Author Notes: Um...I'm back? I fell out of the Labyrinth fandom, and fell into Supernatural instead. I've been writing little tidbits for that fandom, so I decided to upload some of them.


THE BIG BANG, BACKWARDS

Sam closed the hotel door quietly behind himself, shoulder bag tucked under his arm. He couldn't take the Impala; its engine's distinctive roar would wake Dean. Only flickering streetlights lit the cracking sidewalk, but Sam barely noticed, too nervous about what he was about to do.

His brother would probably quarantine him back in Bobby's panic room if he knew what Sam was about to do, and Sam couldn't really blame him. It was crazy, illogical, and borderline suicidal—but what part of their life wasn't? At least doing this, he knew he was doing good. He was really saving someone...maybe even himself.

The barn outside town was as abandoned as it had looked from the road, and Sam wasted no time slipping inside and laying out his materials. Rare spices and extinct animal remains; a pentagram of albino sheep's blood, an anointment of Jerusalem dirt and holy water. The obligatory incantation, this time in Enochian.

Sam took extra care in covering his eyelids and ears. No use getting himself killed if Kevin's translation sucked. Finally, he flipped open the notebook the prophet had given him. Taped onto one page was a life-size photo of the angel tablet; the facing page began "The Resurrection of Angels."

Sam had taken the liberty of replacing "angels" with "stupid martyring tricksters." He didn't think Gabriel would mind.

x x x

Iron grains against an electromagnet. Drops in a funnel. Stuffing souvenirs in a suitcase. Dust in a vacuum?

The Big Bang, backwards—with a side of Bacchus hangover.

Gabriel scratched his head and decided on the last one, pending a better description. Getting reassembled after Lucifer had blown his Grace to the four corners of the universe sucked...though he guessed it was better than still being dead.

"Fucking humans and the shit I—" He heard pages crackle as he stretched, only then opening his eyes and noticing the moose standing over him, looking poleaxed. "Miss me, Winchester?"

x x x

Sam couldn't stop staring at the man sprawled in the center of the pentagram. The faded jacket and unruly hair were familiar enough, but what convinced him of his success were the wings—golden, rippling, and alive—which stretched to both ends of the barn. The shadows and ash of angel wings had been impressive enough, but to see the real things—it was more than he'd ever hoped for.

But then, so was seeing Gabriel alive again.

And so, when he held out his hand to help the archangel up, he replied, "Maybe a little. You did save us, after all."