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Pastor Gideon: Why does it have to be me?
Castiel: You are a true servant of heaven.
Pastor Gideon: And you’re an angel.
Castiel: A poor example of one.
-99 Problems

Archangels are made of the elements that God created. Each one of them has wings that are made completely from one of these elements, and because of that they have complete control over it and can bend it to their whim and command.

Raphael was electricity. Crackling, pure energy that was quick in justice, not striking twice. He never needed too. His wings were made of plasma, the swiftest lightning bolts, and pure power. He was the angel that God would send to enact His judgment on Earth. He was unquestioning but not unfeeling back in the early days. Raphael was the one who had taught the youngest angels how to fly and about their Father.

Gabriel was light. Constantly surrounded by a glow that seemed to seep into his form; he was said to be second only to Lucifer in beauty. His wings were the colors that light produced. Heaven was brightened by the sound of his laughter. Humanity was frightened and soothed by the glow he could give. So God made Gabriel his messenger. He let the light from which he'd made his child be a beacon, and a comfort and a reminder of His will.

Michael was air. He was cool, collected, and constantly there. It seemed like he was a part of every corner in Heaven, his presence just as familiar and safe as their Father’s. There was a hidden danger to Michael as well. He could lay waste to cities; spin the air to be just as destructive as - and somehow worse than - any other element. His wings were made of the spring breezes and the collective breath of life. He was the True Warrior of God, the fiercest of all the warriors, only to be called in the time of greatest need and deepest sorrow. A more peaceful job than being Heaven’s number one warrior, was spreading the breath of their Father on the wind.

Lucifer was fire. He was passionate, driven, and burned with deepest emotions and desires, until at last they consumed him. He was as swift as an out of control forest fire and smoldering like dying embers in a fireplace. He could be warm with love and trust, but, all too often, scalding with his pride. He burned the brightest of all the angels. His wings were made of wild flame, so hot that it burned blue-white. No one could rival his destructive beauty. No one even dared. Even Gabriel was in awe of him.

When Lucifer was cast from Heaven, he was sent down into Perdition, to a place where his fires burned uncontrolled for all time, where his fire would twist and mangle souls for eternity, burn away all the good and leave the bad in its wake. Because of this God made it so that fire burned all things. A hint to the people of what happens when they let fire, outer and inner, overtake them and guide their actions.

So what of Castiel?

As the Angel of Thursday, he had two glorious wings. They were the largest in size of his garrison. As a regular angel His wings, like all the others, were made of starlight. Still as he refused to lose faith, they never dimmed only glowed brighter. Even as his faith was battered, and his Grace slipped like sand through his fingers; his wings would impress his brothers. They impressed merely because of their brightness, an indicator of his faith.

So when he became Castiel the archangel, his wings of bright starlight would not sustain him in flight or hold back his power. His Father took serious consideration into this matter. He blessed Castiel with water as his element.

His wings, all six hundred of them, were made of the clearest, bluest seas in summertime, and the feeling of cleansing that comes with the first rain. Water fit the new archangel perfectly. At times he was as gentle as waves of the ocean lazily lapping against the shore. At others, he could be as fierce as the rough currents and tides during a storm. Water was healing, cleansing, reflecting his past as a healer. Water was pure, and Castiel was the purest angel in his faith, in his actions, in his motivations. It could be destructive, laying waste to cities and drowning nations in its wake. Castiel, even though he detested fighting, could be as deadly as Michael in combat.

So God gave Castiel the power of water, because it was the perfect fit. Then the Lord made Castiel His Champion of Humanity, Guardian of Free Will, the Protector of Earth, because He knew that his purest child would always love humanity, flaws and all, until their final days.

Castiel looked at him with wide eyes. His eyes were a crystal clear, beautiful, too blue: the color of water itself. He could feel the power rush through his Grace - his restored Grace - feel something akin to the rushing water rustle in his wings. He basked in his Father’s light, for Castiel felt like he had come home. After so many eons of feeling awkward and out of place, he felt like he had finally been given his purpose, and a clear direction in his life.

God whispered softly into Castiel’s ear.

