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Sorry this took so long. It kept switching POV on me.
Title: Faith
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Set just after Good Intentions . Includes spoilers for 5x16, but only vaguely
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Castiel, Dean, Sam. Aziraphale/Crowley, Dean/Castiel, and finally, a little Sam/Gabriel.
Summary: Nothing like a shocking revelation or three to wake you up in the morning. Still. They got a family out of it.
Wordcount: 3702
Warnings/Spoilers: 5x16, a touch.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine
A/N: Sweet Heaven, and I thought Dean/Cas was angsty! Gabriel, sweetheart, you really need someone to look after you.
Dean had started muttering about serial killers and shooting nervous glances at the knife block after that one. Gabriel couldn't exactly blame him. Aziraphale was a wonderful person, a wonderful angel, of course, but some things were just worrying, and a geometric beverage obsession was one of them.
Then the angel in question ambled in, followed closely by a snickering demon and a very stiff, flustered-looking Castiel, and his mind switched right back onto the murder-Crowley-horribly track it had been briefly distracted from. With almost angelic speed, the Brothers Grimm swooped over, snagged their angel by the arms, and bodily hauled him out of the way, much to Castiel's bewilderment. And Aziraphale's.
Crowley, though, appeared to know exactly what was happening. With one quick look in Gabriel's direction, he shimmied sideways behind Aziraphale, raised his hands inoffensively, and put on the smarmiest smile the archangel had ever seen, and given his targets over the years, that was saying something.
He put down the coffee pot, and stalked forwards. Crowley squeaked, and grabbed his angel to keep him between them. "Now, let's not do anything hasty!" the demon placated hurriedly. "It's not what you think, Gabriel, I promise. And the angel will back me up! Right, Aziraphale?"
Gabriel paused, sending a long look Aziraphale's way. The angel just looked confused, and, if a Trickster's instincts didn't deceive him, possibly a little mischievous. There was just that twinkle in placid eyes, a hint of a smirk veiled in innocence ... Gabriel stopped, frowning, wondering. "Will he now?" he asked, slowly, and watched as delight flashed in angelic eyes.
"Will I what?" Aziraphale asked innocently. And winked at him, tilting his head a little so Crowley couldn't see, laughing silently at the stunned looks he was getting from just about everyone in the room. Gabriel stared.
"Tell yon trigger-happy archangel that I've not been using my wicked demon wiles to trick you into trusting me, that's what!" Crowley hissed urgently, ducking his head down behind his angel's shoulder. Aziraphale struggled desperately with a grin for a moment.
"Oh, but dearest!" he said, all confused innocence. "I really don't think I should lie. Not to him. One doesn't lie to archangels, you know. And really, you have been rather wicked of late ..."
There was a long silence, as Crowley blinked, and straightened slowly behind his angel, golden eyes narrowing with a deadly glimmer that Gabriel sort of admired, a little. The demon reached out, very slowly, wrapped one hand around his angel's shoulder and slowly, slowly turning him around. Aziraphale went without a protest, beaming from ear to ear as he met his demon's chill expression, biting his lip a little as Crowley stared at him, expression working its way through realisation to frustration to fury to a flash of almost-appreciation, before settling on a sort of vibrant, vicious admiration.
"You," the demon said, at last. "You are a dirty, devious, scheming bastard of an angel, Aziraphale. A right bastard."
Aziraphale grinned, and leaned in to give him a brief peck on the lips. "And you are a very trustworthy demon, dearest. So I suppose it all evens out in the end." A warning flash in Gabriel's direction, a chill warning that these were words to take to heart, if you please, and no-one do anything ... precipitous, thank you. "Don't you think, Gabriel?"
He could feel his eyes rolling almost of their own accord, his face folding automatically into a crooked pout. He might have been too long in this body, too long on this mudball, but he didn't really care at the minute. "Oh, absolutely," he said, snidely. "The pair of you deserve each other."
Aziraphale just beamed. "Yes. I rather think we do, at that."
"Oh, shut up, you," Crowley muttered from behind him, meeting Gabriel's eyes with something that was almost sympathy. "Quit bullying the archangel, angel."
"Aw, hey, no," Dean piped up from his corner, leaning heavily on Cas' shoulder to watch the show. "Keep bullying the archangel! By all means, keep bullying the archangel!"
"Dean!" Castiel growled, tipping his head back to glare at his human.
"What? Guy deserves to have someone mess with him once in a while," Dean drawled back, completely unrepentant, and Gabriel made a little note, Winchester was still upset over the whole TV Land thing. Or possibly the Mystery Spot. Whichever. Not that he cared.
"Dean!" Sam, this time, doing his patented loom-and-growl routine beside his brother, glaring at him, and then everyone else for good measure. Except Gabriel, for some reason. He just got an apologetic smile, which was nearly more worrying than the tea. At least the tea had an explanation, if not a particularly reassuring one. "If everyone's done grand-standing," the younger Winchester groused, "maybe we could actually get some breakfast, here?"
