man. Now matter how much he liked to drive others insane, or how much of an ass he could be, when it came down to it, he was a good one, and good men could never be trusted not to do something stupid when it came to protecting people they cared about.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” you stated, the finality of that truth clearly intoned.

The thought of making it out without him had you more terrified than not walking out of there at all.

“We don’t know what’s through that door, sweetheart, and you need to clear a path for us pronto if we’re gonna get out of here… but you do whatever it takes to get those two muttonheads in here and get those people out,” he pulled his hand back from the wall, hooking a finger beneath your chin, an unexpected softness overtaking him. “Understood?”

Sometimes you wondered if he knew about the torch you carried for him (and just how big it was). These moments seemed to be happening more and more, popping up in the middle of some impossible or dangerous situation, and always when he needed to convince you to do something that put him at risk.

“I’m not leaving here without you and I mean it,” you reiterated.

“Don’t argue with me, kid. I am millions of years older than you.” There was a wryness to his tone, though the undercurrent of patience suggested he wasn’t entirely joking.

You put your hand on the gun, your fingers brushing over his. You could feel your heart leaping into your throat at the determination in his gaze, and it made your words come out more as a plea than the directive it was intended to be.

“And I’ve never left anyone behind on a hunt before. Don’t ask me to do it to you.”

Your tongue darted out across your bottom lip and his eyes immediately dropped down, drawn to the movement. His head dipped ever so slightly closer, and your heart leapt right back down into your chest, hammering madly. It looked as if he was about to – no, he wouldn’t – but he was so close and –

Something changed. Something had shadows descending swift and harsh across amber and just as quickly as you were convinced he was going to kiss you, he stepped back. He put his hand over yours, pushing the gun back in your direction.

“Take it.”

You swallowed back on your disappointment, but it was too late; your fight had already been extinguished, and you ended up taking the weapon from him. He fished out another magazine from his pocket, wordlessly handing it to you.

His smile was meant to be reassuring, but you could see the weight clinging to the darks of his eyes, making them appear faded. “You ready for this?”

***

The correct answer was no. No you were not prepared for any of this. You’d been put into messed up situations before, but this - this was intense.

First of all, grenades were loud. Really loud. Especially in close quarters. Your ears not only rang the same way they did when you fired your gun, but there was an additional muffled quality, dampening your hearing further.

Second, they packed a punch. You weren’t sure where Gabriel intended to hit, but it almost didn’t matter. The shrapnel had scattered across the entire room, blowing bulbs, shattering glass, taking chunks out of furniture, or spraying them with holes.

Third, when werewolves screamed in agony, they didn’t sound any different than any other person, and when they had pieces taken out of them, they didn’t look any different either.

The entire experience was far more disorienting than you expected and for a moment you could only stare at the terrible scene in front of you.

“Move!”

Gabriel’s voice edged into your awareness, but it was the way he dragged you, stumbling through the chaos, that had your mind sharpening again. You worked on burying the horror, numbing it beneath the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear as members of the pack began to shake free from their own daze.

One of them leapt up, rushing blindly at you, and it took three shots to take him down. Another soon followed, and the way it closed in faster than you’d ever seen, its sights set on Gabriel, put you almost in a full-blown panic. You caught it just above the heart, and your father’s voice swam back into your consciousness: almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades. You miss a shot, Sport, and you potentially miss saving a life.

The monster growled, and for a moment you feared it was going to lunge. At least, that would have been the smart move. It raised its arm high, projecting the wild swing it took at Gabriel, giving the ex-trickster and you plenty of notice to anticipate the attack. He leapt back just as you pulled the trigger, and this time you hit your mark.

The ones that came through the door were just as feral, and you realized it must be the smell driving them mad, an insanity-inducing cocktail comprised of blood, death, fear, anger, grief, and God knew what else. Thankfully, it seemed like the majority were already in that room with you, because not only had you kicked the hornet’s nest, but hitting them this way had apparently stirred them into such a frenzy that nothing short of hitting their heart was going to slow them down.

Unfortunately, most of the ones capable of attacking were almost recovered enough to start fighting back.

“We need to get to the hallway,” you urged. You were way too exposed in the large area and not only did you need cover, but you needed a way to funnel the enemy so you weren’t dealing with all of them at once.

Gabriel continued forward, and you moved with him, your back close to his as you tried to keep them off you. When there wasn’t anything coming, you went on the offensive, taking out the ones closest to pulling themselves to their feet before they could become a direct threat.

“Clear!” He announced and you glanced back to find he had the door cracked. He motioned for you to go through and you leveled a look of disbelief before dragging him alongside you. Unfortunately, there was no way to lock the door behind you, leaving you both vulnerable to far too many wolves still capable of tearing your throat out.

“Let’s just hope this place isn’t a maze,” you muttered before you both sprinted down the hall.

***

You weren’t going to make it. They were everywhere: lurking behind every door you passed, wandering into the hallways you needed to pass through. Most of them had no idea you were coming, but the moment they laid eyes on you, they were primed to kill on sight.

