Spoilers for the end of Season Nine
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters but I might keep them until the writers stop hurting them.
Wings
Impossible sounds were all around him. Birds chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze. A feeling of warmth on his face. Confusion. Part of him thought he shouldn't be able to experience these things but as to why his mind provided no answers. Either way it felt nice.
"Sir, are you alright?"
A hand on his shoulder startled him, the instinct to flee bypassing all conscious thought made his wings flap awkwardly – almost like he had forgotten how to use them – while the rest of his body tried to escape in a different direction.
A casual observer might've compared it to a bug lying on its back frantically trying to get back on its feet. That is if the casual observer was able to perceive an angel's wings which existed only in the realm of the almost-physical. Anyone else would wonder how such movement was possible.
"Woah, easy there, pal."
Sensing no immediate danger the angel aborted his uncoordinated escape attempt and blinked sluggishly at the figure above him.
The figure asked another question but he wasn't listening. Instead he was distracted by the lack of wings on the other person. For some reason this seemed unusual. He said as much.
"Well, around here most people don't. Name's Jerry by the way. What should I call you?"
He didn't know.
"That's okay. Tell you what – this park's nice and all but not the best place for a nap. How about we go to my cruiser and take you some place where they can help you figure it out?" A hand was extended in his direction.
He blinked again tilting his head a little.
"Well, can you get up?"
What a weird question – of course he could. Ignoring the proffered hand he rose in one smooth movement and stretched his massive wings flapping them once, twice before neatly folding them at his back. Although the other gave him a peculiar, somewhat questioning look he did not think much of it and let himself be let towards what he assumed to be the 'cruiser'.
As he got into the vehicle an uneasiness he could not explain settled in the pit of his stomach. It just felt so… confining. Uneasiness quickly turned to dread as the door closed.
Cold walls, blades his, grace torn and tortured.
His whole body became rigid, his breathing only short gasps.
Broken wings dragging over the floor.
He didn't want to be here.
Chains bound so tight they cut into his flesh, screams echoing.
A hand reached towards him – hurt, pain, torture – Powerful wings spread carrying him instantly away from the hand but not the memories and only stopping once he reached wide open land where the air was fresh and clean.
He wrapped his wings around himself in a vain attempt of protection against the memories crashing into his mind unbidden.
Gadreel remembered now. What had happened, what he had let happen, what he had done. He also recalled his last moments. That he was alive again could only be his Father's doing. A third chance. Whether this was a blessing or curse he had yet to decide but he would not sit by idly. He still remembered the mission.
A/N: Because imagining scenarios in which characters I love come back to life is kind of a hobby. I originally wanted to include his wing color but we all probably have our own image of how they'd look so I decided to leave it to your imagination. (Lately I've been thinking they'd be gold and brown like that eagle in The Rescuers Down Under. So beautiful… Though I'd be happy if you left me a review and told me what your personal headcanon is.)