Oh. Well, that explained it then. Sam, good sensible human that he was, was buttering up the food supply in the hopes of getting fed. Gabriel found his lips twitching into a little smile, ignoring the faint twinge in his gut, and waved a laconic hand at the table. The smell of fresh bacon, sausage and pie hit the human somewhere around the knees, by the look of things, and almost dropped him into his chair. Dean too, but Gabriel wasn't watching him. He was watching Sam, who sent him a stunningly uncomplicated grin in thanks as he dug in, and unwittingly gouged about a fist-sized chunk out of Gabriel's heart in the process.
Sam, my boy, you can butter me up anytime, he thought distantly. And then had to squelch a flood of what felt like sheer terror, that rapidly changed to annoyance (and maybe, just a tiny hint of shame), as he caught Aziraphale beaming happily at him again.
"Oh, shut up," he snarled in the lesser angel's general direction, glowering. "Don't you two have anything better to do than play matchmaker?" He grinned sharply at the little blink of surprise. "Oh, come on. Did you think I wouldn't notice the come-hither wards on the windows? Nice show, by the way." He nodded in Crowley's direction, because, fair's fair, it had been a good show.
A rather worryingly good show.
"Oh, those!" Aziraphale beamed, upping the wattage on the innocence. "That was all Crowley's work, the dear. He just wanted you all to feel safer, that's all. Knowing that ... well, that you wouldn't be judged here. That's all."
"I wanted no such bloody thing, angel, and I thought you weren't supposed to lie to archangels!" the demon cut in immediately, growling. Aziraphale looked guilty for maybe a full half-second. Then Crowley turned to Gabriel again, and sighed heavily. "Look. I just wanted the little guy and the moron over there to get it on before I had to tear my hair out, alright? I thought maybe they could use a little practical demonstration, since not even the sight of pastry-induced orgasms would budge them, and that's just pathetic."
Dean choked spectacularly on a piece of bacon. Castiel went a truly vibrant shade of red. Sam buried his face in his hands. And Gabriel, shocking manipulation or no, found himself warming up to the demon all over again. Just for the look on Dean's face.
Anyone who could do that to a Winchester was alright in his books. Even if the demon had put filthy claws in his little brother's wings.
"And besides," Aziraphale pointed out, helpfully patting Dean on the back and almost knocking him into his coffee. Possibly on purpose. "We really don't have anything better to do. This is ... well, this is our job, really. A little temptation, a little prompting towards honest love. Wherever it might happen to be found ..." With a meaningful (and entirely too obvious for Gabriel's liking) look in Sam's direction. At least Winchester was too busy snickering at his brother to notice. "Apocalypses are just a hobby, really," the damnable angel went on cheerfully, ignoring Gabriel's ire.
That caught the humans' attention, though. That caught everyone's attention. "What do you mean, a hobby," Sam said, aghast. No-one could put betrayed hurt into one sentance like that kid.
Aziraphale blinked at him. "Not like that, dear boy," he said quickly, taking in the genuine horror in Sam's expression. "I don't mean to ... It's just that, well, one hopes that Apocalypses won't last very long, you know, not long enough to become an actual job, you follow, and after the last one, well, we have gotten rather good at them, so to speak ..."
There was a long, confused and ever-so-slightly horrified silence after that little bomb. Gabriel was almost amused by the stricken expressions the humans wore. Not to mention the wounded look Castiel was sending Aziraphale's way, all pain and pity and maybe just a sprinkling of shame to spice it up ...
"Oh, well done, angel," Crowley muttered, stalking over to elbow Aziraphale severely in the ribs. Gabriel winced a little in sympathy. Those joints looked sharp. "Nice job breaking the humans. Did you forget what Adam did last time?"
"Adam?" Sam asked, faintly, but the angel was ignoring him again, glaring at his demon.
"I did not forget, dearest! I just don't see any reason to keep it a secret, that's all. One would think it would be reassuring to know that Apocalypses can be survived, after all." He huffed pointedly.
"One might also think that it could be a little worrying to realise that the world has a habit of almost ending when you're not looking, either," Crowley sniped back. "Engage a little paranoia, angel, and think like a human, would you!" Aziraphale looked a little baffled, and Crowley sighed. "Oh, for ... look. Pretend, for a moment, right, that I've just told you that your bookshop exploded while you weren't looking, but there's no need to worry, because I fixed it. Pretend I've just told you that. What would you feel?"
Aziraphale went a very interesting shade of green. "It didn't ... you didn't ..." Crowley stared back, impassive, and Aziraphale crumbled. Turning, he wrapped two pudgy arms around Sam's neck, and proceeded to throttle him in apology. "Oh, my dears! I'm so sorry!"
