#aka the chapter where i put out all of lucifer's issues and why
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Bleeding Blades: Chapter 1
Idk if i’ve ever posted chapter 1 here (idk if it’s even good) but the restarted version of bleeding blades chapter 1
word count: 4001
warnings: mention of war, murder, suicidal ideation
The land of Teradio was once prosperous and peaceful, filled with the beauty and love of the ruling family. It was an envy of its neighbors and powerful, avoided in war and a coveted ally. It was overseen by the god of life Seres and goddess of family and love Meriam and their children, the last of the Libbirix. A perfect family ruling a perfect nation.
There are four Libbirix, a winged race and the children of gods. They used to be plentiful and jewels of the world. They were as powerful as they were beautiful, beacons of perfection and wonders of Teradio and the surrounding world.
There were two other races in Teradio, the Klol and Gripois. A warrior race and servants and workers under them. They were complacent in their roles, under the Libbirix and following the word of their god and king. It was for this reason unrest began, the disbalance of people among the nation. A rebellion sparked with one of Seres’s own sons.
The Fall of the Libbirix was jarring. Had things not been as perfect as told for a rebellion? It was led by Seres’s favored son Lucifer. He spoke with a silvertongue about the injustices he saw among his kingdom, inflicted upon his people. His rallying voice called for a change his father did not like.
His eldest brother was sent to squash the rebellion, told to do what it took to end this war before it even began. There was a battle, brief for the immortals yet the years as agonizing as an eternity for those that fought. A battle to ensure there was no war, Seres had said. In the end, Lucifer had to be subdued in the worst way possible.
His brother Michael, Teradio’s shining sun and golden warrior, cut off his wings and those of his followers with his blade of glittering gold. He took from them their magic and senses of self with the amputation, ensuring they would never rise again.
As quickly as the rebellion had begun, it was snuffed out and its followers were left in the ruins of the city they had once called home. They were left expected to rot and die.
Centuries passed as they rebuilt their city, their magic from their wings lost but finding new powers deep within themselves as they learned they were so much more.
Lucifer gazed out his window at their city, heart swelling with pride and body aching from a long past battle.
“The anniversary of our Fall is almost here,” he said to Bartholomew, making him look over from where he was sweeping. “It weighs heavy over everything.”
His hand went to rub where a brand was hidden under his shirt sleeve. His father had given it to him himself, on each arm and again on his back between the scars from losing his wings. They marked him Sacraas: the one cut from family, without hope, without loyalty. Never would his wounds from that fateful time fully heal.
“I’ll ready the salves for the pain, sir,” Bart said as he went back to what he’d been doing. Lucifer nodded.
“Thank you, Bart,” he said softly, continuing to stare out the window. Finally, he glanced back to Bart.
He was a young half Gripois, his other half hidden from everyone else. His arms were marked with a Dreamcatcher’s markings. It started at his hands, covered in a smoky black and gray that swirled up to his elbows and continued to climb each day. He didn’t even know how rare that marking was.
Lucifer sighed deeply and moved to walk past him, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He felt his age so heavily now. He nearly stumbled, grabbing to a wall to keep himself up as he caught his breath.
“Luci?” Bart’s concerned voice came from behind him, gentle hands moving to help him up. He shook his head.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said, waving off concern. “It affects me earlier each year, hm? I just need to rest.”
He straightened up with a sigh, glancing down to the younger man and offering a small smile. He felt so tired, and it was barely midday. He pulled from Bart’s supportive hands to walk towards his room, his shoulders sagging with the weight of amputated wings.
His door swung open for him and he smiled a little.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, hand pressing to the door frame before he continued to bed.
He sat down heavily, putting his face in his hands. He ached, his entire body in searing pain it seemed. It all originated in his back, those wounds…
He stood slowly, moving to his mirror. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his hair in front of his shoulder, turning and craning his neck to see his back in the mirror.
There used to be a patch of feathers between his shoulder blades that went up the back of his neck and to the middle of his back. They’d been a dusty pink, matching the base of his wings. It had long since fell out. All that remained were small blackened ones, like they’d been burned.
Pieces of bone jutted out on either side from his back, the end jagged and broken and the skin around it red and tender and fresh. They twitched like the wings that no longer existed wanted to fly once again and Lucifer clenched his teeth nearly to the point of cracking at the incapacitating pain that shot through his body.
It took a moment for the waves of it to subside and finally Lucifer took a breath, tears stinging his eyes. The physical pain brought them but the ache in his chest, in his heart that caused them to fall.
They slid down his cheeks like raindrops, pattering to the carpet below as he bowed his head. Sobs wracked his aching body, shoulders curling in despite the strain.
Not for the first time, he’d wished he had died in that war. He wasn’t much of a fighter, he should have. And perhaps the thousandth time, he found himself wondering if he should right that. He thought to the knife resting in his desk. So simple it would be, do it right and it’d be fast. He wondered the reaction it would invoke.
Those thoughts were halted as there was a knock on the door. He quickly wiped his eyes and moved to grab his shirt, slipping it back over his shoulders.
“Come in,” he called, glancing over to see the young Klol step in.
“Bart said you’d need this,” Jabez said, holding a vial of the pain salve. Just seeing him pained Lucifer further. He was the child of his Bond and best friend, whose death still plagued him. And he looked so much like him. Straight straw-like hair that was tied at the nape of his neck with a ribbon and bright red eyes, though they had his mother’s thin shape and monolid. They matched his sharp features, pointed chin and nose with thin pouting lips.
“I do,” Lucifer said, moving to take it. He was barely able to look at Jabez, it hurt far too much. He made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t know why he asked you to bring it. Now go.”
“Most people say thank you,” was the retort and Lucifer scoffed.
“Most people are worthy of being thanked.”
“Mhm. Not here, they’re not.” He glanced back as Jabez crossed his arms, hips cocking. “Now I know you can’t reach that spot on your back, may I?”
He held out his hand and Lucifer stared at it for a moment before rolling his eyes. He handed him to vial and pulled his shirt off. He moved to sit down back to the other. He didn’t react as a gentle hand began to massage the salve around the wounds. He sighed, feeling his shoulders relax.
“It looks… worse,” Jabez murmured. He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it, not with him. He just wanted the pain to stop. “Oh come now, you know I’m not one to judge.”
“I haven’t done anything. That’s just the progress hundreds of years have done,” he snapped. A judgemental hum came from behind him.
“Oh of course not. It doesn’t itch when it heals, you don’t continue to sleep on your back and bend these remains anymore, of course not. That’d be dumb.”
“I thought you didn’t judge.”
“I’m not. Should I be?”
A growl was hissed between clenched teeth. “Just finish up and leave.”
A snicker was the last sound either of them made. Lucifer stared at the canopy of his bed, the sunlight dancing through the window, bathing the dark pink fabric in warm golden light. Funny how something so simple would stir up so many memories.
“Tonight was your father’s idea,” he said finally. Jabez froze, barely breathing anymore. “This party every year. Celebrate the anniversary of… becoming your own.”
“Dad… dad just enjoyed partying,” he said finally, voice sounding pained.
“He did. I never understood it. He somehow convinced everyone else that he was the calm one of the two of us,” he said, a faint smile playing across his face. He shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder to the young man.
Tears had gathered in Jabez’s eyes and were sliding down his face. He stopped and turned, pulling him into a hug. The action shocked them both.
They were not friends, though Lucifer had kept him and helped raise him. In fact, the two of them rarely got along. This was so rare, to be this close to each other without pain that Jabez immediately tensed, waiting for something. When nothing did, he slowly hugged Lucifer back, being squeezed tighter.
“He would never blame you for what happened, Jabez,” he whispered. “Never. Your father adored you from the moment he knew of you. He cried just telling me you were to be born.”
Jabez whimpered.
“I never meant to make you doubt that…”
They stayed in the embrace longer than was intended and then finally Lucifer released him. He stood quickly.
“I need to go.” And with that, he hurried out the door. Lucifer sighed. He had broken something so long ago, when he’d reacted so angrily in the wake of Cecil’s death. Though the regret stayed buried.
Such thoughts were shaken away. He closed his eyes to breathe.
By now, a numbness coated his back. He felt himself finally relax. After all, the pain had ended. For now. He moved to sit on the bed and sighed, closing his eyes.
The party was merely hours away… but he was so tired. He rubbed a hand over his face and finally laid down. He needed sleep, he had been awake the night before. It wasn’t uncommon on the eve of the anniversary. Whenever he closed his eyes, he pictured the golden blade and the golden hand that had held it.
He had hated his brother for so long after. He had hated nearly everyone. They had sat by while he was mutilated and tossed away like common filth. Now it was much the same as his back; blessed numbness, but beyond repair and horrifically scarred. He had no true feeling towards his family, but he knew it ached. Deep in his chest, within his heart, it ached so horribly that at times he felt he could hardly breath.
He curled into a tiny ball, a soft blanket being pulled over himself. It was such a poor substitute for his wings, not nearly as soft and without the weight and movement. But he had gotten used to such discomfort. He had no other choice.
Finally, he forced himself into sleep. He couldn’t afford to look tired at the celebration.
In his dreams, he saw his brother. Michael stood over him and looked down with his lips pulled back in disgust. He condemned him, disowned him. Unlike in reality, the sword was used to pierce Lucifer’s chest.
He awoke in a panic, sitting up and his hand going to his chest as pain swirled through him like his own blood. He closed his eyes as he pulled his hand away. He almost expected to find blood when finally he looked but there was nothing. His hand was clean, as was his chest. No blood, no stab wound. No Michael.
Lucifer wept. His eyes stormed, the torent in his heart finally manifesting itself. In another time, he would have comforted himself with the thought that Michael would never do that, he would never kill his beloved little brother. He loved him far too much.
But this was not that time. Lucifer now knew the truth. Michael held more loyalty than love, his capacity to obey was far greater than to love. Though he had learned long before that never could the blame for his father’s decisions lay on someone else, even if they were the weapon he wielded. And Michael was more Seres’ sword than his son.
He closed his eyes and curled back up, trying with desperation to will his pain away. Tears finally stopped and he again laid in numbness. It wasn’t until the sun had long since gone down that he finally got up.
The celebration was in an hour and he finally began to get ready. Fanciful clothes had already been laid out, a silken wine blouse embroidered with pink roses down along the cuffs and over his chest, fitted dark pants, and a long dark gray coat embellished with pink carnations. It was tame compared to the things he’d worn before.
Unlike then, he had no want to bring much attention to himself. He would likely already have far too much as it was. He hardly left his castle, hardly made appearances, even as the appointed “king” among the Fawkyrn. Perhaps that was a part of the curse, to feel uncomfortable in the spotlight his youth had always sought out.
He moved to rub his hand over the sigil upon his arm again, closing his eyes at the gentle throbbing it sent through his body. It didn’t ache like his wings, just reminded him it was there and steadily stealing his sanity.