You needed a way to slow them down. None of doors had locks that could be utilized without keys, and as more slowly built on your trail, the more you realized this couldn’t end well for either of you.

If you didn’t find a way to box them in or reach the exit (and the Winchesters), you were going to be in trouble. You made sure to keep Gabe as close to you as possible, especially when any enemies were nearby, anticipating that he would make take matters into his own hands the first chance he got.

You pushed through another doorway, surprised to find yourself in another large, conference room type area. Gabriel immediately shut the door behind you, bracing his weight against it.

“Get that chair,” he ordered, pointing to one against the wall. You grabbed it and, guessing his intent, jammed it beneath the door handle. Both of you worked on putting what else you could in front of it before quickly working on a second door that looked like it connected to some of the side areas you’d passed. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would certainly buy you some time.

A chorus of growls sounded along the hallway you entered from as you rushed into the one you hoped led to the way out. A thunderous rattling and the sound of wood splintering caught your ears. You rounded the corner, the sound fading, only to be met with another identical looking hallway. You finally realized you had no idea just how big this place was or how many more corridors you had to get through before you could even get out.

You needed a new plan, and fast.

Hope flared fierce within your chest as the two of you took another turn, and the door at the end of this hall appeared different from the rest. A large, steel, sliding bar was installed as some sort of deadbolt, which could only mean one thing.

Relief flooded your system, overriding some of the adrenaline as you and Gabriel exchanged a look. He smiled, taking hold of your hand, and for a moment you actually believed that maybe, just maybe, things would turn out alright.

You had always been a sucker for the hope of a happy ending.

The unmistakable echo of footsteps and snarls informed you this end would be bloody and brutal.

Gabriel picked up his pace, practically dragging you and your short legs along as you did your best to keep up with him. You were only slowing him down. If he wasn’t so concerned about you, he could have been through that next door and easily increasing the distance between the monsters and himself.

An idea formed in your head and you winced, because he was going to be so pissed at you. It didn’t matter. You weren’t going to be what dragged down such a complicated and magnificent being who deserved far more than what the world had ever given him.

He had also been the one who handed you all the guns.

You let him break away from you, allowing a little distance to form as you pretended to be winded. He turned slightly, keeping you in his peripheral even as he opened the door and peeked around the edge of it.

“It’s clear! Come on!” He gestured for you to hurry and you waited until he was fully through the threshold before picking up your pace. It was perfect timing. As he he kept watch down the hallway, he was too distracted to notice the way you were working toward an all out sprint until you were almost on top of him, and he had just enough time for his brows to hit his hairline before you dropped your shoulder. You collided with him, sending him sprawling across the floor. You wasted no time, dropping to your knee and removing a small six-shooter strapped to your ankle for oh shit situations just like this one. You prayed it would be enough and slid it in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing?” He wheezed. You grimaced, realizing you had knocked the wind out of him.

“Whatever it takes,” you apologized, guilt bleeding through your words.

His eyes went wider than you’d ever seen, and your mouth went dry as you saw the same fear you felt earlier at the thought of leaving him behind.

“Get them in as fast as you can,” you said, proud of the steadiness in your tone, though the reality of what you were about to do was about to come crashing down upon you.

“Wait,” he gasped, hastily pulling himself to his feet as he tried to reason with you “You don’t need to do anything stupid, short stack. We’re almost there.”

You backed up when you saw the way his body was tensing, as if preparing to throw himself back through that doorway or you over his shoulder. Even knowing how fast he was, you underestimated how much quicker he could move than you, especially given the right motivation. You barely made it back around the door in time, and he was so close when you slammed it you might have literally shut it on his face.

A frustrated growl rose from behind it as you tried to keep him from pushing back through. You fumbled with the deadbolt, struggling to keep your weight braced against it and keep it steady long enough to lock it. The way he kept throwing himself wildly at it made it impossible for you to get the metal to line up properly.

“Father, dammit, open the door!” He shouted, a panicked edge entering his tone. “Don’t do this - don’t you dare do this to me, y/n, please.”

What started as a command, slowly morphed into a plea, and your resolve almost broke beneath his desperation. The pack was close to descending upon you, however, reminding you why you needed to do this. You lowered yourself, pushing your feet against the floor with renewed purpose. Putting everything you had into it, you shoved back, managing to steady the door long enough for you to jam the bar into place.

“Go!” You shouted when he continued pounding. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, rising uncomfortably, your signal you were out of time. Steeling yourself for the oncoming onslaught, you turned, drawing both of your weapons. You had just swapped out the magazines and settled into your stance when the first one rounded the corner.

As the pack began to flood the hall in front of you, Gabriel’s frantic banging faded beneath the loud pop of your firearms, and you poured all your concentration into making each bullet count before you ran out of them or luck.

***

Despite the fact you escaped death’s clutches relatively unharmed and didn’t have to leave anyone behind, you had a feeling you were so, so screwed still.