Sam gurgled a bit in what he probably hoped was a placating manner, and gestured desperately to be saved. Gabriel mentally consigned his sanity to the trash, and went to rescue him.
Madmen, the lot of them. Even the ones that weren't actually men. Between the Brothers Bozo, with their determination and codependence and guilt complexes through the roof, Castiel, with his battered faith and fading Grace and worrying ferocity, Aziraphale, who was quite possibly genuinely insane, and to top it all off the demon ... how had he ended up here, again?
Then Sam was gulping air desperately against his chest, and Castiel was trying with limited success to pry Aziraphale away from Dean, and Crowley was snickering helplessly, and unobtrusively (and possibly unconsciously) guarding his angel's back, and Gabriel decided he didn't much care, either way. He was here, it wasn't too bad, despite the rampant crazy running around the place, and he might just as well make the best of it.
And to that end ...
"Hey, boys and girls! Emphasis on the girls. Any chance we could move this show along sometime today?"
Castiel glared at him. It was a truly impressive glare. Gabriel wondered if the guy had to practice the little squinty edge to it in a mirror, or if it just came naturally. Either way, like magic, it cut through the chaos between them and made the other four sit up and pay attention.
Score one for arch-angelic charisma and Heaven's death-glare champion five hundred years running.
"Did you have something you wanted to say?" Cas asked, waspishly. And Dean called Sam a bitch. Little brothers. What could you do?
"Oh, nothing," he smirked coldly. "I just thought that since we were all here, and on more or less the right subject, that maybe we could start thinking of something resembling a plan? Since apparently we have two Apocalypse experts on hand, and the human keys to the whole mess to boot? Not to mention enough alcohol to float a tanker, should it all get too much for us ..." Which, he promised himself, he was breaking open as soon as he had a clear run at it, and Crowley be damned. Again.
Silence for another second, and then Crowley, of all people, sat down with a smirk, and waved a regal hand in his direction. "In other words, ladies and gentlemen, the big bossy archangel is calling this meeting to order." A little smirk. "Well. The bossy archangel, anyway."
Gabriel smiled back coldly as he moved around the table. "When you can squash uppity demons like the bugs they are, I think you'll find that you have very little to compensate for, Crowley." The demon just grinned at him, and waved a miracled mug of Irish coffee smugly in his direction. The archangel rolled his eyes, but returned the grin.
"You guys realise you look really creepy when you do that, right?" Dean asked, sitting back down grumpily next to Cas, and beaming proudly in his angel's direction. Gabriel gagged dramatically at them, and snickered when Aziraphale and Sam gave Castiel's death glare their best shot. Dean didn't notice, too busy flushing at the shy beam of pride Castiel shot back, and Gabriel repressed a sigh at how bloody happy it made the little angel look. Yet another of his little brothers' prospective boyfriends that he couldn't smite just on general principles.
Well. Not again, anyway.
"So what do you think we should do?" The quiet question broke up the love-fest, and brought everyone back down to earth. Whether they wanted that destination or not. Sam flushed a little as they all turned to look at him, but held his head high with sad, serious determination. Gabriel felt his gut clench a little.
"What can we do?" Dean cut in, green eyes flashing with pained defiance, and a very marked lack of hope. A look echoed in his brother, and the angel at his side, a look that echoed every weary face Gabriel had seen in the mirror over the past millennia, every flash of tired hatred he'd seen in his brothers' eyes. With a start, he realised he wasn't the only one exhausted by the war, worn down almost to despair, and clinging desperately to flippancy in the face of it. With a start, he realised that there might be something in Dean Winchester that he actually understood. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.
"You'd be surprised," Crowley said softly from his corner, leaning back in his chair and resting his shoulder against his angel. Gabriel wondered, not for the first time, if the demon was even conscious of how much he leaned on Aziraphale when troubled, how much he touched and rubbed and reached for reassurance. He didn't think the demon was, somehow. And he didn't think it wise to mention, either, despite the blackmail material just sitting there.
"We've tried everything we can think of," Castiel said quietly, tiredly. "The Colt didn't work. My ... My Father ... He does not wish to ... It seems He will not help." Soft, flat, and Gabriel wondered when that had happened, when Castiel had spoken to Dad. Not that he was surprised. Castiel hadn't been the first to flee to earth, to scour desperately for the one person who could help, who should have helped. Maybe he should have warned the little guy, instead of just making fun of his quest, but Cas had been so earnest, so sure, and Gabriel had thought, maybe, maybe this one, maybe he can make Dad listen, maybe he can ...
No such luck, apparently. And oh, Gabriel wished he could be more surprised about that. But he wasn't. He really wasn't.
"Of course not," Aziraphale said, very gently, reaching out to touch Cas' arm. "He can't ... He has never directly interfered, not in the longest time. He cannot afford to. Not if this, any of this, not if it is to mean something."
"Mean something?" Dean sneered, almost spitting, and Aziraphale looked at him sadly.