He shook his head and finished buttoning his shirt. A hand ran through his curls, grimacing as he yanked a knot. He was vain and prided himself on his appearance, and yet… he hardly had the energy to maintain it. Barely enough to live day to day.
Finally he stepped out of his room, a black ribbon coming up to tie up half his hair in a complicated knot on his head as he went downstairs.
“I expected you to not be ready yet.” He turned his head to look at Bart, a gentle smile crossing his face as he saw him. He too was dressed far better than usual, in dark blue clothes and his hair pulled back from his face. It showed his most striking features easily, his mismatched eyes and hair. His left eye was yellow, matching the blonde side of his hair. The right was sky blue, striking against the black side.
“I have to be there on time. I’m the guest of honor,” Lucifer answered. He stepped over and deftly straightened his coat. “You look nice. You’re only ever seen in your work clothes.”
“There’s never really occasions for much else,” he said, brushing Lucifer’s hands away. “Besides, my work clothes are far more comfortable.”
Lucifer shook his head. He was thankful for the younger’s relationship, it pulled him from home and gave him some semblance of a normal life.
“Where is Jabez? We need to leave.”
No sooner had he spoken than the click of heels could be heard on the wooden floors. They looked over at Jabez, looking more like his parents in a long dark blue dress slit to the thigh and his hair hung loose around his shoulders. Lucifer still felt that pang as he saw him.
“Come on,” he said quickly, turning to leave. It was a night of remembrance, as well as a celebration. They were alive but had lost so much, in the war and the years since.
Libbirix were not believed to be able to survive without their wings. It held their magic and according to some stories, their souls. But here they all were, alive and well and now… celebrating.
The celebration was held in the courtyard in the center of the city. The lights could be seen as soon as Lucifer walked through his garden and, despite himself, he smiled. His people were still here, still found reasons to celebrate.
As they left the gate, music and laughter rose to greet them and the twirling skirts and coats of dancers flashed over the cobblestones like flowers thriving in the stones they never should have grown.
Lucifer smiled as he walked, the ache lessening. It was times like this that he knew he had done the right thing. He had freed them. It had come at a great cost but it was worth it.
“Oh Luci!”
He turned to look at Lilith, rolling his eyes as he saw the group of men she left. He moved to allow her to hold onto his arm.
“Hello, Lil,” he said with a warm smile. “I am glad to see that you are enjoying the night.”
“Oh, immensely,” she said with a smirk, glancing back to the bachelors. “You got here earlier than I expected.”
“I hate to miss any of this, you know this, my friend,” he said, tilting his head. “He would never want me to.”
Lilith’s smile turned sad and genuine as she thought to her late partner. She shook her head.
“Cecil would have killed if ever you did while he was alive. And even dead, he would have dogged your steps until you came and saw your people.”
Lucifer chuckled, a sad sound as he watched Lilith. He sighed and turned to look at the others.
“I know. And he likely would have gotten drunk and started a fight,” he said. Lilith laughed beside him, though sadness was on her face. They stood in companionable silence until she moved to offer him her hand.
“Dance with me,” she insisted and he gave her a look, brows wrinkling above the bridge of his nose. “Come now. The last time you danced was at the wedding and that was decades ago.”
He shook his head.
“No thank you. I’m afraid I’m a bit too sore to dance that way,” he said. He nodded to the group of young men. “Perhaps they will humor you.”
“Oh fine, go sulk and drink then,” she said and turned with a flick of her hair. She glanced back at him with a smirk and a wink. “Just know that my offer is there.”
He shook his head at her and watched her walk off. Then he turned and searched out glasses of wine and a table laden with food. The best part of any celebration.
He saw a child, barely to his hip, rush to the table. She wore her hair in intricate braids and a long dress that was stained with some blue substance. Likely the result of some fruit tart, the same as the one she was trying to reach for.
Lucifer watched her struggle to get the plate holding the sweets and then moved to scoot it closer to her with a warm smile. She looked up with wide purple eyes and an even wider smile as she snatched a few of them up.
“Don’t get a stomach ache, little one,” he warned warmly. He moved to pluck one from the plate and gave her a wink as he moved to step away, making her giggle as she rushed off again. He watched her with a soft look and then sighed, sitting on a bench to finish his drink and dessert.
He watched the children there. They were so young, they knew nothing but this life. Nothing but the crumbling city that used to thrive. He sighed, closing his eyes as he finished his wine.
“Well hello, your majesty,” a cooing voice said beside him. He turned to look at the woman, offering a warm smile.
“Hello, Aita,” he said politely. The two had never been close but she was a beautiful woman. She was tall and plump with warm features. Her eyes were black but in the right light looked purple or even blue while her skin was the gentlest red, like a dying fire. Tonight her rich red curls were piled on her head in intricate knots and she wore a dark dress off her shoulders and trimmed with fur.
“You always look so lonely at these,” she said as she sat down, much too close to him. He chuckled.
“That’s because I am,” he said honestly. He looked at everyone else; the dancers dip their partners, children twirling and giggling, and even those serving seemed to be having a good time. “But it is not a horrible thing. I am here with my people.”
“No one should be alone, not tonight.”
“I am not alone,” he said and gave a warm smile. “It’s not the same thing.”
Aita rolled her eyes and leaned back. They sat in silence for a moment and Lucifer wondered if he had been rude to her. He thought through their conversation, though his concentration broke as she finally spoke up again.
“My brother would have loved this. It’s not what you wanted, but to see everyone who’s suffered coming together this way and enjoying life and… free…” She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “And none of this would have happened without you.”
Lucifer was silent. How he’d often told himself that. It was hard to enjoy this thinking of all they’d have lost. It was molting season and he wished he could see the feathers on the wings, colorful and catching the light of the lanterns. But it was never a sight he would again witness. He sighed, looked down to his glass.
“I am going to get more to drink.”
He stood to retrieve something stronger, letting it burn his throat as he drank. He didn’t mind it and was half through it when he was urged to speak, as their king and leader. The one who had brought them here. He felt his heart pound as he slowly gave in and stood, glass extending out in a pseudo toast.
“My friends,” he began, voice stronger than he’d thought it’d be. “It is tonight nearly four hundred years ago that we were removed from our homes and positions. Four hundred years since we had decided we’d have enough of my father’s oppressive laws. Four hundred years since we lost our wings.” He swallowed. “But it is not a sad night. Tonight, we remember.
“We remember those who died for this, those who left us here to rot, and why we have chosen this. My father dictated laws between the races of Teradio that never should have been. Our children and people deserve more, all of us deserve so much more! And here we are, we were expected to die but we have thrived and made a home among these ruins, we have made a place for ourselves. We are a people that can not be extinguished, no matter how much the world may be against us! Our fallen brothers and sisters smile upon us, this is not the ending we had pictured but it is our happy ending! To the Fawkyrn!”
There was a cheer and clinking glasses and Lucifer smiled as he sipped his drink. He looked over then, pausing as he saw something in the distance, upon a hill. He set his glass down as more noticed it. A fire swallowing the hillside far too close to the city limits and above it, a flash of glowing gold.
Michael.
#aka the chapter where i put out all of lucifer's issues and why#i really like the imagery of this chapter#idc if it's overly flowery#excerpt: infernum#caelum infernum#my writing
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Dem’s Big Post About The Spn Fics Part 1/2
aka The Wrap Up to celebrate To Exist Again and To Become a Man now being finished!
(This will be a long post. This is your only warning.)
Admittedly this is a bit of a weird thing to be doing, but I wanted to try it out for 3 reasons:
I love talking about my own work and
It functions really well as a self-reflective tool for me to improve on, and
I can answer some big questions people might have because there was a LOT of worldbuilding in these stories.
We’ll start off with reflective stuff, and move into the juicier world-building focused stuff later into the post. There will be major spoilers for both fics to come!
To begin with a funny anecdote, Why Did I Write These Stories?
I was beginning to write and work out the story that I wanted to write for Spn (what will now be To Destroy a Man. As I was writing the scene, I realized I had a LOT of ideas and while I was trying to avoid as much exposition as I could, it became quickly apparent that I was needing to create my own au (this scene eventually became chapter 34 of To Become a Man). A short prequel seemed like a good idea, to quickly hash out the ‘prior’ events that I needed to go through so all the readers could be on the same page. While plotting out prequel points, I realized Sam and Dean were going to have drastically different experiences during the same time period, and I was trying to figure out who’s pov would be better for which scenes, and how to keep momentum when they’re going through such radically different types of changes. Ultimately I decided to split their povs, which I also thought would be a fun project! And I naively assumed each pov would take about 2 chapters each, rounding out to maybe 15k total.
I had my ending points: Dean n Cas soul-merged and (basically) married, Cas on the lam from heaven and a complete anomaly, and Sam juiced up full of powers and a weird mix of archangel and antichrist but still 100% human and ready to fight God.
Now I needed to add weight to these changes, so I wrote 200k of build-up.
Am I proud of these fics?
OF COURSE I AM!!! These are the longest fics I’ve ever written AND finished AND in the fastest freakin turnaround ever (both were finished writing, barring edits, in like 6 months holy shit)
I didn’t write a single scene that I “didn’t” want to write. If I had trouble writing it, as in it was fighting me, I scrapped it. Most obviously was the scene in Dean’s pov where he and Sam were intended to meet some other hunters and Dean declines working with them because he’s nervous about being outed as queer. It was meant to be a good scene! I wanted to introduce some new characters! But it just wasn’t working so I said ‘thank you, next!’.
But it means this story was an absolute joy to write. Because for a while all I was doing was ‘if I wanted to write one scene into supernatural, what would I write?’ and then just DID that!! It’s why there’s a lot of ‘Salmondean do dumb shit or have really dumb heartfelt conversations’ scenes.
Would I change anything?
If I’d been less eager to start sharing, I might have planned out the story beats a little tighter so there were less ‘soft’ chapters and a draw/pull for people to come back and keep reading. I felt Dean’s story specifically lagged at points and could have used some tighter editing (there was a noticeable lull in directed movement between Dean n Cas getting together, until Sam corrupts Amy).
I also probably would have held Sam’s story until I’d finished Dean’s so I could make the two line up better! Probably could have inserted more scenes into Sam’s fic that way, and made sure things were a little more consistent. In an ideal world one concept I had was to release 1 chapter from each pov every week that would correspond to the same time frame so we’d be getting real-time SalmonDean pov narrative. Unfortunately that didn’t work!
The biggest takeaway overall is for me to focus more on what moves the plot, and to make my scenes do more than 1 thing so I can cut down on wordcount and increase my efficiency.
Of course every writer will find things they want to fix in anything they’ve ever written, so these are minor “mistakes” at best. I’m so dang proud of these fics.
Onto more interesting things!
How Did I Put These Fics Together (because it’s different than anything I’ve ever done before)
Normally when I write a story, I plan out the beats I need to hit, see where I need to insert any kind of foreshadowing/buildup, and then write from A to B to C and so on and so forth. Hence, this is why I can normally post things as I complete chapters, because it’s all a linear progression.