Gabriel hadn’t spoken a word to you since your sincere attempt at saving his life (and the lives of all the captives that had still been waiting in cages to be rescued). You weren’t sure if he was seething, or just perfectly happy to let Dean have first dibs at a tirade. If you had to guess, he was beyond the emotional capability of a normal human being when it came to whatever sentiment was lurking in his gaze, if that darkness lining gold was as infinite as it seemed.

He wouldn’t even look at or acknowledge you, his stare fixed somewhere out in the darkness as you headed toward the closest twenty-four hour diner Sam could find.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dean demanded.

No, actually, you weren’t.

You knew Dean cared, and the reason he was thundering his disapproval down upon you was that you had scared the shit out of all of them, which was why you were actively ignoring him. You weren’t the type of person that did well receiving lectures, but you also weren’t the type to hold it against them for being furious you gave them an unconventional stress test on their hearts.

“Dean, just take it easy, alright?” Sam interjected.

Dear, sweet, Sammy. He had tried to disarm the nuke his brother had become once all the danger had passed and the people had made it safely out. Not only had he failed, but he had drawn an impressive amount of his brother’s ire for a few minutes and you hadn’t expect him to intervene on your behalf again.

You’d have to remember to pick up his favorite candy or beer when you had a chance.

“Sammy, stay out of this,” Dean warned.

“Look, she gets it. Only you, me, and Gabriel are allowed to engage in risky heroics,” the younger man sassed back.

Correction: you were going to have to take this man on a vacation weekend for the lip he just gave.

The look on Dean’s face was priceless. The mixture of shock and utter betrayal had you sniggering quietly to yourself.

“I can’t believe you,” he shook his head in disappointment. “She could have died –”

“But she didn’t. In fact, her idea likely saved them both and all those people,” Sam tried reasoning. His brother, however, was beyond hearing it at the moment.

“The only reason any of this worked out was because we came along and prevented her from getting ripped to shreds!” He insisted, his eyes swinging back to you in the mirror. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you are getting sloppy, really sloppy, and if you can’t get your head in the game, I’m benching you.”

His words were like throwing gasoline onto a small, flickering flame. Everything exploded in a brief, fiery burst as your patience finally wore thin.

“Listen here, Winchester, you are not my father, and since I don’t have any lingering daddy issues like some people in this car–” and by some, you meant all of them, “– I am not in search of one. My own never got away with telling me I couldn’t hunt, and you sure as hell aren’t going to, so you better check whatever part of your issues are causing you to treat me like I’m some god damn child. We have all taken risks before. We’ve all thrown ourselves to the wolves to save someone else, so don’t lecture me because it was my turn to do it.”

“You didn’t just throw yourselves to the wolves, you locked yourself in there with them! A pack of rabid ones, I might add,” Dean snarkily reminded. “And if we had come in one minute later –”

“But. You. Didn’t,” you snapped, eyes burning as you met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. “I do get it. I almost died, but almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

Surprise cut through the bulk of his fury just before he turned back to the road. White-knuckled fingers gripped the steering wheel and you watched the muscle on the side of his jaw go rigid.

“Not in this family it doesn’t,” he muttered.

“I’m not a Winchester.” The words were out of your mouth before you realized what it was you were saying. A heavy silence fell between you and for the first time, Gabriel’s attention drifted back to what was happening in the vehicle.

You would have thought you had insulted their father… or brought up the uncomfortable fact that their father got yours killed by how thick the tension had become.

“Don’t you pull that, crap,” Dean grumbled, obviously wounded by the remark. “We have been through too much together for you to act like you’re not one of us.”

He shook his head emphatically, as if he couldn’t believe you had the gall to insist you didn’t have a place among them. That wasn’t what you were saying, but there was no point in telling him that now. Dean wasn’t likely to hear much of anything until he’d had some time to calm down (and put something in his stomach).

You were all running on empty, and you hoped stopping for food would help settle most of the discourse on just how stupid you were for wanting to protect your friend.

You rode the rest of the way in silence, which thankfully wasn’t far. Before long, Sam was guiding Dean off the highway to a small building no bigger than a bus. There were more cars than you expected at this hour, and Dean was forced to pull around into the shadows of a small parking area behind the building. Once he found a spot, he shut off the engine, and you honestly couldn’t get out of that car fast enough. Unfortunately, neither could Dean, and the way he strode around the vehicle toward you with renewed purpose suggested he still had yet to finish with you.

No doubt he was coming to browbeat you properly, face to face.

“Dean –” Sam sighed, his tone saying enough as he moved to interrupt his brother. Dean just put his hand up, his eyes fixed intently on you as he approached.

“I get why being one of us might not be the most desirable thing, given our family’s histories,” he began, his voice much calmer than before. “But for the record, you are one of us in every way that matters.”

The earnestness beneath his words caught you off guard. The dark pit of sentiments leftover from this evening began to churn, and a slow-creeping guilt crawled its way up from within it. You pursed your lips, trying to force it, and everything else rushing to the surface, back down where you could keep a tight lid on it.