“You do know what this means, my son.”

“No Father,” said the newest archangel. He honestly had no idea.

God smiled. He was so world weary and innocent at the same time. A lovely, rare, and precarious combination, He hoped that it would never be beaten out of Castiel by life, by his siblings, or even by Himself.

“You have the power to visit Heaven and Earth. Once this horrid mess ends; you are allowed to remain. Gabriel has the same ability.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. His mouth twitched upward in an imperceptible grin.

“Father, thank you,” said Castiel in a voice full of happiness and devotion.

God winked, “I have no idea what you mean, Archangel Castiel. Now go to your friend, to your brother. Trust that this will work out well in the end.”

 “I will, Father,” said Castiel, “We can stop this.”

God disappeared without replying to Castiel’s statement.

Castiel let out a bark of happy, relieved, strangled, shocked laughter. His new powers coursed through his Grace, raced through his blood. It made him feel energized, truly alive and comforted.

The sudden summer rainfall, that Castiel called, because he could, sounded like laughter and felt like good memories.

(to Adam) “So you know you can’t trust them, right? You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically co-dependent on each other, right?” –Zachariah Point of No Return

Dean wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he really missed Sam. But since he wasn't a pussy, he had done the same thing he’s done throughout the majority of his life: repressed his inner emotions.

It was the Winchester way after all, and that was something that Dean had clung to his entire life like a security blanket.

Saw his family’s home burn to the ground?

Repressed it.

Every time that his Dad came home half dead from a hunt?

Repressed it.

His first dead body, glassy eyes staring up at him?

Repressed it.

The image of Sammy when he was sixteen with long hair and out of proportion body, his eyes shining mischievously as he straddled Dean after winning a fight that kept him hard for months on end…

Ahem, alright then…

Fuck yeah, there was some major repression going on there. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Dean had never been away from Sammy for so long, and it set him a bit on edge. It had been five months, six days, nineteen hours, and fifty-seven minutes since his brother left home. Without Sammy there and all the bitchiness, and dry humor and emo-ness that entailed; Dean was feeling empty.

It was a constant, gut-wrenching ache that had gnawed and gnawed at Dean’s gut for months. As the seconds on the clock ticked by, slow as molasses, the hole in the pit of Dean’s stomach grew.

The only time that it ever seemed to fade was when Sam called, because then Dean had his brother’s voice on the line: deep, laughing, and as smooth as expensive scotch floating into his ear. Sometimes, alone in his bed, he would pretend that he was not Dean Winchester, that he was someone worthy to have that voice whisper words of passion and lust in his ear. That would cover his skin in goose bumps - the good kind. 

Sometimes he had the thought that he was someone who could love Sam wholly and fully, no reservations, without feeling accusing stares on his back, his every move.

Repress.

Repress.

Repress.

The phone’s ringtone cut clear and true across the motel room, almost like a knife.

Dean grabbed the phone.

“Hey Sammy.”

He repressed the thought, buried it deep within him.

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice sounded so happy, so warm that it gave Dean the small spark of hope.

Maybe…this is one thing that he can have.

Dean: Look man, I gotta tell you. I dig your style, you know. I mean, I do. I mean…phew! And the slow dancing alien…
Trickster: One of my personal favorites.
Tall Tales

Gabriel knew that what he was about to do would be his most important trick yet. He had prepared for the past couple of months. He'd watched his target, talked to Castiel, and waited very patiently. He knew that this was an occasion where he could combine his Trickster talents and his Angel of Judgment senses. He allowed himself to grin evilly.

This was going to be epic, in ways that made Gabriel laugh with joy.

Ah how he loved fucking with the plans for Armageddon. And bonus! He would get to kill the demon wench that helped to start it. 

Things were definitely starting to look up. Maybe he’d even get that ridiculously expensive chocolate cake with gold bits in it to celebrate when he was done.

The door opened, and an evil presence sent all sorts of bells and whistles to Gabriel’s archangel senses. He straightened his back and hid himself further into the shadows.

A dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive skinned beauty sauntered into the dive. She leaned over the counter and flashed a grin with her red, red lips. Gabriel licked his lips and waited until she had the drink in hand. Then, he cracked his neck and grinned.

“Showtime,” he whispered as he snapped his fingers.

Gabriel, in disguise as Sam Winchester, stepped out from the shadows and ambled over to the demon Ruby.

Ruby was drinking her beer, looking for another body to overpower. This one was beginning to get a little too confining, constricting. She hated spending more than three months at a time in one, especially one without the human soul attached. Somehow, it just wasn’t as much fun without hearing the human’s soul beg and scream for release. Ruby downed the ice cold beer, somewhat grateful for it in the humid weather of the bayou.

She liked the bayou; the humidity in it kind of reminded her of her own section of Hell, except without the demonic alligators to eat her entrails and the mutant mosquitoes that would pierce her jugular regularly…well so the humidity was the only thing that really reminded her off it.

“Can I buy you a drink?” asked a rough voice.

Ruby turned fully intending on telling the guy off, when she caught a glimpse of his face.

Shit.

Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester a.k.a. one of Azazel’s Special Children a.k.a. the Predicted Harbinger of the Apocalypse.

Lucifer’s Future Vessel.

She flashed a beauteous smile, flicked the long black hair over her shoulder and said.

“Thanks, handsome.”

Sam Winchester smiled as he signaled the bartender for another round of beer, “It’s Sam.”

‘I know,’ thought Ruby with vindictive glee. Vision of promotions danced in front of her eyes. She held out her hand, nails manicured and painted the color of blood, smiled with her too red lips saying.

“They call me Ruby.”

Gabriel, disguised as Sam, took her hand and kissed the back of it. He smiled at her calculating stare. Demons were very predictable. He double-checked that his Grace was hidden deep enough to fool Ruby, but not so deep that he couldn’t, as Dean would put it, ‘angel whammy’ her.

Smiling at the demon's gullibility, he put on Sam’s best innocent ‘college boy, gee whiz, aw shucks’ face before asking.

“Well then Ruby, can I buy you a drink?”

Sam: (staring at the frog on the road) Yeah, you’re right, that’s completely normal.
Dean: All right, maybe it’s fairy tales. Totally messed up fairy tales. I’ll tell you one thing, there’s no way I’m kissing a damned frog.
Bedtime Stories

Somehow they always ended up sharing more when they were apart than together.

Sam would maintain that it was because that way they couldn’t look each other in the eye afterward.

Dean just coughs and awkwardly rub his hand against the back of his neck.

Because, really, it’s kind of true.

Dean’s laughter echoed through the phone: tinny, out of focus, but just as clear and as happy as Sam remembered it. Dean hadn’t laughed a lot those last couple of years, not his deep belly-laugh that had been present throughout his childhood, and those first two years back on the road. Sam felt weirdly proud to have coaxed the laughter from Dean again (or whatever... time travel is a bitch!)

“So anyway, we’re going after the ghost, right?”

“Oh God no more, Sammy, no more,” begged Dean, wheezing from his side of the phone.

“Shut up, man. You wanted to hear the hunting stories that I have, so I’m telling them to you.”

Sam had missed this. During those last three years, there hadn't ever been any real time for laughter, for fun, for them just being the Winchesters, screwed up as they were. Sam had missed their kind of normal.

“I still don’t believe that this Castiel guy had half of those succubi following him like lost puppies, because he wasn’t able to fall under their thrall.”

“Castiel is…very pure in some aspects,” said Sam with a small smile on his lips, “He can kick major ass though. You would like him.”

“Are you setting me up on play dates now, Sammy?”

“Dude, you used to bite the other children when Dad tried to make us do those things.”

“Fuck you, I was six, and that was one time.”

“Dean, you drew blood.”

“In retrospect staying up late to watch classic Dracula the night before probably wasn’t the best idea.”

Sam snorted and shifted the phone. He was alone in the motel room. Castiel was out practicing his archangel powers- at which he was improving all the time. And Gabriel had left about three hours ago, saying something about a bar and completing his task.

