#fic: the winchester gospels - chuck's deleted scenes

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: I just don’t want to miss you tonight

Title: I just don’t want to miss you tonight (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Gabriel Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: Set between 05.19 Hammer of the Gods, 05.20 The Devil You Know Words: 2,234 Song Inspiration: Diamante & Breaking Benjamin - Iris Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Hey, Gabriel. We've got a lead on Pestilence. Thank you, for... for going up against Lucifer, for telling us about the rings. We have a plan, now, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Because of you. I wish you were here. I'm sorry. You're gone and it's all my fault. If I hadn't started this – if I hadn't started this, you wouldn't be dead. If I manage to stop this, you can consider it an apology. Gabe... can you ever forgive me?

Goodbye, Gabriel.

Gabriel? I... I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if you're really – really dead, or if it was just another trick. Either way, I need to know. So if you could, uh. Call. Or show up. Please.

Gabriel. It's Sam. We watched the DVD. I'm not gonna ask why you thought I would watch it all the way through, but – there's some things we need to talk about. Please call me.

Gabriel... I miss you. I've tried to find you. I've been checking online, in newspapers, tabloids... nothing. No hits. No leads. Either you're doing a better job then usual at staying under the radar, or... or you didn't make it. Gabe, I need you to have made it.

Okay, Gabriel. You win. I've been praying a thousand times a day, every day, for over a week. You're not answering. I get it. You don't want to talk to me. You could still let me know you're okay. Just come tell me you're okay, tell me to stop praying, and I will.

Hey, Gabriel... your message at the end of that DVD... did you mean it? Showing up right now would be a great way to prove it. I'm at Bobby's.

Gabriel, what the hell?! Why won't you fucking answer me?! I need to know you're okay! Even if you don't want to talk, or see me, or whatever, just – dammit, Gabe, let me know you're okay somehow! Snap some chocolate onto my pillow or something!

I love you too, Gabriel. I believe you meant it. Will you please show up so you can tell me these things in person instead of from my computer screen?

Cass says you're dead, Gabriel. Don't worry, I told him he was wrong. He didn't believe me, but, I mean, the guy is still looking for God. Even though he hasn't been around for millennia. Why can he have faith in God but I can't have faith in you?

Come back, Gabriel. I'll do anything. You hear me? I don't care what it is, I'll do it. I'll shower you in candy and cake and anything else you want if you just come back.

Dammit, Gabriel! I can't believe you did this to me! I can't believe that you left me!

Where are you, Gabriel? Why haven't you called?

Gabriel... did I scare you when I said we needed to talk? Is that why you haven't come back? It wasn't going to be bad. I just... we need to have an actual discussion about us, and we can't do that until you show up. Please, Gabe. Come find me.

I can't do this without you, Gabriel. Please come back to me.

Hey... Gabriel, it's Sam. Again. I'm, uh, guessing Lucifer really did kill you this time. It's been three weeks, and I just can't believe you'd let me freak out for this long if it wasn't true. So, maybe you can still hear me, wherever you are? I hope you can.

Hey, Gabriel. We've got a lead on Pestilence. Thank you, for... for going up against Lucifer, for telling us about the rings. We have a plan, now, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Because of you. I wish you were here. I'm sorry. You're gone and it's all my fault. If I hadn't started this – if I hadn't started this, you wouldn't be dead. If I manage to stop this, you can consider it an apology. Gabe... can you ever forgive me?

Goodbye, Gabriel.

Sam was sitting in yet another dingy motel room, waiting for Dean to come back. After Sam had gotten back from a food run, Dean had eaten and then said he was gonna find a bar. He'd tried to get Sam to go too, telling him he needed to get out, but Sam didn't want to be around people. He had been withdrawing more and more since Elysian Fields, slowly beginning to believe that Gabriel hadn't made it. Now he just wanted to be alone, all the time.

At the moment, he was sitting on the floor, back against one of the twin beds, forehead on his knees. He'd been crying – again – and he was glad Dean wasn't there to see it this time. Last time he had broken down, he had confessed to his brother that it was all his fault – that Gabriel would never have stood up against Lucifer if it hadn't been for Sam.

“I got him killed, Dean! Just because he cared about me! Because I couldn't stay away from him!”

Sam curled his arms around his legs, letting out a shaky breath. Castiel had shown up a few days after the confrontation with Lucifer, supposedly looking for Dean, but Sam knew he was just there to be with him. The angel still wasn't exactly comfortable putting words to his feelings, but Sam knew without asking that Castiel felt something about losing Gabriel. He always regretted the loss of another angel. Cass had looked at him awhile before asking, “was it worth it?”

Sam hadn't known if he meant caring for Gabriel, or Gabriel sacrificing himself, or what. He had the feeling that Gabriel's death was forcing the falling angel to come to terms with his own angel-human... entanglement. He had only shrugged and said he didn't know. Castiel had only nodded, before dropping back into silence, a warm presence that helped keep Sam from falling apart.

He still didn't know if it was worth it. Any of it.

Lucifer was still out there, and while they did have a plan, there were so many things that could go wrong. Sam's trying to hold on to his faith, for his brother's sake, but since losing Gabriel... well. Faith was in short supply these days.

Lost in his grief, Sam didn't hear the flutter of wings or feel the slight breeze that rustled his hair. He did, however, hear the soft voice.

“Sam.”

Sam's head jerked up, body tensing, eyes wide open. Gabriel knelt in front of him, an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face.

“Gabriel,” he breathed out.

Gabriel smiled, soft, hands resting on his knees. “Hey, kiddo.” He didn't move, didn't try to reach out to Sam, just sat there looking at him.

“This – you can't be here,” Sam almost begged. “This isn't real.” Convinced he fell asleep, that he's stuck in another dream, that Lucifer is using the image of another person ingrained in Sam's soul to manipulate him, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“I'm real, Sam. It's me.”

Sam kept his eyes closed. He was not going to give Lucifer the pleasure. “How could I possibly believe that?”

“Directed prayers can't be heard by anyone else.” Honey gold eyes collided with hazel as Sam's flew open. He couldn't look away. One corner of Gabriel's mouth lifted in a smirk. “So you watched the entire DVD, huh? Some of my best work, if I do say so myself.”

Sam froze. He remembered praying to Gabriel, telling him he had seen it all. Before his mind could fully catch up, he had thrown himself at the archangel, burying his face in Gabriel's neck as his hands fisted into the edges of Gabriel's jacket. Gabriel was just as quick to hold him in return, one hand going into the hair on the back of Sam's head and the other arm going around his waist. He breathed in the scent of pine and patchouli and vanilla that was uniquely Sam. His arm tightened around the hunter as traces of wetness hit his throat.

“Shhh, Sammy, it's okay, I'm okay, I'm safe.” the trickster whispered, trying to soothe the hunter.

“Where were you, Gabe?” Sam asked brokenly. “I thought - “ he couldn't finish the sentence, leaning into Gabriel even more. Archangel strength was a blessing. Gabriel would have toppled over if he had been human.

“I know, Sam, I know.” Gabriel stroked his fingers through Sam's hair. “I had to wait, had to make sure everyone believed Lucifer had killed me. It took longer then I wanted.”

“Do that again and I'll kill you myself,” the hunter grumbled, making Gabriel snort.

“I may let you.” he admitted softly. He drew back, waiting for Sam to meet his eyes again. When he did, he smiled, moving his arm from Sam's hair to stroke his fingers against Sam's cheek. Sam leaned into the caress, eyes still on Gabriel. “I never wanted to leave you, Sam.”

Sam swallowed thickly, before clearing his throat. “Then why did you?” The look he gave Gabriel was accusing, but there was still so much sadness. Like he still didn't believe Gabriel was real.

If Gabriel had had a heart, it would have broken. Gabriel's eyes closed and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Sam's.

“You know why.”

Sam nodded, the motion making his hair tickle Gabriel's face. Gabriel titled his head, pressing a soft kiss to the hunter's forehead before drawing back again.

“You were right,” Gabriel said, hands drifting down to wrap around Sam's where they still clutched his jacket. “We do need to talk, but not about us.” Gabriel paused, waiting until Sam's attention was focused back on his face, before continuing. “What happened was not your fault, Sam. It was my choice.” He smiled ruefully, brushing Sam's hair back from his face. His hand lingered after he tucked the strand behind Sam's ear. “It was the only way I could make sure you got out of there. You gonna tell me you wouldn't have done the same, if the roles had been switched?”

Sam blew out a breath, annoyance on his face. “You know I would.”

“I did what I had to. I couldn't run, not that time.” Because you matter to me, he thought but didn't say. Because running meant losing you.

“But you wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me,” Sam said. “If I had just stayed away after Crawford Hall, if I had let you go after Mystery Spot - “

“I didn't have to show up, ya know,” Gabriel pointed out. “Regardless of... us. I could've stayed away.”

“This is a circular argument, you know that, right?” Sam sighed. He sagged back against the bed, feeling drained.

“I was just waiting for you to figure that out.” Gabriel said with a mischievous smile.

The archangel stood, holding out his hands for Sam's. “C'mere.” Sam slid his hands into Gabriel's, letting him pull Sam to his feet. As soon as he was standing, the hunter was right back in Gabriel's space, a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and the other on his cheek.

“Will you – can you stay? With me? Just for the night?” the hunter asked softly.

Gabriel softened, looking up at the hunter. “I'll stay as long as I can,” he promised. When Sam smiled, a real smile full of joy, Gabriel's eyes got even softer.

“Good,” Sam said simply, tugging Gabriel towards his bed. He laid down on top of the covers, drawing the archangel down with him. They laid there, just looking at each other, legs tangled around the other's. Gabriel had one hand drawing soothing motions on Sam's side, while Sam was rubbing Gabriel's cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you,” Sam said after a comfortable silence. “For coming back.”

“I'll always come back, Sam.”

Sam decided not to ruin the moment by telling him that neither of them could promise that, not with their lives, not with the Apocalypse on the horizon. Instead he just laid there and played with Gabriel's hair until he fell asleep.

When Sam's eyes drooped closed and his breathing deepened, Gabriel let out a shaky breath. He ached with what he was about to do, with the knowledge of how it would tie Sam up in knots.

He shouldn't have come here. He should have stayed away, let Sam continue believing he was dead. But when Sam had started blaming himself, apologizing for it – Gabriel couldn't take it any more. He missed the hunter with a fierce ache that just kept getting worse. Coming here was a mistake. Indulging himself wasn't going to make anything better.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there, watching Sam sleep, trying to memorize the way his skin felt and how he looked and how he smelled, when he heard the Impala drive up outside the motel. He sighed, softly, brushing back more of Sam's hair.

“I'm sorry, Sammy,” he murmured, leaning over to softly kiss the hunter's cheek. So soft that Sam didn't even stir. He held up two fingers, hesitating, until he heard the Impala shut off. He pressed the fingers to Sam's forehead, taking one more moment to look at the way Sam's lashes curled against his cheeks in his sleep. When he heard Dean approaching the room, cursing as he tried to find his motel key, he snapped and disappeared from the room.

When Sam woke up the next morning, he was in bed, curled under the blanket. He didn't remember going to bed, but he must have, obviously. Dean would have just left him wherever he fell asleep. He didn't actually remember much from the night before. The heavy spot inside that had been there since Gabriel died had eased off a little, and he felt something else, too.

It felt like redemption.

It felt like forgiveness.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Second Chance

Title: Second Chance (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Gabriel Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: 05.08 Changing Channels Words: 1,327 Song Inspiration: Art of Dying - Best I Can Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

The warehouse was quiet now. The sprinklers must have stopped hours ago, but there were still puddles of water all over the floor. He can see what's left of the ring of Holy Fire; it had scorched a black circle in the concrete floor.

Dean had been asleep for hours; but Sam couldn't settle enough to sleep, so he had grabbed the Impala's keys and scribbled a quick note to his brother. He had driven aimlessly for awhile before finding himself parked outside the warehouse.

He was angry. So angry, that he had barely spoken during the confrontation with Gabriel. He knew if he did, his brother would finally find out just how well Sam knew the Trickster. The archangel, he corrected himself.

The warehouse was quiet now. The sprinklers must have stopped hours ago, but there were still puddles of water all over the floor. He can see what's left of the ring of Holy Fire; it had scorched a black circle in the concrete floor.

Dean had been asleep for hours; but Sam couldn't settle enough to sleep, so he had grabbed the Impala's keys and scribbled a quick note to his brother. He had driven aimlessly for awhile before finding himself parked outside the warehouse.

He was angry. So angry, that he had barely spoken during the confrontation with Gabriel. He knew if he did, his brother would finally find out just how well Sam knew the Trickster. The archangel, he corrected himself.

And that thought just made him even angrier.

Loki had tricked him again. He doesn't even know why he's surprised at this point, except maybe because he thought they had gotten past that. He's standing in front of the burnt circle, frustration and disbelief and anger all fighting for prominence on his face, when he feels something behind him. He straightens, eyes going cold, knowing exactly whose presence he feels. He's pulling a page out of Dean's book, using anger to cover all of his other conflicting emotions.

He's not sure he cares.

“You shouldn't be here.” he growled out.

“I didn't have anywhere else to be.” The flippant, mocking tone just pissed Sam off even more.

Sam turned to face him, eyes still cold. “Two years, Loki. Two years, and you only told me who you are because we caught you out?!”

“What would you have done, Sam?” Gabriel snapped, finally letting go of the Trickster mask. “Would it have changed anything?”

Sam stepped closer to him, the urgent need to throttle the shorter being becoming even more likely. “I don't know, since you didn't give me a chance to find out!”

