Fic: Fractured, Fragmented (Supernatural)
Sep. 15th, 2010 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crime_and_ink Title: Fractured, Fragmented.
Author: Sin_Stained_ink
Rating: R
Genre and/or Pairing: Gen, with slight Sam/Gabriel undertones if you choose to see them.
Spoilers: General, thought rather vague spoilers for most of the series.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 953
Summary: He’s not that kind of angel.
Notes: Okay, this has been bugging me for ages and it’s been sitting on my laptop for a while, so I’m posting it before it drives me mad.
(Gabriel knows how this will end long before he meets the Winchesters.)
They watch from the beginning, watch as the Humans begin to take shape, as they stumble and often fall. Lucifer used to start arguments simply because he could, but now he has a point, one which he believes every other angel should share.
Gabriel regularly steals away to a quiet corner while the arguments rage around him, seeking solace in the simple problems his father’s latest creation faces.
It is here Castiel finds him. One of the angels created later than most, Michael usually ignores him, Raphael is irritated by him and Lucifer sometimes watches him as if he’s wondering if he could persuade him to make a decision Castiel might regret later. Few others know who he is.
“They’re not going to stop,” Gabriel explains. Something crashes and splits nearby. “They’re never going to stop.”
He flees: he doesn’t pretend it’s anything other than fear of his own family that drives him.
(That doesn’t mean it’s cowardice.)
He skirts through time in the beginning, never going too far for fear of what he’ll find there. He finds secrets and lies, death and destruction everywhere he goes. But he also finds people scrambling through the ruins and trying to piece together fragments to make a whole. His Father teaches that sinners go to Hell and are punished, but on Earth the corrupt are given crowns and the pure and decent suffer. The ones who try sometimes get nowhere and the lazy gain everything they could ever want. It doesn’t seem fair.
He questions.
The answer comes in the form of a man centuries ahead of the current time.
“See, if you were looking for a secret organisation, where would you look? A big city like New York or London, or a little village in the middle of Scotland?”
Gabriel smiles. If you’re looking for an archangel, where would you never look? He always did like to screw with his brothers...
There are sins- pride in his work; gluttony when he discovers chocolate; lust when he discovers sex- and no one does anything. His grace never wavers, and no one finds him in his new life. After all, it’s not really disobedience when there’s no one left to give you orders, and you certainly can’t be punished when you don’t get caught.
Gabriel learns how to laugh. It doesn't feel as good as it should.
This is before Sam ever dates Jessica, before they fall in love and before Sam’s world burns down for the second time in his life. Gabriel knows who, what, Sam is the moment he sees him, can sense the demon blood in him. It’s like black ink, tinting the edges of pure white paper, somehow so wrong and so right at the same time. He knows what this man and is what he’s going to do.
Sam picks at the label on the bottle of beer- no I.D. needed here, too many people, too much alcohol- and Gabriel isn’t Gabriel at the moment. He isn’t even the Trickster, isn’t Loki, isn’t anyone important. He’s just another girl who happens to slide into the booth beside Sam.
Maybe I should ask her. Or maybe I should just give up- Ryan’s been giving me weird looks all week and I’m pretty sure he went to that school that Dad found the ghouls living in that time and I really don’t need him to recognise me. Maybe I should call Dean. Or maybe I should-
“You shouldn’t,” Gabriel whispers, sliding one hand across the table to catch Sam’s arm, feeling the warmth through his shirt, “but you will. You shouldn’t, but you will.”
He- or maybe she, the vessel, the angel- is drunk. Sam smiles awkwardly, hand reaching for a knife he no longer carries, and shrugs him off.
She’s going to burn, Gabriel doesn’t say. She’s going to burn and you’re never going to get what you want.
He doesn’t. He’s not the Messenger now.
(He models it on those video games where you go back to the last checkpoint when you die. But with a twist. Dean’s going to die again and again until Sam realises what he’s doing wrong. Until he learns his lesson.)
“Please,” Sam begs, fingers curling around Gabriel’s upper arms, desperation almost seeping through his skin. He smells like blood, sweat, beer and gunpowder and, oh, that’s so very fitting. “Please, just tell me why you’re doing this. Tell me why you came after us?”
He could. He could tell Sam why, where, when and how. He could tell him everything that led to this moment and everything that comes after. He doesn’t. He’s not that sort of angel.
“Please,” Sam begs, because Dean is dead. Dean is always dead, and it is always Tuesday. It will always happen this way.
He leans forward and presses his lips to Sam’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” Gabriel says, smirking, and he means it, he really, really-
And then it’s Tuesday again.
He’s in the middle of Africa when he gets the news, when every angel hears the same four words: Dean Winchester is saved.
He leaves his latest victim- a boy who date-raped twelve girls and who’s now a very weak gazelle surrounded by a pride of lions- and appears just in time to see Dean Winchester crawl from his makeshift grave. No one can see Gabriel, but he still flinches when he hears Castiel try to speak to Dean. Someone obviously forgot to teach him about subtlety before they sent him searching for a soul. Instead of leaving immediately, Gabriel follows Dean until he’s reached the relative safety of a shop before returning to Africa.
All that’s left of the gazelle is a few mangled stumps and blood smeared across the yellowing grass.
Gabriel isn’t surprised when Castiel rebels. It’s always the quiet ones, the most loyal ones, you have to watch out for. The loyal ones are rarely doubted and the quiet ones are never noticed.
(Everyone noticed when Gabriel left. No one noticed when he came back.)
He was never the quiet sort.
(Gabriel knows how this is going to end.
It’s going to end with everyone being torn open again, because that’s what happens when you try and play by your own rules.