Sam knew what that meant, and, in the back of his mind, he tried to mourn for Ruby.

But she'd played him really well, so it was hard to muster up anything other than searing rage and hoping that whatever Gabriel came up with would be messy, violent, and hilarious. Hilarious was what Gabriel excelled at, so Sam had high expectations.

“It sounds like you’re doing good, Sammy,” whispered Dean into the phone. Sam heard the slight dip in his brother’s voice and gulped.

“Dean…,” began Sam, but his throat closed up. He wanted to beg Dean to come to the motel. He wanted to curl up in his brother’s arms. He wanted to confess the whole thing, the truth, the future that he would fight tooth and nail to protect Dean from.

He wanted to say that he loved him back the way that Dean loved him.

Sam wanted to be selfish, to have Dean all for himself; to hang onto Dean and never, ever let him out of his sight again.

However, every time that Sam was selfish. It didn’t end to well for anyone.

So he bit his tongue, swallowed the lump in his throat, and shoved down the want that crawled through his blood.

“I really miss you, Dean,” said Sam really truly meaning it, “It’s just not as much fun without you around.”

“When can I see you, Sammy? Dad’s been driving me crazy about this. I know that you’re safe,” Dean paused letting out a sigh, “But I need to see with my own eyes that you’re well fed and not missing anything vital.”

“Soon, Dean, soon. I promise. I swear it, Dean,” promised Sam, murmuring softly into the phone. “We’ll meet up soon.”

“Are you still having those dreams, Sammy? About mom and dad and me?” asked Dean worriedly. Sam almost sighed at this, really wishing that he hadn’t needed to make up the lie about the dreams. However, it had been the only way that he could get Dean to believe him.

“Sort of,” admitted Sam, “It’s the same cycle. And I dunno…these things... they feel so real that it’s like I’m trying to stop them from happening.”

“You think that you’re psychic or somethin’ Sammy?”

Sam paused.

“Aw shit,” cursed Dean, “You are, aren’t you?”

“Um…,” began Sam but stopped, “You’re not mad, are you?”

He must have sounded really pathetic, because Dean jumped into full mother-hen, caregiver, big brother mode.

“No,” sighed Dean, speaking softly. “No, of course not, Sam. I was just surprised. Look, whatever this thing is that these visions are giving you, go do it. But sooner rather than later, because I’m going to track you all down and join up with your little club, okay?”

“I promise, Dean. Soon.”

“Alright man,” said Dean gruffly, “I should get going. I need to get some gas money for my baby.”

“Okay, Dean,” said Sam.

Right before Dean hung up, Sam spoke up again, “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

“I promise, Sammy.”

They hung up at the same time. Sam stared at the phone, wanting to call Castiel to go and get Dean. He needed to see him again. He wasn’t strong enough to do this.

As if on cue, a pair of thin arms hugged his shoulders.

“I am not sure if I am doing this right,” said Castiel in his soothing, rough monotone, “But you two will be reunited again.”

“I hope you’re right, Cas.”

“I miss Dean also, Sam.”

“I miss what we had, Castiel,” Sam paused. “I think he's the only person that I could really fall in love with.”

Sam leaned his body back into the angel’s stilted and awkward embrace. It felt different from having Dean’s large arms around him. It was comforting all the same though.

The new archangel looked at his friend and promised himself that he would make sure that Sam and Dean would find each other again. He stared at the wall as Sam drifted off to sleep.

Perhaps when Gabriel was done killing the demon spawn known as Ruby, Castiel would ask for his help. He could see his brother helping him on this.

Ruby: What?
Dean: Nothing it’s just…an angel and a demon, riding in the back seat. It’s like a setup for a bad joke. Or a Penthouse Forum letter.
Sam: Dude. Reality. Porn.
Dean: You call this reality?
Heaven and Hell

The motel door was flung open. The couple stood in the doorway. Her dark hands were tangled up in his messy, chestnut locks. His large, calloused hands were gripping her hips. She bucked her hips against him as he ground against her.