“I'm doing the best I can,” Gabriel shot back, “whether that's good enough for you or not. This is my life, kid. If Heaven finds out I'm alive, I'll be dragged back quicker then you can say Apocalypse. And then I get to watch my brothers use you and your brother to end the world!”

“Did you – did you not care? About me? Is that why you never said anything?”

Sam watched the archangel's face slacken, disbelief taking over instead of anger. “Of course I care, Sam! You know I do! Do you really thought I would keep coming back if I didn't?”

“I don't know! I don't know anything anymore! I don't know what was real with us and what wasn't! You were just a janitor, and then you were the Trickster, and then you were dead, and then you weren't! And now you're an archangel!” Sam paced back and forth, because if he didn't so help him he was going to punch something. Or someone.

“God, Gabriel, you could have trusted me!” he shouted, whirling back towards the angel. “Didn't I earn that?! Didn't I deserve that?! Just a little 'oh, yeah, Sam, by the way, I gotta tell ya something'! Would that have been so fricking hard for you to do just once?!”

“YES!” Gabriel shouted back. “Because I knew you deserved better, and I knew I could trust you, and it terrified me!” Gabriel stared up at him, eyes blazing, standing his ground. Not like a mere human could really hurt him, Sam thought maliciously.

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. “Nothing scares you.”

“So which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezy or Douchey?”

“Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel.”

“Gabriel. The archangel.”

“Guilty.”

The words flashed through the archangel's mind, along with the expression on Sam's face when he had confirmed who he was. It had been filled with so much pain and despair. The sight of it had made Gabriel's Grace tremble, and he had wanted to curl into himself. Instead he had focused on the other Winchester, because facing him had been easier then facing that look of betrayal on Sam's face.

A look he had put there way too many times.

“Did you not hear what I said last time we were here? I couldn't watch my family be torn apart! You think I didn't try to stop it? I spent centuries trying to stop it! All for nothing! So, yeah, I left. I ran. Because I was scared, Sam.” Gabriel laughed again, mocking, but even in his anger Sam could tell that it was directed at himself, not the hunter. “And every time I wanted to tell you, it scared me. So I did what I have spent eons doing – I ran. From you.”

“You should have told me, Gabriel. I could've – I could've helped, or – or done something - ” Sam was quieter, now, and he could feel tears in his eyes. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Gabriel sighed, hands spread in a gesture of helplessness. “I don't know, kid. I did want to, I just – I couldn't take the chance. I haven't told anyone who I really am since I started my little witness protection. That was one of the conditions of it. I am sorry. I never said I was perfect, but I am sorry I didn't tell you.”

Sam gazed at the angel, hazel eyes leaning more towards green because of the tears. What he saw on Gabriel's face, what he had seen on it since they trapped him in that circle, seemed real. The angel looked more open, more honest, then he had ever been, like he was desperate for Sam to believe him. But right now, it didn't change anything. It couldn't change anything. The hunter shook his head, eyes not leaving Gabriel's.

“I can't do this anymore. Not like this. If you can't trust me – if you can't stop tricking me – we can't do this anymore.” Sam felt a tear fall down his cheek, and moved around the angel, far enough he couldn't reach out and grab him.

He was halfway to the door when he heard the soft words from behind him: “Don't do this, Sam.”

The words were broken, something he had never heard from Loki in the two years they'd been doing... whatever it was they were doing. He wondered if maybe that was because he was Gabriel now, and didn't have to keep up the Loki facade with the hunter any more.

Sam stopped himself at the door, one hand on the handle, and turned back to face Gabriel. Gabriel's vessel was small, but now he looked even smaller. His hands were in tight fists at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from coming after Sam and grabbing him. Sam wanted nothing more then to go back to the archangel, wrap his arms around him and hold on as tightly as he could. But he couldn't. He couldn't do this again, not after Ruby.

But he could leave the decision up to the archangel.

“There is so much shit to work though, so much to unpack, but if you – if you want to fix this. This is your second chance. If you're not going to take it - “ he swallows, thinks if you're not going to take me, “then stay away from me.”

Gabriel's eyes went bright, like he was trying to keep his own emotions under control. “Do you really mean that?”

Sam nodded, once, quickly. “Yes.” He held the angel's stare for a few more minutes, then turned and opened the door. “I really hope you take it. If you do... call me.” Without waiting for an answer, Sam walked out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

For the second time that day, Gabriel found himself frozen in that warehouse, unable to leave, as he heard the Impala driving away.

Sam was gone. Dimly, Gabriel thinks that Sam leaving him is almost as bad as when he had to watch Lucifer fall.

And then he ran again.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: If ya gotta start sometime, why not now?

Title: If ya gotta start sometime, why not now? (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Alastair, Uriel Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester Episode: Set between 04.16 On the Head of a Pin and 04.17 It’s a Terrible Life Words: 1,918 Song Inspiration: TobyMac - City on Our Knees Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Dean shifted on the bed, remote in hand. He still ached from the aftermath with Alastair, and not being able to hunt had turned his mood sour. Sam was gone, doing what he did best, and he was grateful for the break from his hovering baby brother.

It had been three days since he was released from the hospital, and he'd been stuck in this shitty motel room ever since. Sam wouldn't let him leave, arguing that he wasn't up for it yet. The fact that Dean could barely walk on his own had made him admit Sam was right. The only thing he's got going for him right now is that he hasn't had to deal with any friggin' angels.

The TV was playing one of his favorite shows, but he's not focused on it. He's thinking about the conversation with Castiel in the hospital, when he told the angel that he wasn't strong enough. He was surprised when the angel had shown up, figuring he wouldn't see him again for weeks, and only when the angels had another “mission” for him. But Castiel had shown up, just to check on him, and Dean didn't really know how to react to that.

Dean shifted on the bed, remote in hand. He still ached from the aftermath with Alastair, and not being able to hunt had turned his mood sour. Sam was gone, doing what he did best, and he was grateful for the break from his hovering baby brother.

It had been three days since he was released from the hospital, and he'd been stuck in this shitty motel room ever since. Sam wouldn't let him leave, arguing that he wasn't up for it yet. The fact that Dean could barely walk on his own had made him admit Sam was right. The only thing he's got going for him right now is that he hasn't had to deal with any friggin' angels.

The TV was playing one of his favorite shows, but he's not focused on it. He's thinking about the conversation with Castiel in the hospital, when he told the angel that he wasn't strong enough. He was surprised when the angel had shown up, figuring he wouldn't see him again for weeks, and only when the angels had another “mission” for him. But Castiel had shown up, just to check on him, and Dean didn't really know how to react to that.

He didn't really know how to react after he heard a flutter of wings and the black-haired angel appeared at the foot of the bed.

“Geez, Castiel! You need a warning system,” Dean said, body sagging in relief after the initial tension ebbed away once he saw who the intruder was.

“I apologize, Dean,” the angel said, tilting his head. “I forget how... uncomfortable my arrival can be for humans.”

Dean rolled his eyes, shifting in the bed to lean back against the headboard. “Yeah, it's not something most people have to worry about.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” the angel continued. He stayed standing, looking at Dean, and Dean's neck was about to be permanently stuck in this position if the cosmic being didn't move already.

“Would you sit down?” Dean said, moving his feet to make room for Castiel on the end of the bed. “You're making me nervous standing there.” he grumbled the last part, annoyance clearly showing through in his voice.

Castiel looked at the end of the bed, then back at Dean. He still wasn't used to all these human norms. He knew everything Jimmy knew, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with the human aspects. So, when he did sit, he sat next to Dean's thigh.

Dean huffed a laugh and decided to just go with it. He peered at the angel closely, but of course he had the same face on that he always did: mostly indifference, with a hint of confusion. “You worried your Righteous Man isn't up to the task anymore? How'd ya find me, anyway?”

A head tilt. “I am not worried. You are easy to find. I can always feel you.”

Well. Wasn't that just a kick in the pants.

Dean cleared his throat, deciding to shove away thoughts he really shouldn't be thinking in front of an Angel of the Lord. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I rebuilt you and rescued you from Hell. I know your soul – how it feels, how it shines.” Castiel said matter of factly, as if he hadn't just said something that made Dean's stomach do flips.

Unknowing of what was going on in Dean's head, Castiel looked around the room before turning back to Dean with a quizzical expression on his face. “Where is Sam?”

Dean lifted one shoulder in a shrug, playing with the remote still in his hand. “Probably still at the library. He's trying to track down some information.”

“Ah, I see.” Blue eyes studied Dean closely. “Are you still in pain?”

“Nothing I can't handle.”

“I could heal you, if you would let me,” the angel offered. “It is my fault that you are not at your best right now.”

Dean's eyes narrowed. “If you can heal me, why didn't you do it at the hospital?” he growled.

“While I am still unaccustomed to social norms, I do know enough to know that a patient miraculously healing after such trauma would raise eyebrows.” Castiel replied, and Dean could've sworn that he heard peevishness in the angel's tone.

“Yeah alright,” he grumbled. He sat up straight. “Alright, go ahead, hit me with the mojo.”

If Castiel had been human, he would have rolled his eyes. However, he was an angel, so all he did was scoot forward a bit on the bed and raise two fingers to Dean's forehead. “It is not 'mojo', Dean.”

Warmth suffused Dean's body, heady and foreign, but not uncomfortable. It was over before he could really process it. When the warmth faded, he felt better then he had in ages. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched, enjoying the feeling, before twisting back around to grin at the angel.

“Whatever it is, it's awesome,” Dean commented. “Thanks.”

Castiel smiled, barely lifting the corners of his mouth. “You are welcome.”

Dean studied the being again. He did that a lot, he knew. He was trying to figure out this “Soldier of Heaven” that, apparently, had been told by God to retrieve his stupid ass from the pit. It hadn't been hard to understand that what he actually saw was not at all what Castiel actually looked like. He was used to demons at this point, after all; it was the same with them. Angels called 'em vessels, demons called 'em meatsuits – different words that meant the same thing. There was a human soul in that body alongside the angel, and Dean hoped angelic possession was easier on humans then demonic.

Dean didn't know why, but there was something there. A connection, similar to what he felt with his brother, slightly different in that it didn't feel like family. He wasn't sure what to classify it as, or what had created it, though he'd bet an entire night's worth of pool hustling it was connected to the shiny new handprint on his shoulder. Which made him wonder...

“Why don't I remember you gettin' me out of Hell?” Dean asked, genuinely curious.

For the first time ever, it looked like he had startled the angel. “I blocked your memories of it. I thought it would be too traumatic.”

Dean snorted. “Cass, dude, if that was a worry there are a hell of a lot of others just as bad.”

“That may be so, but it did not occur to me to take those memories.” Castiel replied.

This is my life now, Dean thought. Talkin' to a friggin' angel about mojo-ing my brain. God I miss wendigos.

“I don't like not remembering, just so you know.” Dean said.

Castiel titled his head again, curiosity taking over his face. “I could let you remember again, if you would like. However you will more then likely find it very unsettling.”

“Maybe... maybe you could just tell me what happened.” the hunter responded around a lump in his throat. He could handle not remembering anything else about Hell, thank you very much!

“All right,” the angel said, as Dean stood, stretching again, before walking around the bed and to the kitchenette. Grabbing a bottled water off the table, he twisted the cap off as he turned back to face the angel, dropping down into a chair at the small table.

Castiel also moved, turning his body to face Dean, legs bent at the knees off the side of the bed. Dean wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable, but hell if he was gonna say anything. What Dean didn't know was that Castiel was trying to determine exactly how much to tell the hunter.

“After you were killed, my garrison was given orders to infiltrate Hell and retrieve you. My garrison consisted of thirteen angels, and an additional three garrisons were tasked with helping us. The other garrisons were to help hold the demons back while my garrison looked for you. We went into Hell with fifty-two angels, and only eight of us made it back out.” Castiel trailed off, eyes focusing into the distance, as if he was remembering it perfectly. And maybe he was.

Dean stayed quiet, playing with the top from his water bottle as he listened.

“Anyway,” the angel continued after a moment, “when we finally did discover your location, the other garrisons were all involved in battle. None of them could break free to join us, so it was decided they would stay and keep the path open for our retreat. My garrison went to you, slaughtering demons as we went. I looked up from smiting a demon, and there you were.” The angel shrugged.

“Where was I?” Dean asked, certain he already knew the answer. And yup, he should've taken a bet on that.

“You – you were in the deepest level of hell. You had a soul on the rack, and you were torturing it. Alastair was watching. I sent three of my angels to engage him, while the others kept back the demons that had followed us down. You were about to cut into the soul again, when I grabbed your arm.” Castiel's eyes looked up at Dean, rueful. “You were not exactly pleased that I stopped you, and you tried to attack me.”

“Well. At least I'm consistent.” As feeble a joke as it was, Castiel quirked a small smile.

“Indeed. Alastair managed to kill two of the angels fighting him, Adriel and Balthazar, before Uriel was able to dispatch him. He then joined me in subduing you long enough to get you to listen to me. I told you who and what I was, that we had been tasked by God to save you. You only cared about getting back to your brother.” Castiel looked at him again, and Dean thought that this time, there was fondness in that gaze. “You stopped fighting us when I said I would take you to him.”

Dean dragged his eyes away from the angel, looking at the water bottle in his hands, one hand ripping pieces of the label off. “Did you know?”

“About the seal?” This, at least, was a question Castiel had been expecting all along. “No, I did not. My superiors did not see fit to trust me with that information. But, Dean – if I had known, I would have fought to get to you sooner.”

Dean raised his eyes back to the angel, who, for him anyway, looked earnest. He blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know, Cass. So, we got out.”