For these two stories, rather than linear plot/a normal story structure, I just sat and free-wrote any and every scene that came to mind and then pieced them into a kinda-linear form like putting a quilt together. You’ll note that this is why there’s not a lot of internal callback or a feeling of sense of time flowing within the fic (save for points where I went back and specifically edited it in). How long does the story take place over? Hard to say! Your author has the barest grasp on linear time even on a good day (how many times did I say ‘see you on [wrong day]’ at the end of chapters lmaaoooo)
This also meant EXTENSIVE editing on the back end once I decided in what order I wanted my ‘quilt pieces’ to be. Hard to say if this is a bonus or a negative!
But I did want to try and capture the vibe of the lives they lead, as a bit of a ‘slice of life’-style story, when the slice of life is the profound weirdness of the Winchester roaming life, and how things are status quo- until everyone almost dies oh shit!! And then they have to keep living because no therapy we die/undie like Winchesters. Do I think I captured this effectively? Hmm. Good question.
Dem where the FUCK did the inspiration for a lot of the magic and creature weirdness even come from?
Honestly? Music, primarily. And completely mishearing lyrics!
Nightwish ‘Ever Dream’: the line is ‘my song can but borrow you grace’ and because my brain is scrambled eggs on a good day, I heard ‘grace’ ‘song’ and ‘borrow’ in that order and have had, for YEARS, the mental image of Cas borrowing Dean’s soul to power himself up for battle.
From there I’ve always been enamored with the ‘wavelength of celestial intent’ descriptor that Cas drops in s6 for “what he is”.
I also really like ocean metaphors mostly because I’ve been obsessed with the ocean and things in it since I was like… 5??? So really this was me just rolling with what I know lmao. I love using (somewhat) accurate scientific metaphors for very intangible things!
I was also finishing my degree in biology/ecology while writing these fics and I think it shows
Stars ‘The Night Starts Here’ gives us the series title and the fic titles. Except for ‘To Exist Again’. TEA was almost titled ‘The Upwards Fall’ because I wanted all 3 of the Main Stories to have titles from this song, but I couldn’t make anything else work in tandem with the series name ‘The Love It Takes’ while also working for Sam’s personal story. So Sam, as always, is the rebel <3
Stars ‘Up In Our Bedroom, After The War’ is basically the vibes of the whole story. TFW has been, literally, to hell and back!!! There’s a bit of melancholy and sadness, a lingering dark, but the chance of a bright new tomorrow and a soft start.
Let’s Talk About Themes in The Story! What were you looking to accomplish?
My earliest notes for TFW are, as follows:
Dean’s journey of self-discovery (who am I when I’m not trying to be Dad?)
Dean wants to settle down! He wants a big family! He wants to be domestic!
Basically: Dean doesn’t want to have a short life of hunting. He wants to live!
Dean’s journey of realizing he’s bi, and him accepting that
Dean’s relationship to Sam is both older brother/parent
And continuing Dean balancing these roles while also letting Sam be an adult
Dean’s Big Issues/Fears about never being good enough for people to want to stay with him (these are effectively highlighted in that Cas thinks he’s not useful enough to be wanted)
Sub Plot:
Castiel’s autonomy
Cas’ fall from grace, to trying to restore Heaven, to wrecking it further
He’s majorly depressed by the end of s7 (before purgatory)
Wants to stay in Purgatory but doesn’t tell Dean
Remains depressed after leaving, but resolved to keep living on because he’s clearly meant for something
After the seraphim reveal: does he have free will?! How does he grapple with this? How does he live in a way he can be proud of?
And lastly
Sam gets his powers back CAUSE THATS HOT
where tf did they go????
he got them from Lucifer?????
sleeper agent??????
Sam is The Chosen One
Accepts that he is More Than Human and to celebrate all parts of him
Lucifer and Sam friends?? Work together????
Sam needs autonomy in his choices/his life
If you compare these to the overall arc of TFW within the two stories, I think I got a lot of them! But you’ll also note a lot of these things aren’t concrete goals that are easily measurable (ex: Dean wants to learn to bake pie. In chapter 1 he starts a fire in the kitchen. By the end of the story he finally makes A Good Pie.) part of the lack of concrete milestones was why I felt it was important to tell Dean (and Cas’) story by going back to the point they meet, in s4! Dean’s gradual change towards his feelings for Cas, his relationship to Sam (heavily influenced by the s7 events of this fic) and then his own relationship with himself were such slow burns that I felt it would be a disservice to try and cram a change like that into a timeline like “1 year”.
I felt like these subtle changes and adjustments actually felt a lot truer to life-- people often change in very small, gradual ways over time, even without realizing it and often times not consistently! If only we could all gain skills like the sims, where we can easily level up and remain at that high level of performance!
So the Guy Who Ate Satan, A Celestial Nuke that Developed Sentience, and Dean walk into a bar…
Sam’s story in Spn The Show has always been a ‘chosen one’ kind of narrative. Sam is living with one foot in the realm of the monsters, and I wanted to bring that back full force! It really makes sense for him that he should only continue to grow in power, might, and magic!! As the story progresses.
Cas also got a power up! I do desperately love in the show that he was kind of a grunt/nothing angel, and so even when he defected to TFW he was a huge help for them, but in the scale of things he was an annoying fly to most other angels. It really worked for the underdog story of s4/5. In this I wanted to give him a power up, and originally it was actually going to be close contact with Sam that eventually changed Cas into something unknown (you can still see traces of this in ch34 of TBAM, where Death remarks ‘Castiel could be [Sam’s] first creation’. But for a combo of reasons: how Sam’s magic needed to have intent, the entire concept of free will and consent, and how much I wanted Dean and Cas to have their effect on each other, I decided to go with the route that Cas has actually always been something angel-adjacent rather than becoming something new. TFW/Supernatural has always been about free will and making your own story, so I amplified that with Cas.
Dean has always been A Normal Guy, which is part of the appeal of him and Sam (2 normal dudes!) taking on the Very Not Normal. As explained above, Sam’s story is ‘normal guy finds out he’s the chosen one’ and so, in a story about very large concepts and huge monsters and acts of magic, I felt it was very important to keep Dean as normal as possible. To the point it became a running gag to me, personally, in that ‘no matter what cool shit happens around him, Dean has to stay as Just A Guy’. And it’s a very humanizing role that allows the story to have the scale it does!
What were the most important themes in your story?
Sam’s Autonomy
I wasn’t even going to include the plot about Lucifer’s death in this story— that was going to come up in a later story, actually! And rather than Sam having ate Lucifer, the original idea was that they’d become a SamandLucifer entity (this harkens back to a concept I wanted to write when Swan Song first aired).
That storyline would have involved a lot of mental ‘Sam and Lucifer discuss what it means to live, which one of them is more worthy of life and if they do deserve to destroy the world for the pain they’ve been forced to go through, just to create the dichotomy of good and evil for everyone else’ discussions. There would be a lot of talk about how Sam hates and fears Lucifer for the pain Lucifer put on Sam, how Lucifer hates Sam because he and Sam are the same but Sam’s brother loves him anyways, etc.
Ultimately that was scrapped because Sam’s entire story in the show is always about how the world and everyone around him manipulates him and that he never actually gets to make choices about his own life or body that aren’t influenced or part of someone elses’ design. And that always bothered me that Sam was never allowed to be himself without having to be ashamed of it, and I wanted to make sure that Sam’s triumph of being proud of himself/proudly choosing to exist (again) was evident in his story
In the end I needed Sam to have this visceral win over his tormentor. As the story shows, in this case Lucifer was abused and put into a position where he was incapable of empathy and could only express himself in violence. Sam even understands this! But it doesn’t change the fact that Lucifer tortured Sam in unimaginable ways for thousands of years.
With that in mind I didn’t like the idea of Lucifer and Sam having “co-ownership” of their new identity, so I made the choice that Sam had to be the survivor. This tied in well with Sam’s new crusade to restore free will to the universe, because he’s breaking the narrative of his own story!
While Castiel wasn’t a pov character, his own autonomy and free will was equally as important. You’ll note that many, many paragraphs and conversations revolved around that theme and that in the end Cas followed himself (and love!) which ensured his freedom of self <3
The Brothers are WEIRD PEOPLE!!!! And Codependent to a Worrying Degree, but It’s Also How They Survive
It’s very hard to show “unusual” relationships when you’re writing from the pov of the two people who don’t think there’s anything weird about their relationship. Sure, they say ‘yeah it’s probably weird that we still share a bed’ but that’s kinda more in line with ‘I had a nightmare and I want to be close to the person who makes me feel safe’. Hashtag normalize co-sleeping when you need it!!!
From there I did try to point out how the boys have a weird perception of lifestyle in the little things they did.
From thrifting everything from clothes to appliances to books (thrifting is a valid lifestyle! It’s incredibly handy when you’re on a budget.)
To never actually having condiments or knowing how to use a dishwasher cause they’ve lived in a car, a motel room, or squatted in old houses their whole life.
I tried to have them wear each others’ clothes or casually swap things as much as possible. They live out of each others’ pockets!
Also the brothers are just weird people!! It’s hard to show from their pov, cause they don’t know how far off from normal they are, but like…
Everything about Sam and Amelia was NOT right like holy shit those two were wilding in their grief. They are very lucky things worked out for them and that they got to be hashtag Weird Girls together
Dean explicitly, in the story, gets horny after killing stuff!! Violence has done a number on his psyche and he’s gotten some wires crossed that maybe shouldn’t have been, or maybe could be worked out in a safe space but… uh… how likely do we think Dean is gonna go find a safe space to deal with any of his shit???
LOVE!!! Love is truly what this whole story is all about
If you’ve read the stories, you know how much emphasis I put on love. Love is the strongest force in the Spn Universe! It’s what averted the apocalypse and saved the world (Swan Song), it’s what created free will (Cas’ entire arc!) I love love!!!!
I went out of my way to not put any definitions on platonic love vs romantic love because I think love is love is love and how you express that is the difference. Neither is more powerful than the other because LOVE is powerful!! Sam and Cas are the most important people in Dean’s life and he loves them equally! He shows this by giving Cas kisses and stealing Sam’s socks.
It’s a personal pet peeve of mine when I have to hear explanations like ‘I love you, like a brother’ or ‘I love you, but like, as a friend because I’m a lesbian and you’re a man’ etc etc in media. If you have to continuously define how your characters love each other, then I don’t think you’re doing a good job of portraying their relationship. So you’ll see that I never put those parameters in any conversation. Dean DOES muse that he loves Cas differently than he loves Sam or Bobby, specifically because there is a romantic and sexual tone that his feelings for Cas takes, but not because he loves Cas more or less than he loves Sam or Bobby.
Which means, if you haven’t realized it yet, the Series + Fic Titles are meant to be a complete sentence because the power of love IS the thesis of this series:
The Love It Takes To Exist Again (Sam’s journey!)
The Love It Takes To Become a Man (Dean’s journey!)