"Choice," Crowley spoke up, looking determinedly into his coffee and avoiding every eye. "He's talking about choice. Also, possibly, Ineffability, but I hate that word, so let's not go there. Anyway. Point is. If humans get to keep the capacity to choose for themselves, He can't go slinging His weight around and fixing every little mess we get into down here. If He does that, then what's the point? If choices don't have consequences, what's the point of making them?"
"Little mess!" Dean's voice was climbing rapidly, heading for the ceiling, and his arm had clenched itself around Cas' shoulders, pulling the angel into his chest and clinging fiercely. Protectively. "You call the end of the freaking world a little mess? If he's not going to drop by for that, what the hell is he going to drop by for?"
"Nothing."
There was a little pause, there, because while both Crowley and Gabriel had opened their mouths for that one, they hadn't actually been the ones to answer.
Sam had.
Dean stared at his brother, blinking fiercely, face twisting in confusion, pain. "Sam?" he rasped, and his brother looked over at him, brown eyes cold and sad, and hard as agate.
"Nothing, Dean," he repeated. "He's not coming down for anything. Nothing we do, nothing that happens to us ... He's never going to interfere. He's never going to step in. Even if we destroy the world between us." His voice dripped vitriol, bitterness, and for one sheer, terrible moment, Gabriel heard his brother's voice in Sam's, heard Lucifer's poisoned, desperate tones. He heard it, and he moved, on sheer instinct, in sheer panicked reaction. He flashed to Sam's side, and tugged the shocked mortal up into his arms.
"He doesn't have to," he hissed, furious, desperate, pleading. "He doesn't have to, because you're not going to do that, it's not going to come to that, and Dad can fuck off to wherever the hell he wants, because we don't need him! I promise you, we won't need him, you won't do that, you don't have to do that, you just have to stay, stay where I can ..." He trailed off, babbling silently in his head, and he wasn't sure who exactly he was addressing, Sam or Lucifer, or Michael, or any of the dozens of brothers and sisters he'd watched march to their deaths against each other, against their own brothers, against their own family, and sweet fuck, he was sick of it. He was sick and tired, so fucking tired, of watching, of watching ...
"Gabriel?" a voice whispered softly, confusedly. "Gabriel?" He blinked, swallowed, and looked down, at the mortal he'd dragged half out of his seat to hang against him, to cling to his shoulders and hope he wouldn't be dropped. Sam blinked up at him, all pain and confusion and weary compassion, lumbering understanding hitched to his own desperate need to be understood, and Gabriel shuddered, and clung tight. He didn't know what else to do, and in a second he was going to be embarrassed, he was going to be mortified, he was going to run the hell away before he had to explain this fucking weakness, this pathetic display ...
"He's right," someone said, very quietly, before he could move, before he could run. Someone stood up, the scrape of a chair that Gabriel deliberately didn't look at, and then there were arms wrapped around his waist, and a pointy chin resting on his shoulder, and a touch-happy demon was rocking him gently while his angel continued softly in the distance. "He's right. You won't have to. We won't let you. Any of us. You don't need ... You are not alone. It's always the hardest ... the last thing we realise, but ... you are not alone. Know that. Believe that. If you can have faith in nothing else, if you can believe in nothing else ... believe that. Trust it, and we will never let you down."
"Believe him," Crowley growled softly, somewhere between desperation and exasperated affection. "I've been fighting him on this for more than a thousand years, and he just hasn't given up. And if an angel can do that for me, for a demon ... You're made, mates. You really are. Trust me on this."
"Gabriel," another voice said, carefully, and there were hands touching his face, guiding his head up, away from the depthless pit of Sam's gaze, and there was Castiel, there was the most intense stare in Heaven or Hell, two burning, ferocious blue eyes meeting his and daring him to look away, daring him to be ashamed. Castiel held his face, very gently, his human at his side, at his brother's side, and the angel smiled softly. "You too, brother. You too. We will not leave you either, Gabriel. I promise."
And then Dean, emotionally constipated wonder extraordinaire, scrunched his face up with a mighty effort, met Sam's eyes with no little trepidation, as if expecting to get kicked in the crotch for his troubles, and said:
"Jeez, Sammy. After all this time, you'd think you'd know I'm not going to leave you. Not for this. Not for anything." The words came out slowly, shakily, as if it pained him to say them, but they came out. They did come.
And if only for the expression that crossed Sam's trembling face, if only for the lump that clenched in his own throat, if only for the fact that he was surrounded by pissy, protective angels and would probably get his ass kicked, archangel or not ... Gabriel decided not to make fun of him for it.
Just this once.
Contd: Operation Apocaplypse
Title: Faith
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Set just after Good Intentions . Includes spoilers for 5x16, but only vaguely
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Castiel, Dean, Sam. Aziraphale/Crowley, Dean/Castiel, and finally, a little Sam/Gabriel.
