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Meme result (out of order, I know, it was the first one that presented itself). For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quantum_witch, who wanted to know my version of where Gabe sent Cas in 5x08 that got him all bloody.
Title: Mistake
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: Set during 5x08 (Changing Channels), between Cas' first appearance on the game show, and his second on the sit com.
Characters/Pairings: Gabe, Cas. Mention of Sam, Dean and one other.
Summary: He should never have peeked back. That was a mistake.
Wordcount: 1117
Spoilers/Warnings: Coda for 5x08, some possibly strange theories. Also, possibly crap
Disclaimer: Not mine
quantum_witch, who wanted to know my version of where Gabe sent Cas in 5x08 that got him all bloody. Title: Mistake
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: Set during 5x08 (Changing Channels), between Cas' first appearance on the game show, and his second on the sit com.
Characters/Pairings: Gabe, Cas. Mention of Sam, Dean and one other.
Summary: He should never have peeked back. That was a mistake.
Wordcount: 1117
Spoilers/Warnings: Coda for 5x08, some possibly strange theories. Also, possibly crap
Disclaimer: Not mine
Mistake
Gabriel recognised Castiel when the kid stormed onto the game show. Vaguely, yes, because it had been a couple of centuries, and it wasn't like they'd ever been close. Or, you know, even spoken to each other more than once an aeon, mostly to pass on orders. You could forgive him for relying on the rumours flying around these days in order to put a name to that traitorous Grace. The angel who chose humans over Heaven. The angel searching for God on Earth. The Winchester's guardian angel.
Castiel.
Not that he cared, of course. Castiel wasn't his concern, much as he'd love to speak to a brother again. Any brother, even this misguided little twerp. But ... things to do, Winchesters to bully, apocalypses to hurry along to their natural conclusions ... he just didn't have time to wallow in old memories, ask how the family was doing, see what the chances were of Dad actually showing up for once ... No. No time. Why would he make time for that, when he had brothers to hurry to the slaughter?
Something bitter twisted in his stomach, something aching in his chest, but hey! He was Gabriel, an archangel. He was good at ignoring shit like that, good at ignoring the things he might actually want, in favour of the things he had to do.
Practice makes perfect, right?
So he sent the kid elsewhere. Somewhere nice and out of the way, where he wouldn't have to worry about him ... spoiling the game. Right. That's right. That's what he was worried about ... Anyway! Somewhere secure, that even an angel would have trouble escaping. Somewhere nice and tight, that would hold even a warrior of the Lord. But that ... that was easier than people thought. Easier than humans, even.
Angels, or at least angels who weren't him, didn't dream. They didn't know how. So all you had to do was trap them in a space, make it sympathetic to dreams, to the proddings of a subconscious mind, and then push the mind in question into giving it something to feast on. Something to sprout. Something to keep them busy. And from there, they did the work themselves. Wrapped themselves deeper and deeper in their own imaginings, never realising it was their own minds that trapped them. Angels weren't big on imagination, these days. The kid shouldn't even realise what was happening. Easy as pie. Easier.
Castiel, he figured, would be one of those martial types. A garrison angel, hadn't he been? Frontliner? Well then. Just poke at his mind a bit, suggest that someone was coming for him. Someone he'd have to fight. Someone who'd keep him safely busy for a while.
Didn't take much of a prod, really. Kid was apparently paranoid as hell as it was. Or just had a lot of enemies. But Gabriel felt the dream take hold, quick as a whisper. He felt the dream take hold, felt the kid start to struggle, and left him. Left him to his fight, while he went back to the Winchesters and his primary goal. Left him, and ignored him.
Big mistake. Big mistake.
But not ... not as big as the mistake he made ... coming back. Just to look. Just to check. Curiosity had always been his weak point, after all, and genital herpes were only funny so many times (though Sam's expression would always be good for a few laughs - kid was so serious most of the time). He wanted to see who Castiel thought worth fighting, who Castiel thought would take him a while to beat. He was curious. So he took a peek. So he made a mistake. Everyone does, once in a while. Everyone does ...
Not everyone walks into a nightmare of their own making, though. Not everyone takes a look at what they've done, expecting maybe an angel-versus-demons melee, and finds ...
