Because one-sided conversations between two people who love each other secretly are always interesting.
If someone asked Gabriel one more time why on earth he separated himself from his angelic brethren, he'd pulverize them. He hadn't inflicted serious pain in centuries, save Lucifer; he was itching for a fight. The scribe's manipulation, a poor copy of Gabriel's numerous reality distortions, lingered uncomfortably all throughout the archangel's being as he was thrust from one distortion to the next, exchanging a carbon-copy of Earth for a pitch-black forest.
Of course, Metatron felt the need to alert Gabriel to his surroundings by slamming Gabriel into multiple trees before shoving him on dead leaves and moist dirt. It was a tactic designed to stoke the flames of his rage, and it was all too successful.
Gabriel had suppressed his anger for far too long.
Despite his age-old hostility, however, Metatron's manipulation wasn't as out-of-character as he'd like to think. The snarky comebacks, the macho-man front, all if it was an illusion, and it was unnerving that Metatron had seen through the front then replicated it so perfectly that Castiel was fooled.
Then again, it wasn't as difficult to fool the angel with a replica of Gabriel. Castiel was one of the few angels who'd seen him recently, and those scant interactions were devoid of revelations pertaining to the archangel. Nothing the angel hadn't previously known, anyways.
Dean would probably explode if he knew how much Castiel concealed. If Dean found out, Gabriel speculated, the end result would either involve the two going at it like dogs, or the hunter would renounce the angel. Regardless, the revelation would be rather entertaining.
Castiel always placed hope in the wrong things. It was his downfall, ultimately. Loving the wrong creature, wasn't that the downfall of many beings? Edward Cullen fell in love with a brick wall and got stuck with it for all of eternity. At least there were no chances of Dean living forever, though Gabriel imagined that immortality would be a little less dull for the hunter. At least Castiel didn't have to mourn his love for all of eternity now that his grace was gone.
Thank Dad Gabriel wasn't subjected to such weakness.
Or really, thank himself. It was Gabriel who plunged himself into the unknown to escape his twisted family; it was Gabriel who saved himself from a fate worse than death.
Only to throw himself into death and its void, but at least that had been his choice. Now, he didn't even have that anymore. Metatron's sweaty grasp continued to grip the archangel tightly. The powerful, prideful aspect of Gabriel was appalled that such a lowly angel held such power over him, even if the angel in question had been God's scribe; the trickster, the Loki portion of his identity reveled in the irony, in the chaos that breaking angelic ranks initiated.
It was only fair, after all, that his family be subjected to the bullshit they pulled on anything they deemed inferior.
"Hello, my little god of mischief," Metatron crooned into the darkness. "Did you enjoy my little story for Castiel?"
"You're quite the crap writer, Metatron. You can't even get my voice right."
"Everybody's a critic. That, my little angel-"
"Archangel," Gabriel interrupted.
"My little angel," the scribe continued, "was merely a piece of poor fan fiction that served its purpose."
"And that purpose was?"
"Nothing of your concern."
"Bullshit. You pulled me out of the void, like hell it isn't my concern. What was so important for Castiel to understand that you needed me? Wouldn't Dean have been a better choice?"
"Don't get snarky with me, Gabriel. I rescued you from oblivion, and I can return you just as easily."
"Did you ever consider that maybe I want oblivion?"
"Please," Metatron scoffed. "No one truly wants oblivion. They crave a void to counteract their aches, their longings, but they'd choose fulfilment of their desires if they could."
"Unless the void is their desire."
"Well, it isn't yours, that's for certain. If you wanted it, you would've ended your life long ago."
"Says who? You?" Gabriel laughed. "You don't know jack squat about me."
"I know what you crave, who you crave. You'd do best to obey me."
Gabriel's heart raced as he smothered a sigh and fought to control his apathetic mask. "You've been reading too much Austen, Metatron. There's no one in my life like that."
Metatron laughed. "Sit tight, trickster. I'm not done with you yet."
Gabriel scoffed but remained otherwise silent as the scribe's presence faded enough for faux privacy. Loath as he was to admit it, the archangel didn't want to further argue with an unseen force that proved more powerful in the current situation. If he wanted to escape, he could only rely upon himself.
So, nothing entirely new, then. He was alone and being screwed over by his dickhead of a relative.
At least when the Winchesters screwed Gabriel over, it was mildly entertaining. This was frightfully dull. The hunters never toyed with him, never manipulated him beyond escaping his clutches (something he could respect, even if it was aggravating at times). Gabriel initiated more contact than they did, probably because they knew they couldn't handle him.
Of course, they'd still try to resurrect him, Gabriel thought. They did that with everyone they cared about, didn't they? Quite unhealthy, the brothers were. Hunters that couldn't cope with death. Pathetic.
It stung, slightly, that they didn't care enough to try and resurrect him. All that time and energy wasted on the brothers for their benefit, to teach them valuable life lessons, and they couldn't even spare him their brand of common courtesy.
Light cascaded over the forest, illuminating it in faux moonlight. The archangel sighed, thrust his hands into his jeans, and stepped into the cliché forest. Annoyance swirled within him, mixing briefly with his other emotions, his steps like spoons in mugs of instant hot chocolate. The leaves and twigs screamed underfoot in retaliation to his all-too-human mode of transportation. Gabriel longed to join the symphony of agony, to unleash his fury at the situation verbally; however, he refused to stoop to such a level. He wasn't about to give Metatron free access to his thoughts, not if he could help it. There was no way of discovering the extent of Metatron's knowledge, not when Gabriel was trapped by the scribe.