Summary: Nothing like a shocking revelation or three to wake you up in the morning. Still. They got a family out of it.
Wordcount: 3702
Warnings/Spoilers: 5x16, a touch.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine
A/N: Sweet Heaven, and I thought Dean/Cas was angsty! Gabriel, sweetheart, you really need someone to look after you.
Faith
They sent Castiel out to rustle up the two layabouts, in the end. Possibly because Gabriel hadn't actually managed to stop muttering dire threats to demonic well-being under his breath (the Gruesome Twosome were still sending him suspicious glances from the other side of the kitchen), and possibly because they needed him here in order to snap up some actual food in the vast, sterile, empty expanse of Crowley's kitchen. About the only things they'd been able to find were an ungodly amount of alcohol, a packet of something called Rich Tea Biscuits, and a worrying fifteen boxes of tea stacked with geometric exactitude into a pyramid.
Dean had started muttering about serial killers and shooting nervous glances at the knife block after that one. Gabriel couldn't exactly blame him. Aziraphale was a wonderful person, a wonderful angel, of course, but some things were just worrying, and a geometric beverage obsession was one of them.
Then the angel in question ambled in, followed closely by a snickering demon and a very stiff, flustered-looking Castiel, and his mind switched right back onto the murder-Crowley-horribly track it had been briefly distracted from. With almost angelic speed, the Brothers Grimm swooped over, snagged their angel by the arms, and bodily hauled him out of the way, much to Castiel's bewilderment. And Aziraphale's.
Crowley, though, appeared to know exactly what was happening. With one quick look in Gabriel's direction, he shimmied sideways behind Aziraphale, raised his hands inoffensively, and put on the smarmiest smile the archangel had ever seen, and given his targets over the years, that was saying something.
He put down the coffee pot, and stalked forwards. Crowley squeaked, and grabbed his angel to keep him between them. "Now, let's not do anything hasty!" the demon placated hurriedly. "It's not what you think, Gabriel, I promise. And the angel will back me up! Right, Aziraphale?"
Gabriel paused, sending a long look Aziraphale's way. The angel just looked confused, and, if a Trickster's instincts didn't deceive him, possibly a little mischievous. There was just that twinkle in placid eyes, a hint of a smirk veiled in innocence ... Gabriel stopped, frowning, wondering. "Will he now?" he asked, slowly, and watched as delight flashed in angelic eyes.
"Will I what?" Aziraphale asked innocently. And winked at him, tilting his head a little so Crowley couldn't see, laughing silently at the stunned looks he was getting from just about everyone in the room. Gabriel stared.
"Tell yon trigger-happy archangel that I've not been using my wicked demon wiles to trick you into trusting me, that's what!" Crowley hissed urgently, ducking his head down behind his angel's shoulder. Aziraphale struggled desperately with a grin for a moment.
"Oh, but dearest!" he said, all confused innocence. "I really don't think I should lie. Not to him. One doesn't lie to archangels, you know. And really, you have been rather wicked of late ..."
There was a long silence, as Crowley blinked, and straightened slowly behind his angel, golden eyes narrowing with a deadly glimmer that Gabriel sort of admired, a little. The demon reached out, very slowly, wrapped one hand around his angel's shoulder and slowly, slowly turning him around. Aziraphale went without a protest, beaming from ear to ear as he met his demon's chill expression, biting his lip a little as Crowley stared at him, expression working its way through realisation to frustration to fury to a flash of almost-appreciation, before settling on a sort of vibrant, vicious admiration.
"You," the demon said, at last. "You are a dirty, devious, scheming bastard of an angel, Aziraphale. A right bastard."
Aziraphale grinned, and leaned in to give him a brief peck on the lips. "And you are a very trustworthy demon, dearest. So I suppose it all evens out in the end." A warning flash in Gabriel's direction, a chill warning that these were words to take to heart, if you please, and no-one do anything ... precipitous, thank you. "Don't you think, Gabriel?"
He could feel his eyes rolling almost of their own accord, his face folding automatically into a crooked pout. He might have been too long in this body, too long on this mudball, but he didn't really care at the minute. "Oh, absolutely," he said, snidely. "The pair of you deserve each other."
Aziraphale just beamed. "Yes. I rather think we do, at that."
"Oh, shut up, you," Crowley muttered from behind him, meeting Gabriel's eyes with something that was almost sympathy. "Quit bullying the archangel, angel."
"Aw, hey, no," Dean piped up from his corner, leaning heavily on Cas' shoulder to watch the show. "Keep bullying the archangel! By all means, keep bullying the archangel!"
"Dean!" Castiel growled, tipping his head back to glare at his human.
"What? Guy deserves to have someone mess with him once in a while," Dean drawled back, completely unrepentant, and Gabriel made a little note, Winchester was still upset over the whole TV Land thing. Or possibly the Mystery Spot. Whichever. Not that he cared.