He hadn't seen Uriel in years. In forever. His most fragile brother, his most powerful. The brother who had once shone with their Father's Presence, bearing it with pride, an archangel almost more truly than any of them. The brother who had shattered, completely and utterly, when their father left. The brother who had lost everything when that Presence fled, the brother who had been reduced, torn down, made only slightly more powerful than a footsoldier. Uriel, the archangel of the Presence, who had become a lowly 'specialist' with their Father's loss.
Uriel, who had always retained his calm, despite that. Uriel, who had remained quiet, remained serene, when they flinched from him in shock. Uriel, who had stayed steadfastly devoted to his duty, to his job, and ignored the fear they felt when they looked at him. Uriel, who had never given any sign of resentment, of pain. Uriel, who had smiled placidly at Gabriel the night before he ran, and wished him luck with real warmth in his voice.
Uriel, who fought in Castiel's dreams with calm, burning passion. Uriel, who beat their little brother onto his knees, time and again, with a fanatic devotion in his eyes, and a brother's name on his lips. Uriel, who Gabriel might have forgiven had that name been Michael's, because Uriel had always been the most devoted of them, the most stern in the course of his duties, and Castiel was a traitor, as far as Heaven was concerned, Uriel had reason to fight him ...
But it wasn't Michael's name. As Castiel struggled to his feet once more, as he raised a blade in grim determination, as Uriel bore down on him again ... it wasn't Michael's name the once-archangel whispered as he struck. It wasn't the phantom of Heaven's justice Castiel fought.
The name was Lucifer, and Castiel fought for his life and against Hell, as he had always done.
The dream stuttered. Gabriel hadn't meant to do that, but he couldn't help it. That was ... that was too ... The dream stuttered, the phantom-Uriel blinking like a TV on the fritz, and in that second of confusion, in that second of distraction, Castiel realised what was going on. In that second, Castiel understood what had been done to him.
In that second, Castiel looked up. Not at a dream, not at a phantom, but at Gabriel. At the architect of this game, straight through the nightmare. In that second, blue eyes searing with suspicion and faded Grace looked right at him, a wealth of battered knowing behind them, and Gabriel flinched. He flinched. From the knowledge in them, or the pain, or the ravaged Grace of an angel betrayed, he didn't know. But he flinched.
Something flared in Castiel's eyes, something like recognition, and then ... the angel was gone. Then Castiel, narrow-eyed and clever, and sneaky as hell, was gone, and all Gabriel could do was ignore the sudden sickness in his gut, the sudden doubt, and flee after him before he could do too much damage. All he could do was coil the pain away behind a grin, and do what he had to do.
Again.
Gabriel recognised Castiel when the kid stormed onto the game show. Vaguely, yes, because it had been a couple of centuries, and it wasn't like they'd ever been close. Or, you know, even spoken to each other more than once an aeon, mostly to pass on orders. You could forgive him for relying on the rumours flying around these days in order to put a name to that traitorous Grace. The angel who chose humans over Heaven. The angel searching for God on Earth. The Winchester's guardian angel.
Castiel.
Not that he cared, of course. Castiel wasn't his concern, much as he'd love to speak to a brother again. Any brother, even this misguided little twerp. But ... things to do, Winchesters to bully, apocalypses to hurry along to their natural conclusions ... he just didn't have time to wallow in old memories, ask how the family was doing, see what the chances were of Dad actually showing up for once ... No. No time. Why would he make time for that, when he had brothers to hurry to the slaughter?
Something bitter twisted in his stomach, something aching in his chest, but hey! He was Gabriel, an archangel. He was good at ignoring shit like that, good at ignoring the things he might actually want, in favour of the things he had to do.
Practice makes perfect, right?
So he sent the kid elsewhere. Somewhere nice and out of the way, where he wouldn't have to worry about him ... spoiling the game. Right. That's right. That's what he was worried about ... Anyway! Somewhere secure, that even an angel would have trouble escaping. Somewhere nice and tight, that would hold even a warrior of the Lord. But that ... that was easier than people thought. Easier than humans, even.