“People come and go in our line of work, but, for whatever reason, you haven’t. You’ve chosen us as much as we’ve chosen you, and you can’t expect us to be thrilled when we come into a place fully anticipating to find that we’ve lost you, understand?”

The problem wasn’t that you hadn’t understood this from the beginning, it was that you didn’t appreciate feeling like you were being spoken down to for doing what you thought was right.

It didn’t matter now. Everything had worked out. Everyone seemed to be done yelling at you. You would all move past this, and by sunup, everything would go back to normal again.

You nodded up at Dean and he smiled.

“Good,” he said, clapping you so heartily on the shoulder your entire body swayed, “Because I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

He released you, that purpose in his frame now turned elsewhere as he wasted no time heading toward the diner.

Sam saw you hesitate and he lingered, watching you lean against the car, and take a moment to enjoy the crisp, fall air around you.

“You ok?” He asked.

You nodded. “I just need a minute.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly before trailing after his brother.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, looking up at the night sky. You turned, your back resting against the cold metal as your eyes drifting over the twinkling lights scattered across the darkness. You were surprised at how clearly you could see the stars, and as you focused on losing yourself to the infiniteness of the galaxies above you, you felt the guilt and horrors from this evening begin to drift away.

It also helped to have your mind wandering back to the last time you’d stopped to admire the heavens.

It had been a few months ago, right after you and Gabriel had solved a case involving a Wendigo that had wandered into a national forest, preying on campers. The two of you had decided to stay a little longer, and the park rangers had been so grateful for your help that they had allowed you to stay, free of charge. The whole idea had come from a remark Gabe had made about not seeing the allure of “roughing it” in the wilderness.

You were only supposed to stay a few days, but those few turned into a few more and before you knew it, an entire week had passed. It was the best week you’d had since you father had died. Possibly the best week you’d ever had, and you knew it had less to do with the what or where and far more to do with the who.

You caught movement out of the corner of your eye and you found the who in question moving around the side of the car. You hadn’t even realized the former archangel was still out there. You stood up, about to move toward him when you caught the dark look on his face.

“Gabe?”

He pushed you back against the car, his grip tight on your shoulder as he leveled a finger right in your face.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again, do you understand?!”

For a moment you could only blink. You’d heard Gabriel yell before, mostly at Dean, but he had never raised his voice to you. He wasn’t shouting now, either, though you wished he would, because whatever this was was far more intense and unsettling than having him unleash on you the way Dean had.

“If those two idiots want to be big, dumb heroes, let them, but you - you are too important to be pulling stunts like that!” There’s so much beneath his tone, so much swirling within gold, that you haven’t a clue as to what he was talking about, only that he believed it.

“Gabriel, I’m - I’m nobody,” you stammered, so confused as to why he would think you were anything special.

“You are everything!” He insisted, though it wasn’t his anger that hit the tipping point. It was something far more potent as his voice grew strained with the underlying trepidation. A mist formed over amber, and your eyes widened as you realized what was happening.

You’d only seen him tear up once. It was a brief and powerful thing to witness, a mighty archangel on his knees before you, moved beneath the burden of his humanity. Helplessness was not a concept Gabriel did well with, then or now, and you suddenly realize it was one you inadvertently reintroduced by closing that door on him today.

You should have known better. You were the only one who’d been there with any consistency since his transformation, and being left alone (even though you know the Winchesters would continue to look after him) must have been a terrifying prospect for him.

“I’m sorry…” You took the hand still pointing at you into your own, folding your fingers around his until they finally relax within your grip.

His eyes closed a moment and he inhaled slowly. He took his time breathing back out, and when he looked back at you, everything had changed. The chaos settled to an absolute certainty, one you’d only ever seen from beings with lifespans far greater than yours. It was a reminder of how much more he used to be, and the vulnerability and genuine emotion beneath his words also showed you how much more he was now.

“I can’t do this without you,” he confessed, and for a brief moment he looked utterly lost.

You swallowed. It took a lot for him to admit his weaknesses (or as most people called them, feelings), but this was more than that. This was huge for him, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was something more hanging in the balance, something more than just what he had told you.

You took a moment, weighing your words carefully. Gabriel rarely put himself out there like this, and the last thing you wanted was to give the wrong response and discourage him from ever doing so again.

Sometimes the simplest and safest thing you can offer someone is the truth. Your father’s voice sounded in the back of your mind. It was comforting to have his advice so ingrained in you that he was still able to provide it during times like this.

“Why do you think I pushed you through that door?” You asked, your voice timid as you stepped out on that shaky limb beside your friend.

For a moment he just studied you, his gaze hard and appraising. He almost looked like he didn’t trust you, but you had never given him a reason to doubt what you said… had you?

“I’ve always hunted alone,” you explained, a nervous thrum flooding your veins. “As soon as I was old enough to, anyway. My father thought it was for the best. He always told me when you hunt with someone you care about, you make more mistakes, and you take different risks.”

