Hi!
It's me. You know, the author of this story. Here I am, in the bolded and italicized font. This font is an important thing to know, because I really like author's notes. I think I'm pretty awesome in writing. In real life conversations, not so much.
So, I guess you could say this is my first Supernatural fanfiction. Well, no. I have random oneshots and pieces of stories written all over Google Docs and Microsoft word and the notes app on my phone and my physics homework. But none of those are anywhere near ready to be posted. 99% are full of random Fall Out Boy lyrics (seriously I listen to music while writing so a bunch of story drafts are like "Dean! Get the holy WHEN ROME'S IN RUINS WE ARE THE LIONS FREE OF THE COLISEUM water!"), So this is my first official one.
You may have noticed this is a bit of an overused idea. Yeah, it kind of is. But although it's used often, I think it's still a good one, and I like writing dramatic hurt/comfort fics. Actually, they often turn out something like 90% hurt and 10% comfort, but that's besides the point. What I'm trying to say is making Gabriel falling apart is definitely my cup of tea.
Oh, and also I asked a bunch of people on Google+ what their preference was between 2 Sabriel ideas, and this one won by a landslide. The other idea was a good one, though, so that'll be coming out after this one's done.
I know you're probably tired of hearing me talk. Or, more accurately, reading about me talking. Hearing the voice in your head tell you what I'm saying. Well, except I'm not actually saying any of this out loud. Hmmm. I'll think about that later.
Soooooo one more small thing before we get this show on the road: the update schedule. Updates will happen every 2 weeks. Maybe once I finish Forever is a Long Time, which is my main fic at the moment (btw to any FIALT readers I'm so sorry I haven't updated I've had so much going on and I got sidetracked writing other stuff and urgh), I'll be able to update more often. Also, schedules may change, because I'm in 8th grade so I'm applying to a bunch of high schools and stuff so I've got extra work to do. Uhg.
And I don't own Supernatural (duh). If I did I wouldn't be writing this on a computer from 2008.
Ummmm I don't think I have anything else to say. First chapters always feel really awkward.
Oh yeah this story is rated T for some language cause I'm paranoid.
Okay I'm done talking you may rejoice.
210… or was that 201? Gabriel's eyes were bleary from tears and lack of sleep. Sleep. I need sleep. Just the word made him shudder, and he slapped himself on the cheek as if he could hit the horrible reality away.
Of course he couldn't, and all the gesture really did was cause pain, which just reminded him of his predicament more. He could have pain now. He could die. Should die. Would die, in just a few short years. Because that's what humans did, right? Die. Gabriel should know. He was often the cause of it.
Back when he could be.
Back when he was powerful.
Back when he was invincible.
He wished more than anything that this were all a dream. That he would wake up in a small mountain of feather pillows, a cake in his to his right and a woman to his left. But that wasn't going to happen, and Gabriel knew it. Angels didn't dream. Angels didn't sleep. Angels didn't have searing pain in their backs. Angels didn't stumble down hallways, searching for the motel rooms of the only people who might be willing to help them.
He realized he'd kept walking as he thought all this, and had stopped checking the door numbers. He looked up from the geometrically patterned carpet to the nearest door. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, but after a moment he thought he could make out the number 224 in gold lettering. 224. That's… two doors away from 228? Or three? Is this really what a human brain is like?
A few doors down, he found it. 228. He reached his hand to knock, but the fatigue was too much for even that, and all he had the strength to do was take one more step forward before everything turned black.
Cold.
Gabriel had come to know temperature in the past few days. What he was feeling now was cold. But it was a strange cold. When he'd had felt cold before, it was all over his body, though extra strong in his fingers, toes, and nose. But this cold was only on his head and shoulders.
The word came to him after a few seconds. Wet. There was water on him. It spiraled down strands of his hair and dripped onto his torn and ruined jacket. Some drops snuck under his clothes and ran down his back and chest in tiny streams. I used to be able to make rivers, he thought, and now they're all over me. Taking me over. Possessing me.
He knew vaguely that he should open his eyes to investigate his surroundings, but his eyelids were just so heavy…
More water.
Crashing down on his head, completely soaking him. He finally managed to force his eyes open, and was met with a blurry mass of orange, his vision obscured by water and lack of sleep. His eyes stung, and he reached up to rub them. "Looks like sleeping beauty's finally awake," said a voice. Gabriel knew distantly that it was actually at a normal volume, but for some reason the sound seemed ear-shatteringly loud.
When his bleary eyes adjusted to the light and the dull throbbing in his head subsided a little, he recognized the orange as fire. Holy fire. He almost laughed. Actually, he might've laughed. He didn't know. Everything felt so strange, as if he were swimming through molasses (he'd tried that once. It tasted awesome, but it made everything seem as if it were in slow motion. This was like that, except the molasses was inside his thoughts, making everything sluggish and confusing.)
"So, you gonna tell us why we shouldn't stab you?" asked the voice, which Gabriel now dully recognized as Dean Winchester. Slowly, he tore his gaze away from the flames and sat up so he could look at the two brothers standing just outside of the fiery circle.
He knew he should say something, but opening his mouth proved to be too hard in his current state, so he just stared up at the two men. He felt detached from the world, like he was in a trance. Am I dead? Maybe I'm dead. Honestly, the prospect didn't upset him much.
After a few seconds of awkward staring, Dean spoke again. "Okay, I guess we'll have to get Cas and his badass angel knife."
Sam squinted at Gabriel. "Dean, I think something's wrong."
"What, you mean like the fact that an archangel managed to find our motel room and faint against the door? Yeah, Sam, pretty friggin weird. Which is why we need the knife."
"No, Dean, not that. I mean how he's not doing anything. Shouldn't he be spouting some cocky comebacks by now?"
Dean shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe it's our lucky day. Now are we going to interrogate him or what?"
Gabriel hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Sam was right. If he were the old Gabriel, he would pull a cocky grin and smooth talk his way out of this. Then he'd snap his fingers and go eat some candy and continue on his never-ending quest to put arrogant dicks in their rightful place.
But if he were the old Gabriel, he wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place.
If he were the old Gabriel, he wouldn't have heavy eyelids and a growling stomach.
He had just realized his eyes were closed again when a deep voice sounded from the side of the ring of fire opposite the Winchesters. "You won't be needing an angel blade, Dean."
"Cas! Whaddya mean we don't need an angel blade? You got another way to hurt an archangel?" Dean asked. Gabriel blinked and craned his neck to face the angel. I used to be above him. Better than and angel. Now look at me.
"Gabriel is not an archangel," Castiel replied. Was that pity in his voice? Gabriel hoped he'd imagined it. He can't feel sympathy for me! I'm stronger than him! I'm an archangel!
At least, I was an archangel.
Dean shook his head in confusion. "What? Cut the cryptic shit, Cas. We really-"
Dean's annoyed speech was cut off when Sam put a hand on his arm. "Dean, I think Cas means that he…" the taller brother trailed off, glancing at Gabriel to get some confirmation for his suspicions.
Gabriel closed his eyes, as if it could block out the truth. But it was still there, screaming in his mind. He stared at the mesmerizing flames as he forced himself to croak out his first words since It had happened. "I… my grace…" he swallowed, "my grace was stolen."