All Gabriel knew was that it was a big mistake to revive an archangel furious with his family, Lucifer's betrayal, and the incompetency of pagan gods.
He wandered aimlessly through the sea of moonlight and leaves before stumbling across a clearing in the shape of a perfect rectangle with figures at the far ends. Gabriel, standing in the far right corner of the clearing, moved toward the figure closest to him. As he neared the figure, he recognized the slouch of the stone statue and scowled.
Dean Winchester. Metatron had placed a stone stature, a near-perfect replica of the elder hunter, on one end of the clearing. Cracks littered his form, a vaguely heart-shaped dent gracing the side of his jacket. A jagged line split his forehead in half, and the sight sent shivers dancing along Gabriel's spine. He smothered his foreign, inexplicable discomfort.
"Really, Metatron? Here I thought earlier you were just trying to annoy me with your assumptions of love. You never pegged me for the sort of angel that projected their feelings onto other people, but clearly I was wrong. You even got his blue-steel look right. Man, you've got it bad-"
The scribe didn't respond; rather, the archangel was swept from the ground and forcefully tugged to the other side of the clearing, where the other figure stood.
In retrospect, Gabriel should've known the opposite figure would be a statue of Sam Winchester. After all, who better to pit against Dean? There was no middle ground with the Winchester brothers; either they were each other's greatest strength or most lethal weakness. Gabriel should've expected to see Sam standing in stony silence, staring apathetically into the distance, face twisted in a similar "blue-steel" expression.
In reality, Gabriel felt his eyes widen and his heart quicken uncomfortably as his feet roughly re-connected with the ground. Mixed emotions swirled within the archangel, bubbling up within him. The urge to release his pent-up frustration was strong, but he beat it down. He wasn't about to succumb to Metatron's control, not again...
"I told you this would happen," Gabriel blurted as he circled the statue like a vulture. "How many times have I warned you, Samsquatch, about toying with fate? You tried to shut the gates of hell; now look at you. You're broken, and your relationship with Dean-"
Gabriel bit his tongue, unwilling to continue. Metallic blood flooded his mouth, but he forced himself to continue. He would not give in to the scribe's manipulation.
The archangel's efforts were successful for only five minutes.
"-and really," he continued, blood spilling from his mouth, garbling his words, "thinking you could beat-"
Gabriel bit down again, repulsed by his inane babbling. Blood continued to drip from his chin onto his black jacket and jeans.
What do you want from me, Metatron? Gabriel thought.
I want honesty, Gabriel, and I'll get it, one way or another, Metatron replied in the archangel's mind. Bile rose to mix with the blood in his mouth at the thought of the scribe's invasion.
"Though, I will say, I am pleased you took my advice about trapping Lucifer," Gabriel continued. "I'm surprised you stooped to listen to little old me. Dean sure wouldn't, would he? You two have always hated me, ever since the Mystery Spot. Understandably so, admittedly, but all I did, all I've ever done, it's always been to help-"
Stop it. Stop it now, the archangel thought.
It'd be much easier if you just relaxed, Gabriel.
"-you know Game of Thrones can't begin to understand the complications of my family-"
Where are you going with this?
Don't play stupid with me; it doesn't work. You know where I am going with this. You've opted for the longer route, so I'm dragging you along.
"-but that doesn't matter, now does it? Dean's criticism, though annoying and tainted with jealousy, is usually harmless-"
Seriously?
Do you give yet, or shall I keep going?
"-I regret killing Dean over and over at the Mystery Spot... Well, not entirely, you needed to learn how to live without him even though you haven't had to yet, but I do regret the pain it caused you-"
I desire oblivion and nothing more. Gabriel ignored the twinge of pain his mental retort elicited.
If you're going to waste my time with lies, at least be convincing about it.
"-I would've fallen, you know. If I was alive, I would've fallen. I would've rescued you properly from hell, from the Cage, then I would've fallen. Whether you'd accepted me or not."
The bloody words ceased to flow from Gabriel's lips at last, and humiliation overpowered the archangel's irritation, the realization that he'd opened up for a stone replica of the hunter versus the living, breathing entity doing little to stave his shame. There was nothing he craved more than oblivion.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Oh, of course, I'm not finished with you just yet, but I'll give you a break. My work has only just begun."
Sam woke to calloused hands roughly shaking his shoulders. There was barely a moment between Gabriel's voice whispering in his sleep and his brother's rude awakening, though the dream felt finalized by the interruption rather than abruptly disrupted.
"Sammy! Sammy! Get up," Dean barked, voice harsh with poorly-restrained apathy.
Sam's heart beat wildly, Gabriel's words shattering his internal composure.
"Sam?"
"I'm fine, Dean. I was just dreaming."
"Dude, you passed out in the middle of the kitchen. You sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, Dean," Sam snapped. "I was tired, and I had a strange dream. That's all."
Dean nodded sharply and left the room, abandoning Sam to his chaotic thoughts. It had felt so real, the strange slumber. All he'd heard was Gabriel's voice, but it was more lifelike than any of his other dreams of the archangel...
Gabriel's voice sounded forced but genuine, but he was dead, wasn't he? Sam shook his head. No, there was no way the archangel was alive. He would've visited Sam, at the very least; he wouldn't ignore them.
The hunter sighed and ignored the pang of sorrow that echoed throughout his mind.
Not for the first time, Sam loathed his brother for resurrecting his scarred soul.