They stumbled into the hotel room. He made short work of her shirt, ripping off all the buttons as he kissed her neck. She let out a shuddering moan as he sucked on the skin. She made slow work of his shirt, dragging things out almost agonizingly as she unbuttoned his shirt. He let out a long, almost pained moan.

“C’mon, Ruby, faster.”

“Calm down, silly boy. I like taking this slow.”

“Come on girlie,” growled out the Winchester, “I want this rough and fast.”

“Oh?” murmured Ruby as she took off his under-shirt. She briefly admired the sculptured abs, slick with sweat and triggering a deep seated need in her. She was going to turn Sam to the dark side. She would show him what wonders demon blood could do; have him addicted to her, and then at the right moment, get him to free Lucifer.

She was so going to show up that bastard, Alistair.

Maybe Lucifer would make her a consort, because she really did appreciate Winchester’s body.

“Can you do me a favor?” growled Sam’s voice. Ruby crushed her lips to his in a frenzy of need, desire and lust for power.

“Just ask me, Sam.”

“I want you to bite me,” said Sam as he licked the skin behind her earlobe.

“What?” she purred out, shuddering in pleasure as his tongue touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Bite me,” murmured Sam, “I want you to bite me hard enough to draw blood.”

So he was kinky. Ruby could work with kinky. She could introduce her blood like that. First, though, she would agree to his request. She would ooze her way into his life and claw out a place there. Then she would soon be by Lucifer’s side, ruling as Consort.

“If that’s what you want,” she murmured demurely. Sam lay back on the bed: shirtless and looking almost godlike in the moonlight. His jeans were around his ankles. Ruby climbed on top of him and palmed his hard member.

“As you wish then,” she said with a sweet smile as she situated herself on top of him. She slowly led a trail of kisses up to his shoulder. She kissed, and nipped and sucked for several moments while Sam let out breathless, needy moans.

Then she bit down, hard enough to draw blood.

Sam gasped and groaned, hips thrusting upward rubbing against her jean clad thighs.

 She smiled intending to pull away as to not have the taint of human blood in her mouth.

It was too late, however, a couple drops of blood slid down her throat.

Ruby gasped and began to scream. She looked at Sam Winchester’s face.

A look of vindictive glee had overtaken his handsome features.

Dean: These punishments, they’re almost poetic. Well, actually they’d be more like a limerick, but still… -Tall Tales

“Seriously? I’m a bit disappointed. This was really too, too easy,” said Gabriel with a bright, cheery smile. He flipped positions with Ruby. She was sweaty and burning under his touch, and as he snapped his fingers her mouth was suddenly covered with bright red duct tape to stop the screams that threatened to escape.

You think drinking demon blood is bad?

Archangel blood is a hundred times worse if you’re a demon. Literally, it traps a demon in its meat-suit. Then it makes quick work of cleansing the demonic in the body.

This meant burning the body inside out; cooking the organs, frying the muscles, boiling the blood.

So Ruby was basically in a lot of pain right now.

“Though I did do a good job acting like Sam didn’t I?” said Gabriel brightly, “I certainly had you fooled. Maybe I can go to Hollywood after we save the world.”

Ruby stared at him as she writhed on the bed. Through the haze of burning pain, her eyes held the question that she desperately wanted to ask.

Who are you?

“Oh I forgot to introduce myself didn’t I? Silly me, Castiel and Sam say that I need to work on my manners more. Which is really wrong. I’m a class act all the time, naturally. But I figure since that I will be killing you and all, that you should know who I am.”

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers again, revealing himself still fully dressed.

“Archangel Gabriel, at your service.”

She struggled more frantically against the bindings that Gabriel had snapped into place.

“Now see, we’re trying to stop your boss’s plans at world domination. And since you actually played a pretty big part the last time around, we needed you out of the way. Since Sammy got to kill you last time, I wanted to have a shot at it. I mean you got him addicted to demon blood. I figured only fair’s fair that you should have a taste of mine.”

Gabriel smiled pleasantly for several moments.

“Now I know that my blood can’t purify you enough that you won't exist anymore and that really sucks a lot. But I figure that getting stabbed with your own knife would add brownie points for me. We kind of need it after all. Castiel wants to modify it into a sword and then use it to kill Lilith.”