The Love It Takes To Destroy a Man (TBA)
And now for fun stuff. Behind the scenes!!
What’s Something People Probably Don’t Know?
The demonic fungal/hydrothermal vent growth on Sam’s arm was thrown in literally as I was posting the chapter because I had just finished a 48 hour cram session of writing a report on tube worms for an ecology class (I was chanting my tube worm song as I wrote it) and it ended up being a HUGE hit with both readers and myself. But it was so last minute I had trouble fitting it in more throughout the rest of Sam’s story!
Cas’ orders? That may or may not have bound him to Dean and removed his free will? Were written into Sam’s story and I went ‘oh SHIT that’s compelling’ and then left them there as a ‘guess I’ll figure that out when I get to Dean’s story lol’
Originally Dean and Cas were supposed to get together after having their souls bonded, and have been in a UST limbo the entire time before that. Mostly because I think the entire concept of ‘we just got married of the soul I guess we should try dating?’ is very funny. CLEARLY the two of them were way more eager to fall in love than I anticipated (thank you Cas for your honesty) but you can still see shades of this original idea here and there (especially in ch35 of TBAM)
I never intended Dean and Benny to connect so well!! Benny was going to reunite with Andrea, she was going to live, and they were going to go off into the world and leave the story. And, uh, here we are. I’m still debating if I need to adjust the relationship tag or not haha. Polyamory is fun, especially when I was planning for Sam to be the polyamorous brother...
Speaking of, I can’t believe I forgot about Sam and his sexuality! If I rewrote TEA I would have had Sam contemplate more on his lack of sexual appetite due to trauma, up until he meets Benny and he gets to rediscover how he wants to be a sexual person
Many of Sam and Dean’s absolutely stupid sibling conversations were lifted near-verbatim from conversations I’ve had with my siblings
And lastly...
Dem where’s Kevin????????????? Where is our sweet baby boy????????
He’s SAFE!! He’s in the Hunter pipeline somewhere cause Sam handed him off to Bobby’s people. He and his mom are safe and at some point they probably got rib sigils like SalmonDean did against angels, but for demons. I didn’t have room in this story for him!!! But my baby boy is SAFE and I want to get him back to university because it’s WHAT HE DESERVES!!!!
To that point: god there were/are SO many characters that I just didn’t include in the story so far because I didn’t feel comfortable including them without stalling the story for them. To that point: pretty much everyone who is alive/dead in s8 is that way in this story, except Bobby who gets to live.
[Check Out Part 2 for reader questions!]
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11x17: Red Meat Analysis (or, how can I make every episode Destiel even if Misha isn’t in them)
I have feelings about this episode, and I needed to therapeutically analyze them for REASONS, so here we go. Script bytes included with my emphasis.
***It is important to note that, despite this being a generally MOTW/brother-focused episode, Dean is so focused on getting Cas back at this point in the season that he doesn’t even want to go on the hunt to begin with (despite just two episodes back pushing Sam to do it in Beyond the Mat):
DEAN
All right, well, we make a call and we put somebody on it.
SAM
Yeah, but... [He sighs, closes his laptop and looks at Dean]. We'll get him back.
DEAN
How?
SAM
I... I don't know. But we'll figure it out. Meantime, we got to get out of here. Clear our heads. I mean, this is a case. Let's do what we do. Let's work it.
***Since no good deed goes unpunished, Sam’s attempt to clear Dean’s head leads to him almost dying and then (TW) Dean’s grisly faux-suicide attempt in order to get to a reaper to bargain for Sam’s life (really this entire episode should have a TW before the content) (*really the entire show should have a TW before the content).
Anyways, enter Billie, our queen of foreshadowing, who says:
BILLIE
Just savoring this. Though I have to say of all the ways I thought you'd go... heart attack, some fang, choking on a burger while binge-watching “Charles in Charge”...
***So, you know, both things he goes through in the thing that must not be named, the first being Billie’s actual attempt to kill him, and the second being what kills him for good. Dammit, Bilie. I equally adore and detest you and your accuracy. Are you secretly a prophet?
Dean continues to plead with her:
DEANS SPIRIT [sadness and desperation in his eyes]
I'm asking you... I'm begging you, please. Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead.
***So as we know, the doctor revives Dean and Sam ends up being alive and everything is fine for everyone. Well, everyone EXCEPT Michelle, one of the newlywed victims, who loses her husband (Corbin - he becomes a werewolf - Sam has to shoot him). At the end of the episode, Dean is trying to comfort her ->
DEAN
Michelle, this is gonna be very hard. But you will be okay. And, eventually... eventually you'll get back to normal.
MICHELLE [sighing]:
No, I won't.
Michelle smiles gently at Dean, and then turns away, as tears spill.
MICHELLE
They said I could leave... [she sighs] an hour ago. But... where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together... [turning back to Dean] I watched the man I love die. There's no normal after that.
***Later, Dean and Sam leave the hospital, despite the prior exchange, Dean remains aloof/casually optimistic about Michelle’s state.
DEAN
So, that's it, huh? Two quarts O-neg, and you're good to go.
SAM
[sighing as he walks gingerly down the steps]: How is she? Ooh.
DEAN
She's strong. She'll be all right. Those stitches gonna hold?
ANALYSIS: I had some issues to work through on my first viewing of this scene. It made me feel icky-weird - like, why is my baby Dean being so dismissive? Why isn’t he taking what she said seriously? She’s hopeless and devastated - and while Dean is pretty rough around the edges at times, he’s not callous. He wouldn't just dismiss Michelle’s feelings, especially since she played an integral role in helping him and they really connected on some level during the episode. Saving people is what Dean loves to do, how is leaving Michelle alone in her despair and grief saving her?
As everything tends to, this hit different on the rewatch - my assessment - Dean’s attitude in this scene does not come from his lack of sympathy for Michelle, but a lack of true understanding - because what she is feeling he cannot possibly comprehend at this point in the show. He hasn’t yet really, and I mean REALLY watched the person he loves most in this world die in the same sense that Michelle just did. Yes, at one point in this particular episode Sam dies, and I’m sure that people draw that parallel as “the point” in this story arc (and then go on to do more than that but we do not allow that crap here), but Sam is Dean’s brother, and it’s just not the *same* parallel. AND that wouldn’t explain Dean’s attitude - his nonchalant, off handed comment that Michelle will be okay (I don’t think this statement reads as a “cover” of any concerns he actually has, I truly think he thinks she will be okay), so while he went through watching someone die who has been through everything with him, someone he loves deeply as his family, it’s not really the same as watching your soulmate, the person you love romantically die. Yes - Cas is “missing” because of Lucifer but he is not dead, there is still hope (and while Dean lost Cas back in Season 7, I don’t believe he was quite *there* with his feelings for Cas then to understand what Michelle is going through). Dean simply cannot fathom the feeling of despair Michelle is feeling at this point.
But he will. And he will also experience what Michelle did. I wonder if he thought back to that conversation when it happened to him.
I present to you for consideration the following two images.
11x17:
13x01:
***By the way, Dean’s spirit and Billie have another exchange in this season after Cas’s death in 13x05:
BILLIE
That doesn’t sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love. The man who has been dead so many times but it never seems to stick. Maybe you’re not that guy anymore, they guy who saves the world, the guy who always thinks he’ll win no matter what. You have changed. And you tell people it’s not a big deal. You tell people you’ll work through it but you know you won’t, you can’t and that scares the hell out of you. Or… am I wrong?
DEAN
What do you want me to say? Doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.
BILLIE
Don’t you?
DEAN
I couldn’t save Mom. I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.
BILLIE
You really believe that. [Dean shakes his head yes] You wanna die.
***There is the despair. Dean has changed. There is no normal after Cas is gone.
I know, I know I am “making it all about the angel,” and forgetting that technically Dean lost Mary in the Season 12 finale and he is feeling defeated by the world and can’t get a win. I get that. I understand your point. It isn’t JUST the loss of Cas that brings this level of increased pain to the same words he uttered in 11x17. I appreciate your viewpoint.
But, I want to also present for your consideration the third image aka the final chapter in the lesson of despair (right after a certain episode with a certain name).
15x19:
And that, my friends, is why I have feelings about Red Meat.
#destiel#welcome to my ear worm hell#spn#spn fandom#overanalyzing spn#subtext#they deserved so much better#somethingtosay#I am a cracked out clown on this hellsite#or should I say heller site#spn rewatch#spn season 11
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Full Circle: Part 5
Full Circle Masterlist
Pairings: Gabriel x Reader
Warnings/Tags: Winchester sister!reader, angst, sarcasm, and a whole lot of ways to call someone a dick (among other things), violence
Word Count: 7,826
Summary: Gabriel isn’t the only thing from the past being brought back to life, and, once again, you find yourself smack dab in the middle of everything.
Author’s note: This chapter is tied with The Best Laid Plans as the favorite thing I’ve ever written. I had so much fun when I originally wrote it and, at the time, really got into the mind set. I actually didn’t end up changing much except for adding more names for Gabe to call Raphael, the conversations around which have made this chapter that much more precious to me.
All tags are at the end. If you have a line through your name, the tumblr Gods won’t let me tag you.
Special thanks to @sumara62, my wonderful beta who made it through 15 pages of dick references before being like, “Really?” and @blondecoffeecake for helping add to my repertoire of dick. You guys are the best.
***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***
<<Prev Chapter Part 5 Next Chapter>>
If Gabriel’s life were an autobiography, it would be called The Reason We Can't Have Nice Things: A Study in Daddy Issues or Why I Hope I’m Adopted. Because right now? There wasn't a single one of his family members he wasn't considering shanking, his father most of all.
Great. Fine. Wonderful. The man had brought him back. Gabriel would be sure to send Him an edible fruit arrangement the next time He was in town. Laced with the plague and made entirely of zombie fruit aka durian (aka what had his father been smoking when he decided anything consumable should naturally smell like rotting flesh?).
Why was Gabriel displeased one might ask?
It might have had something to do with being turned into shish kebab so his brothers could compare dick sizes. (If anything he should be the winner in that department since he was the only one with the cojones to stand up to them).
It might have had something to do with his father being unable to do anything other than stand around, dick in hand, while shit went sideways because He was, in fact, just standing around, dick in hand.
Maybe it was because the only being who gave a damn about Gabriel was a mother loving human who should hate his very existence after what he did to you and your brothers. (The father loather in both of you, however, had created quite the bonding experience).
Or maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t help but suspect there was some underlying motive to his sudden and fortuitous resurrection… like the fact that the heaven bus was on fire again and a fair number of his divine family was ready to drive it into the side of the earth.
Because it had worked out so well for the God squad the first time around.
When he found the earth was not, in fact, one giant smoking battlefield or a rage infested zombie land, he was impressed. He assumed your family had managed to put Lucifer back in time out, though he never would have guessed the how.
He also never would have guessed who Luce would end up with for roommates.