Angels, or at least angels who weren't him, didn't dream. They didn't know how. So all you had to do was trap them in a space, make it sympathetic to dreams, to the proddings of a subconscious mind, and then push the mind in question into giving it something to feast on. Something to sprout. Something to keep them busy. And from there, they did the work themselves. Wrapped themselves deeper and deeper in their own imaginings, never realising it was their own minds that trapped them. Angels weren't big on imagination, these days. The kid shouldn't even realise what was happening. Easy as pie. Easier.
Castiel, he figured, would be one of those martial types. A garrison angel, hadn't he been? Frontliner? Well then. Just poke at his mind a bit, suggest that someone was coming for him. Someone he'd have to fight. Someone who'd keep him safely busy for a while.
Didn't take much of a prod, really. Kid was apparently paranoid as hell as it was. Or just had a lot of enemies. But Gabriel felt the dream take hold, quick as a whisper. He felt the dream take hold, felt the kid start to struggle, and left him. Left him to his fight, while he went back to the Winchesters and his primary goal. Left him, and ignored him.
Big mistake. Big mistake.
But not ... not as big as the mistake he made ... coming back. Just to look. Just to check. Curiosity had always been his weak point, after all, and genital herpes were only funny so many times (though Sam's expression would always be good for a few laughs - kid was so serious most of the time). He wanted to see who Castiel thought worth fighting, who Castiel thought would take him a while to beat. He was curious. So he took a peek. So he made a mistake. Everyone does, once in a while. Everyone does ...
Not everyone walks into a nightmare of their own making, though. Not everyone takes a look at what they've done, expecting maybe an angel-versus-demons melee, and finds ...
He hadn't seen Uriel in years. In forever. His most fragile brother, his most powerful. The brother who had once shone with their Father's Presence, bearing it with pride, an archangel almost more truly than any of them. The brother who had shattered, completely and utterly, when their father left. The brother who had lost everything when that Presence fled, the brother who had been reduced, torn down, made only slightly more powerful than a footsoldier. Uriel, the archangel of the Presence, who had become a lowly 'specialist' with their Father's loss.
Uriel, who had always retained his calm, despite that. Uriel, who had remained quiet, remained serene, when they flinched from him in shock. Uriel, who had stayed steadfastly devoted to his duty, to his job, and ignored the fear they felt when they looked at him. Uriel, who had never given any sign of resentment, of pain. Uriel, who had smiled placidly at Gabriel the night before he ran, and wished him luck with real warmth in his voice.
Uriel, who fought in Castiel's dreams with calm, burning passion. Uriel, who beat their little brother onto his knees, time and again, with a fanatic devotion in his eyes, and a brother's name on his lips. Uriel, who Gabriel might have forgiven had that name been Michael's, because Uriel had always been the most devoted of them, the most stern in the course of his duties, and Castiel was a traitor, as far as Heaven was concerned, Uriel had reason to fight him ...
But it wasn't Michael's name. As Castiel struggled to his feet once more, as he raised a blade in grim determination, as Uriel bore down on him again ... it wasn't Michael's name the once-archangel whispered as he struck. It wasn't the phantom of Heaven's justice Castiel fought.
The name was Lucifer, and Castiel fought for his life and against Hell, as he had always done.
The dream stuttered. Gabriel hadn't meant to do that, but he couldn't help it. That was ... that was too ... The dream stuttered, the phantom-Uriel blinking like a TV on the fritz, and in that second of confusion, in that second of distraction, Castiel realised what was going on. In that second, Castiel understood what had been done to him.
In that second, Castiel looked up. Not at a dream, not at a phantom, but at Gabriel. At the architect of this game, straight through the nightmare. In that second, blue eyes searing with suspicion and faded Grace looked right at him, a wealth of battered knowing behind them, and Gabriel flinched. He flinched. From the knowledge in them, or the pain, or the ravaged Grace of an angel betrayed, he didn't know. But he flinched.
Something flared in Castiel's eyes, something like recognition, and then ... the angel was gone. Then Castiel, narrow-eyed and clever, and sneaky as hell, was gone, and all Gabriel could do was ignore the sudden sickness in his gut, the sudden doubt, and flee after him before he could do too much damage. All he could do was coil the pain away behind a grin, and do what he had to do.
Again.
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