“Yes,” the angel answered promptly. “Thanks to the sacrifices of my brothers and sisters, I was able to drag you up out of Hell. Uriel stayed with us as long as he could, fighting any demons that tried to reach you. After I broke us through to the surface, I took your soul to where Sam and Bobby had buried you. I had to rebuild your soul before I was able to connect it back to your vessel.”

“Body, Cass,” Dean said automatically. “Humans don't have vessels.”

Another head tilt. “Do you not? Your body is merely housing for your soul, as this body is temporary housing for my Grace.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at his savior. “You wanna talk metaphysics, you need to stick around and wait for Sam.”

“I would like that.”

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Without You I’m a Disaster

Title: Without You I’m a Disaster (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Michael, Adam Milligan Pairing(s): Michael/Adam Milligan Episode: 15.19 Inherit the Earth Words: 1,405 Song Inspiration: My Darkest Days - Without You Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Adam wasn't supposed to be part of this story. He was not the one God had destined for him. He was never supposed to know anything about God or angels or the devil or apocalypses. He was supposed to exercise the free will He had given humans, live out his life in the manner of his choosing. But somehow, Michael's Sword always rejected him, and after more than a thousand years in the Cage, Michael thinks it was better this way.

He saw Castiel's memories. He knows what his Father turned into (and he can't help but see the parallels between the cosmic deity and the Morningstar). Michael knew He was the cause of Lucifer's downfall, that everything He had ever done was just to manipulate His creations in the pursuit of entertainment. He missed the being that he had thought Him to be, not the actual being. But it was small, soft, a passing regret that didn't have much sway over his feelings.

But now that Adam is gone, Michael aches.

Michael doesn't know why he's here.

Adam wasn't supposed to be part of this story. He was not the one God had destined for him. He was never supposed to know anything about God or angels or the devil or apocalypses. He was supposed to exercise the free will He had given humans, live out his life in the manner of his choosing. But somehow, Michael's Sword always rejected him, and after more than a thousand years in the Cage, Michael thinks it was better this way.

He saw Castiel's memories. He knows what his Father turned into (and he can't help but see the parallels between the cosmic deity and the Morningstar). Michael knew He was the cause of Lucifer's downfall, that everything He had ever done was just to manipulate His creations in the pursuit of entertainment. He missed the being that he had thought Him to be, not the actual being. But it was small, soft, a passing regret that didn't have much sway over his feelings.

But now that Adam is gone, Michael aches.

Irrationally, he blames it on the eldest Winchester. If Dean had only said yes to him at the beginning (centuries, decades – in this case, they were the same – ago), he would have never known Adam. They would have never been thrown into the pit, trapped there by an act of pure love that he grudgingly respected the youngest Winchester for.

He would have never known what love was. He can't decide if he'd rather be Michael, Sword of Heaven... or Michael, the archangel who loved his vessel.

Oh, he'd heard the stories, of course. He knew about Akobel, Ishim. He had been the one to give Ishim permission to take his garrison and eradicate the angel and the nephilim. He knew Ishim had desired Lily to the point of obsession. Michael had seen the same obsession in Lucifer for Sam Winchester. He knew, now, that Akobel had indeed been involved with Lily, but also knew that the child – a daughter, an innocent – was not, in fact, nephilim. He knew how Benjamin, one of the angels in Ishim's garrison, had fallen in love with his vessel. He knew that Anna had purposely Fallen so that she could experience human love.

And he knows how Castiel had felt about Dean. How Gabriel had felt for Sam. It was remarkable, Michael thought, how the three human brothers had so changed two archangels and a seraph. He wonders if that possibility had always been there, and if his Father had truly never seen it. He thinks that, perhaps, the three humans are (were, because Adam's gone, he's gone and this mourning will never end) even more special then God had intended them to be. Perhaps it really was always meant to be the three of them, saving the world by saving three angels. Michael thinks it's almost fitting, after everything He has done, to end up with so many rebellious children.

He wonders if there was ever a human who could change Lucifer the same way. Perhaps Sam could have, if he hadn't grown so attached to Gabriel. But then, Gabriel wouldn't have been saved.

He had seen more of Castiel's memories then the younger angel had intended. He had seen everything in those few moments, from the start of his Creation until the instant he had placed his hands on the archangel in the bunker. It solidifies the anger roiling in him, knowing that not once in all the centuries they were in the Cage, did anyone ever try to come up with a way to free him or Adam.

But Castiel had found a way to save Sam Winchester's body, and then Dean had found a way to save Sam Winchester's soul. Michael had begged Death to take Adam, to save him, but the being older then God and Amara had simply looked at him and said it wasn't their time yet.

Adam and Michael had made a plan, once: if something ever happened where they were parted, if Michael was ever cast out of Adam's body, the human would go to the nearest church devoted to Michael. And he would wait there, until the archangel found him again. Neither of them had ever spoken about how that notion terrified them both.

He doesn't know why he's here. This isn't the plan. They had never made a plan about what to do if Adam was the one taken. But now Adam, and what looks like every other living thing on the planet, are gone. He can not get into Heaven to try and find Adam; it is closed. Michael can no longer hear his brothers and sisters, can no longer sense anything nearby.

The church is dusty, and he considers using his powers to clean it (it is a church devoted to him, after all) but decides not to. He doesn't want to do anything that will direct his Father's attention onto him. His eyes (his eyes, not Adam's; it's not his body anymore, not without his beautiful, mischievous soul inhabiting it) fall on the books sorted into little holders on the back of each pew. He picks one of them up, staring at the two words on the cover.

The book is black, with silver gilded words on the front. It fits perfectly into his hand, gilded silver pages and textured leather cover. It is thick, and well-worn, but beautiful in it's simplicity. He knows the stories written inside, witnessed most of them being transcribed by His prophets.

It says HOLY BIBLE on the front of it. He's not sure anymore if anything in it can truly be considered holy. Not when it was just another piece of the game.

On the outside, there is no other ornamentation – but he flips it open, and thumbs through the delicate pages, and every so often he comes across pictures. Some of them are black and white drawings and only take up a fraction of space on the page; others are full-page, full-color paintings. The first colored one that makes him stop and stare is of himself and Lucifer, and the lump in his throat (his throat, not Adam's, never again Adam's) feels like regret.

The painting doesn't depict their true forms, but it is obvious from the wings and lance one is holding that it's supposed to be Michael. The painted angel is floating in the sky among clouds, and there are other angels holding swords and lances and bows in the background. There is a figure falling to Earth; it has broken wings and horns, but still seems to glow, a look of betrayal on the beautiful face. There's a bolt of Grace shooting through him, what looks like flames surrounding his body as he falls through the atmosphere.

It was a very human depiction of Lucifer's fall. He feels, perhaps for the first time, the true ache of loneliness as he thinks about his closest brothers: Lucifer, hardly younger then himself, but with a fierce protector in Michael until their Father commanded otherwise; Raphael, who always had wise advice at the ready but did not want any type of leadership role; Gabriel, the youngest of the archangels, always brokering peace during their sibling squabbles. All three of them are gone, now; two dead and sent to The Empty, one lost to darkness. Castiel killed Raphael, he knows; he holds the memories in his own Grace now. Another Michael had killed Gabriel. He doesn't know what has become of Lucifer. There are no longer any other worlds, so any other versions of them that had been created were also gone.

Thinking about those other worlds once again, he wonders – did any of them have an Adam Milligan? Did any of the other Michael's ever come to treasure their Adam the way he had his? He hopes, for their sakes, that those other versions of him did.

He wishes Adam was here, for so many reasons, but also to help him put words to what he feels. He needs his guide here, not... not wherever God had sent him.

He is more alone then he has ever been, until the door creaks open behind him. When he see who it is, he snarls, but decides to stay. He decides to talk to them. He decides to go with them, and he decides to help.

Because Adam would ask him to.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: What if you’re making me all that I was meant to be?

Title: What if you’re making me all that I was meant to be? (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Gabriel, Dean Winchester Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: Set Between 13.20 Unfinished Business/13.21 Beat the Devil Words: 792 Song Inspiration: Daughtry - What About Now Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Since killing Loki, Gabriel had been staying at the bunker. Sam kept expecting to wake up one morning and find the archangel gone for good, but he was always there, feet propped up on one of the library tables, flipping through a book or a magazine, lollipop sticking out of his mouth.

The first time Sam noticed, bleary with half-open eyes and smoothing down his hair, desperately in need of coffee, that Gabriel was reading tabloids again, he had felt a wave of relief.

And then a wave of tension. Because if Gabriel was feeling enough like himself to eat candy and read tabloids, he was probably pretty close to getting up to his old tricks.

And leaving.

Since killing Loki, Gabriel had been staying at the bunker. Sam kept expecting to wake up one morning and find the archangel gone for good, but he was always there, feet propped up on one of the library tables, flipping through a book or a magazine, lollipop sticking out of his mouth.

The first time Sam noticed, bleary with half-open eyes and smoothing down his hair, desperately in need of coffee, that Gabriel was reading tabloids again, he had felt a wave of relief.

And then a wave of tension. Because if Gabriel was feeling enough like himself to eat candy and read tabloids, he was probably pretty close to getting up to his old tricks.

And leaving.

But he didn't leave, unless it was to go on a supply run or a hunt, and the pranks never started. If Sam was awake, Gabriel was always there at the edges, staying out of the way but gravitating to wherever Sam was.

Sam assumed it was because he was the one that had taken care of Gabriel after Asmodeus.

After awhile, Sam realized that instead of tricks, Gabriel was helping. Any time a hunter called Sam, needing his help with research or lore, the answers would suddenly be easy to find. He'd open his laptop to find his browser window open to a page with the correct information, or pull the exact lore book off the library shelves that he needed without having to search an entire stack. Sometimes it would be a book that he knew, without a doubt, had never been in that library before. Sometimes Sam would find things crossed out, notes written in the margins with corrected or updated information.

He started noticing other ways Gabriel would help, without being asked, without calling attention to it.

No matter where he was, Sam always had an internet connection. His cell phone never had a bad signal. His favorite foods never ran out. Any time they ate outside of the bunker, whatever diner or restaurant they were at always had a mouth-watering selection of healthy foods that the waitstaff didn't remember having before. He never ran out of spell ingredients, and a lot of the time he'd find little boxes or bottles of things he knew he hadn't had before. Between him and Rowena, they always had what they needed.

Eventually he realized that Gabriel's help extended to other members of their makeshift little family.

Cass never ran out of Kookie Crunch, and there was a new prize in the box every time it was opened. No matter how much Dean drank, the next time he pulled out the whiskey or bourbon or tequila, the bottles would be full again. They never ran out of pie or coffee. The infirmary never ran out of supplies, their portable first aid kits never had to be replenished. If they got a call from another hunter needing backup, but none of them were available, Gabriel would leave and help the hunter, showing back up at the bunker without a word.

After the dozenth hunter had informed Sam about Gabriel's help, he started to understand that this time, Gabriel wasn't running.

Knives and machetes never had be to be sharpened. Spent bullets would be replaced in their proper place. Sam never had to clean his guns. The first time Dean pulled out all his guns to clean them, he had been almost disappointed that they didn't need it. It never happened again, but maintaining his own weapons and making bullets had never been high on Sam's list of Favorite Things to Do, and he was grateful that he could now spend that time researching and doing inventory of the bunker's contents.

Sam was in the library, laptop open on the table while he put together a searchable electronic database of their inventory (a project Charlie had spearheaded, insisting they needed it), Gabriel on the other end with a stack of tabloids, when Dean finally caught on. Dean passed by them on his way from the kitchen to the Dean Cave with a piece of pie and a beer, clasping Gabriel on the shoulder as he went by.

“Thanks,” Dean said, gruffly, having taken longer than anyone else to adjust to the archangel's near constant presence.

Gold eyes flickered up to Dean in surprise, before dropping back down to the tabloid in his hand, then to Sam and back to the tabloid. “You're welcome.”

Sam could only smile at the archangel before hunching back over his laptop, picking up the mug of coffee that always seemed to stay the perfect temperature, no matter how long it had been sitting.

And he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this new normal.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Show me what it’s like (to be the last one standing)

Title: Show me what it’s like (to be the last one standing) (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Gabriel Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: 13.22 Exodus Words: 1,061 Song Inspiration: Nickelback - Savin’ Me Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Sam rubbed his eyes, stumbling slightly as he walked out the door. He had been laying in bed, thinking, before deciding he needed to do something to calm his brain down. When he looked up, he could see Gabriel sitting on a rusted park bench, eyes unfocused.

Walking down the porch of the little house the Apocalypse World Bobby had told him to bunk in for the night, Sam tried to keep his steps quiet enough not to wake anyone, but loud enough Gabriel would hear. He knew that, after Asmodeus, sudden movements and loud sounds made him anxious.

Stepping on a twig did the job. Gabriel's eyes swung over to him, tensing his shoulders before realizing who it was. Before realizing it wasn't a threat, that it was the person he owed for taking care of him after Asmodeus.

Sam rubbed his eyes, stumbling slightly as he walked out the door. He had been laying in bed, thinking, before deciding he needed to do something to calm his brain down. When he looked up, he could see Gabriel sitting on a rusted park bench, eyes unfocused.

Walking down the porch of the little house the Apocalypse World Bobby had told him to bunk in for the night, Sam tried to keep his steps quiet enough not to wake anyone, but loud enough Gabriel would hear. He knew that, after Asmodeus, sudden movements and loud sounds made him anxious.

Stepping on a twig did the job. Gabriel's eyes swung over to him, tensing his shoulders before realizing who it was. Before realizing it wasn't a threat, that it was the person he owed for taking care of him after Asmodeus.