He had been impressed with the creativity until he caught the look on your face. Heaviness clung to the darks of your eyes making them seem endless. He knew how cleverness could be a burden and it was like staring at his own reflection, enduring loneliness included.
He had initially hoped one of you had gotten a few good sac taps in on his behalf, but now he simply hoped you had for your own closure. Preferably before his brother was wearing yours, but it wasn’t like the sasquatch was going to feel much other than suffocating in his own body.
Gabriel made a mental note to avoid ever explaining that perk of being a vessel to you.
Fact check: being a vessel was terrible for the first thousand days or so. After that it just tickled.
However, he did have a lot to explain.
He knew he would end up here sooner or later. Well, not here here. He kind of understood his father having a blast from the past, considering the easiest way to pull his vessel to the present was to find the last place it had existed. Being cockblocked and dropped right where Lucifer iced him, however, was an extra special touch of douchiness, and there was only one being left with that much power (and that much douche).
What he didn’t know is that you would end up here with him and that was what had him close to popping a vessel (literally and figuratively speaking). It hadn’t been his choice to be resurrected in the middle of a shitstorm, but he had been the one to drag you into it. All because he had been impulsive, reckless, and unable to look past his own selfish desires.
There went his argument for being adopted.
He should have stayed away from you. Then again, if it was a cosmic coincidence you both showed up at the same place at the same time, he’d put himself in the cage with Lucifer, Michael, and the youngest Winchester and dance the lambada with all them. The only reason he’d come back to this funhouse of memories was to seal off the doors and windows just in case the rip in the time space continuum was a little more wormy and less like the snapshot he’d initially assessed.
The moment he spotted you, he should have just walked away. He could have. It wasn’t your grief that undid him.
Fact check: seeing your world bend beneath that weight did, however, do things to him he’d rather not think about.
He had only seen you this distraught on one other occasion. Famine had sunk its influence so deep inside you there was nothing other than a blinding need. For what, Gabriel had never found out. The urgency in your prayer (along with the fact it was just his name over and over again) suggested he might want to get his winged ass down there pronto. When he arrived, you’d been so consumed he’d had to put you to sleep before seeing your pain began to consume him.
Pain, though, was a timeless constant he could rationalize. So long as there was life, there would be suffering. What chance did he stand, however, against your guilt? It pushed against the indifference he had tried to maintain, unknowingly slipping within his walls undetected, until it touched against his own guarded feelings of responsibility.
Even then, Gabriel could have patched you up (emotionally), saw you out to your car, and went on to enjoy his limited existence at his own personal, completely conjured bunny ranch equipped with endless supplies of chocolate, whip cream, and other sensual sweets… along with eight different versions of what he called not yous. Those were women who had enough of your features for him to pretend, but not actual carbon copies.
Having no shame and being a super creep were definitely two different things.
Not to mention how creepy they were when he couldn’t get the personality traits down enough to not make a copy seem straight out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers… not that he’d ever tried or anything.
Fact check: Gabriel had tried once. For science.
However any illusion of leaving had been shattered in one simple statement.
Have that drink with me, Sheriff, and I will be.
Green had inked in around his vision and he didn’t have to read your thoughts to know what your plans were. The two of you were kindred spirits, your personalities sharing several different aspects. The main one was you liked pleasure in many forms and you weren’t ashamed to take it. Whether it was ordering every pie in the diner when caught in the time loop (and then watching Dean’s stomach explode when you made a pie eating contest out of it) or distracting yourself by seducing the local sheriff, you used your senses to feel good in the moment.
This moment, however, was wrong. You sought distraction in his absence, only he was standing right there, so close he had accidentally touched you when you stumbled back a bit (though he was still trying to figure out how that fluke had occurred considering he was pretty sure the only thing close enough had been his wing).
Fact check: the left one did tend to get a little handsy.
But that was besides the point. You were looking to get lost in a man from a generation whose idea of a good time was a cup of tea, an episode of Matlock, and a nap.
Despite the sheriff being apprehensive, Gabriel saw the flash of loneliness that pushed through the man’s gaze. It wouldn’t take much to get him to cave. Even if he put up a good fight, you were young, pretty, and way too smart for your own good. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Neither did Gabriel when he began to imagine all the things the man would do to you, all the things you would let the sheriff do, and it would all be on his conscience, because it was technically his fault you went on grieving.
At least, that’s what he told himself. Admitting the first thing on his mind since getting a reboot was to make you his in every way he’d failed to before was a tad more insightful than he cared to be. The whole thing was enough to drive him to drink.
Fact check: while there was no driving, there was a whole lot of drink. The part about making the sheriff run circles and question his own sanity was just an added bonus.
He needed something to calm the clamor in his head, except it had just made him sloppy if he had missed his brother’s presence slipping into town. Regret and guilt weighed heavy on gold as he took in the mounting dread on your features. His weakness had brought you here, and it was up to him to see it did not take you down with him.
He wanted to tell you as much, but whether it was his own streak of daddy issues or the fact that even the most meaningful relationship he’d managed had ended with a good old-fashioned stabbing (thanks, Kali, always knew you were kind of a bitch), his words fell short as they tended to in these situations.
Touch, however, was something he managed to do well. Tips up knuckles drank in the skin along the side of your face, savoring the feel one last time. He channeled what reassurance he could into the gesture, hoping to calm the panic he felt buzzing through you so you would hear him when he told you to run. The command, however, became lost as his brother made his grand entrance, confirming he did, in fact, have the worst timing in the universe.
“Gabriel,” a deep voice boomed over the lingering echoes of thunder as the the silhouette of a man manifested in the center of fading light.
“Raphael,” Gabriel drawled, looking up at his brother. “This is an awkward surprise.”
“Someone’s clearly never heard of knocking,” you muttered, and he felt your relief in a momentary release of tension before everything tightened again. You slid off his lap, and the absence of your body rang cold as the sudden chill in the room rushed in to take the place of your warmth. He could see the gears in your mind turning, gaze appraising as you took in his brother’s stoic features.
Gabriel stepped forward, subtly placing himself between you and the entity who should henceforth be known as the giant dick for being the the biggest cockblock in creation.
“I am disappointed, brother,” The meter-long man-dong said, eyes flicking to Gabriel in obvious dismissal of your presence. “You must have heard what is happening.”
Oh, Gabriel had heard all right. Angel radio was a complete cluster these days. The last time it had been this chaotic was when he’d tricked Michael and Biggus Dickus into believing there was a demon incursion about to launch on heaven led by rogue angels… because was inciting the Crusades as a test of faith (and act of boredom) really necessary?
“Let me guess. Thing’s not going so well for you, bro?” A glimmer of a sardonic grin flashed across his casual mask, tone pushing the fringe of disdain as he arched a brow.
“No. But you already knew that, and yet your first inclination is to dally with this human.”
Apparently Gabriel wasn't the only one unimpressed with the situation.
“I get we’re a little behind the times right now, but what year are you stuck in? 1905?” He taunted.
“Watch your tone,” Cock McBlockins warned and Gabriel nearly rolled his eyes. He wondered if his father had meant to make all three of his brothers into prideful pricks with their own mini god complexes or if they had just naturally become those without anyone to challenge their authority.
“Or what, you’ll shiv me too?” He demanded. It wasn’t like he was bitter or anything, being put in this position again.
Fact check: he was plenty bitter and uber pissed.
If anyone asked, however, the official story was he just didn’t think Raphael had it in him to be such an ass about it.
“The only reason she continues drawing breath is because I will it,” the monstrous manpole informed him. The older archangel’s wings flared slightly in warning, his presence pushing against Gabriel’s as it wrestled for dominance within the room. The youngest pushed back, his own pride unwilling to back down so easily. To do so would be to show weakness, and his weakness had put you in enough danger already today.
Tips of fingers touched against his lower back, acting as pinpoints of pressure and shifting his focus back to you. If he had to guess, instinct spurred your touch, and perhaps the need for reassurance. There’s no way you could have perceived the pissing contest currently happening, but enough of something skittered across your radar to tip you off to the danger.
Or perhaps you were telling him to quit dicking around already and figure out an escape plan.
“What do you want?” Gabriel asked, backing down. The degenerate disco stick eyed him as if it were a trick a moment before that dark, baleful gaze slipped over his shoulder and landed on you.
“What is she to you?” Dickus Maximus demanded.
“I mean I was trying to have a bit of fun but somebody crashed that party,” he gave a dramatic look skyward as if asking if even his father could believe the nerve. “But really, what are any of them to us in the long run?”
“An incessant nuisance,” the dickasaurus rex said flatly.
“I was thinking more like a beautiful distraction,” Gabriel replied smoothly though it felt like he had a mouth full of sand. “But just a distraction, nonetheless… no offense sweetheart.” He turned, giving you a flashy-and completely false- apologetic smile for good measure.
He didn’t mean it. He might not be ready to admit you were more than a passing obsession, but on a visceral level he was hooked, his stomach suddenly a gymnastics Olympian as it somersaulted its way through a sudden bout of ire-tipped nerves.
If the USS Douche Canoe ruined this for him, everybody’s ship was going down, starting with the dickhead in front of him and heading straight to the top, where all the bullshit started.
“No offense, sweetheart, but I’m not looking to date a giant dick anytime soon,” sarcasm painted your words, streaking across lips in a smile you flashed that was just as insincere.
Gabriel took it as a good sign you hadn’t missed a beat with your response. Mostly because that was one less thing to worry about while he figured out how to get you out of there. There’d be plenty of time for doubt later if he survived. In fact, it was one of his favorite pastimes.
Fact check: it was nobody’s favorite pastime.
“Well, aren’t we just two peas in a pod,” he drawled, brows raising as he dropped his hands to his hips. “Humans, I tell you. Just when you think you’re the one using them, they’re actually using you.”
“I’ve asked myself many times what would I do should you choose deceit over honest discourse,” The dick with a dictionary began, his gaze drifting back to Gabriel’s. “I think I have my answer.”
The look in his eyes remained neutral, pushing beyond the fringes of weary into outright exhaustion, but it was that telltale half lift of lips, smirking smugly, that gave away the game plan. Unfortunately, that plan looked to be you.
With a snap, you disappeared from out of the side of Gabriel’s vision only to reappear in front of the increasingly annoying third wheel to the party. The contrast of the dark fingers wrapped around your pale throat was startling. Or, it could just be the fact his brother was definitely gripping that part of you quite snugly in warning.
“What weaknesses lay beneath, I wonder…” the wondrous one-eyed yogurt slinger mused, thumb dragging slowly across the surface of your throat. The movement was callous, insinuating no more than the danger you were in. Defiance darkened your eyes, your lips pulling back in silent snarl as if he’d touched you in a far different manner and it caught Gabriel off guard.
He looked more closely, peeling back the layers of atoms and energy until gossamer strands of grace glistened ethereal in the dim lighting. You were surrounded by it, wisps of it ghosting over your upper body as if seeking some sort of entrance. Anger crackled hot beneath his skin, causing his energy to spark slightly between the tips of his fingers.