Your teeth worried briefly over your bottom lip. You’d never shared this with anyone before. You’d never had anyone to share something like this with. It had always been about keeping people at arm’s length, especially after your father’s death.

Then along came Gabriel, who had you breaking every rule you and your father had ever laid out.

“He was right. I wouldn’t have barred that door for just anyone… but I’ve also come to realize, he was wrong, about doing this all alone. I can’t do this without you either.” You gave him a shy, nervous smile, hoping that this would settle the storm rumbling within honeyed hues. Everything only grew fiercer, however, and you weren’t certain anything you said had actually helped rather than somehow making a mess of things.

You were about to apologize when the hand at your shoulder slid up to the back of your neck. You went completely still, your mind reeling, and the way he regarded you was as if this were a test. His eyes watched your every movement as his thumb began to trace along the fine hairs at your nape. Goosebumps raced out from beneath his touch, compounded by ripples of excitement as you watched his gaze trail down to your lips.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice was rough with emotion and you blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. The way he cupped your face with his other hand, however, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone, suggested you were not suffering from any auditory hallucinations.

The look in his eyes grew as the seconds passed, but he continued to wait, and you realized despite his statement, there was a clear question being posed. You tentatively reached up, running your fingers along the beginnings of a beard growing out along his cheeks.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You asked, your fingers daring as they drifted into the mess of curls behind his head. He waited for you to pull him toward you before he did the same to you, and the moment your mouth touched his, a thrilling shock wave erupted straight down the center of you.

There was a hesitance beneath both your lips, as if neither one of you could believe this was really happening. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps you were still back in the werewolf den, bleeding out, and to block out the horror of your final moments, your brain had conjured your greatest desire instead.

If this was how you went, you could live with that… or die with it, as the case might have actually been.

You would likely die either way, with the way your pulse took off when he nudged you back against the car. His fingers weaved through the back of your hair, tilting your head back just as he grew emboldened enough to take your lower lip between teeth, nibbling and drawing out a pleased sigh from somewhere deep inside you. His tongue swept out, stealing a taste of you before his mouth became firmer, ravenous to the point you questioned just how long it had been since he’d done this with anyone.

His hands joined his hungry exploration, slipping beneath your shirt in search of skin. He ghosted along your stomach before doing a wide arc around your side and down your lower back. His fingers dipped beneath the band of your jeans, brushing along the edge of your underwear as he circled back toward the front of you.

You knew exactly where this was headed, and you had a feeling if you didn’t refocus him soon, he was going to take you right there against the side of car.

The thought only had you even dizzier with desire.

You reached beside you, fumbling for the handle. When you finally got a grip on it, you nudged him forward with your hips. He took the hint, but not before he grabbed the loopholes of your pants, jerking you flush against him. You gasped as his erection dug into the front of you, and you managed you guide him sideways enough to swing the door open. You grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him with you into the car. Despite Dean’s voice niggling at the back of your mind (watch the shoes on the upholstery!), you dropped down onto the seat, footwear and all, dragging yourself back by the elbows as Gabe climbed in over you.

He paused long enough to shut the door behind him, and gold glinted in a way you’d never seen before. That was when the the archangel in him emerged, coming out in the sinuous, graceful way he crawled up the length of you. The human in him, however, was what had him pressing his mouth back to yours again in haste, his tongue probing for entrance as he slipped his knee between your thighs.

You opened both lips and legs for him, a rush of heat and electricity enveloping you when he nestled against your mound and his tongue slide over yours. Your moan was echoed from him as he rocked his hips against you. He was already so hard, just as you were certain you were already soaked, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

When his hand glided up to your breast, fixing that transgression, you almost swore he read your mind, human or not.

You shifted out of your jacket, removing one of several hindrances as he continued mapping the curves of your body. You decided it was time to get to know his, your hands diving beneath his shirt before your palms skimmed the soft contour of his stomach. Three years ago, you imagined what you were touching was the rock-hard, washboard example of perfection.

You found this version of him far more attractive.

Your fingers wandered restlessly, trying to explore, but the fire he expertly stoked made you feel as if you couldn’t get enough of him fast enough. Your hands reached down the back of him, cupping that delicious ass you’d spent far too much time admiring, before giving it a firm squeeze. You followed with a sensual roll of your hips, enjoying the currents of desire that sparked upon hearing the way his breath hitched in response.

He broke away from your mouth, lips blazing across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Every lick, every suck, every bite had a purpose, and with every mark he left behind, he was claiming you inch by inch. It drove you wild, feeling the insatiable need beneath his touch, feeling his own want overflowing onto you along with the heat of his body.

It was too much and, yet, not nearly enough. You became acutely aware of just how hot it was, how stifling it felt beneath all your clothing with him pressed against you. It was an issue that needed fixing. Now.

You tugged open the front of your pants, kicking off your shoes, and the moment they hit the floor, he was up on his knees. His fingers curled beneath denim and cotton, and with one swift yank, he had your pants and panties down to your ankles. One more tug had them free, where they went sailing over his shoulder against the window.