The one that was the reason he was upright and walking.

“Couldn't sleep?” the archangel asked, soft and a little worried.

That tone did all kinds of things to Sam that he wasn't ready to acknowledge.

“It's too quiet,” Sam said, leaning against a tree beside Gabriel, keeping his voice just as soft. “What about you? What are you doing out here?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Figured I would stand watch, let the humans sleep. Jack and Castiel are too.”

“Where's Lucifer?”

“He's with Castiel.”

Sam huffed a laugh, reaching up to drag a hand over his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw caramel eyes glance at him before looking away quickly. “Should someone be keeping an eye on them?”

“Probably,” Gabriel said with a smirk, “but it ain't gonna be me.”

Sam re-positioned himself so the tree was against his back, looking at the archangel, seeing the worn and tired expression on the being's face. Sometimes Sam forgot how old the other was, but when he got that look on his face, Sam could see how the millennia Gabriel had lived through had taken their toll.

How Asmodeus had taken his toll on Gabriel.

Sam's chest tightened. He wanted the angel back at the bunker with Rowena, safe, not in this apocalyptic world trying to hide from another Michael and the Lucifer he'd known since he'd been created. He'd given enough to the Winchesters. He shouldn't be here, but when Sam had announced he was going through the rift with the others to find Mary and Jack, Gabriel had looked at him for a moment before saying he was going too.

Sam didn't really know what to do with that.

Gabriel had picked up a twig and was tearing it into smaller pieces, tossing the pieces onto the ground in front of him. His eyes were on the twig in his hands, though Sam knew he was using his angel senses to keep watch, as he had said. Sam wasn't sure what the look on his face meant – it was indecipherable, and Sam realized he really wanted to know what the former trickster was thinking about. He wrestled with it for a minute before opening his mouth.

“What's on your mind?”

Those caramel eyes glanced at him again, the look on his face wary, as if he was unsure if Sam really wanted to know. Whatever he saw on Sam's face seemed to settle him, and he shrugged one shoulder.

“Oh, ya know, the usual. Porn stars and Monte Carlo.” Gabriel said easily. Sam would be able to read between the lines; he'd know he actually meant Loki and his sons giving him up to Asmodeus. He shifted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and threw the last piece of the twig harder then he had the others.

Sam watches it arc through the air. He swallows, instinctively wanting to apologize for believing he was dead, apologize for everything the archangel had suffered because of Asmodeus.

He's already confessed to Gabriel about his guilt. Gabriel had looked at him in disbelief and told him that of course he had believed he was dead – the Trickster had set it up that way. He had thought exactly what he was supposed to.

He has already apologized to Gabriel for his time in Hell. Gabriel had cut him off before he could even finish the sentence, telling him that none of that was his fault, that Gabriel had trusted the wrong people, that the hunter wasn't one of those people.

Gabriel did not want guilt or pity.

So instead of following his instincts this time, he offered support. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Well, you could stop leaning against that uncomfortable tree and sit down,” the archangel quipped.

So he did.

Sam pushed away from the tree, walking around the bench and taking up the space next to the angel. He put one arm up on the armrest, letting his legs straighten out in front of him, heels digging into the ground.

He didn't miss how Gabriel seemed to relax as soon as he sat down, leaning back against the bench and closing the space between their thighs with his own while slightly angling his body towards Sam. He laid an arm across the top of the bench, the other on the armrest, and looked at Sam like he was trying to figure him out.

It was an expression he had been wearing a lot lately, mostly when he didn't think the hunter was looking.

Sam found himself looking a lot.

“So. What's the real reason you couldn't sleep?” Gabriel asked, tilting his head to one side slightly. Sam was reminded of a bird, and Cass, and Jack, all at the same time.

Eyes flicking down, Sam played with the zipper of his jacket with the hand closest to Gabriel. “I was attacked by vampires, had my throat ripped out, and woke up only to find that Lucifer, of all people, had brought me back. Again. Got a lot to process.”

The archangel made a small hum of agreement. “That's why I'm over here and that dickbag is on the other side of camp. I didn't want him near you.”

Sam's eyes flew to Gabriel's, hazel meeting gold. His brow furrowed as his brain tried to make sense of those words. “I – that's why you're sitting out here alone?”

Gold eyes stayed locked on his, softening as the corners of Gabriel's mouth tilted upward slightly.

“Why wouldn't I?”

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Am I worth the fight?

Title: Am I worth the fight? (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Gabriel, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline, Mary Winchester Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: 13.22 Exodus Words: 1,971 Song Inspiration: No Resolve - Worth the Fight Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Sam couldn't believe what he had just heard.

He was sitting in one of the buildings that the Apocalypse World survivors had built in their camp, one that they used for meetings. Lucifer was in a chair, leaning back in it until it touched the wall, arms crossed over his chest, Dean and Cass on either side as guards. Jack stood beside Dean, leaning beside the wall and slightly towards the hunter. He steadfastly ignored his biological father.

On the other side of the small room, Sam, Gabriel and Mary sat at a small table.

Gabriel was sideways in his chair, table between him and the humans, back resting against the wall. Mary sat across from him, chin propped up on her hand, elbow on the table, Sam on her other side. Sam had angled his chair towards Dean, shoulder barely touching his mother's, one hand tapping the wooden table on and off. As if he was still getting used to being back, as if he needed the constant touch to reassure himself he wasn't still in that cave with the vampires. Every once in a while, he would dig the fingers of his right hand into the scar on his left palm. He, too, ignored Lucifer, although he wasn't as successful at it as Jack was.

Sam couldn't believe what he had just heard.

He was sitting in one of the buildings that the Apocalypse World survivors had built in their camp, one that they used for meetings. Lucifer was in a chair, leaning back in it until it touched the wall, arms crossed over his chest, Dean and Cass on either side as guards. Jack stood beside Dean, leaning beside the wall and slightly towards the hunter. He steadfastly ignored his biological father.

On the other side of the small room, Sam, Gabriel and Mary sat at a small table.

Gabriel was sideways in his chair, table between him and the humans, back resting against the wall. Mary sat across from him, chin propped up on her hand, elbow on the table, Sam on her other side. Sam had angled his chair towards Dean, shoulder barely touching his mother's, one hand tapping the wooden table on and off. As if he was still getting used to being back, as if he needed the constant touch to reassure himself he wasn't still in that cave with the vampires. Every once in a while, he would dig the fingers of his right hand into the scar on his left palm. He, too, ignored Lucifer, although he wasn't as successful at it as Jack was.

Gabriel's eyes had kept dragging back to the hunter, as if he also needed reassurance that Sam was there. One hand laid on the table, fingers twitching at times, like he wanted to breach the distance between his hand and the hunter's.

He never did.

None of them had any good ideas that wouldn't end up going sideways, and nerves were fried. Lucifer hadn't helped, with his running commentary and blatant digs at them all. He had given up trying to get Jack to respond to him. They'd all been arguing and snapping at each for hours. Even Sam, the most level-headed of the group, was out of patience.

The idea that the archangel had just laid out was the worst of them all, and it was the final straw that completely broke Sam's tenuous grasp on his temper.

“No,” Sam said firmly, blazing eyes locked onto determined gold. “You are not going to sacrifice yourself. I won't let you.”

“It's the only way, Sam.” The archangel's response was cold, emotionless, as if he saw no reason why they shouldn't go with this plan.

“There is always another way, Gabriel! You can't just – just offer yourself up like some offering to a god! I know that's pretty much your entire playbook, but once was enough!”

“I can, and I will, if it means getting you all out of here safe.”

Sam stood from his chair, anger in every line of his body. His eyes were cold, dark. He set both hands flat on the table, and leaned over it, closer to Gabriel. “I'm. Not. Leaving. You. Here.” he snapped out.

“Yeah? And why not?” Gabriel challenged, daring Sam to come up with a reason.

“BECAUSE I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN!” Sam shouted.

Everyone else in the room went still, staring at the two arguing beings. Dean was tense, wanting to shove Gabriel out, protect his little brother from this hurt. Jack had pulled back a little, partially hiding behind Dean, when the fighting started to escalate. Mary was staring at Sam, mouth hanging open. She had never seen her youngest son like this and the shock of it was intense. Castiel was looking back and forth between his human and angelic brothers, at a loss as to what to do. He hardly knew Gabriel, and he had only ever seen Sam be this way with Dean and, in one rare instance, himself.

He was, however, against any plan that meant any of them sacrificing themselves.

Lucifer chuckled, an expression of malicious glee on his face, as he straightened up in the chair and watched his brother and his true vessel. The chains on his wrists made clanking noises as he moved. “And here I am, without any popcorn, just when it's getting interesting.”

“Shut up, Lucifer!” growled three different voices. Gabriel's eyes quickly flickered to Mary and then Castiel, before snapping back up to Sam's.

Lucifer just chuckled again, continuing to watch them with interest.

“Damn it, Gabriel! You made me think you were dead! I cried for you! I prayed to you, hoping you would hear me! It took me years to move past it! I loved you, and you damn well knew it! We've never talked about it, but you've always known it!”

“Aww, Sammykins, you don't have to be so soft for me,” Gabriel said maliciously.

“I'm always 'soft' for you, that's the problem!” Sam yelled. “You are never that way with me, and still you could knock on my door five years from now and I'd just open my arms and say 'come here, it's been too long; it felt like home with you'!”

Castiel and Dean looked at each other, Dean jerking his head towards Lucifer and then the door. Castiel stood up and grabbed Lucifer's arm, pulling him outside while the others followed. Neither Sam nor Gabriel noticed. Sam had moved around the table during his tirade, and was only a few feet away from the angel now. Gabriel had practically jumped to his own feet in response, in no way daunted by the anger he felt rolling off the human.

“Why, Sam? What was so special about me that after everything I did, you could think you were in love with me?!” Gabriel yelled back. He was glaring up at the hunter, keeping the distance, hands in fists at his sides.

Suddenly the man moved, grabbing Gabriel by the shoulders and pushing him up against the wall in his anger. He stared down into the archangel's face, beyond the point of caring about his actions. “I don't think. I know! What's so wrong with you that you can't admit you love me too?!” he growled.

Gabriel laughed again, but this time it was mocking. “Wrong with me? Oh, kiddo, what show have you been watching? You know exactly what my problem is. Sunday dinner, remember?” the archangel fired up at him.

“I don't care how messed up your family is! That has nothing to do with us!”

And just like that, Gabriel deflated. It was like all the anger just leaked out of him. He was still letting the hunter push him into the wall; both of them knew he could stop Sam at any time. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

“Yes it does, Sam,” Gabriel whispered. “Because the moment I admit it is the moment I start wondering when you'll stop. Just like my brothers did.”

Hands tightened on his shoulders, and there was total silence. He could hear birds outside, but there were no sounds from within the little house they were in. He had no idea where everyone had disappeared to; they'd had quite an audience when they'd started this fight. But the others had left, and he hadn't even noticed. He'd been totally focused on Sam.

Gabriel didn't open his eyes, didn't make any move to push Sam away. He just let the human hold him there, waiting for whatever response Sam was going to give.

He had almost decided that Sam wasn't going to say anything when suddenly there was a hand in his hair, another on his jaw, turning his face up. The hand on his jaw started trailing back and forth on his cheek, and it was the hardest thing in the world for him to not turn into it.

“Open your eyes, Gabriel,” Sam said softly. “Please.”

He couldn't. He didn't want to see whatever was on the hunter's face, whether it be disappointment or fear or anger. He shook his head slightly, feeling vulnerable now that he felt laid out and bare in front of this human. He was still angry, but it had softened; other emotions were filling in the empty spaces it had left.

“Gabe,” Sam cajoled. “Please do this for me. Please look at me.”

Gabriel slumped. When Sam used that tone, there was nothing he wouldn't give him. It was the same tone that had broken the metaphorical chains, that had allowed him to speak for the first time after Asmodeus.

"We need you. I need you."

So he looked up, and was startled to find hazel eyes mere inches away. For all of the flirting and innuendo, they had never been this close – unless Sam was helping him walk, or stand, or eat, or shower after Ketch liberated him from Hell. But none of those times had ever felt like this. The former trickster let out a breath he didn't even need at the look in those eyes. The hand on his face kept stroking his cheek, motions meant to be calming, but it was just breaking Gabriel even further apart.

“I love you,” the hunter said, still using that soft tone. “I've loved you since you waltzed into that hotel to save Dean and I. You act like you don't care about anything, but you do. I saw how relieved you were when I walked into camp. You care about your brothers, about me, even about Dean. God, you frustrate the hell out of me.” Sam laughed a little, still looking into amber eyes. “Sometimes I just want to beat you over the head with one of those tabloids you like so much. Other times I want to kiss you and chase that lost look out of your eyes. You are not less worthy because your family treated you badly. That's on them; not you. No matter what they made you think, you are worth saving. You are worth loving. You are not just Loki the Trickster; you're not just Gabriel the Messenger. You are so much more then that.”

Gabriel closed his eyes again, giving in to the urge to turn his face into the hand on his cheek. Nuzzling into the hand like this, he could catch the faint smells of pine and coffee. “And what happens when you finally realize I'm not worth the time?” he said, keeping his voice low. He almost hoped the hunter wouldn't hear it.

That hand on his cheek tipped his head back up, but instead of replying with words, like Gabriel thought he would, suddenly there were lips on his. They were a little dry, a little chapped, and it didn't last nearly as long as Gabriel would've liked – but if Gabriel had possessed a human heart, it would be pounding just from that brief contact. His eyes snapped open when the hunter pulled away, though he didn't go far.

