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Because I had to react somehow, didn't I? And I maintain that this was what actually happened. Nothing else. I refuse to consider anything else!
Title: Whispers
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel
Summary: "I really wish you hadn't done that, brother"
Wordcount: 1593
Warnings/Spoilers: SPOILERS FOR 5x19! With all that that entails.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'd take better bloody care of them, were they mine!
A/N: References to the biblical Book of Enoch (apocrypha, yes, but it fit), various myths
Gabriel looked down at the gap in the shadow of his supposed wings, and lifted his finger to suck the chocolate off it meditatively. Despite the questionable state of the floor it came off, it still tasted pretty good. Well, it would. High-end stuff, this. Had to be, if it was going to be served up to gods.
"You know," he said softly, perhaps mostly to himself. "I never thought he would actually do it, Father. Despite it all. Despite the war, despite what he's done ... I never thought he would do that to me. I never thought ... that my brother would actually kill me."
He hadn't. He really hadn't. He hadn't believed it would happen.
But he had planned for it. He wasn't actually stupid, thank you. Bringing an archangel-killing blade to a party with a potentially homicidal brother? He wasn't born yesterday. And if the trick worked on the incarnation of death herself (admittedly probably only because she let it), well, for Daddy's favourite dayglo archangel, Luci had never been all that bright. He hadn't even sensed the other image was fake, after all. Only presumed it was because a distraction while he went for a rear attack was the kind of thing Lucifer himself would do. Like he said, he'd taught Gabriel all his tricks.
But not all Gabriel's tricks. Locked in a cage for about six thousand years, did his brother really think everyone else had spent all that time sitting on their hands? And if anyone knew how to fake a convincing death, it was Gabriel. He'd been doing it, in various forms, for a very long time. He'd even gotten the explosion of Grace down pat. A cooperative vessel did wonders for that.
But Lucifer hadn't known that. Lucifer hadn't planned for that. As far as Lucifer was concerned, he'd killed Gabriel in truth. And while that was very, very useful, it also meant that Lucifer had been willing to kill Gabriel for real.
And that ... that hurt. That hurt. Not as much as a real blade would have done, mind, but still ...
"Oh, brother," he whispered, very quietly. "I wish you hadn't done that. I didn't want to fight you. Not for real. Not ever for real."
Because if he fought his brother in truth, there could only be one outcome. Michael may have been gifted with strength, Raphael with skill, Lucifer with charisma, Uriel with overwhelming force, but Gabriel ... his Father had given Gabriel the brains in the family.
Lucifer should have listened to Baldur. Oh, not his little 'how dare you' speech just before he got filleted. Not that one. But before. When Lucifer had met him in the underworld. The underworld Loki sent him to, at the height of his power, right when Baldur had thought himself invincible. The underworld Gabriel's mere vessel had sent the most powerful of Valhalla's gods to. Not by strength, not by force, but by trickery, by trickery and loopholes and a whisper in the right ear at the right time. And while that may have gone badly for the Trickster himself, while it may have gotten him chained and tortured and bound, ripe for Gabriel to make a deal with him ... it had still be the cleverest thing he'd ever done, and that alone had given him Gabriel's respect, and mercy. Even as a vessel.
Gabriel had learned from that. From Loki, from Baldur. From the gods, all of them. From Kali, that devious, deadly goddess, that force of nature. He laughed, a little. Oh, his brother had no idea how lucky he'd been, trying to face her. No idea how lucky he'd been that Gabriel had stepped in and urged her to leave. Lucifer thought Gabriel had been trying to protect her? Kali, the incarnation of death and rebirth? Oh no. He had, rather foolishly in retrospect, been trying to protect Lucifer. Trying to protect his family. And he was damned lucky she'd taken enough of a shine to him to let him. He had fooled her once, by luck. He wouldn't do so again.