"Dean!" Sam, this time, doing his patented loom-and-growl routine beside his brother, glaring at him, and then everyone else for good measure. Except Gabriel, for some reason. He just got an apologetic smile, which was nearly more worrying than the tea. At least the tea had an explanation, if not a particularly reassuring one. "If everyone's done grand-standing," the younger Winchester groused, "maybe we could actually get some breakfast, here?"
Oh. Well, that explained it then. Sam, good sensible human that he was, was buttering up the food supply in the hopes of getting fed. Gabriel found his lips twitching into a little smile, ignoring the faint twinge in his gut, and waved a laconic hand at the table. The smell of fresh bacon, sausage and pie hit the human somewhere around the knees, by the look of things, and almost dropped him into his chair. Dean too, but Gabriel wasn't watching him. He was watching Sam, who sent him a stunningly uncomplicated grin in thanks as he dug in, and unwittingly gouged about a fist-sized chunk out of Gabriel's heart in the process.
Sam, my boy, you can butter me up anytime, he thought distantly. And then had to squelch a flood of what felt like sheer terror, that rapidly changed to annoyance (and maybe, just a tiny hint of shame), as he caught Aziraphale beaming happily at him again.
"Oh, shut up," he snarled in the lesser angel's general direction, glowering. "Don't you two have anything better to do than play matchmaker?" He grinned sharply at the little blink of surprise. "Oh, come on. Did you think I wouldn't notice the come-hither wards on the windows? Nice show, by the way." He nodded in Crowley's direction, because, fair's fair, it had been a good show.
A rather worryingly good show.
"Oh, those!" Aziraphale beamed, upping the wattage on the innocence. "That was all Crowley's work, the dear. He just wanted you all to feel safer, that's all. Knowing that ... well, that you wouldn't be judged here. That's all."
"I wanted no such bloody thing, angel, and I thought you weren't supposed to lie to archangels!" the demon cut in immediately, growling. Aziraphale looked guilty for maybe a full half-second. Then Crowley turned to Gabriel again, and sighed heavily. "Look. I just wanted the little guy and the moron over there to get it on before I had to tear my hair out, alright? I thought maybe they could use a little practical demonstration, since not even the sight of pastry-induced orgasms would budge them, and that's just pathetic."
Dean choked spectacularly on a piece of bacon. Castiel went a truly vibrant shade of red. Sam buried his face in his hands. And Gabriel, shocking manipulation or no, found himself warming up to the demon all over again. Just for the look on Dean's face.
Anyone who could do that to a Winchester was alright in his books. Even if the demon had put filthy claws in his little brother's wings.
"And besides," Aziraphale pointed out, helpfully patting Dean on the back and almost knocking him into his coffee. Possibly on purpose. "We really don't have anything better to do. This is ... well, this is our job, really. A little temptation, a little prompting towards honest love. Wherever it might happen to be found ..." With a meaningful (and entirely too obvious for Gabriel's liking) look in Sam's direction. At least Winchester was too busy snickering at his brother to notice. "Apocalypses are just a hobby, really," the damnable angel went on cheerfully, ignoring Gabriel's ire.
That caught the humans' attention, though. That caught everyone's attention. "What do you mean, a hobby," Sam said, aghast. No-one could put betrayed hurt into one sentance like that kid.
Aziraphale blinked at him. "Not like that, dear boy," he said quickly, taking in the genuine horror in Sam's expression. "I don't mean to ... It's just that, well, one hopes that Apocalypses won't last very long, you know, not long enough to become an actual job, you follow, and after the last one, well, we have gotten rather good at them, so to speak ..."
There was a long, confused and ever-so-slightly horrified silence after that little bomb. Gabriel was almost amused by the stricken expressions the humans wore. Not to mention the wounded look Castiel was sending Aziraphale's way, all pain and pity and maybe just a sprinkling of shame to spice it up ...
"Oh, well done, angel," Crowley muttered, stalking over to elbow Aziraphale severely in the ribs. Gabriel winced a little in sympathy. Those joints looked sharp. "Nice job breaking the humans. Did you forget what Adam did last time?"
"Adam?" Sam asked, faintly, but the angel was ignoring him again, glaring at his demon.
"I did not forget, dearest! I just don't see any reason to keep it a secret, that's all. One would think it would be reassuring to know that Apocalypses can be survived, after all." He huffed pointedly.
"One might also think that it could be a little worrying to realise that the world has a habit of almost ending when you're not looking, either," Crowley sniped back. "Engage a little paranoia, angel, and think like a human, would you!" Aziraphale looked a little baffled, and Crowley sighed. "Oh, for ... look. Pretend, for a moment, right, that I've just told you that your bookshop exploded while you weren't looking, but there's no need to worry, because I fixed it. Pretend I've just told you that. What would you feel?"