Sam was smiling at him, tentative and soft. “If you'd let me show you, I could prove that you are.”

The angel could only stare. He had never, in a million years, thought that this would happen. He had always known he had feelings for the hunter, knew the hunter knew that, but he had firmly thought he would never have the chance to act on them. The last relationship he was in had been with Kali, for fuck's sake, and look how that turned out. Whatever this thing was between him and Sam that had been brewing for almost ten years... it was a lot more delicate. A lot more fragile.

He was a lot more fragile.

Gabriel put a hand on top of the one still on his cheek, and settled the other on Sam's hip, drawing him closer. “Okay.” Gabriel swallowed. “But I gotta warn ya, kid, it won't be easy.”

“I'm not exactly a barrel of fun myself,” Sam pointed out, voice a little regretful.

Gabriel grinned up at him. “Helllloo, archangel! I have vast amounts of patience.”

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Patience is not a word I'd ever associate with you.”

“I dunno Sam,” the angel quipped, eyes flicking down to Sam's lips and back up to his eyes, “I've been patient so far.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth. “Why do I feel like you're angling for a reward?”

Gabriel shrugged, assuming an air of mock arrogance. “It's almost like you know me.”

Sam moved closer, sliding the hand still in Gabriel's hair around to the back of his head. “That I do,” he murmured.

That first kiss was intense even in it's brevity, but that second kiss... oh, that was the one that was about something more, something that would last.

It tasted like home. It felt like forever.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Don’t forget about me and I will always remember you

Title: Don’t forget about me and I will always remember you (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden, Ben Braeden Pairing(s): Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Episode: 05.22 Swan Song Words: 637 Song Inspiration: Emphatic - Don’t Forget About Me Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

The house looked like any of the dozens of others in the neighborhood. There's warm light spilling out the windows, gauzy curtains open, a family of three sitting down to dinner. Nothing about the house looks remarkable at first glance. It's just... ordinary. No outward signs of anything having to do with the supernatural.

What makes it special to Castiel is the man inside the house, smiling and throwing a roll across the table at the young boy, heaping mashed potatoes on his plate.

The house looked like any of the dozens of others in the neighborhood. There's warm light spilling out the windows, gauzy curtains open, a family of three sitting down to dinner. Nothing about the house looks remarkable at first glance. It's just... ordinary. No outward signs of anything having to do with the supernatural.

What makes it special to Castiel is the man inside the house, smiling and throwing a roll across the table at the young boy, heaping mashed potatoes on his plate.

And the man standing outside it. There's a dog barking a few houses away, but Sam pays no attention to it. His entire focus is set on the picturesque setting on the other side of that window.

Sam can't see Castiel, even if he looked; he has made himself invisible to all humans, including the three inside the house. Castiel has brought him here after raising him from hell, certain that getting to Dean is the only thing the younger hunter will care about.

He doesn't know yet why he doesn't want Sam to know that he's the one that brought him back, just as he had brought Dean back a few years prior. Maybe he just wants to give the brothers a chance to reunite, to bask in each other and the fact that Sam's alive, Sam's okay, before he has to interrupt their lives again.

The apocalypse may be over, but there's still work to do.

But instead of walking up to the door and knocking, eager to reunite with his older brother, Sam turns and walks away, walking right past the angel. Castiel watches him go, surprise and confusion on his face.

He doesn't understand why Sam leaves. He watches him walk down to the end of the street, finding an unlocked car and hot wiring it. He sees Sam take one last look back at the house, back at him, and thinks that maybe Sam can see him after all.

But Sam just watches Dean through the window for a while longer, before driving away. Castiel doesn't know, but he's going to Bobby. Sam has questions, wants to know how long he's been gone, who brought him back. But Sam knows one thing – he can't pull Dean away from Lisa and Ben, not when he has a chance to be normal, to have the home that he hasn't had since he was four years old.

Castiel watches him go until he can no longer see the car, then turns back to the house.

Dean's on his second plate, holding Lisa's hand and laughing at something she's saying, Ben at the sink rinsing off his dishes. He says something to the couple, who say something back as he walks out of the room. A few minutes later, Castiel can see him walking past one of the upstairs windows, turning lights on as he goes.

A loud, happy laugh that Castiel has rarely ever heard from Dean makes it way through the window, dragging his attention back to the now retired hunter. He can't help it when a smile appears on his face, because Dean's laugh is infectious. He wants to be sitting at the table next to him, in the warmth and presence of the Righteous Man, knowing he can't.

He can't disrupt Dean's new life any more then Sam could. It's why he has stayed away, and will continue to stay away until Sam makes the choice to contact Dean. Right now there is no room in Dean's life for the angel that raised him from perdition.

In the meantime, he will watch, and he will hope, and he will do his best to keep these four humans safe before it all comes crashing down.

He doesn't know yet that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Just a Stranger

Title: Just a Stranger (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Dean Winchester Jr, Chuck Shurley, Jack Kline Pairing(s): Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy Episode: Post-15.20 Carry On Words: 1,775 Song Inspiration: Glee Cast - One of Us Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

When his power was stolen, ripped out of him by the grandson he never wanted, he had been around for so many millennia that not even he knew how old he was.

When he died, he was 63.

Chuck's death had been like losing his power: painful, quiet, no fanfare, no one around to grieve what had been lost. No singing trumpets or an audience to gasp in shock and fear. Just another day, go about your business, nothing to see here.

When his power was stolen, ripped out of him by the grandson he never wanted, he had been around for so many millennia that not even he knew how old he was.

When he died, he was 63.

Chuck's death had been like losing his power: painful, quiet, no fanfare, no one around to grieve what had been lost. No singing trumpets or an audience to gasp in shock and fear. Just another day, go about your business, nothing to see here.

Just the way the Winchesters had wanted it. This was the ending that they had won for themselves with blood and sweat and tears and sacrifice, the one they started writing with an angel that had become family.

Chuck's mortal life hadn't been much better. His books finally faded away into nothing, although they could still be found in torn up copies on third and fourth hand bookshop shelves. Every once in a while, someone would dig them up, looking for obscure horror books. More often then not, they became fodder for bonfires in the middle of nowhere.

There was no longer a group of fans congregating once a year to discuss the books and their characters. Everyone had moved on to other interests, other books, other characters. No one sent letters raving about the books, full of questions about if Chuck would ever continue the series or what had happened to the brothers.

Hardly anyone remembered Chuck by the time he died. He had tried to call Becky, once, to apologize. She had died several years before, a heart attack at 51 that left her husband and sons behind.

The only human left to remember him was Sam Winchester. Dean had died decades earlier, and all of his angelic children that had ever met him were also gone. For the rest of them, he was a fairy tale. His grandson, Jack, was the only living celestial being left who had known him. Only one other being, the Queen of Hell, knew who he was – but a former God didn't matter to Rowena.

Sam did periodic searches for the writer throughout his entire life, keeping an eye out for anything supernatural happening in his vicinity. Jack had assured the Winchesters that Chuck would never regain his power, but Sam always felt the need to check. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack, it was just a lifetime of being thrown curve balls made him anxious. After everything he had seen and done, he was well aware that just because something was supposed to end, didn't necessarily mean it would. He never quite believed the story was over.

From what Sam had been able to figure out, Chuck had lived out his mortal years quietly. He had stayed away from the supernatural, and died without family or friends to mourn him. His church cared for him in his last several decades, and they held a memorial and funeral service; but for some reason, none of them saw fit to attend either. The pictures he had found online of both events had been utterly devoid of people.

Sam thinks maybe Jack had something to do with that.

Sam found it fitting that Chuck never ended up doing anything with his human life. He existed on the edges of society, in a run-down house in the middle of nowhere, with no family and no friends. He attempted to write again, but all his efforts were rejected. Sam had, at one point, found his resume online – he was ghostwriting. He hadn't been able to hold back the laugh when he read it. It served him right, Sam thought. To want to be the one in the spotlight, getting the adoration and recognition, and never receiving it.

When Sam found the obituary, he had prayed to Jack as soon as his wife and son were both out of the house. He hadn't been anticipating any response, so when Jack appeared in his living room, he had been surprised enough to grab the closest gun before realizing who it was. It hadn't been the first time he had prayed to his adopted son, or even the thousandth; but it was the only time, other then Dean's funeral, that he had shown up.

An hour later, after the inevitable “you're my son and you could at least let me know you're still alive every once in a while” talk, Jack had informed Sam that Chuck was in the Empty. He didn't want him in Heaven and Rowena wouldn't take him in Hell. He may have been a villain, but he wasn't technically a monster, so Purgatory wouldn't let him in either. So, he had made a deal with the Shadow: take Chuck, and I will find a way to ensure you never wake up again.

The Shadow had been more then willing to take the trade.

Jack's grief at his passing was almost non-existent, and he claimed that what sadness he did feel was remnants of Amara grieving her brother. Sam was just glad that it was finally, truly, over.

Sam never once considered visiting the grave site.

When he told Eileen, she had smiled. She hated Chuck, hated how he made her question whether what was between her and Sam was real or only there because he had written it. She knew that they could have easily been unable to fix their relationship even if, ultimately, it had made them stronger. But she never forgave him, and she encouraged Sam to keep tabs on him. She had told him, once, that if Chuck ever went Darth Vader-y again, that she would be first in line to solve the problem.

Sam didn't really want to know what she meant by that.

His son, Dean, hadn't said much about it. Just nodded and went back to what he was doing.

Dean had found some of Sam's old journals when he was 21, and Sam had finally told him about all the things that went bump in the night. He told him about the Men of Letters, and how their family were legacies to both sides of the coin (“we had hunter ancestors on the Mayflower, kiddo!”). He told him about how an ex-demon blood junkie, a high school dropout, and a rebellious angel had started and ended the biblical apocalypse.

“Your uncle called us Team Free Will,” Sam had laughed while telling Dean about the time they had gone up against Crowley with Meg.

Eileen had been less then pleased, but she knew they couldn't keep it a secret from him any longer.

He told Dean about the nephilim he had helped raise, and about how he was the new god (lower case g, because Jack didn't want to write himself into the story like God had). Dean had looked at him like a fish out of water, trying to understand that he was related to the most powerful being in existence (and wondering if he was ever going to get to meet him).

Sam told him about how he had once learned witchcraft under the tutelage of the Queen of Hell, that he still missed her after all that time. He tells him about how the Queen's son, the previous King, had sacrificed himself to save Sam and his brother. He tells him about Gabriel, and Michael, and Adam, and Lucifer.

“Of all the archangels, Gabriel was the best,” Sam said, a faraway look in his eyes. “I miss him every day.”

He tells him about Benny, and Meg, and Amy, and Garth. He tells his son that not all monsters are scary, not all angels are good, not all demons are evil.

“When I was your age, I thought the world was black and white,” Sam said. “It's not.”

“Yeah, dad, I get it. Question first, stab only if necessary.”

Sam tells him about Kevin, and Linda, and Bobby, and Jody. He tells Dean about Charlie and how she went to Oz, that it was a real place. He tells Dean about Castiel, and tells him that the blonde woman with braids he's always known as an Aunt was the daughter of Castiel's vessel.

“She wanted nothing to do with him at first,” Sam laughed. “But she forgave him, eventually.”

He tells his son about Jess, and Mary, and John. He tells him that Jess favored earthy scents like sandalwood, that Mary was a horrible cook, that John had changed after his wife's death. He tells him about the time Dean used the wish pearl and ended up dragging John out of the past. He tells him that they had one night together as a family, and it was one of his most cherished memories.

For the first time, he could tell his son all the amazing things his namesake did to save the world without needing anything in return. His pride (and, honestly, his hero worship) in his late brother had been impossible to hide now that that he was free to show it all. The sadness he had always carried seemed lighter, somehow.

His dad was his best friend, and it gave Dean a fuzzy feeling in his chest knowing that he had been able to help his father, just by listening to his stories. And they were amazing stories, and all the little personal details Sam had told him about people that were long gone made him feel like he actually knew them.

“From the moment our mother was killed, Dean was my protector,” he says, looking at a picture of a Sam and Dean so young it makes him ache, before Hell and Lucifer and the first end of the world. “He never really stopped.”

He gave Dean his grandfather's journal, as well as all the ones he himself had written. When Dean finished reading them, he came to his father where he laid in his hospital bed in the living room and took his hand.

“Thank you, for finally telling me about all these people,” he said, brushing a strand of his father's hair out of his father's face. “I hope I get to meet them some day.”

Sam died a month later, as if now that Dean knew the truth, he no longer had any reason to stay.

A week after Sam's hunter funeral, Dean had come home with a fresh possession tattoo on his arm and asked his mother if he could see the bunker. Eileen said yes.

So when Chuck dies, it doesn't cause a ripple effect. It's just something that happens without much notice. Just another day, go about your business, nothing to see here.

Chuck would have hated it.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: The Soundtrack

Songs are added in order of the series, as new codas are written and posted. The playlist will automatically update.

Read on A03 | The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes masterpost

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: You Gave Me Looks That I Won’t Forget

Title: You Gave Me Looks That I Won’t Forget (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester Episode: 15.20 Carry On Words: 1,971 Song Inspiration: State of Mine - What Hurts the Most Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

This place is everything he always hoped it would be. Whenever Sammy talked about it, this was what he had pictured.

The air is pure, and smells like clean and home. The colors of the trees are rich, dark brown and a green so deep and beautiful it's like looking into a painting. Blues and purples and pinks have more depth to them, here. As clear and sharp as the colors are, though, there's still an overlaying softness to everything. The light is never too much; it's always the perfect level of enough without going overboard.