His gaze roamed up the length of you, darkening with desire. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t deny him what he asked, not when he looked at you in a way no other man ever had. It was like you were the only thing that existed, like seeing you laid bare before him was what he needed, more than the air in his lungs, more than for his heart to keep beating. More than anything, he just needed you, and the warmth that rushed into your cheeks was equal parts excitement and shyness.

You nervously pulled your shirt over your head, your eyes dropping away from his uncertainly. It had never mattered before what men thought about your body. Most of them were drunk enough to not care about the scars, scrapes, and bruises that came from hunts, but Gabriel was different. How many bodies had he seen in his lifetime? How many examples of perfection were already seared into his mind?

By the time you were out of your bra, the silence was more deafening than your pulse pounding in your ears.

He wasn’t just quiet. He was too quiet, and when you chanced a glance back up at him, you saw why. Everything was different. The carnal heat had been extinguished, leaving a vacuum of something in its wake. His face was completely unreadable as his eyes moved down the front of you, his throat bobbing once, twice, and when he finally completed his appraisal, he looked almost astonished.

“You are so beautiful,” he rasped, breathless as he reverently ran his hands along the back of your calves. A deep flush cascaded down from your cheeks, flooding your chest and running straight down the length of you. His palms smoothed up around the side of your thighs, and when they rose above the swell of your hips he dropped down onto his elbows, caging your lower body in place. He brought his mouth down to your hipbone, kissing and nipping his way across the sensitive band of skin beneath your stomach as he made his way toward the other side.

Your body squirmed beneath his attention as he diverted his course up towards your navel. You loved not only what he was doing to you, but how he looked as he did it. The way tousled, golden strands fell down across his face. The way amber turned absolutely molten whenever it flicked up to watch your own reactions. The way his lip would curl ever so slightly when he drew a particularly satisfying sound from you. Everything about him was intoxicating, ensnaring your senses and drawing you further beneath dark and decadent waves that lapped persistently at your core.

There was no way you were going to hold out much longer.

It took incredible restraint on your part not to divest him of his remaining clothing; even more to refrain from climbing into his lap to ride him in a way he’d never experienced before.

The inner edge of your resolve crumbled, and you grabbed his hand, cupping it over your breast. He groaned, his mouth stuttering as he brought his other hand up and brushed his thumbs across your aching peaks. The breathy moan that escaped your lips was pure satisfaction, and you arched into his touch, your body begging for more. He languidly circled the taut nubs before his mouth came up and latched onto one, lavishing you until he had you mewling beneath his ministrations.

A sense of urgency built beneath his movements, matching the flames of your desire that were quickly turning into an uncontrollable wildfire. The slightest touch had pleasure singing across your nerve-endings, and you couldn’t recall anyone ever making you feel this way.

The fingers from his free hand lightly dragged along your inner thigh. The sensation suddenly vanished, only to reappear along your folds. Your hips jerked as a solitary fingertip traced lightly down the front of them. You whimpered when he curled the tip inward, drawing it up along your slit until he found your entrance.

“Oh, father,” he groaned, and you were right there with him as he sank his finger into your entrance. “You’re so wet already.”

Your head dropped back, your eyes sliding shut as you focused on the abundance of sensations he was creating. The way he just held his finger there a moment was torturous, and just when you were worried that devious side of him was going to make an appearance, he withdrew, easing a second one inside of you. The ensuing stretch your walls gave has your hips lifting straight off the seat, taking him deeper within you.

You let out a half-groan, half-growl, and you were as gratified by the addition as you were dissatisfied when everything suddenly came to a halt. When you glanced up at him to see what happened, you found him with his eyes shut, looking deep in concentration as the tip of his nose came to rest in the valley between your breasts. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was savoring at that moment. Was it the fact you were already soaked? Was it the heat of your core that captivated him or was it simply the snug way you gripped around his fingers?

“I want to be inside you,” he pleaded and when his eyes reopened, liquid honey had all but been swallowed by pools of wanton lust that had his pupils blown wide. His mouth was hard and hungry as it seared its way back up to your neck where he sucked greedily against your collarbone. You pulled a breath in through your teeth, feeling the a mark form just as he began to scissor in and out of you. Your rocked your hips against his hand, urging him on.

“Please,” he beseeched.

“God, yes,” you sighed. “I need–” you cried out as he curled his fingers upward, hitting that delicious spot inside you just right. “–you now.”

He withdrew both hands from your body, and you whined, aching at the sudden loss of him. His shoes bounced off the door as he frantically kicked them off, but that was the most he removed, unable to wait another second before he was in you. He barely had his pants undone when he reached within his boxers, pulling himself out, aligning the tip, and pushing into you all in one swift movement.

Your groan melded with his, a duet of sinful satisfaction singing through the vehicle. The way you stretched around him was glorious, your entire body tingling with anticipation. He drew back a few inches, easing into you even further and the world began to melt away around the edges at how amazingly full you felt with him inside you.

“Oh… fuck,” he grunted, jaw clenched tight and his fingers dug uncomfortably into your waist.

