Here is the sequel that was never supposed to happen. I had planned to allow Justify the Means to be a stand alone fic but because of Idkbear I decided to let it happen. So without further ado here is Means to an End.
Disclaimer: I don't own it but having my own personal blonde archangel has it's appeal.
Chapter 1: Waiting for Redemption
Eighteen pictures all in black and white hung along the wall of a cellar. The same three people were in every picture. A rather rugged looking man with short hair, a taller one with long hair, and a shorter man wearing an overcoat. These three were his family. A family he had lost because of a simple act he had done out of love. Each picture had the three of them doing something different. One was in a diner, another on a beach, and yet another of them sitting on a bed and watching a movie together. Normal every day scenes. Yet each picture was cherished and treated as if it were worth more then gems or precious metals. Each one represented hope to the cellar's lone occupant.
Frost lined the walls and floors in some spots of the cellar, giving the room a chill, which was not unusual for this time of the year. The cellar's occupant didn't hate it despite being naked on the concrete floor; he relished it. With each visible breath he released into the air, the cold made itself known and helped him. His fever was raging once more and the frozen underground room that served at his prison was most likely the only thing that was keeping his temperature from reaching dangerous levels. Which is why his captor refused to allow him to leave it despite the fact he could barely walk let alone move.
Bleary eyes opened and focused on the dish of water that was only a few feet away. He would gladly kill for a drink from it right now. He had despised it at first, being given food and water in bowls reserved for pets but he never let it show. Instead he had cracked a joke about being grateful that they were giving him food and not actual kibble. His joke had gotten him a kick to the face for it and his response of laughter to the abuse had escalated from there.
With a moan of pain he rolled away from the dishes and towards the wall where the floor was cooler. The concrete under him was already burning hot from his fever. He needed to try and cool down. The frost hit his skin and his moan turned to one of pleasure even though the rough concrete reopened the wound on his side once again. He couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Right now he just wanted to break his fever and survive until tomorrow. Tomorrow was the first of the month, picture day. Another picture to give him hope.
There was a grating sound from behind him, the sound of the heavy iron bar being removed from the door to his prison. He closed his eyes, Crowley probably wanted to play again, something that he didn't have the strength for. The door was pulled open slowly and he could hear the sounds of more then one person. Looks like the King of Hell had brought company today, he must want to either show him off or was going to show them the best way to inflict pain on an angel.
The door was pulled completely open and there was the sound of several voices in varying stages of shock. He couldn't blame them either. Crowley didn't care about the marks he left on him. Bruises, burns, cuts, broken bones, he had it all. Whips marks that went from his shoulders to the back of his knees, boot and hand shaped bruises, and the worst was the bloody and broken ankle he had received from the demon's pet hell hound. That was his punishment for a rather lame escape attempt. To his credit he did make it to the front door before the hound got him.
The footsteps came closer and he closed his eyes, not wanting to give a face to his tormenters, it gave him less nightmares that way. A hand came down and touched his neck and he flinched, startling the person who was attempting to check his pulse. Instead of receiving a harsh blow for his movement those hands carefully gripped him and rolled him over. He kept his eyes closed as he felt those hands wander over his face, moving his much longer, dirty blonde hair away from his face. It drew a hiss from him when they skimmed over the large cut that dominated most of his left cheek.
He heard the voices speaking in low tones and fingers skimmed along the wound in his side before following the purple lines of the poison that spread outward from the source. A growl echoed in the room but it sounded too high pitched to be a hell hound and it made him wonder just what was making the noise. There was a scuffling sound following the growl and the sound of plastic and something sloshing. Something touched his lips and he weakly batted it away, he didn't want whatever they were trying to force into him. Forcing himself to focus he listened to what was being said.
"He doesn't want it."
"He needs it. Look at him. Try again."
"He hasn't opened his eyes since we came in. I don't think he's even coherent enough to realize it's us. What more can we do?"
"Try again. I would but if those lines on his body are what I think then I am unable to help until we get him someplace safe. I cannot risk exposing myself if we are to help him."
"Damn that Crowley! As soon as that demon scum bucket decides to show his face I'm going to blow it off!"
The plastic was pressed against his lips again and he weakly attempted to roll away but he was easily held in place. These people may not be friends of Crowley but that didn't mean that they were his friends. An archangel was a powerful thing to possess, even one in his condition. He might just end up being another prize for a demon or some power hungry human who thought they knew best. The plastic was pressed to his lips once more and he pressed his lips shut.