Aziraphale went a very interesting shade of green. "It didn't ... you didn't ..." Crowley stared back, impassive, and Aziraphale crumbled. Turning, he wrapped two pudgy arms around Sam's neck, and proceeded to throttle him in apology. "Oh, my dears! I'm so sorry!"
Sam gurgled a bit in what he probably hoped was a placating manner, and gestured desperately to be saved. Gabriel mentally consigned his sanity to the trash, and went to rescue him.
Madmen, the lot of them. Even the ones that weren't actually men. Between the Brothers Bozo, with their determination and codependence and guilt complexes through the roof, Castiel, with his battered faith and fading Grace and worrying ferocity, Aziraphale, who was quite possibly genuinely insane, and to top it all off the demon ... how had he ended up here, again?
Then Sam was gulping air desperately against his chest, and Castiel was trying with limited success to pry Aziraphale away from Dean, and Crowley was snickering helplessly, and unobtrusively (and possibly unconsciously) guarding his angel's back, and Gabriel decided he didn't much care, either way. He was here, it wasn't too bad, despite the rampant crazy running around the place, and he might just as well make the best of it.
And to that end ...
"Hey, boys and girls! Emphasis on the girls. Any chance we could move this show along sometime today?"
Castiel glared at him. It was a truly impressive glare. Gabriel wondered if the guy had to practice the little squinty edge to it in a mirror, or if it just came naturally. Either way, like magic, it cut through the chaos between them and made the other four sit up and pay attention.
Score one for arch-angelic charisma and Heaven's death-glare champion five hundred years running.
"Did you have something you wanted to say?" Cas asked, waspishly. And Dean called Sam a bitch. Little brothers. What could you do?
"Oh, nothing," he smirked coldly. "I just thought that since we were all here, and on more or less the right subject, that maybe we could start thinking of something resembling a plan? Since apparently we have two Apocalypse experts on hand, and the human keys to the whole mess to boot? Not to mention enough alcohol to float a tanker, should it all get too much for us ..." Which, he promised himself, he was breaking open as soon as he had a clear run at it, and Crowley be damned. Again.
Silence for another second, and then Crowley, of all people, sat down with a smirk, and waved a regal hand in his direction. "In other words, ladies and gentlemen, the big bossy archangel is calling this meeting to order." A little smirk. "Well. The bossy archangel, anyway."
Gabriel smiled back coldly as he moved around the table. "When you can squash uppity demons like the bugs they are, I think you'll find that you have very little to compensate for, Crowley." The demon just grinned at him, and waved a miracled mug of Irish coffee smugly in his direction. The archangel rolled his eyes, but returned the grin.
"You guys realise you look really creepy when you do that, right?" Dean asked, sitting back down grumpily next to Cas, and beaming proudly in his angel's direction. Gabriel gagged dramatically at them, and snickered when Aziraphale and Sam gave Castiel's death glare their best shot. Dean didn't notice, too busy flushing at the shy beam of pride Castiel shot back, and Gabriel repressed a sigh at how bloody happy it made the little angel look. Yet another of his little brothers' prospective boyfriends that he couldn't smite just on general principles.
Well. Not again, anyway.
"So what do you think we should do?" The quiet question broke up the love-fest, and brought everyone back down to earth. Whether they wanted that destination or not. Sam flushed a little as they all turned to look at him, but held his head high with sad, serious determination. Gabriel felt his gut clench a little.
"What can we do?" Dean cut in, green eyes flashing with pained defiance, and a very marked lack of hope. A look echoed in his brother, and the angel at his side, a look that echoed every weary face Gabriel had seen in the mirror over the past millennia, every flash of tired hatred he'd seen in his brothers' eyes. With a start, he realised he wasn't the only one exhausted by the war, worn down almost to despair, and clinging desperately to flippancy in the face of it. With a start, he realised that there might be something in Dean Winchester that he actually understood. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.
"You'd be surprised," Crowley said softly from his corner, leaning back in his chair and resting his shoulder against his angel. Gabriel wondered, not for the first time, if the demon was even conscious of how much he leaned on Aziraphale when troubled, how much he touched and rubbed and reached for reassurance. He didn't think the demon was, somehow. And he didn't think it wise to mention, either, despite the blackmail material just sitting there.
"We've tried everything we can think of," Castiel said quietly, tiredly. "The Colt didn't work. My ... My Father ... He does not wish to ... It seems He will not help." Soft, flat, and Gabriel wondered when that had happened, when Castiel had spoken to Dad. Not that he was surprised. Castiel hadn't been the first to flee to earth, to scour desperately for the one person who could help, who should have helped. Maybe he should have warned the little guy, instead of just making fun of his quest, but Cas had been so earnest, so sure, and Gabriel had thought, maybe, maybe this one, maybe he can make Dad listen, maybe he can ...
No such luck, apparently. And oh, Gabriel wished he could be more surprised about that. But he wasn't. He really wasn't.