He doesn't know how long he's been driving since leaving Bobby. The steering wheel is soft and familiar. He remembers replacing it a few years after the end of the end of the world, how hard and unyielding it was. It never seemed to fit his hands quite right. This one feels like it did when he had his brother riding shotgun and an angel watching over them from the backseat.

This place is everything he always hoped it would be. Whenever Sammy talked about it, this was what he had pictured.

The air is pure, and smells like clean and home. The colors of the trees are rich, dark brown and a green so deep and beautiful it's like looking into a painting. Blues and purples and pinks have more depth to them, here. As clear and sharp as the colors are, though, there's still an overlaying softness to everything. The light is never too much; it's always the perfect level of enough without going overboard.

Even the sounds are better here. He can hear everything: the wings of the birds, the bees, the butterflies; wind through the trees, rustling the flowers and the grass; something that sounds an awful lot like a waterfall in the distance. There's a hum to the air, but it's peaceful – no cars, no people, no trains or planes. He thinks that, back where he came from, if he had been able to hear all of this it would have been too much. That he would've gone crazy from just hearing.

But here, just like with the light, it's the perfect amount of enough.

He doesn't know how long he's been driving since leaving Bobby. The steering wheel is soft and familiar. He remembers replacing it a few years after the end of the end of the world, how hard and unyielding it was. It never seemed to fit his hands quite right. This one feels like it did when he had his brother riding shotgun and an angel watching over them from the backseat.

He's lost in the music of the mix tape he'd once made Cass, driving down a picture-perfect two lane road with the windows down, when he sees it.

He's seen this place once before. Well, parts of it – but what he doesn't actually remember is still familiar. It's deja vu for a place that he's only ever seen in a dream. The memory of it is like a punch to the gut, one that he quickly shoves away.

There's a driveway just off to the left, and he doesn't even consider staying on the road. He turns, moving forward slowly, trying to take it all in. The driveway is easy, smooth; gentle on his baby. It almost feels like it goes on for forever. At the end of it, he stops and parks the car, looking up at the house in front of him.

This was the house he had never let himself dream about. The home he had always wanted for himself.

It's a huge log cabin, with a matching detached garage – from it's size, it's big enough to hold three cars. More then enough room for him to park and work on Baby. Built into the side of a hill, the house has a sloping roof, covered porches and balconies.

There are no warding sigils spray painted on the sides of the house, nothing iron that he can see. He doesn't have to have those things in his life now, after all.

On the patio, he can see a large stone firepit with outdoor couches and armchairs surrounding it. The main level has two doors leading inside, painted a dark green that matches the colors of the bushes along the walkway leading from the drive to the house. That same dark green of the front door is repeated all throughout the design of the cabin: the roof tiles, the window trim, around the doors, even the posts on the balconies and on top of the stone pillars that provide support for the upper level. There's what looks to be a large covered grill at the edge of the patio and a tall stack of chopped wood right next to the front door.

There's four different chimneys that he can see, and windows everywhere. There's warm interior light flooding out of them, illuminating the inside just enough that what he sees through those windows of the décor is enough to make him weak in the knees. There's framed photographs on the wall of the living room, and he can just barely make them out from where he now stands at the edge of the patio.

The first one he notices is of Bobby, sitting at his desk in his living room, mouth moving as if he's grumbling about idjits.

Kevin, with that smile that always lit up his entire face until it seemed like he glowed. Linda is next to him, looking up into her son's face, smiling as if she can't help herself.

Charlie in her Queen of Moondoor garb, hand up in a geeky gesture of farewell and a grin of delight on her face.

Benny in a dark hat and dark sunglasses, grinning on a dock beside a houseboat painted with the name Fangs and Fun.

There's one of Garth with Bess and their children, so happy and loving in each other's presence. The twins are older now, two sides of the same coin; one dark and one light, the only similarity the shape of their noses and their mouths. Their sister is beautiful, a mix of her mother's facial features and her father's coloring.

Next to it is one of Gabriel and Sam, the archangel looking at Sam with a soft look on his face in the bunker library as the hunter reads a book.

Eileen, making them all breakfast like she always did whenever she was in town. She radiates confidence, even as her pallor suggests a hangover from too many margaritas.

Jack with nougat all over his chin, guilt plain on his face, surrounded by empty candy bar wrappers on the floor of the bunker kitchen.

Jo standing at the Roadhouse jukebox, picking a song, while Ellen dries glasses behind the bar, always keeping a watchful eye on her daughter.

Rowena, red hair in bouncy curls on her shoulders and a black dress, regal even before she was Queen.

Beside it is one of Crowley, that almost fond but mostly exasperated look he seemed to wear so often around the Winchesters on his face. He's holding a glass of what Dean knows is Craig whiskey in one hand, the other held up in a gesture reeking of obnoxiousness.

There's Jody and Donna in their uniforms, laughing at each other so hard that they have tears running down their faces.

Claire, placing the stuffed cat from her almost-father and the lore book from Dean on a shelf while Kaia stands in the middle of a mountain of cardboard boxes, opening up the top of one while watching Claire with a smile.

There's one of Alex in her scrubs, holding a clipboard behind a desk, and a look of surprise on her face; as if the person taking the photo had caught her unaware.

There's one of Patience, James and Missouri; Missouri is crying happy tears, and James is hugging his mother while Patience watches with a smile as mother and son reconnect.

There's even one of two men, and to anyone who didn't know, they'd look like twins. But they wear the same body in different ways, and Dean knows that the taller, stern-looking one is the archangel Michael; the one slouching beside him with pure mischief on his face is Adam. Adam's looking up at Michael, probably teasing him about being in love with a human, and Michael's eyes are just a little soft as he looks down.

There's one of Mary, with her short hair curling around her face, eyes crinkled up at the corners and mouth open in a laugh as she holds up a fork full of apple pie. Right beside it is one of John, looking happier and healthier then Dean remembers him ever being in life.

There's another one of Sam, this time by himself; he's in pajamas, a half-asleep expression on his face, one hand moving up to smooth down bedhead while the other holds a cup of coffee.

And there's one of Cass. His hair is rumpled, like always, and the look on his face is peaceful, serene, as he looks out over a lake. There are mountains in the background, a breeze making his trench coat flare around his legs. It's either sunrise or sunset; the sky is painted pink and purple and orange, and you can just barely make out the moon low on the horizon.

Suddenly there's a lump in his throat and his eyes are blurry, and he wonders if Jack can feel how grateful he is for this. He doesn't think he can come up with the words for a prayer right now, so he hopes the kid does.

When he has himself under control again, he thinks he can hear water nearby. He follows the sound around the back of the house, and this... this is the part he actually remembers with perfect clarity.

A stone walkway turns into dirt, then a dock jutting out into a lake. Just before the dirt path turns into wood planks, each side is flanked with trees that extend as far as the eye can see in either direction. Some of the trees have lost their leaves; others are green; some have that autumn red color. He can see the other side of the lake. There are trees, all different shapes and sizes, everywhere he turns, and he thinks that there is nowhere on Earth as peaceful as this.

The only difference is that, the last time he was in this place, there was only one chair on that dock. Now there are two, and one is taken.

Dean stares, because he knows that shape almost as well as he knows Sam's. He swallows, hard, rubbing his palms against the front of his jeans. He's not sure he can move forward, doesn't want this to end up being a dream, like it was the last time he saw this place. But finally, he's moving again, and he's almost to the end of the dirt path when the person stands up and turns to face him. His hands are in the pockets of his trousers, trench coat bunched up a little at the sides to accommodate them, and the look on his face is one Dean remembers like it was yesterday. The first time he really took notice of that look, he had just been in an alternate future thanks to Zachariah. It's fond and a little proud, with a barely there smile.

“Hello, Dean.” The voice is the same; it's the one he heard over and over again in the voicemails that were all he had left to remind him what that voice sounded like. He had never been able to delete them. He had clung to them, and listening to them helped him remember what it had sounded like when he said all those things that turned Dean inside out before he was gone. Before he allowed himself to be truly happy, and died so that Dean could live. The voice is still deep and gravelly, and the eyes are the same, too. The same crystal blue, always looking at him with a hint of love in their depths.

And then Dean's eyes are blurring again and before he knows it, he's got one hand clutching into that coat, pulling him closer, and the other arm going around the angel's neck. Then there's arms clutching him back tightly, a head resting on his shoulder, until there's no more space between them. He turns his head slightly, burying his nose into that mess of black hair. He smells ozone and ocean and honey and this, this smell, it's more home then anything else has ever been. Home in a way that Sam alone couldn't fill those five years after Jack saved the world.

“Hey, Cass.”

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

Pie and beer for those that can figure out where the lake/dock at the end is from! ;)

Inspiration pics for Dean's cabin: 1 2 3

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Words That I Left Unspoken

Title: Words That I Left Unspoken (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester Episode: 15.18 Despair Words: 1,124 Song Inspiration: State of Mine - What Hurts the Most Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Twenty-four hours ago, he wasn't alone. But now, Sam and Jack are off trying to save the otherworlders from Chuck, and Cass... Cass is gone and took Billie with him. Now he's alone in the bunker, trying to make sense of the last two hours.

He thinks he knows, now, some of what Sam felt after Gabriel died.

Did Chuck write this? Was that why Cass was gone? Or was it the angel's free will this time? He doesn't know, and he can't decide if that makes it worse or better. Doesn't know which of the two scenarios is worse – that it wasn't a choice that the angel made on his own, or that it was.

Twenty-four hours ago, he wasn't alone. But now, Sam and Jack are off trying to save the otherworlders from Chuck, and Cass... Cass is gone and took Billie with him. Now he's alone in the bunker, trying to make sense of the last two hours.

He thinks he knows, now, some of what Sam felt after Gabriel died.

Did Chuck write this? Was that why Cass was gone? Or was it the angel's free will this time? He doesn't know, and he can't decide if that makes it worse or better. Doesn't know which of the two scenarios is worse – that it wasn't a choice that the angel made on his own, or that it was.

Because if it was... if it was his own choice, how could he do that to Dean?

It feels like a betrayal.

Knowing Cass was gone, was just as bad as every time he had lost Sam. Cass had been lost to him before; but that was then. He hadn't known that Cass was in love with him then. Hadn't known his own feelings.

This time, he did. There's no denying, no deflection, no joke that Dean can use to claim Cass's words were meant as any other type of love this time. He had made himself very clear, and it had cost him his life.

How long had Cass felt that way? Purgatory? The Leviathans? Taking on Sam's delusions? The first Apocalypse? Hell?

“I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?”

He had so many questions and he'd never get answers. Because the only one that could answer them was gone, and this time he wasn't coming back. Chuck would make sure of that.

His ever-present guilt and hatred for himself was even more present then usual. He felt like the dumbest creature to ever walk the Earth. He loathed himself for never realizing what the angel felt for him, knowing that even if he had, he would have fought his own feelings. It's only because Cass was really gone this time that had forced him to put a name to what he felt for the being that saved him.

And he would still be here if Dean hadn't decided to go after Death.

“I'm your Huckleberry.”

Why didn't he ever say anything? Why couldn't he get his head out of his own ass long enough to deal with it? He owed everything, everything, to the angel, and he couldn't even do that one thing.

Why didn't Cass ever say anything? Why did he have to be an idiot – again - and make a deal? Nothing good ever came out of those kinds of deals. Hadn't the angel learned anything from watching Sam and Dean do the exact same thing, over and over?

“You were stupid for the right reasons.”

It felt like Dean's entire world was gone. He could barely see the chair in front of him through his tears. It seemed like he had been crying for hours, and maybe he had been. He knows that Sam has called, over and over, but he hasn't had the strength to answer and tell his brother that their best friend was gone.

Dimly, he knew Sam was probably terrified he was dead, and that he needed to let him know he wasn't. But if he did that, his brother would know instantly something was wrong. And then he'd have to explain.

“You're my family. I love you.”

It's too much to process, and his mind can't focus on one thought for any length of time. He always ends up thinking again that Cass is gone, and every time it's a fresh stab of pain in the chest. He can't make a plan or focus on ending Chuck or even get up off this goddamn floor.

He could say he was protecting Sam and Jack from the knowledge for as long as possible, but he knows that isn't true.

He's protecting himself.

“I know how you see yourself, Dean.”

The angel had wormed his way into Dean's life, with loyalty and shared grief and a steady presence, so quickly that Dean couldn't even remember a time when he hadn't been there. He hates the Cass-shaped hole in his life now, hates that he became so dependent on that space being filled. Cass wouldn't want him to stop, wouldn't want him to be so... so weak. He'd tell Dean to get over it, move past it, do what needed to be done. Focus on saving the world, Dean, he can almost hear the angel say; grieve for me later.

But Dean just lost a part of his world and this time he thinks it may break him.

“You can't save everyone, my friend.”

Dean doesn't know when he started to see the angel as more then a friend, but he thinks it was Purgatory. He remembers how he laughed when he and Benny found him, how the beard on the angel's face had sent a thrill of something up his spine.

He knows that he only acknowledged it for the first time after the angel had come back. That was the only time he put words to it. And never to anyone else.

“You asked what about this is real? We are.”

Dean has a thousand memories running through his head. He remembers adjusting Cass's tie, getting him ready to play fake FBI the first time. How he helped Cass get ready for his date with Nora, feeling flushed when the then-human angel started unbuttoning his shirt. How he felt like Cass had slapped him in the face after he cleaned up in the motel bathroom, getting rid of the dirt and grime and beard Purgatory had given him. He remembers sitting on a park bench, the angel telling him he wasn't a hammer.