It was that arrogance, in Lucifer. Always, that arrogance. From the very first, it had been what propelled Lucifer's Fall. From the very first, it had been his weakness. He, like Baldur, thought himself invincible. Thought himself wiser, tricksier, more powerful than anything this earth could throw at him.
And the gods had let him go on believing that. Some of them, anyway. If anyone really thought Lucifer had managed to actually destroy the Baron, they had another think coming. And Ganesh's mother was not going to be content to let him rest. Mercury, now, and Odin, they were probably dead, but then they were the most tired of all of them, and the most fatalistic. They'd let themselves die. Probably happily.
Gabriel, though, he didn't plan to. He didn't plan to. The other gods allowed themselves the illusion of death, for a little time, to let the angels sort themselves out while the rest of the world went about their business. Kali let Lucifer challenge her, this once, and let him go again because Gabriel asked. She wouldn't strike now without further provocation. The gods had let Lucifer remove the traitors from their midst, and moved on.
Gabriel didn't have that option. His brother had killed him. Or thought he had. And he was planning to kill the others, too. Not in desperation, not to stay alive. But simply to kill them, simply to prove his point. Brother or not, Lucifer had crossed the line, and Gabriel had to admit it now, even if he could never like it, even if he could never think of it without pain. He had seen it, looked into his brother's eyes, seen the hate and pain and rage, the quiet, killing intent. Lucifer had lost all patience, all pity, all mercy. Lucifer meant to kill them all. Destroy Gabriel's world. Kali's world. The human's world. Lucifer would not stop until it was done.
And if Castiel was to be believed, and seeing this Gabriel thought he was, then Michael and Raphael weren't much better. Castiel, who was hanging onto Grace, and now onto life, by the skin of his teeth and sheer, bloody-minded determination. Castiel who had killed in his turn, but only because, unlike Gabriel, he had no other choice. He hadn't the power to waste trying to find a non-fatal strike, not if he wanted to live.
And Gabriel, if Lucifer pushed this, if Lucifer fought this to its intended end ... Gabriel might yet have to do the same. Hopefully not, if his plan worked, if the Winchesters got his message and actually managed to be efficient for once in their lives ... then again, when had it ever been wise to bet on that? He could hope, yes, but he also had to plan ...
Once upon a time, before Kali, before Loki, before he'd had a chance to learn from anyone, his Father had sent Gabriel against the Nephilim, against a race of beings so warlike and powerful that God had flooded the Earth to remove their taint from it.
Once upon a time, his Father had handed Uriel the duty of Messenger, and sent Gabriel deliberately. Once upon a time, Gabriel had destroyed an entire race, a race that could have slaughtered him themselves had they ever united against him. Gabriel had destroyed them all, and let his Father's fury wipe them from the Earth. He had done that, not with a sword, not with Grace, not with power or might or glory.
He had done it with a whisper in the right ear. He had done it by taking their own power, their own rage, their own arrogance, and inciting them to use it against each other. He had gone among them unseen, while all thought him lost, and whispered until they fell upon each other, whispered until they had fallen before him. An ocean of blood upon his hands, and not a blow did he strike. Not one.
He had learned, since then. He had walked the Earth for centuries, plying a Trickster's trade, wearing a Trickster's face, walking among gods and men and learning, always learning. He had learned, in all that time. And more. He had come to care, in that time. This world, these people, they had become family.
And here again, arrogant giants walked the earth. Here again, they threatened all he had come to love.
And now they thought him dead. Now, he could walk unseen once more. He could whisper once more. Whisper to gods and men and demons, whisper to angels. Whisper of the arrogance of archangels, their weaknesses. Whisper of fear and pain and hope and chances. Whisper of Lucifer's destruction, Michael's fall, Raphael's judgement. Whisper of what was to come, and in whispering, make it so.
"Oh, brother," he whispered once more, tracing the shadow of false wings, tracing the mark of a brother's betrayal. "Lucifer. I wish you hadn't done that. I really wish you hadn't done that."
"I never wanted to have to destroy you ..."