"Of course not," Aziraphale said, very gently, reaching out to touch Cas' arm. "He can't ... He has never directly interfered, not in the longest time. He cannot afford to. Not if this, any of this, not if it is to mean something."
"Mean something?" Dean sneered, almost spitting, and Aziraphale looked at him sadly.
"Choice," Crowley spoke up, looking determinedly into his coffee and avoiding every eye. "He's talking about choice. Also, possibly, Ineffability, but I hate that word, so let's not go there. Anyway. Point is. If humans get to keep the capacity to choose for themselves, He can't go slinging His weight around and fixing every little mess we get into down here. If He does that, then what's the point? If choices don't have consequences, what's the point of making them?"
"Little mess!" Dean's voice was climbing rapidly, heading for the ceiling, and his arm had clenched itself around Cas' shoulders, pulling the angel into his chest and clinging fiercely. Protectively. "You call the end of the freaking world a little mess? If he's not going to drop by for that, what the hell is he going to drop by for?"
"Nothing."
There was a little pause, there, because while both Crowley and Gabriel had opened their mouths for that one, they hadn't actually been the ones to answer.
Sam had.
Dean stared at his brother, blinking fiercely, face twisting in confusion, pain. "Sam?" he rasped, and his brother looked over at him, brown eyes cold and sad, and hard as agate.
"Nothing, Dean," he repeated. "He's not coming down for anything. Nothing we do, nothing that happens to us ... He's never going to interfere. He's never going to step in. Even if we destroy the world between us." His voice dripped vitriol, bitterness, and for one sheer, terrible moment, Gabriel heard his brother's voice in Sam's, heard Lucifer's poisoned, desperate tones. He heard it, and he moved, on sheer instinct, in sheer panicked reaction. He flashed to Sam's side, and tugged the shocked mortal up into his arms.
"He doesn't have to," he hissed, furious, desperate, pleading. "He doesn't have to, because you're not going to do that, it's not going to come to that, and Dad can fuck off to wherever the hell he wants, because we don't need him! I promise you, we won't need him, you won't do that, you don't have to do that, you just have to stay, stay where I can ..." He trailed off, babbling silently in his head, and he wasn't sure who exactly he was addressing, Sam or Lucifer, or Michael, or any of the dozens of brothers and sisters he'd watched march to their deaths against each other, against their own brothers, against their own family, and sweet fuck, he was sick of it. He was sick and tired, so fucking tired, of watching, of watching ...
"Gabriel?" a voice whispered softly, confusedly. "Gabriel?" He blinked, swallowed, and looked down, at the mortal he'd dragged half out of his seat to hang against him, to cling to his shoulders and hope he wouldn't be dropped. Sam blinked up at him, all pain and confusion and weary compassion, lumbering understanding hitched to his own desperate need to be understood, and Gabriel shuddered, and clung tight. He didn't know what else to do, and in a second he was going to be embarrassed, he was going to be mortified, he was going to run the hell away before he had to explain this fucking weakness, this pathetic display ...
"He's right," someone said, very quietly, before he could move, before he could run. Someone stood up, the scrape of a chair that Gabriel deliberately didn't look at, and then there were arms wrapped around his waist, and a pointy chin resting on his shoulder, and a touch-happy demon was rocking him gently while his angel continued softly in the distance. "He's right. You won't have to. We won't let you. Any of us. You don't need ... You are not alone. It's always the hardest ... the last thing we realise, but ... you are not alone. Know that. Believe that. If you can have faith in nothing else, if you can believe in nothing else ... believe that. Trust it, and we will never let you down."
"Believe him," Crowley growled softly, somewhere between desperation and exasperated affection. "I've been fighting him on this for more than a thousand years, and he just hasn't given up. And if an angel can do that for me, for a demon ... You're made, mates. You really are. Trust me on this."
"Gabriel," another voice said, carefully, and there were hands touching his face, guiding his head up, away from the depthless pit of Sam's gaze, and there was Castiel, there was the most intense stare in Heaven or Hell, two burning, ferocious blue eyes meeting his and daring him to look away, daring him to be ashamed. Castiel held his face, very gently, his human at his side, at his brother's side, and the angel smiled softly. "You too, brother. You too. We will not leave you either, Gabriel. I promise."
And then Dean, emotionally constipated wonder extraordinaire, scrunched his face up with a mighty effort, met Sam's eyes with no little trepidation, as if expecting to get kicked in the crotch for his troubles, and said:
"Jeez, Sammy. After all this time, you'd think you'd know I'm not going to leave you. Not for this. Not for anything." The words came out slowly, shakily, as if it pained him to say them, but they came out. They did come.
And if only for the expression that crossed Sam's trembling face, if only for the lump that clenched in his own throat, if only for the fact that he was surrounded by pissy, protective angels and would probably get his ass kicked, archangel or not ... Gabriel decided not to make fun of him for it.
Just this once.
Contd: Operation Apocaplypse