Fingers gently traced his cheek. "Gabriel can you hear me? I need you to take a drink. It's just water okay? I promise. Just take a drink please."
Water? That sounded really good. The plastic was pressed to his lips once more and something cool dribbled out and across his dry lips. He swallowed what little bit he was given and tried to follow the plastic when it was removed. He wanted more! He sat up a little bit hoping that whoever it was would get the hint but the plastic didn't come back. A groan left his lips before he could stop it.
"He wants more."
"He's going to have to wait. We don't need him throwing up."
"He's an angel. That won't happen. Trust me. Give him some more. It might work towards stabilizing his condition."
The blessed water came back, still at a trickle but he drank down every drop he was allowed. The water was ice cold and through it settled in his stomach like a rock, it felt amazing. His fevered body began to react almost immediately. His fever was beginning to break and he could the tremors that normally wracked his body start to return. Another wonderful side effect of his poison.
"He's starting to shake. Is he going to be okay?"
"I am uncertain. Maybe once we get him to a safe location I can better help him. The box contains everything I will need to help heal him."
"You sure it's even safe to try and move him? I mean look at him! He been torn to shreds by that asshole! He certainly can't walk out of here."
"We no longer have a choice. If we leave him here he will die. Crowley will make sure of that. To be honest I am surprised that Gabriel has managed to survive this long."
"Speaking of the asshole demon King of Hell, how much time to we have? I don't want him to catch us with our pants down."
"Less then ten minutes. We need to leave."
"Help me with him. We need to get him up."
He felt a second set of hands grab him and he let out a whine weakly batting at them. Moving would mean pain. Pain meant blackouts and blackouts meant that he had no way to defend himself. He'd blacked out several times and when he awoke none if it had been pretty. He'd had everything from a demon touching him in rather inappropriate ways to a hell hound trying to turn him into a chew toy. He was not going to move unless someone gave him a damn good reason.
"Damn it Gabriel! Stop trying to fight us. We're on your side you feathered asshole."
Feathered asshole? There was only one person who ever dared to call him that. He opened his eyes, looking up, trying to see if he was right about who was in the room but the lights blinded him and he was forced to close them again. He felt something drape over him and he was suddenly lifted. He couldn't stop the cry of pain that was wrenched from his throat at the suddenly movement. His cuts opened once more and pain laced through him. He clutched weakly at the fabric that was under his fingers and his head rolled and came to rest on the shoulder of whoever was being kind enough to carry him out of this hell hole.
"I'm really sorry about this Gabriel but I'm the only one that can carry you right now. This is going to hurt. Don't worry. If you can just hold on till we get you out then you won't have to deal with anymore pain okay?"
Another weak moan left him and he allowed his body to go limp and rest against the person carrying him. Everything that came after that was a blur because of the pain lacing through him like fire. There were gun shots that rang out, the screams of demons, and the growls of a hell hound. He was next aware of the motions of being in a car, the roar of the engine barely covered by the sounds of music and the feeing of fingers in his hair. He faded out again at some point and when he awoke again he was laying in a bed in a cheesy motel room.
He rolled over feeling that his body was covered bandages. His fever was back and his body was starting to cramp again. He tossed trying to get comfortable but it was no use. The poison had to run its course. He twisted trying to get free of the blankets and managed to roll completely off the far side of the bed. A curse left his lips until he realized that the floor wasn't carpet but tile. Ice cold tile that felt amazing. He drifted in and out, rolling over when he needed to to remain cool.
The next thing he was aware of was someone picking up off the floor and tucking him back into the bed. He didn't want to go back in the bed. He liked the floor. It was so much cooler. The blankets were replaced but these were different then the last ones. These ones felt like ice. He moaned as he was wrapped up in them and he felt a prick in his arm. Sleep began to take him and he felt lips press against his brow and fingers in his hair.
"I'm sorry we took so long Gabriel. We'll make this right. Everything is going to be fine now."
That voice! He knew that voice! Sam! He was with Sam! He struggled to open his eyes but whatever he had been given was too strong. He was falling. He didn't want to sleep! Summoning what little bit of strength he could from his weakened Grace he managed to open his eyes. Standing over him with a soft smile and worried green eyes was none other then Sam Winchester.
"Sam..." He managed to weakly croak out.
"It's okay Gabriel. Just sleep. I'll be here when you wake up okay?" Sam said softly.
He nodded and his eyes slid closed and for the first time in a long time he slept.