Title: Whispers
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel
Summary: "I really wish you hadn't done that, brother"
Wordcount: 1593
Warnings/Spoilers: SPOILERS FOR 5x19! With all that that entails.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'd take better bloody care of them, were they mine!
A/N: References to the biblical Book of Enoch (apocrypha, yes, but it fit), various myths
Whispers
The motel was silent afterwards. Except for the skittering of insect feet, the gust of wind and rain ... and the soft whisper of a finger across a floor.Gabriel looked down at the gap in the shadow of his supposed wings, and lifted his finger to suck the chocolate off it meditatively. Despite the questionable state of the floor it came off, it still tasted pretty good. Well, it would. High-end stuff, this. Had to be, if it was going to be served up to gods.
"You know," he said softly, perhaps mostly to himself. "I never thought he would actually do it, Father. Despite it all. Despite the war, despite what he's done ... I never thought he would do that to me. I never thought ... that my brother would actually kill me."
He hadn't. He really hadn't. He hadn't believed it would happen.
But he had planned for it. He wasn't actually stupid, thank you. Bringing an archangel-killing blade to a party with a potentially homicidal brother? He wasn't born yesterday. And if the trick worked on the incarnation of death herself (admittedly probably only because she let it), well, for Daddy's favourite dayglo archangel, Luci had never been all that bright. He hadn't even sensed the other image was fake, after all. Only presumed it was because a distraction while he went for a rear attack was the kind of thing Lucifer himself would do. Like he said, he'd taught Gabriel all his tricks.
But not all Gabriel's tricks. Locked in a cage for about six thousand years, did his brother really think everyone else had spent all that time sitting on their hands? And if anyone knew how to fake a convincing death, it was Gabriel. He'd been doing it, in various forms, for a very long time. He'd even gotten the explosion of Grace down pat. A cooperative vessel did wonders for that.
But Lucifer hadn't known that. Lucifer hadn't planned for that. As far as Lucifer was concerned, he'd killed Gabriel in truth. And while that was very, very useful, it also meant that Lucifer had been willing to kill Gabriel for real.
And that ... that hurt. That hurt. Not as much as a real blade would have done, mind, but still ...
"Oh, brother," he whispered, very quietly. "I wish you hadn't done that. I didn't want to fight you. Not for real. Not ever for real."
Because if he fought his brother in truth, there could only be one outcome. Michael may have been gifted with strength, Raphael with skill, Lucifer with charisma, Uriel with overwhelming force, but Gabriel ... his Father had given Gabriel the brains in the family.
Lucifer should have listened to Baldur. Oh, not his little 'how dare you' speech just before he got filleted. Not that one. But before. When Lucifer had met him in the underworld. The underworld Loki sent him to, at the height of his power, right when Baldur had thought himself invincible. The underworld Gabriel's mere vessel had sent the most powerful of Valhalla's gods to. Not by strength, not by force, but by trickery, by trickery and loopholes and a whisper in the right ear at the right time. And while that may have gone badly for the Trickster himself, while it may have gotten him chained and tortured and bound, ripe for Gabriel to make a deal with him ... it had still be the cleverest thing he'd ever done, and that alone had given him Gabriel's respect, and mercy. Even as a vessel.
Gabriel had learned from that. From Loki, from Baldur. From the gods, all of them. From Kali, that devious, deadly goddess, that force of nature. He laughed, a little. Oh, his brother had no idea how lucky he'd been, trying to face her. No idea how lucky he'd been that Gabriel had stepped in and urged her to leave. Lucifer thought Gabriel had been trying to protect her? Kali, the incarnation of death and rebirth? Oh no. He had, rather foolishly in retrospect, been trying to protect Lucifer. Trying to protect his family. And he was damned lucky she'd taken enough of a shine to him to let him. He had fooled her once, by luck. He wouldn't do so again.