It’s going to end with two brothers, two vessels and no more seconds chances for the angels.
And it still won’t be the end.)
Author: Sin_Stained_ink
Rating: R
Genre and/or Pairing: Gen, with slight Sam/Gabriel undertones if you choose to see them.
Spoilers: General, thought rather vague spoilers for most of the series.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 953
Summary: He’s not that kind of angel.
Notes: Okay, this has been bugging me for ages and it’s been sitting on my laptop for a while, so I’m posting it before it drives me mad.
(Gabriel knows how this will end long before he meets the Winchesters.)
They watch from the beginning, watch as the Humans begin to take shape, as they stumble and often fall. Lucifer used to start arguments simply because he could, but now he has a point, one which he believes every other angel should share.
Gabriel regularly steals away to a quiet corner while the arguments rage around him, seeking solace in the simple problems his father’s latest creation faces.
It is here Castiel finds him. One of the angels created later than most, Michael usually ignores him, Raphael is irritated by him and Lucifer sometimes watches him as if he’s wondering if he could persuade him to make a decision Castiel might regret later. Few others know who he is.
“They’re not going to stop,” Gabriel explains. Something crashes and splits nearby. “They’re never going to stop.”
He flees: he doesn’t pretend it’s anything other than fear of his own family that drives him.
(That doesn’t mean it’s cowardice.)
He skirts through time in the beginning, never going too far for fear of what he’ll find there. He finds secrets and lies, death and destruction everywhere he goes. But he also finds people scrambling through the ruins and trying to piece together fragments to make a whole. His Father teaches that sinners go to Hell and are punished, but on Earth the corrupt are given crowns and the pure and decent suffer. The ones who try sometimes get nowhere and the lazy gain everything they could ever want. It doesn’t seem fair.
He questions.
The answer comes in the form of a man centuries ahead of the current time.
“See, if you were looking for a secret organisation, where would you look? A big city like New York or London, or a little village in the middle of Scotland?”
Gabriel smiles. If you’re looking for an archangel, where would you never look? He always did like to screw with his brothers...
There are sins- pride in his work; gluttony when he discovers chocolate; lust when he discovers sex- and no one does anything. His grace never wavers, and no one finds him in his new life. After all, it’s not really disobedience when there’s no one left to give you orders, and you certainly can’t be punished when you don’t get caught.
Gabriel learns how to laugh. It doesn't feel as good as it should.
This is before Sam ever dates Jessica, before they fall in love and before Sam’s world burns down for the second time in his life. Gabriel knows who, what, Sam is the moment he sees him, can sense the demon blood in him. It’s like black ink, tinting the edges of pure white paper, somehow so wrong and so right at the same time. He knows what this man and is what he’s going to do.
Sam picks at the label on the bottle of beer- no I.D. needed here, too many people, too much alcohol- and Gabriel isn’t Gabriel at the moment. He isn’t even the Trickster, isn’t Loki, isn’t anyone important. He’s just another girl who happens to slide into the booth beside Sam.
Maybe I should ask her. Or maybe I should just give up- Ryan’s been giving me weird looks all week and I’m pretty sure he went to that school that Dad found the ghouls living in that time and I really don’t need him to recognise me. Maybe I should call Dean. Or maybe I should-
“You shouldn’t,” Gabriel whispers, sliding one hand across the table to catch Sam’s arm, feeling the warmth through his shirt, “but you will. You shouldn’t, but you will.”
He- or maybe she, the vessel, the angel- is drunk. Sam smiles awkwardly, hand reaching for a knife he no longer carries, and shrugs him off.
She’s going to burn, Gabriel doesn’t say. She’s going to burn and you’re never going to get what you want.
He doesn’t. He’s not the Messenger now.
(He models it on those video games where you go back to the last checkpoint when you die. But with a twist. Dean’s going to die again and again until Sam realises what he’s doing wrong. Until he learns his lesson.)
“Please,” Sam begs, fingers curling around Gabriel’s upper arms, desperation almost seeping through his skin. He smells like blood, sweat, beer and gunpowder and, oh, that’s so very fitting. “Please, just tell me why you’re doing this. Tell me why you came after us?”
He could. He could tell Sam why, where, when and how. He could tell him everything that led to this moment and everything that comes after. He doesn’t. He’s not that sort of angel.
“Please,” Sam begs, because Dean is dead. Dean is always dead, and it is always Tuesday. It will always happen this way.
He leans forward and presses his lips to Sam’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” Gabriel says, smirking, and he means it, he really, really-
And then it’s Tuesday again.
He’s in the middle of Africa when he gets the news, when every angel hears the same four words: Dean Winchester is saved.
He leaves his latest victim- a boy who date-raped twelve girls and who’s now a very weak gazelle surrounded by a pride of lions- and appears just in time to see Dean Winchester crawl from his makeshift grave. No one can see Gabriel, but he still flinches when he hears Castiel try to speak to Dean. Someone obviously forgot to teach him about subtlety before they sent him searching for a soul. Instead of leaving immediately, Gabriel follows Dean until he’s reached the relative safety of a shop before returning to Africa.
All that’s left of the gazelle is a few mangled stumps and blood smeared across the yellowing grass.
Gabriel isn’t surprised when Castiel rebels. It’s always the quiet ones, the most loyal ones, you have to watch out for. The loyal ones are rarely doubted and the quiet ones are never noticed.
(Everyone noticed when Gabriel left. No one noticed when he came back.)
He was never the quiet sort.
(Gabriel knows how this is going to end.
It’s going to end with everyone being torn open again, because that’s what happens when you try and play by your own rules.
It’s going to end with two brothers, two vessels and no more seconds chances for the angels.
And it still won’t be the end.)