“Gabriel,” you began when he didn’t move; his head drifted up, eyes locking with yours. “I want you to fuck me.”

There was as much dryness as impatience in your tone. Technically, he had only asked about being inside of you.

“As you wish, sugar,” his voice was low, husky, and filled with the same naked desire that glowed within gold as he flashed you a devastating smile. He pulled back out of you, dragging his tip along your walls, almost withdrawing completely before rolling his hips back into you. He repeated the languid movements as he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the top of your breasts, teasing at your peaks as he gave you some time to adjust to his size. His teeth flashed out, gently scraping along your nipple just before he released it, only to snap himself back against you.

You yelped, caught off guard by the hard, sudden thrust. His eyes were immediately on you, concern breaking through the heated haze of his stare. You pushed his pants down to his knees, digging your fingers into his ass. This was one part of him that seemed to always stay firm, mostly thanks to all the running around he did on cases since he hated staying idle for very long.

“Again,” you urged, nipping hungrily along his jaw, and though the noise you made when he did was sharp, there was no doubt about whether it was pleasure or pain. “Faster.”

His gaze never left yours as he followed your directive, increasing his pace until he was pounding away at you properly.

“Oh fu-uck, Gabe,” you panted, raising your hips to meet every one of his thrusts. He grabbed your knee, settling your thigh up against his waist. You eagerly raised the other, locking your legs behind him.

“Father, you feel amazing, shortcake. So hot. So tight,” he purred. “This is - I’ve never - I want to fuck you in every position imaginable and then when we’re finished, I want to come up with ones that have never been done before.”

The more he talked, the more you unconsciously clenched around him. The throaty quality of his voice as he began to unravel beneath the input his senses were feeding him was hotter than anything you’d ever heard before. The hunger beneath his words only added to the throbbing ache building within your stomach and you were already so close to coming completely undone.

His hands slipped beneath your thighs, reaching up to generously cup your backside before lifting it off the seat. He pushed into you again, testing the new angle and depth. You loved the way his eyes fluttered as he went as far as this position would let him. Wanting more for him, for both of you, you arched your back, lifting further off the seat and settling your hands beneath you to help hold yourself steady. You dug your heels into his thighs, drawing him in as far as you could, relishing the low moan you received as you clenched down around him.

He began to move again, but this position didn’t allow him to snap his hips as far back as he could before. This one kept him closer, forcing him to make shallower thrusts that had him repeatedly dragging across your g-spot before burying deep within you once again. You weren’t sure at what point you lost the ability for language, but the profanity tumbling from your mouth turned to incoherent mewls and you bit down on your lip as he sent you over the edge harder and faster than you ever had before.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, your walls shuddering around him, drawing him so close to his own brink that his pace faltered in an attempt to keep from careening right over it. He slowed everything down, taking time to nibble his way along one side of your neck before turning his attention to the other.

“Sweetheart, I want to come inside you.”

You’d never let anyone do that before. Your life had been a combination of semi-dating attempts with hunters (which never ended well) and one night stands. You’d never trusted anyone enough not to make them wear a condom, let alone do what he was asking.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted anything so badly,” he murmured, finding his way back to your lips where he his kisses turned tender. He brought his hand up to your cheek, and the affection beneath his touch made you realize how much you wanted it, too.

“Then come for me,” you told him, another rule shattering beneath his influence.

It was all he needed to hear. His hips began to move again, thrusting into you faster and faster until they begin to stutter. You felt him thickening, and you tightened around him. A deep growl erupted from deep within him as he began to pulsate, and he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled his seed inside of you.

He slumped forward, his head resting on your chest and you both need a moment to catch your breath. Your hand slipped through soft strands, idly stroking through the soft mess of curls at the back of his neck. He made a satisfied sound, and the vibrations in his chest hummed lightly against your skin.

“This isn’t how I wanted our first time to be,” he apologized.

The fact he’d put thought into your first time had your heart soaring, as does the implication that there were going to be many more times to follow.

His body tensed and his head suddenly popped up as he realized what he’d just admitted. “I mean… that’s if… I didn’t even ask…”

The way he fumbled over his thoughts made you wonder how much the human condition really interfered with the eloquence you knew he had to possess after billions of years of existing.

“Hey,” you interrupted, throwing him a lifeline. “You’re going to fuck me in every known position, remember?”

He let out a breath of a laugh, a bashful smile drawing out the dimples along his cheeks. “If that’s what you want. I’d certainly like the chance to do this again, properly.”

He looked a little sheepish, though it was hard to tell how much of the color in his cheeks was from this conversation and how much was just residual afterglow.

“I believe you did just fine putting what you needed where,” you teased. The truth was, he’d done more than fine. It had probably been one of the best sexual experiences of your life, because you actually had feelings for him. Unfortunately, one of them happened to be you feeling vulnerable and you found it hard to admit just how deep in this you already were.

“Shortcake, if you’re not screaming my name, I’m not doing it right,” the wryness beneath his words became overshadowed by his lingering disappointment in himself.