How dare Raphael touch you that way.
He had no right to touch you with his grace. He had no business inside your mind, though by how he was concentrating on the area between your shoulders and waist he was after something much more integral.
Why he’d want a peek at your soul was beyond Gabriel, but it was a whole lot of nothing good for you.
“Stop,” He warned, clenching down hard and doing his best to reign in his temper. He was aware that this might not be anything other than a test (which he was clearly failing). If his brother was prodding for sore spots, boy had he found one, especially when Gabriel watched as the older archangel pushed his energy beneath your skin in a wholly ungentle way.
There was no stopping his fury as your features grew taut with pain, your torment pushing out your throat in a sudden cry as light emanated out from where the grace had entered. The ground beneath his feet began to tremble, tables and chairs beginning to clatter as they bounced around, skittering slowly across the floor.
“I said stop,” he repeated, the rumble growing louder as the entire building began to sway. Windows shattered around the room and Raphael was lucky he didn’t find himself on the receiving end of an incredibly angry smite. His brother exhaled a long, heavy sigh through his nose, withdrawing all his energy in a single instant and letting you drop to the floor.
“Who is she to you?” Disappointment wove through the gigantic pork sword’s words and Gabriel held back a snort. Like the asshat had any right to ask anything about you anymore.
“None of your business,” Gabriel hissed.
It was the wrong answer.
Apparently a good old fashioned ass kicking was next on the list, your body catching some serious air before it came slamming down on the top of the tables. Wood snapped beneath the force and you continued to roll across the floor a few feet from the impact.
Gabriel reached out with his grace, searching for the familiar, chaotic buzz that was often your mind. It was a much dimmer, snarling mass of tangled thoughts at the moment. Stay down he told you, hoping you were conscious enough to hear him.
You were and, as usual, you were intent on doing just the opposite of what you should be. You pushed yourself up, eyes flashing with determination as you appraised the situation. Keep him occupied you prayed, silently pulling yourself to your feet before slowly edging your way toward the back exit.
Good. Maybe you could sneak out while he and his brother got down to business.
“Would you like to gamble on what strike three means for her?”
“All right, all right,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “No need to pull a Lucifer and break everyone else’s toys when you don’t get your way. Besides, we all know what happens when you start throwing temper tantrums with the Winchesters around. Well, Michael does, anyway.”
He smiled widely, enjoying the way his remarks were beginning to get under Coitis Interruptis’ skin.
“But if you simply must know… she was the only one that gave two shits about me when everyone was trying to make me choose sides. It wasn’t about tradition or the greater good. It was about me. She believed in me to make the right decision because I was good enough,” he began, past pushing against present as a familiar slow burning anger flared back to life.
“So no. She’s not a distraction. She’s a friend. A good one, and she’s a good person who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in our bullshit again. So I’m asking you, as your brother, to leave her out of this.”
Three things became apparent as Gabriel stopped his rambling.
First, this was probably the most genuine interaction he’d had with cocksmiter number three since his father had left.
Second, because it was sincere, it didn’t even register on his brother’s bullshit detector which, in turn, sent it flying off the charts by the look he received.
Third, and most important, you had stopped. You were now just standing. In the middle of the room. Staring. Mouth parted slightly when really you needed to be moving - why the hell weren’t you still moving?
Gold snapped up to your gaze, flicking toward the door insistently. Keep going he urged when you simply looked conflicted. You hesitated another moment before continuing on.
Humans.
“I mean I know it’s a novel idea, but why don’t we try keeping the crazefest in the family, just this once?” He continued, aware of his brother’s unwavering stare. He was also aware of how close you were to the back door. Your hand reached for the handle, movements silent as you gave a push… only for nothing to happen.
Someone clearly had some control issues to work on.
“I will never understand your loyalty to these creatures,” the disdain dripping from the colossal cockmuffin’s words was palpable. “They are weak and flawed.”
“What did you say?” Gabriel demanded, eyes narrowing. Lucifer had said those very words… how had his brother known?
“Despite our differences, Gabriel, I came here to talk,” the humongous spawn hammer implored. “The rebel has gathered a surprising amount of support, though it is only a matter of time before he is defeated.”
“Well, sounds like you have it all figured out. Best of luck to you,” he said, taking a few steps back toward the front entrance. If he wasn't going to let you go, Gabriel could at least try and move the party. Thunder echoed overhead and the room suddenly leapt to life with a gathering energy just before a bolt of lightning pierced the ceiling. It struck right behind Gabriel’s back, stopping him in his tracks and scorching the floor.
Apparently he wasn't the only one with a penchant for theatrics.
“You’re either with me or against me.”
Gabriel had been wrong. His brother wasn't a giant dick. He was a whole bag of them.
“Well, when you put it that way,” Gabriel jeered, taking a step forward. “So, how do you want to do this? Should I just whip mine out? Do we compare sizes first?”
A familiar smell drifted under his nose, carrying hints of metal and life in its purest form. He glanced up to find you with your back against the door, hand obscured behind you and he had a fairly good idea what you were doing. The problem was if he did, then so did the massive heat-seeking moisture missile.
If you both lived through this, he and you were going to have a long, snarky chat about the limitations of humans, and the nearly limitless power of archangels and why the former didn't need to worry about saving the latter.
“Blood carries a very distinct smell,” Skippy McSexkiller announced, turning your way, dark eyes blazing bright against the insolence you were hastily painting across the door. “Yours especially.”
“It’s a wonder you’re not a hit with the ladies,” Gabriel taunted, trying to draw his attention. It didn’t work. “Hey, Raphie, can I call you Raphie?” That did the trick; the archangel paused momentarily, giving him a baleful look.
“I tire of your games, brother, and theirs.” Boy, did his brother look tired. Not just the soul weary I’ve-been-alive-since-the-dawn-of-time exhaustion that timeless beings tended to get from time to time. This was a whole other ballgame.
Gabriel, tell me how to do this without hurting you.
Apprehension filled your prayer as it floated to the forefront of his consciousness, and from the corner of his eyes he could see you were almost done. He found it awfully touching you didn’t want to blast his hide when he knew that if your brothers were there, he’d have been rocketed halfway to Texas by now.
Unfortunately, Scrote-totes MaGoo continued to designate the hotel as a no fly zone, leaving you both without a lot of options.
At least it would only hurt for a moment.
Fact check: it was only for a moment, but it also was a whole lot of hurt.
Catch you on the flip side, sweetheart.
“Human idioms,” the gigantic tube steak sighed and the easygoing mask Gabriel kept in place began to slip. “I’ll never understand your preference for them. Or why you’d think me fool enough to fall for your little trap.”
Panic sparked in Gabriel’s chest, skating across the thickening tension in the air before slamming into your system. You frantically finished the last symbol on the ward before bringing your hand down in the center. He braced himself, only the blast never came. He looked over to see the sigil had vanished.
Oh sweet bearded man with bad teeth but good religious messages. This was happening. His brother was looking at you like he was going to split every atom in your body no matter what his younger brother wanted and last Gabriel checked, that was not on his agenda.
“Hey douchebag,” he called out, pulling his blade from out of his jacket. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The other archangel didn’t even bat an eye. He didn’t even give his younger sibling a courtesy snap. The only reason Gabriel felt the smite coming was because the air always tasted like it was burning the moment before it hit.
A bright, blinding light poured down through the ceiling. Every hair stood on edge, stretching upward toward the concentration of energy before everything suddenly released and the blast had his brains pushing down through his nostrils.
Fact check: Gabriel’s brain was not actually being forced out his nose, but it certainly felt like it.
The extreme downward pressure, however, was enough to immobilize his mind and force him down to his knees.
Apparently his brother was done dicking around.
“Was the pain you suffered earlier not tangible enough?” Raphael’s voice managed to push through the mental haze. “Perhaps you need a reminder of your own past.”
Gabriel’s eyes fluttered open, details around him fuzzy as he struggled to bring the world back into focus.
Your pain made for a great motivator.
He heard your cry go up and the visceral response that tore through him was enough to help him gather his wits. Your anguish was tangible even from across the room, tiny cuts and enlarged gashes singing in a discord of physical suffering that clashed with the previous chorus that rang from the very essence in your soul crying out.
He looked over to see you on your knees, red painting your torment in grisly splashes through your clothing. There were streaks across your legs, your right thigh practically saturated. It was harder to tell what was behind your sweater, but by the sheer smell of iron drifting across the room, there was a fair amount that had yet to show through. You cradled your left arm closer to your body, droplets trickling out from beneath the cuff of your coat, sliding steadily off tips of fingers with a steady pat, pat, pat.
“Is that why you brought me here?” Gabriel demanded, trying get the giant phallus turned back in his direction. “Because you want to remind me what happens if I choose the right side?”
Pat, pat, pat.
“There’s a certain symmetry. Beginning where you ended. Ending where you began, should it come to that.”
Pat, pat, pat.
He should have seen it sooner. After helping lock Auntie Amara away, the mammoth meat constrictor had been all about balance, about the universe having some sort of grand plan and synergy to it. After their father left, however, things began to become a little less about cosmic harmony and a little more obsessive-compulsive.
Pat, pat, pat.
“From where I’m standing? More like a certain douchiness,” he turned, spitting out a mouthful of red from the blood that trickled down the back of his throat.
“Enough!” Raphael roared. “I will not stand here and listen to your drivel while our home is under attack.”
Pat, pat, pat.
Your heart began to slow, the change in pace nearly imperceptible at first. For every beat you lost, his seemed to pick it up. You were bleeding out and while you had a little time, you were going to be drier than a fruitcake in February if he couldn’t get to you soon.
Good thing he had a trick or two up his sleeve.
“Heaven is burning, brother. Michael is locked away no different than Lucifer. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It might if that was what this was really about, but we both know that’s not the case,” Gabriel said, slowly pulling himself to his feet.
“Paradise was within our grasp... until you betrayed us to the Winchesters and told them how to put Lucifer back.”
Fact check: the only betrayal being served was by Lucifer, who couldn’t help but turn everything into an ice cold fuckery of a dish.
“Then kill me,” he said, tossing his blade aside. Rather, his shadow twin did. He wasn’t that stupid… and you were beginning to look awfully pale. He appeared in front of you, crouching down until he was eye level with you. You hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure you were able to by the number of wounds you had.
“I’d rather have you by my side,” his brother continued from across the room. He was vaguely aware his double had given one of the many pre-selected responses from his repertoire. Besides the fact it made things easier, he’d rather be focusing on you anyway. His hands tended to get a little less smitey when he did.
He had to be careful, though. If he released too much energy, Frodo Douchbaggins would be on him like nazgul on the one ring. He idly wondered if that made him Aragorn in this situation. Probably Eowyn. She did have the most fabulous hair out of all of them.
Fact check: Gabriel did have pretty fabulous hair.
Your eyes met his with something too shrouded for him to read. The pain was too prevalent and he wondered how much you were even able to think beyond it. Your lips parted as if to speak, and he held a finger up for you to be quiet before his gaze dropped down to the pool of blood on the floor.
