Good Lord, where have I freaking BEEN the last few months? I don't even.
Characters are not mine, clearly, or the finale would have gone veeerrryyy differently.
...
This whole scene is painfully familiar to him.
Gabriel has the most frustrating sensation of deja-vu as he carefully sets his clever trap, sending a projection to taunt and distract his brother while he sneaks up from behind. He tightens his grip on the blade, hating this, hating the sick feeling in his gut, hating that he has to do this to his big brother, to Lucifer.
Most of all he hates doing this to Sam.
It was the hunter finally saying 'yes' that brought this on, this sudden burst of giving a fuck on the part of the ex-Trickster. Figures that it would take Sam doing the one thing Gabriel tried to convince him of to make the Archangel realize that, in fact, he'd really rather not have his brother living inside his crush's body. And, well, he'd rather not watch humanity burn, either. But that's secondary.
He's talking now, through his projection, going through the banter with the fallen angel, and again it feels odd, like he's reading from a script, speaking mechanically. Lucifer's mouth quirks- or rather, Lucifer quirks Sam's mouth- and he says something, but before Gabriel has time to respond, the Morningstar spins on one heel, catches the younger being's wrist, and buries the blade in the Trickster's gut.
"-I know where your heart truly lies," he finishes as he wrenches his hand- Sam's hand- back and forth, dragging the gash wider across Gabriel's chest. The Archangel chokes, clutches desperately at Sam's shirt, trying to say- something, anything, to beg or scream or just ask why, but only blood spills from his lips. He can feel his Grace pulling free, ripping, torn away from his body, feel his brother drinking it in greedily. It hurts, this betrayal, this knife, the soft smile on Lucifer's face. What hurts most, though, is that it's not Lucifer's face. It's Sam's face, sweet-natured Sammy, big, clumsy Moose, Sam's eyes that burn into his as the last of his Grace bleeds away-
Gabriel jerks awake, lips parted in a gasp that he manages to catch before it escapes. Unlike certain hopeless, Dean-obsessed Angels, Gabe has long since discovered the wondrous sensation of a good night's rest. He enjoys sleeping. He spent a better part of the sixties asleep (and was so disgusted by the state of affairs when he woke up that he went back to sleep for another five years). However, as it is a more or less human habit, it comes with human drawbacks. Namely, dreams. Or nightmares. Gabriel is well-acquainted with nightmares, thank you very much, and is just as well-versed in dealing with them as he is in dealing with high-and-mighty assholes.
He can't deny, though, that they started getting worse and worse, hitting more and more frequently after his first encounter with the twin bundles of trouble wrapped in devastatingly easy-to-fall-for packages, the Winchesters. Visions of black-eyed monsters, writhing smoke, sudden agony. His older brother, Lucifer, cradling him tenderly even as he twists a bloodied knife, shattering the Archangel's Grace. His youngest brother, Castiel- sweet, naive Castiel, puppyishly devoted to a righteous, blindingly bright human soul- standing beside a demon, dark, sickly power pulsing around him. Michael, falling forever into an endless darkness. Rachael dead. Raphael dead. Balthazar dead, face twisted in shock and betrayal. Castiel again, this time smiling a heart-wrenchingly familiar smile up at Dean as he presses an all-powerful blade into the human's hand. Dean's face contorted with sorrow as he slips the dagger between Castiel's ribs. Castiel dead. Dean dead, killed trying to resurrect his Angel from the deepest part of Hell. Sam, alone, standing in front of a row of graves that hold no bodies, only ashes and salt.
What terrifies Gabriel about these dreams is the truth behind them. He can feel them happening, feel events unfolding, leading toward a conclusion he refuses to face. He'll do anything it takes to turn away from that dark path he sees ahead. That's why he's signed on to this kamikaze party, this "Team Free Will".
Well, that's one reason, anyway.
The other reason rolls over and drapes an arm over the Archangel-turned-Trickster's shoulder, snuffling incoherently in his sleep. Gabriel smiles at being turned into little more than a heating pillow by six-something feet of Moose muscle.
No matter how many times they go over it, no matter how much mind-blowing, holy-shit-you-broke-my-vessel-I'm-never-gonna-be-able-to-walk-again sex they have, he will never understand why Sam puts up with him. He's obnoxious, vindictive, selfish, and too clever for his own good- to say nothing of the fact that he trapped both Sammy and Dean in a never-ending mindfuck of cruel games.
He heaves a sigh, a shudder passing through him as the dream clings to his thoughts. Sensing his movement, Sam's arm tightens automatically around the smaller body, not really awake as he mumbles into Gabriel's neck, "'S jus' a dream. G'back t'sleep, Jess."
...