He remembers all the times he turned around and the angel was right behind him, a comforting and reliable presence. Can almost feel the disbelief and joy the angel had shown after he returned to the bunker, all of them certain he would die trying to get rid of Amara. Rolling up to a phone booth in the Impala, Cass turning around to look at him with an expression that said he wasn't sure the hunter was real. All the times they would stare at each other, having entire conversations without saying a word.

He keeps staring at the spot where Cass had been, keeps replaying all the different scenarios when he could have said something, done something, so the angel wouldn't end up dying not knowing exactly what he meant to the hunter.

He would give anything to have those damn blue eyes looking back at him now.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: Really Hope You Stay

Title: Really Hope You Stay (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Gabriel, Sam Winchester Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: 13.20 Unfinished Business Words: 1,493 Song Inspiration: Set It Off - Stitch Me Up Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

It was over.

He didn't know how long it had been since Loki and his sons turned him over to Asmodeus. All he could remember was the pain and the fear. Sometimes he would be left alone in the dark for weeks at a time, and then Asmodeus would have him dragged out of his cell. He would wait for Gabriel's Grace to get just high enough that he could heal himself, but not enough to escape. The demon knew that the more he extracted at once, the more it hurt.

Having almost all of his Grace removed at once was the worst pain he had ever felt. He remembers begging, in the beginning – to Asmodeus, to a Father that had long since given up, to brothers and sisters that thought he had been killed by the Morningstar. No one ever answered, and begging made Asmodeus happy. So he had stopped.

It was over.

He didn't know how long it had been since Loki and his sons turned him over to Asmodeus. All he could remember was the pain and the fear. Sometimes he would be left alone in the dark for weeks at a time, and then Asmodeus would have him dragged out of his cell. He would wait for Gabriel's Grace to get just high enough that he could heal himself, but not enough to escape. The demon knew that the more he extracted at once, the more it hurt.

Having almost all of his Grace removed at once was the worst pain he had ever felt. He remembers begging, in the beginning – to Asmodeus, to a Father that had long since given up, to brothers and sisters that thought he had been killed by the Morningstar. No one ever answered, and begging made Asmodeus happy. So he had stopped.

The youngest Prince of Hell, Asmodeus had spent the least amount of time with Lucifer. Still, something about him reminded Gabriel of his older brother, and of himself. He felt cold, like Lucifer, and had the streak of cruelty that Lucifer had started to become corrupted by before he was thrown in the cage. But where Lucifer never went that far with his cruelty when it came to his brothers, Asmodeus had no qualms about unleashing it on the former Trickster.

Gabriel wasn't sure Asmodeus understood just how much he had revealed of himself after all that time. Asmodeus loved to hear himself talk, like most demons. There was monologue after monologue while he tortured Gabriel. But one thing that drew Gabriel's attention the most was that he seemed to be hung up on proving himself to his own older brothers – and to his God.

Gabriel was the youngest archangel. He knew what that was like. He himself had done it, until he couldn't handle the way his family was being torn apart. Then he had run away. And he never stopped.

But now... it was over.

After years of being held captive, tortured, having his Grace extricated on a regular basis – which felt a little like dying every time – it was over. Asmodeus was gone. Loki and his sons were gone. Somehow, some way, he had finally been able to do what he had been burning to do since he woke up in Hell.

Quiet footsteps headed his way, and he knew that that 'somehow' was the cause of them.

“Hey,” a voice said, softly, as if unsure he wanted to be disturbed.

Gabriel's eyes flicked over to the hunter, before going back to the lines and curves on the map table. “Hey.” Before he realized he was going to do it, one of his feet moved, pushing the chair next to him away from the table in invitation. He wasn't looking, so he didn't see the small smile appear on Sam's face. He felt hyper aware of the man's presence, making his Grace shift restlessly inside his vessel, and tried to ignore it.

Sam leaned back in his chair, one leg coming up to rest on the other, ankle resting on knee. He sat down the beer he was holding in one hand, fingers playing with a corner of the label that was coming loose. He took in Gabriel's stance, the tightness of his shoulders, the haunted look in his eyes, the way his fingers were following lines of rivers on the table. He was all tucked in to himself, like he was trying to take up the least amount of space. It was wrong. The Gabriel that Sam had first met – the Trickster – had always taken up as much space as he could, physically and otherwise. His vessel was small, but his personality had always been big.

Now he just seemed like a shadow of who he used to be.

“Thank you,” he said. “For – you know. Saving me and Cass from Asmodeus. For saving me from Narfi.”

Gabriel smirked. “Don't hurt yourself there, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, leaning back a little further in his chair and raising the beer to his lips. For awhile, both were silent, and Sam was startled to realize that even after everything Gabriel had done to him – killing Dean, turning him into a car, of all things! – it was an easy silence. Not uncomfortable, or threatening, or angry. It was almost peaceful, other then the tension still radiating from the archangel.

When Gabriel did speak again, he was surprised at what came out. “Thank you.”

Sam tilted his head in confusion, Gabriel throwing a brief glance his way. “For what?”

“For bringing me back. Helping me with the demigods. Going up against Asmodeus, not turning me over to him willingly.”

For a minute, pure shock was all that registered on Sam's face. “We would never have let him take you without a fight.”

Gabriel kept his eyes on the table, still tracing lines. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. He shifted slightly in his chair, deciding to change the subject. “I'm not sure what to do next. I can't go back to being Loki, but I can't go back to Heaven either.”

“Gabriel, I wasn't kidding when I said we – I – need you. We do, for a lot more then just getting Jack and Mom back.”

“I'm not sure how much help I can be.” The archangel's voice was low, but anger laced the words. “I'm not going to be anywhere near normal anytime soon.”

“You are still one of the most powerful beings I've ever met. You stood up to Lucifer. You got rid of Asmodeus. You've killed four demigods in the last three days.” Sam's eyes glanced from his beer to Gabriel, going back to the beer when Gabriel's eyes met his.

He wasn't sure how to say what he wanted to without upsetting the Trickster, so he decided to borrow a page from his brother's book and just be blunt. “You said it yourself, you're not normal. Besides all the trauma, your Grace will probably take months to fully recharge. We could use your help, and yeah, you can't do as much as you could the first time we met. But you can still help after we get Mom and Jack back. You could stay, if you wanted. The bunker would be safer for you then anywhere else. It would give you somewhere to lay low and recuperate. I would like it if you stayed.”

Gabriel was pretty sure the hunter hadn't noticed that he had started ripping off the beer label in his nervousness. The archangel watched out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Sam was still scared of him.

“I bet Dean-o would love me moving in on a permanent basis.”

“He'd get used to it. He may not like it at first, but then he'll grudgingly admit you're helpful, and after that you'd become family pretty quickly. That's how he was with Cass, with Kevin, with Charlie, with Rowena. Hell, even Crowley, at the end.” A smile tugged at Sam's lips. “Come on, Obi-Wan. You're our only hope.”

Gabriel chuckled and relaxed back into his chair for the first time, tension flowing out of his body and the lost look leaving his eyes. When his eyes met Sam's, the old mischievousness was back. “A Star Wars reference, Sam? Really?”

Sam shrugged, taking another sip of his beer, still smiling. “It fits.”

For the first time since they had killed Loki, Gabriel looked at him – really looked. He stared at Sam, as if whatever he saw there he was trying to figure out. Like he was scared, that he understood what it was. He could see hope there, the same hope Sam had when he begged Gabriel to bring Dean back, when he first found out the Trickster was actually an archangel. But he could see other things too. What he saw on Sam's face made his Grace settle, and he knew he had already decided to stay. He owed this hunter, but his decision didn't have much to do with that.

"This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!"

"You're a joke. You're a failure. You live for pleasure and you stand for nothing. And in the end, that's exactly what you'll die for."

Dean's words, from so long ago, and Loki's were swirling in his head and he didn't want to run anymore. He was tired of running. So he ignored the things he wasn't ready to acknowledge. It was just another way of running away, but he'd figure that out later. Right now, all he cared about was not crushing Sam's hopes... again.

“Don't get your hopes up too high, kid,” he said finally. “It's a long way down.”

Hazel eyes bore into sunlit whiskey, but Sam didn't move an inch. “You've got wings,” he said, almost carelessly, though the look on his face was anything but. “You can meet them.”

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: I can’t find my way to you

Title: I can’t find my way to you (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Castiel, Meg, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Pairing(s): Castiel/Meg Episode: 08.17 Goodbye Stranger Words: 1,049 Song Inspiration: Breaking Benjamin - Without You Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

He's not quite sure how to say goodbye, this time.

He's lost people before, brothers and sisters and charges and friends. He's been around since almost the beginning of Creation. He has existed longer then this planet has. He's always known what death meant, in a logical sense, but never really understood it. Didn't understand the way it tore and numbed and enraged those left behind.

He understands it now.

“We're going to Heaven, Clarence!”

He's not quite sure how to say goodbye, this time.

He's lost people before, brothers and sisters and charges and friends. He's been around since almost the beginning of Creation. He has existed longer then this planet has. He's always known what death meant, in a logical sense, but never really understood it. Didn't understand the way it tore and numbed and enraged those left behind.

He understands it now.

He always regretted losing other angels. He had never cared what happened to demons – they were evil, they were abominations, they didn't deserve to exist. He had always been convinced that Heaven was better for humans, that it was more of a peaceful extension of their lives. Heaven was their endgame, a reward, a privilege. He had always thought humans should be joyous, happy, eager to enter Heaven as soon as possible, regardless of what they left behind.

But demons – they didn't find peace after death. Death for them was just... the end.

“You're an angel.”

He's not sure what to do with these feelings. He's angry, so angry, angry enough that he wants to just burst out of his vessel and scream as loud as he can, regardless of whether there are any humans in the vicinity. He wants to maim, destroy, wipe out everything that had anything to do with Meg dying. He understands now, the overwhelming rage that he has seen so many humans succumb to when a loved one dies.

They don't know that, in a way, they will probably see their loved ones again.

He will never see Meg again. She is gone, and there's no one who will resurrect her. She was just a demon.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

He wants to find Crowley, beat him and pummel him and make him pay. He knows Crowley and Meg despised each other, doesn't know why, doesn't really care. He wants to kill him, slowly, torture him, make him pay for taking away the person that taught Castiel how to love.

He hopes Meg knows that. He thinks that maybe she does. He thinks that the demon would approve.

“You find a cause and you serve it.“

Meg wasn't just another demon. She was different. Yes, she had backed Lucifer, made the wrong choice – but so had he, so many times, so many chances to take the right path and he took the wrong one. She had stayed with him, protected him, when he hardly knew himself. When he had Lucifer in his head and didn't know if it was real, or even who he was at times, no matter how crazy or how strange he got, Meg was a constant soothing presence at his side.

She had said it herself: she was kind of good. He was kind of bad.

He understood why Sam and Dean left him in that hospital. They couldn't stay and he couldn't leave. That didn't mean he wasn't somewhat bitter about it. But Meg, with her prickliness and her snide remarks, had somehow made it more bearable.

It was because of Meg that he had started to realize just how similar angels and demons were. Angels had been known to use the same tactics as demons, believing that just by benefit of being angels it made them better, more righteous, then demons.

At least demons could call a spade a spade.

He remembers, with perfect clarity, every moment of their interactions. He remembers holding her close in a ring of holy fire, feeling things he had never felt before. Pushing her up against a wall, kissing her breathless after she had kissed him, growls of hell hounds coming closer and closer. Waking up and seeing her sitting beside his bed, earbuds in and a magazine in her hands. Seeing the dried blood and cuts and bruises from her year as a captive. Cleaning and wrapping the rope burns on her wrists while she flirted with him.

Taking care of her, sitting in that chair beside her, it felt like he had finally been able to repay her, just a little, for all those times she cared for him. He had been happy to see her again, he remembers. Remembers that he had picked her up, his arms going around her waist and hers going around his neck, kissing her without a care that the Winchesters were right there, or about what they would think. He had just been so glad to see her again, know that she was okay, even though he hadn't known Crowley had been keeping her hostage. He had been grateful that they had found her alive, instead of finding her dead. It had been a year without word from the demon, and he hadn't realized how much he had missed their banter, missed her, until Dean opened that bathroom door.

“Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?”

Sam has prayed to him. That was what made him stop running in the first place.

The first thing Sam said was that Meg was gone. He told Castiel about the conversation he had with Meg as they painted warding sigils, how she had told him to go save her unicorn after Crowley showed up. That Castiel was her unicorn. He said that him and Dean had gone back the next morning, found her vessel and burned it in a hunter's funeral.

She loved you, Sam told him, and she chose to die for you. In the end protecting you was more important than surviving. You were her cause. I thought you should know. Just – wherever you are, be careful. She wanted you safe.

Dean had prayed to him also, but all he had said was a quick apology abut Meg's death and that he needed to come back.

From enemies to reluctant allies to enemies to friends, Castiel never could have imagined that a demon would fall in love with an angel. Would fall in love with him.

That he would fall in love with a demon.

He's lost people before. He will lose many more. He may, in time, move past those future losses. He doesn't think the ache from losing this demon will ever leave.

He thinks that, maybe, this hurt will always be with him.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: I Will Only Let You Down

Title: I Will Only Let You Down (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Sam Winchester, Gabriel, Castiel Pairing(s): Gabriel/Sam Winchester Episode: 13.17 The Thing Words: 1,592 Song Inspiration: Seether - Let You Down Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

Sam had nightmares.

That, in and of itself, was no surprise. Not with the life he had led so far.