This mess was as much his fault as the titanic flesh rod’s, and when this was all said and done,
Gabriel was going to go full Lorena Bobbitt and remove him from existence.
“This is your chance, Gabriel, to make up for your past indiscretions…”
The only thing he needed to make amends for was sitting right in front of him. The longer things dragged out, however, the less likely he’d get the chance.
Fact check: the chances one of you were getting fucked tonight were looking pretty good.
Bonus fact check: it wouldn’t nearly be as fun as either of you had planned.
Fingers drifted along the swollen contour of your cheek, tenderly stroking away the puffiness as he released his energy. He didn’t need to physically touch you in order to heal, but what did he have to lose anymore?
Your gaze drifted sideways, widening slightly in surprise and doubt slipped in through the cracks in his armor. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. Perhaps things were more one sided than he realized. Perhaps you had been the one with too much drink tonight.
He tried to focus on his brother droning on in the background, clamping down on his rising disappointment. Wank, wank, atonement. Wank, wank, duty. It was the same hackneyed setup where humanity became the punchline.
His family really needed to add some new jokes to their lineup.
You released a slow breath and his attention shifted back to you as you tried to move. The hand you raised was shaky, slowed by the damage he was still trying to undo. It was obvious you were struggling to even raise it this far, but it was far enough. Tips of fingers slipped beneath his coat, tentatively tracing along the partially undone line of buttons at the top of his shirt before settling your palm against his chest.
Your eyes settled in the same spot, narrowing intently. He’d seen you enough times to know it was the look you wore when ferreting out an answer in the middle of a clusterfuck of information. What you were seeking and what you found, were simply beyond him in that moment. You did find something, however, and it wasn’t the slow growing heaviness of finality Gabriel overtaking over him.
Despite the snarling mass of emotions he felt within you, your eyes began to brighten, shaking off some of their former weight. The intensity made him take a closer look. A slow burning ire had sparked somewhere along the way, determination causing the edges of your gaze to grow hard, keeping the flames contained. Your anger wasn’t surprising, but the fear that seemed to be fueling it was.
He wanted to reassure you that things would be fine, but what would be the point of lying? Besides, you’d just find something to break on him if he did. Though he imagined with the way things were going there might not be anything left to break by the end of the night.
Your brows drew together suddenly, a frown tugging at your lips. For a moment he thought Raphael might have caught on, but he could hear the prick yammering on while his shadow tossed well placed barbs and used misdirection to keep the conversation going.
Your eyes also never left Gabe’s, making the source of your displeasure rather clear. Or rather unclear, considering he hadn’t a clue what he could have done considering he hadn’t had the chance to open his mouth yet.
Then again, he had dragged you into this mess. Perhaps you were finally getting on the same page as the rest of the world in realizing what a giant fuck up he was.
Your hand clenched around his shirt and while he was surprised at how quickly your strength had returned, he was completely thrown for a loop when you yanked him forward, lips demanding as they moved over his. Passion won out over resignation as energy spiked down from your mouth straight into his chest, sparking outward back into your hand and continuing the loop.
Apparently, you were of the mind set that neither one of you had died yet.
You kept things brief because, unlike previous assumptions, you understood the importance of not dallying. When he looked at you again, the fear had melted away to promise - so much promise for so many, many things burned wickedly in your gaze.
If that wasn’t motivation to survive this disaster of a night, then he deserved to be put out of his misery.
Fact check: he most certainly was not dead already from the waist down.
Show time he decided, giving you a reassuring smirk before taking the place of his double once again. Not that he had a clue what to do still, but he did have a little hope, thanks to you.
“Let’s stop beating around the bush, hmmm?” Gabriel suggested. “I know what you’re really up to. This isn’t about heaven. This isn’t about family or atonement. This is about you just wanting it to be done. No matter the cost.”
“Yes,” his enormous deep-V-diver of a brother admitted. “I am tired, brother. So very tired and I know that you are, too. This is our chance to go back to our real home. If my cold heart still yearns for it, I know yours must as well.”
Ancient sentiments almost forgotten stirred deep beneath the surface and Gabriel’s confidence slipped. If how he looked on the surface mirrored what was going on internally, he would have been running around the room, flailing wildly as he attempted to outrun an imaginary wildfire.
These were not things he wanted to feel again. Not tonight. Not with Raphael. Not ever.
Fact check: he would rather douse himself with holy fire and do the hellfire rumba than go down that road again.
Keep him distracted.
Your prayer rang out as a lifeline, drawing him back from uncertain waters before he became lost in the riptide. He didn’t dare check to see what you were up to with how intently his brother’s stare was fixed upon him.
“Humans have a word for that you know,” he said, pity unknowingly softening his demeanor.
The Herculean skin flute gave a heavy sigh, weariness returning and casting shadows on his face far darker than before. “I am aware of it, and I suppose you’re right. We cannot go back. But we can still end this miserable existence for everyone.”
Every time it seemed like they were about to have a moment, twizzletits had to go and open that big mouth of his.
Gabriel sincerely hoped this wasn’t how everyone felt about him.
Fact check: it kind of was.
I’m going to tell you the same thing I told that big bro of ours,” Gabriel announced. “I love you, Raphael, you are my brother, but you are a great big bag of dicks.” He gave a dramatic pause, watching as fury erupted from his brother’s gaze.
“Actually, I lied. You’re an even bigger one for trivializing all the sacrifices made to stop this madness, mine included, by starting it all over again. What is it with all of you throwing a tantrum if you don’t get your way? For father’s sake, grow a pair! Sac up and move on! The world isn’t as terrible if you’d give it a chance to show you its beauty.”
“This world is no longer beautiful. It is full of ugliness, disappointment, flawed intentions, but most of all, it is filled with suffering. If you love them so much, would you not want their pain to end?”
Gabriel almost winced. The more he listened, the less he was certain his brother was, in fact, a bag of dicks. If anything, it sounded like the archangel needed to go out, drink a liquor store, get laid, then go on a world tour and take in the sights. He knew serving under Michael was no picnic, but he never imagined it would actually suck the soul out of someone.
“To live is to suffer,” Gabriel conceded, “But it’s also so much more than that. Yes, they’re flawed. They can be vicious and bloodthirsty, but how is that any different than us? Why can’t any of you see how much good is also in them? How much they try and more importantly forgive?”
Because forgiveness was not a staple at any of their Sunday dinners.
“I am tired of this life,” Raphael repeated, the lines suddenly evident across his vessel’s face. “And so very tired of all these games. I know where your heart truly lies.”
The part of Gabriel in question gave a stutter, past overlaying present in a terrifying way. It wasn’t so much the echo of Lucifer’s words that disturbed him so much as the fact that you were there, right where he’d been, body crouched low as you slowly crept in for the kill.
“I’m sorry.” The older archangel meant it. It didn’t make him any less of a fuck stick for what he was about to do.
Fact check: Raphael was definitely a big ol’ bag of dicks.
Desperation forced Gabriel’s hand and he leapt forward. Once again, his brother anticipated the move, deftly sidestepping the blade before grabbing him by the arm and throwing him into you. You nearly filleted him by mistake, your weapon catching him across his shoulder as you scrambled to get it out of the way.
So much for plan B.
Gabriel felt the telltale gathering of energy over his head and he had just enough time to throw you back before heaven’s energy came barreling down upon him. It didn't matter how old he got, he would never get used to the feeling of a smite. Though that might have been his brother’s goal by how many were sent down upon him. Wave after wave of energy crashed over him and he was certain this was it… until it suddenly wasn’t.
By the time the world stopped spinning (and ringing… and twisting… and shouting…) Gabriel looked up to see his brother booting you across the floor like a soccer ball.
“What will it take for you to realize how weak and unworthy they are?” Raphael demanded, sending another burst down. Something popped inside his skull, though it was likely just his brain falling in on itself. There seemed to be enough of something leaking out his nose and down the back of his throat again.
There was another loud pop followed by more ringing in his ears, and for a minute he assumed he really had taken one too many smites to the head for his vessel to hold. When the sound continued, he realized the noise wasn’t coming from inside him, but from across the room. You had your gun drawn and trained on his brother as more shots peppered the silence, making the archangel’s vessel shake slightly with each bullet that pierced it.
He’d said it before and he’d say it again: you had the most abysmal sense of self-preservation, even for a Winchester.
Fact check: the above statement was completely true. Though scrambled as Gabriel’s mind was, he had the wherewithal to realize what you were doing was solely to draw fire away from him.
He shook his head, pity pushing through the lingering pain. How could his brother bear witness to this and still not be swayed?
“From where I’m standing? They’re more worthy than we are,” he said, smiling slightly as his eyes met yours. No one else was willing to step this far onto the wrong side of sane for him. Not his family. Not yours. It only reaffirmed his stance that you all deserved better than what his father had originally planned.
“She has ruined you,” Dickbag McFlaccidcock declared, tone insinuating if anyone were to be pitied, it should be Gabriel. Unfortunately, there was a reason for that.
Gabe watched as your hand began to shake, your eyes widening at the realization you were no longer in control of your weapon. Slowly, you began to turn it on yourself, your other hand coming up to try and alter its course without much luck.
He didn’t even get the chance to try and attack his brother before another blinding round of pain echoed through his skull.
“You will watch this,” the patron saint of douchbaggery insisted. “Because your foolishness is the reason she must die.”
A crushing weight bore down upon his shoulders, pinning him in place. Desperation clawed viscerally through his stomach, his wings shooting out to full length as he tried to break free from his brother’s grasp. The uber smiting he’d received, however, had stripped him of most of his strength. He was essentially leashed and there was nothing worse than feeling caged and helpless.
Except maybe watching the one good thing in his life be destroyed because of him.
“You want me to stand with you - fine. I’ll be your right hand man. The heavens will sing of our unstoppable duo - Gabriel and Raphael - or Raphael and Gabriel, whatever you prefer,” he begged, willing to say whatever his brother needed to hear if it meant buying you more time. He could worry about the finer points of how to dig himself out later.
“This is for your own good,” Raphael insisted.
It seemed his brother had half a brain after all, though his heart was clearly still AWOL.
No no no no no. Think, Gabriel, think, think, think...
Fuck, fuck, god damn, fucking fuck - think, y/n, think, think, think…
Your thoughts collided, bursting through the increasingly tense silence. Your mounting panic pushed through his battered mind, allowing him to unintentionally pick up on what was flying through yours. As usual, you were the only two in the room even remotely on the same page.
Fact check: that page was titled Now’s a Good Time to Panic.
The gun reached its destination against your temple, desperation hitting its peak as both your mantras came to a deafening halt.
“It’s not your fault, Gabe,” you told him, doing your best to hide your fear and failing miserably at it.
He nearly broke in that moment. Here you were, about to die because of him, and your final thought was to pardon him. It barely made a dent in his brother’s armor, and that’s when he realized just how lost the archangel had become.