Ruby’s eyes widened as Gabriel’s hand snaked up her leg, stopping where her knife was hidden. With a wicked grin, he slowly unhooked it from the garter belt to which it was attached and slid it down from the leg of her jeans.

“Now with a bit of archangel pizzazz,” said the Messenger of God in a light tone. He murmured a blessing over it. Enochian symbols appeared on the blade under his sure whispers.

He ripped the duct tape off her face and watched as Ruby bit back her screams. She would not let him have the satisfaction of hearing her suffer. He used the knife to slit his wrist, blood pouring from the wound and pressed it against her mouth. The wave of blood made it impossible for her to scream. It burned, and burned and burned.

Gabriel stared at her with a serious expression his face.

“Choke on it, bitch.”

With his free hand, he stabbed Ruby in the stomach.

And she was no more.

Gabriel pulled his wrist back.

No one messed with the Winchesters but him now.

Staring at the mess, he sighed. He hated clean ups.

Sam: (despondently) I lost my shoe…-Bad Day at Black Rock

Three days after he'd ganked Ruby, Gabriel was staring at his brother, Castiel with a look of shock on his face. Sam had gone out to grab some dinner, and Castiel had very seriously said that they needed to talk as soon as the youngest Winchester left the room.

“So let me get this straight,” said Gabriel slowly, wondering if he was drunk or high. (It had been a while since he had been either. He didn’t really remember the sixties, but then again who did?) The archangel met his brother’s unblinking gaze, “You want us to help Sam and Dean do the deed?”

“What deed?” asked Castiel with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Have intercourse,” clarified Gabriel, feeling as though he should be at least half drunk for this conversation.

“Oh, then yes.”

“This is officially the most fucked-up situation that I have ever been a part of,” stated Gabriel with a sigh, “But I suppose that, if we don't, Sam will go on an emo kick about how he doesn’t deserve a second chance with Dean. Then, knowing Dean, he would pine and pine away but refuse to make a move, because his head is too far up his ass. So there will be the kind of unresolved sexual tension when we finally get them in a room together that will drive all of us up the walls. I’m not built for sexual tension, Castiel.”

“I know, Gabriel,” said Castiel patiently.

“So we’re going to help the brothers to shack up, huh?”

“That is the general idea.”

“Well, I've already broken just about all the rules there are. What’s one more, right?”

Castiel looked to be thinking over his statement. Gabriel sighed and summoned a bottle of Jack. In a practiced move, he downed half the bottle.

“Castiel you were just supposed to agree with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m the older brother, that’s why.”

Castiel looked like he did not accept his perfectly valid argument but did not push it. Gabriel placed the bottle down.

“I have some herbs that can promote love and lust, breaking down the walls. But we need Sam and Dean in the room together for it to work properly.”

“After I kill the demon, Lilith, then we can plan on how to get Sam and Dean to have intercourse.”

Gabriel really did not need the mental images that sentence brought. He wondered if he could score some peyote from Coyote.

“Speaking of Lilith, do you have the demon killing knife procured from Ruby?”

Gabriel lazily tossed the knife to Castiel, who caught it deftly.

“So how are you going to shank the bitch?” asked Gabriel, ready to steer the conversation from ‘Team Wincest’ (which apparently consisted of him and his little brother. He wondered if there was therapy for archangels.)

“I have a plan.”

“I hope it’s a good one.”

“I’m very proud of my plan,” stated Castiel defensively.

“Well then I’m sure that your plan will get Lilith killed.”

There was a silence between the two. After a couple moments, Gabriel broke it.

“You have no clue at all do you?”

Castiel sighed and took a swig at the bottle of Jack.

“I figure that I have hung around Dean enough to learn the fine art of ‘winging it’.”

Gabriel really didn’t have an argument for that.


Hint Six

 


Date: 2010-08-10 04:30 am (UTC)
ext_3554: dream wolf (Default)
From: [identity profile] keerawa.livejournal.com
Gabriel has that interestingly vicious sense of poetic justice, yes.

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