It was that arrogance, in Lucifer. Always, that arrogance. From the very first, it had been what propelled Lucifer's Fall. From the very first, it had been his weakness. He, like Baldur, thought himself invincible. Thought himself wiser, tricksier, more powerful than anything this earth could throw at him.
And the gods had let him go on believing that. Some of them, anyway. If anyone really thought Lucifer had managed to actually destroy the Baron, they had another think coming. And Ganesh's mother was not going to be content to let him rest. Mercury, now, and Odin, they were probably dead, but then they were the most tired of all of them, and the most fatalistic. They'd let themselves die. Probably happily.
Gabriel, though, he didn't plan to. He didn't plan to. The other gods allowed themselves the illusion of death, for a little time, to let the angels sort themselves out while the rest of the world went about their business. Kali let Lucifer challenge her, this once, and let him go again because Gabriel asked. She wouldn't strike now without further provocation. The gods had let Lucifer remove the traitors from their midst, and moved on.
Gabriel didn't have that option. His brother had killed him. Or thought he had. And he was planning to kill the others, too. Not in desperation, not to stay alive. But simply to kill them, simply to prove his point. Brother or not, Lucifer had crossed the line, and Gabriel had to admit it now, even if he could never like it, even if he could never think of it without pain. He had seen it, looked into his brother's eyes, seen the hate and pain and rage, the quiet, killing intent. Lucifer had lost all patience, all pity, all mercy. Lucifer meant to kill them all. Destroy Gabriel's world. Kali's world. The human's world. Lucifer would not stop until it was done.
And if Castiel was to be believed, and seeing this Gabriel thought he was, then Michael and Raphael weren't much better. Castiel, who was hanging onto Grace, and now onto life, by the skin of his teeth and sheer, bloody-minded determination. Castiel who had killed in his turn, but only because, unlike Gabriel, he had no other choice. He hadn't the power to waste trying to find a non-fatal strike, not if he wanted to live.
And Gabriel, if Lucifer pushed this, if Lucifer fought this to its intended end ... Gabriel might yet have to do the same. Hopefully not, if his plan worked, if the Winchesters got his message and actually managed to be efficient for once in their lives ... then again, when had it ever been wise to bet on that? He could hope, yes, but he also had to plan ...
Once upon a time, before Kali, before Loki, before he'd had a chance to learn from anyone, his Father had sent Gabriel against the Nephilim, against a race of beings so warlike and powerful that God had flooded the Earth to remove their taint from it.
Once upon a time, his Father had handed Uriel the duty of Messenger, and sent Gabriel deliberately. Once upon a time, Gabriel had destroyed an entire race, a race that could have slaughtered him themselves had they ever united against him. Gabriel had destroyed them all, and let his Father's fury wipe them from the Earth. He had done that, not with a sword, not with Grace, not with power or might or glory.
He had done it with a whisper in the right ear. He had done it by taking their own power, their own rage, their own arrogance, and inciting them to use it against each other. He had gone among them unseen, while all thought him lost, and whispered until they fell upon each other, whispered until they had fallen before him. An ocean of blood upon his hands, and not a blow did he strike. Not one.
He had learned, since then. He had walked the Earth for centuries, plying a Trickster's trade, wearing a Trickster's face, walking among gods and men and learning, always learning. He had learned, in all that time. And more. He had come to care, in that time. This world, these people, they had become family.
And here again, arrogant giants walked the earth. Here again, they threatened all he had come to love.
And now they thought him dead. Now, he could walk unseen once more. He could whisper once more. Whisper to gods and men and demons, whisper to angels. Whisper of the arrogance of archangels, their weaknesses. Whisper of fear and pain and hope and chances. Whisper of Lucifer's destruction, Michael's fall, Raphael's judgement. Whisper of what was to come, and in whispering, make it so.
"Oh, brother," he whispered once more, tracing the shadow of false wings, tracing the mark of a brother's betrayal. "Lucifer. I wish you hadn't done that. I really wish you hadn't done that."
"I never wanted to have to destroy you ..."
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