Gabriel renewed his efforts, straining against his ethereal bonds. He clenched down on his jaw, so hard he might have heard a few of his teeth crack. It was the only way to keep his desperation from spilling out over his lips. The last thing you needed to see was him reduced to a babbling mess.
No, no, no, no, please, father, no…
“It’s ok,” you told him.
Fact check: things were so far from ok that Gabriel was certain no one would be leaving this room alive if you died.
You closed your eyes, but he had no choice but to watch. His heart hit a fever pitch, mirroring his own struggles to escape as it hammered away against his chest. There was nothing he could do and he dropped to his knees, everything shattering as reality bore down upon him.
He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t save you. You were going to die and it was all his fault.
“I’m sorry,” his voice wavered, thick with emotion.
Gabriel’s world came to a screeching halt as his brother forced you to pull the trigger.
Next Chapter>>
ALL the tags: @girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn @blondecoffeecake @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson
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Full Circle: @melodyhiddleston @gabe-crowley-trash
#gabriel x reader#reader insert#Full Circle#Rabbit writes#trigger warning#ha. ha.#see what I did there?#... I'll just see myself out now
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“See you in five years, Dean.” says Lucifer 2014 AD aka why I think “The End” holds the key to THE END.
I have had this one weird thought for a while, ever since I read this meta and loved it. I've rewatched the aptly named episode ("The End") lately, and man, so many thoughts about it! The thing is, I am aware there is no chance in hell they somehow planned a story for 13 or 14 seasons in season 5, but I do believe that they had ideas where the story would eventually go if they had time and money. Somehow, supernaturally (heehee) they got the time and the money, and believe it or not, they will be able to close the individual character's stories, like a good book series would!
Now, I tried to figure out when they started writing Dean and Cas into the subtext with the idea that this is where they would go with these characters if they had a chance. Right now my money is on the ending of season 4, when Chuck sees Cas sending Dean away, and dying for him for the first time (there is a reason why Chuck immediately restored Castiel after that). Of course chemistry was there before that episode, and maybe we could argue that the whole love story started when Dean started talking to Cas about free will for the first time, or maybe even when Chuck originally sent Cas to fetch Dean from Hell (he was the one writing their story in the beginning, after all).
But when did the writers on the show deliberately started writing an arc for Destiel, not just hints and jokes based on Cockles chemistry, but an actual arc, even if it was without any belief they would use it one day?
My opinion is that season 5 already started with a deliberate Destiel arc, and "The End" is a part of it. I think textually it was supposed to be all it was (showing what will happen if Dean kept saying “no” to Michael), but subtextually it was supposed to also hint what could have been if the show went on long enough. Now, I think this kind of storytelling works both ways - you plan for the future without knowing whether you will ever use it, but also later you come back to what you created before, and weave it into your later chapters to create a balanced story that ties the past and the future.
In books it's easier, because you plan the whole thing ahead, how many books, a story for each book, the overreaching arcs, etc. With a TV show you never know how it will fit with the number of seasons, because usually you have no idea how many seasons you will get, and how to divide the overall narrative - that's why so many longer shows look like they are made up as they go along. So many shows died a painful death because of it - "Angel" looks like it was cut short in the middle of the storytelling; Buffy sidetracked after season 5, and painfully survived only two more; ”X-Files" was great until seson 7 finale, and then got terrible (admittedly there were problems with the arcs before that - but they gave us the basis for the slow burn of DeanCas in Mulder and Scully, so I still love them. Plus my god Vince Gilligan.) Most of my fav shows had this problem.
I know SPN has a lot of issues, but characterization (in my opinion) is spot on (with occasional Bucklemming episodes here and there, but I can overlook it). See, I watched seasons 1-5 in one sitting, and season 6-11 in another, so I had a more literary experience with them, rather than an “one episode per week” experience, but it allowed me to see how, even the weaker seasons, never went off track or looked like they made them up on the spot. I was expecting this problem with each new season: to be disappointed, for the characters to start acting like carricatures of themselves, for the writers to start recycling the same story with same results, to start putting Jar-Jars into the narrative for comic relief and nothing more. Imagine my shock when this didn’t happen. When the story just kept on going for 11 seasons, sometimes better, sometimes weaker, but even then, solid and moving forward. I was impressed.
And then season 12 came, and felt different, felt off, not bad, just with a very different feeling. I thought the reason was the new showrunner, the new writers, but as the season progressed I realised it’s all deliberate. It’s all part of the narrative. That they have some bigger idea that we didn’t expect, but instead of throwing it at us, they weave it, slowly but surely. And it’s once again about the characters.
That’s why I believe they always had some general concept what their characters' stories are, that they prepared individual stories even though they didn't know how to get to the end (but they always knew what the end was), and whether they would have a chance to tell it all. Fortunately, shockingly, they do have a chance (which is amazing, because I hate open endings and narratives cut short). That is why I believe they are not doing stupid fuckups just to stir the shit up (like killing off Cas or exchanging him with some AUCas that would be a completely new character), but they deliberately are leading the story of Dean, Sam and Cas (and Crowley, and Mary) where they want it, even though it doesn't always look like it.
Now, I am aware it can be purely coincidental, or just dumb luck, but I rewatched the Samifer scene from "The End" the other day, and he has a conversation with Dean in the garden:
DEAN
You better kill me now. Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop.
LUCIFER
I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win. So, I win.
DEAN
You're wrong.
LUCIFER
See you in five years, Dean.
I know it means 2009 to 2014 (five years). But from today's point of view it looks like 2014 to 2019 (five years). End of season 14. The End. No matter what you do, we will always end up here.
I believe the end is exactly what we see in “The End”, but with a twist!
Because the apocalypse didn’t happen. Because Sam didn’t okay Lucifer’s use of his body, and Dean didn’t become Michael’s meatsuit. And yet, we’re steadily moving towards the similar end that we saw there, only more positive.
I think it’s not coincidental that when I think about Dean and Cas being together in the end, in my head it’s endverse!Cas who is always the one fitting best in the spot of Dean’s endgame. Of course Dabb is now repairing the narrative, so it’s not gonna be the broken human!Cas and broken, performing leader!Dean, with a long list of coping mechanisms and a death wish. No, but it still will be human Cas, who stays with Dean till the end, who has his own spiritual interests (minus drugs, booze and women, because these are coping mechanism that happy Destiel will not need), living together with Dean (because you won’t tell me Cas and Dean don’t live together in the endverse, in this huge, luxurious cabin with a king size bed, movie posters and buddhist paraphernalia, one wardrobe that they apparently share, and drinking water supplies for the whole camp - no one in their right mind would give Cas the stoner keys for the drinking water supplies!) (Also, somebody had to take care of Cas when he couldn’t walk for two months). They have some people around them, maybe they still go out and hunt sometimes, but generally they have a well-rounded life, with Sam (sans Lucifer) somewhere close, doing his thing.
You take away the apocalypse, croatoan virus and Satan, add the Nephilim and the Wayward Daughters, and you have the hunting husbans we hope to see one day, with their nice cabin in the woods (or, ekhm, a little white house in Washington, by the lake, where you can fish and with a portal to another dimention in the backyard).
This is what I think is happening now with Castiel being killed - and as painful as it is, it will lead us to The End. The good kind. With Nephilim instead of Lucifer. With the balance. And I do believe that this time Dean finds a way to kill the devil. For good. And there will be rainbows.
Also, since everything that Mark Sheppard posted lately on Twitter turned out to be true, I have a feeling that Misha/Cas getting his make-up done in his Jim Morrison t-shirt and jeans is a hint as well.
Yes, still excited to see where the story will take me.
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I get that Dean being bi was heavily hinted through out all 12 seasons, but unless the show textually acknowledges those moments, casual fans who overlooked those moments are just gonna say it's pandering to fans and that's what I'm more concerned about. How are they gonna make the casual viewers go "oh, that makes sense" instead of "woah where did that come from" ?
*Gestures at my whole blog*
Season 13.
Why are you worried about casual fans? Let the writers worry about how to get them on board….that’s not your job. You’ve seen it, you just enjoy it as it becomes more blatant!
Basically all my season 13 speculation meta is:
- Jack will be central to furthering all of TFW’s arcs: Sam through Jack being his mirror re: Lucifer. Cas through his transformation and being Jack’s teacher of Heaven/Humanity. Dean through Jack’s mirroring with John and the plot arc.
- Dean’s arc will be focused on continuing with the “fallout” from the “climax” of his Performing!Dean arc in 12x22.
SEASON 13 FOR DEAN MUST FOCUS ON DEAN LETTING DOWN HIS WALLS FOR GOOD AND REVEALING WHO HE REALLY IS UNDERNEATH, ACCEPTING IT AND ALSO THEREFORE FOCUSING ON CAS’ DEATH IN THE ROMANTIC WAY THAT IT TRULY IS.
Otherwise literally what the hell was the point in building up to all this for 12 years and having the climax of Performing!Dean in the finale of season 12?
Making it the central focus of the WHOLE SEASON?
Part of what I love about Dabb’s era is how he loves a circular narrative, how he often harks back to earlier episodes and key points, precisely to reveal how if NOW it means X then it meant X then too. Ie. how this whole season was a giant season 6 mirror and, at the same time, a huge Dean is bi / Destiel exposition, making us think back to season 6 and see THAT as romantic. If you didn’t already…
I mean...I’m kind of expecting to be honest, well, I’m very much hoping for some mirrored scenes from the past where we will see some great Bi!Dean moments, where he will use the same flirty pick up line or something as before.
Honestly I mean, it’s just a matter of time before he just comes out with “I like dudes too ok, get over it” aka 12x18 parallel and Sam’s just like “yeah, that’s not news Dean” and they move on like its so not a big deal except that we see more blatant bi!Dean moments now and of course, Destiel becomes more blatant too, thanks to the mix of Bi!Dean being out and the Dean/Cas dynamic now in it’s new chapter thanks to Cas’ death and the season 12 build up.
That’s kind of how I hope it goes down anyway, it’s not meant to be a big deal, Dean just made it one through his issues, which he has now put to one side spectacularly, thanks to Mr Grenade Launcher.
I mean yeah, in season 12 it’s still quite subtle, I guess, for casual viewers, but I’m pretty sure we are going to be seeing a lot more text rather than subtext in season 13.
Season 12 was the “in between” space between everything being very subtextual and endgame having canon Bisexual Dean and Destiel, same with the other 12 year long themes themes since the pilot of, for example:
- Dean being Sam’s parent.
- Dean repressing his true self, eg liking Disney movies and riding “Larry”.
- Sam graduating from the “child” position to the “adult” and true brother position within the family, being ready to LEAD.
- Potential magic!Sam / Sam embracing / not feeling guilty for his Supernatural side.
- Mary on her pedestal being the one to bring it all about.
Those are all themes that meta writers have talked about for over a decade, and are now textually CANON. I don’t think they will stop now when they’re on a roll and have been building up the Destiel and Bi!Dean consistently up to this point.
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