No, the surprise was the content of the dreams. Which ones occurred the most often. When he had his powers, his nightmares were usually about people he didn't know. He dreamed about Lucifer. He dreamed about the cage. He dreamed about Dean, dying, over and over – Hellhounds ripping him open, tumbling over the hood of a car, choking on a sausage, stabbed in an empty warehouse with an angel blade.

Sam had nightmares.

That, in and of itself, was no surprise. Not with the life he had led so far.

No, the surprise was the content of the dreams. Which ones occurred the most often. When he had his powers, his nightmares were usually about people he didn't know. He dreamed about Lucifer. He dreamed about the cage. He dreamed about Dean, dying, over and over – Hellhounds ripping him open, tumbling over the hood of a car, choking on a sausage, stabbed in an empty warehouse with an angel blade. He had nightmares about killing Rowena, ever since the reaper Jessica had revealed that detail about Rowena's death books. He had nightmares about all the times they were too late to save someone.

Like Charlie. Like Kevin. Like Adam.

He had nightmares about all of the people that had sacrificed their lives for the Winchesters.

Before Jess had burned, his similar dreams about Mary had been fuzzy, undefined. Probably because he was just a baby and didn't actually remember it, had only John and Dean and Azazel's words to go by. After Jess, his nightmares would go back and forth between Mary burning and Jess burning, as if it was on a loop. He dreamed about Dick Roman shooting Bobby, and Bobby dying in the hospital, Sam and Dean powerless to help and no angel on their shoulder to call to heal the grumpy man that had become a second father.

He had nightmares about Gabriel.

Those nightmares, the ones starring Gabriel, were some of the worst. They were some of the clearest, the heaviest – the ones that sat with him the longest, no matter how he tried to distract himself with hunting, with family, with friends, with research. He relived the moment he saw the sky light up with bright white light, the moment he knew meant an angel had died. He knew in his bones it had been Gabriel, that Lucifer had won. Just like Gabriel knew he would. That knowledge had dropped a stone in his stomach that became heavier when he and Dean watched Gabriel's DVD.

That stone was guilt, and he always carried it.

If he had been ready, if he'd had the time for research before Asmodeus showed up, if he'd had time to improve the warding more, he would have been ten kinds of creative in his killing of the bastard. But Asmodeus had arrived with very little warning, and okay, maybe Sam had gotten a little too lax in thinking the bunker's warding could keep out everything. He had underestimated Asmodeus, been a little too preoccupied with caring for Gabriel, been a little too cocky in the fact he wasn't the first Prince of Hell they'd encountered.

But Gabriel had pulled himself out of his terror to use whatever Grace he had left to heal his vessel and kill the demon. Sam had been awestruck, watching the shadows of Gabriel's wings appear on the walls of the bunker.

He thinks that maybe that was the first time he'd ever seen an angel's wings. At the very least, the first that that power, that strength, hadn't been directed at him or his brother or their best friend in fury.

Once the fire had consumed Asmodeus, Gabriel had swayed on his feet and clutched the balcony railing. Sam didn't remember scrambling to his feet and taking the stairs two at a time. He did remember getting to Gabriel, holding the other up before his legs could put him on the ground. He remembered throwing one of the other being's arms around his own shoulders while putting an arm around the archangel's waist, using his own strength and height to keep Gabriel on his feet.

Honey-whiskey eyes looked up at him blearily, blinking a few times, as if his vessel's eyes were having a hard time focusing on Sam's face.

“Well. That was fun.”

Sam couldn't help it – he chuckled. If Gabriel could still attempt to joke, he wasn't too bad off. The arm around Gabriel's waist tightened and the angel just leaned into him heavily. Something in Sam's chest loosened.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, running his eyes over Gabriel.

“Yeah, kid. Better than I have been in a long time.”

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nodded. Footsteps coming up the stairs drew Sam's attention, looking over his shoulder to see Cass, an expression of relief on his face. Cass reached out and put a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel just looked at him.

“Are you sure, brother?” Cass inquired, flicking his eyes over Gabriel the same way Sam had, using his ability to see Gabriel's true form and not just the vessel to check for injuries.

Gabriel huffed softly. “Stop that. I just need to replenish my Grace and I'll be fine.”

'Physically, maybe. What about mentally?' Sam didn't say it out loud, but when Gabriel's eyes flickered up to his, he thought maybe Gabriel had heard it anyway. Especially when the angel's mouth quirked up a little on one side, and he looked away as if he didn't want to answer. Or couldn't.

“I just need to rest and eat,” Gabriel said instead. “My Grace will take a while to replenish. Those things will help.”

Sam nodded. “Cass, can you take Gabriel to his room? I'll go make him a sandwich.”

Eyes slid over to Sam's slyly, a barely there spark of deviousness lighting up the gold. “Got any candy?”

Sam laughed. “I'll see what Jack left laying around.”

Castiel stepped closer, swinging the arm Gabriel didn't have around Sam around himself and replacing Sam's arm at the archangel's waist. Once he was sure Cass was supporting Gabriel, he moved a step away from the brothers and followed down the stairs, hands ready to reach out if the smallest of the three stumbled. He followed them until they reached the entrance to the kitchen, pausing at the doorway to watch the angels. Satisfied Cass was fine holding up the archangel, he walked into the kitchen.

Standing in front of the cabinet they used to store their dishes, Sam rested his forehead against it and his eyes dropped shut. It had been a whirlwind ever since Asmodeus had called him – and how the hell had the demon gotten his number, anyway? - and his body still ached from the pain the demon inflicted before Gabriel had killed him. He let out a soft breath, replaying the day in his head.

He didn't know why the Trickster had been able to do that when he did. Maybe because of watching Asmodeus hurt Castiel. Sam didn't know the depth of their relationship, but he did know, that like all angels, they considered themselves brothers. He had never seen them interact much, other then when they captured Gabriel in a ring of holy fire. But Gabriel was an archangel – he had been around since before Creation. He was the left hand of God, his Messenger, before he left Heaven. From the research Sam had done after finding out Gabriel's true identity, Castiel was said to be one of Gabriel's aids. He had never asked their resident angel if that was true.

He's realizing now there's a lot of things he should have asked Castiel, about who he was before the Winchesters changed him.

Before Dean changed him.

Sam hadn't realized all the questions he had about the archangel turned trickster, how they had come up in the empty spaces between hunts and all the end of times. For eight years, they had all thought the archangel was dead; killed by Lucifer, trying to buy time for the Winchesters to get away.

How long did Asmodeus have him?

Had he hoped that Castiel and the Winchesters would figure out he wasn't dead, and come rescue him? If he did, how long had he held onto that hope, while they continued their lives as if nothing had been lost? That, to Dean, losing Gabriel was a sacrifice that wasn't really a sacrifice?

Sam had never looked too closely at his own reaction to losing the archangel.

Sam's experience with Hell was limited to the cage. But he remembered every second of it; Lucifer and Michael fighting each other, turning to Sam to torture him when they had expelled their latest bout of anger with the other. Michael holding him for Lucifer, or Lucifer holding him for Michael. He remembered watching Michael go insane, egged on by Lucifer, until Lucifer was teaching Michael how to hurt Sam in the ways that would hurt the most. Until they stopped fighting each other completely, too close to being equals for either to get the upper hand on the other, and Sam was all they focused on.

For 120 years, his soul was trapped with them, and that experience had showed him more then anything that God's toying with him and Dean was just a continuation of the story he had started with Michael and Lucifer.

Sam didn't know how long Gabriel had been trapped in Hell with Asmodeus, or what he had been through, or why God had allowed it. He could only imagine.

Shaking his head, the hunter straightened up. There'd be time later to ask questions, satiate his curiosity about a time before humans had even been thought of. There was time to make up for the fact that Sam hadn't done anything to confirm that Gabriel was truly dead this time.

Right now, he had a sandwich to make and nightmares to push away.

[peacewhendone]

The Winchester Gospels: You Deserve Much Better Than Me

Title: You Deserve Much Better Than Me (Read on A03) Series: The Winchester Gospels - Chuck’s Deleted Scenes (A03 | Masterpost) Rating: G Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Endverse!Dean, Endverse!Castiel Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester Episode: 09.06 Heaven Can’t Wait Words: 1,155 Song Inspiration: Hinder - Better Than Me Soundtrack: Spotify | Rebloggable Summary:

It took Dean four years to tell the angel about the time Zachariah sent him to the future.

Four years that the pill-popping, orgy-loving, alcoholic Cass hovered in the back of his mind like a ghost.

It's not until Dean is looking at his half eaten burger that he starts to tell Cass about that time, about the version of himself and the angel that are bitter and aggressive and downright hostile towards everything, but mostly each other. About the way they shot questions and comments and concerns and thinly veiled insults back and forth like bullets, responding before the other can even finish their sentence.

It took Dean four years to tell the angel about the time Zachariah sent him to the future.

Four years that the pill-popping, orgy-loving, alcoholic Cass hovered in the back of his mind like a ghost.

Dean was standing outside the Gas-n-Sip, on the phone with Sam and watching Cass through the window as he bagged up a customer's purchases, when he decided he was going to fill in the newly human angel.

He didn't get the chance until after the case was over. After the Rit Zien had tried to “heal” Cass, after his boss had gotten home from a date that had been a disappointment and relieved him of his babysitting duties.

He thinks that if he hadn't made the decision before then, almost losing Cass – again – would have made it for him. He needs Cass to understand, needs him to know that even though he kicked him out, he cares. That he needs to know the angel is going to be okay.

Selfishly, he wants Cass to forgive him and make him feel better, so he can banish the image of Cass's shattered expression when he told the angel he couldn't stay.

Dean's leaning against the Impala, on the phone with Sam again, when he hears Cass let himself out of the gate leading up to Nora's porch. He quickly gets off the phone and turns to look at the angel, who still has the handkerchief around his hand that Dean had put there. The angel walks up to the car, a look on his face that Dean doesn't want to examine too closely.

It still makes his chest constrict to see it.

“Where to, Cass?” he asks over the top of the Impala, leaving the decision up to him. He wants to bring the angel back to the bunker, wants to watch over him and protect him and make sure this isn't the time when this Cass starts to becomes that Cass.

But he can't, because there's an angel renting Sam's headspace, and Sam can't know. Cass can't know.

Cass looks away, like he'd rather be anywhere else, like maybe he wants to say that he wants to go home. Like he remembers the bunker isn't home. The angel ends up not saying anything, only opening the passenger door of the Impala and sliding into the seat.

Dean's not sure what that means, doesn't know it means Cass doesn't feel like he has anywhere to go, and it shows in the confused look that takes over his face as Cass disappears into the car. So Dean opens the driver's door, sliding in himself and turning the key in the ignition.

Neither of them say anything, Cass staring out the window while Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye. Cass doesn't say anything when Dean finds a drive-through, getting them both burgers and drinks. He stays silent while Dean drives to his motel, parking right outside his room and grabbing the bag of food, leaving Cass to follow with the drinks.

He doesn't know why he knows that Cass will follow, he just does.

It's not until Dean is looking at his half eaten burger that he starts to tell Cass about that time, about the version of himself and the angel that are bitter and aggressive and downright hostile towards everything, but mostly each other. About the way they shot questions and comments and concerns and thinly veiled insults back and forth like bullets, responding before the other can even finish their sentence.

Four years late, but he finally tells Cass all of it.

Cass, for his part, keeps eating until Dean gets to the part where future Cass had told future Dean that he liked “Other You”, which makes the corners of the angel's mouth tilt upward in a small smile. He looks at Dean, a little fond, a little hurt, a little puzzled.

And Dean realizes it's the first time Cass has looked at him since he got in the car.

“Do you remember what I said to you after that?” Dean asked, green eyes steady on blue.

A head tilt. “You told me to never change.”

“Those versions of us – it was wrong. I didn't like that version of me. I didn't like that version of you. And, from what I saw, I was part of what made you that way. I don't want to be responsible for that. I can't be responsible for that.”

“Dean, I'm human now. But even before, my choices have been my own for a long time. You are not to blame for them.” The angel looks away, fiddling with a corner of the wrapper from his burger. “You are not responsible for me.”

“Cass, buddy, I know that. But you're – you're you, and I'm me, and I can't help but worry.”

He doesn't know how to tell the angel that he's the most important person in his life, next to Sam. Doesn't know how to say that he wishes he didn't have to choose between his brother and his best friend. That that choice weighs on him every day and the only thing that relieves it, even a little bit, is the alcohol he drinks so he can sleep.

Neither of them say anything else, Cass cleaning up their mess from dinner while Deans uses the bathroom. When he comes out, he rummages around in his duffel, tossing Cass an extra pair of pajamas since it wasn't exactly planned that the angel wouldn't be staying... wherever he had been staying. Cass shuts himself in the bathroom to change and Dean changed his own clothes quickly, sliding under the blanket as the bathroom door opened. He turned off the lamp on his side of the room as Cass flicked off the overhead light, listening to the sounds the angel made as he settled into the other bed. The other lamp is flicked off and the room is mostly dark, a hint of blue and purple and red light from the motel sign making it's way into the room through the thin curtains. It's enough that Dean knows, if he rolls over, he could just barely see the figure on the other bed. He resists the urge, keeping his face turned to the door into the room.

At least, for tonight, Dean can ease the little ball of guilt by feeding Cass, by knowing he's warm and safe and comfortable on the other side of the room. By knowing he's right there to protect him from anything that could come after him.

“Good night, Dean,” the angel murmurs into that darkness, and the tone makes Dean think maybe the angel is thawing, bit by bit, towards him. They're still stuck in the now, but Dean thinks maybe they can get back to before.

“Night, Cass.”

And Dean hopes that he's been able to start rebuilding the bridge he lit on fire.