You let out a silent sigh, and the fingers in his hair unconsciously stroked a little more lovingly. You didn’t know how to convince him he was wrong. Whenever you couldn’t change his mind, you tended to distract him until another opportunity presented itself for you to be heard.

“I don’t think I’ve ever screamed anyone’s name before,” you mused, waving that fact in his face much like a matador would wave a red flag.

His smile stretched into a full, cat-like grin as he took the bait. “Oh, sweetheart, we are going to have to change that.”

Challenge accepted his gaze said, and the wicked promise that gleamed back at you had heat stirring beneath the surface once more. As much as you wanted a taste of what he had in mind, a car door slammed across the lot, reminding you of just where you were and who exactly would be coming for you if you didn’t make an appearance inside soon.

“I look forward to you trying.” You gave him a playful smile, followed by a slow, sweet kiss.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” he mumbled against your lips, stealing a few more kisses before drawing away. He eased out of you before moving back across the seat to give you room to sit up. He took a moment to pull his pants up and secure them before helping you gather your clothing.

You murmured your thanks as he handed you a pile of denim. It took you a minute to find your underwear in it, and the silence that stretched on between you started to turn awkward.

“Guess this makes me an honorary Winchester,” you began, filling it with the first thought that came to your mind.

“Oh?” He asked idly, as he bent over grab his shoes.

“I’ve slept with an archangel in the backseat of Baby right after making terribly heroic and terribly stupid decisions. I’d say that pretty much qualifies me,” you explained dryly, hoping to keep things light.

“Former archangel,” he reminded, a bitter note beneath his words. “But yeah. That about meets the criteria.”

“You’ll always be an archangel, Gabe,” you informed him and his posture went a little more rigid as he tried to jam his foot into his shoe. “It’s not the measure of your strength that determines that, or even the status of your being. You’re not any less of something just because you don’t have your grace. You’re still you, and part of that will always be absolute.”

He looked up at you, and while the heaviness was still there, there was also an appreciation that relieved some of the weight he carried. “That’s some pretty deep insight you just threw at me, kid. You sure you don’t have some infiniteness inside you?”

“I believe I just did,” you quipped with an unabashed grin.

Pride tugged at his lips in a way that brightened his features and breathed an air of confidence into him you’d never seen before. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was who he truly was, minus the burden of humanity. If so, he must have been quite the sight.

It took you a few more minutes to put yourself back to rights. Gabe waited patiently for you to finish, a small smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to tame the mess your hair had become by jamming it back into a ponytail. You managed to win that fight, though only marginally, and his hand was resting on the door handle by the time you slipped back into your jacket.

“You know, I really did enjoy this,” you reassured, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Besides, you know if we took any longer, Dean would have just come along and –”

A sudden, sharp rapping on top of the roof has you both startled and you shoot toward the opposite side of the car and it was like you were sixteen again getting caught in the back of Johnny Moretti’s Hurst Cutlass.

“You both better be fully clothed in there because if I open this door and see something I don’t wanna see, someone’s getting shot,” Dean warned.

Correction, this was exactly like that time your father caught you in the back of that vehicle.

Gabriel’s brows both raise high and he gave you a look that suggested he really is questioning if there wasn’t some divinity in you after all.

“Wait in here,” you whispered before opening your door. Your hand reached up to grab the frame, and you simultaneously hoisted yourself up as you stepped out, your head popping over the top of the vehicle to arch a brow at your friend.

“What is taking you two so long?” Dean demanded, his eyes appraising and suspicious as they undoubtedly took note of your flushed features.

“You’re not the only one who thinks I’m an idiot,” you informed him, latching on to the only explanation you could come up with for your lingering blush and your absence. “Would you rather we hashed it out in there or out here?”

“Neither,” he said after a few moments. “I’d rather you get your asses inside and order so that we can leave sometime before sunup.” He jerked his hand back in the direction of the building impatiently. “You have five minutes to get in there or we’re paying the bill and leaving.”

Dean turned on his heel, striding back back toward the diner without giving you the opportunity to say another word.

You rolled your eyes and shut your door, your stomach, more than Dean’s attitude, urging you to do as you were told. You made your way around the back of the vehicle just as Gabriel was getting out.

“Everything alright?” He asked, moving to your side.

All things considered, you would have to say that things were pretty damn good and the only reason they weren’t excellent was due to the fact you really did need to eat something.

“Next time, you should just bend me over the hood. Especially if Dean’s been an ass about something,” you suggested, and you were rewarded with a smirk.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he warned, his hand sliding beneath your jacket to play with the soft material of your shirt as you both made your way toward the building.

ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn @blondecoffeecake @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson

Gabe Squad: @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @ludwigs-a-monster @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty @kazosa @cobrakai–1972 @nobodys-baby-now

#Supernatural's Summer of Heroes Challenge #Gabriel x reader #smut #human gabriel #rabbit writes #Alternately titled - Who Needs Sleep: When Rabbit Posts Massive Fics after 11pm

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