Gabriel's immediate thought when he found her was that this girl was not human, but this, the archangel told himself, was such an obvious thing that he was starting to wonder if this was how it felt to be a human. Stupid, pointing out the obvious, and staring at the half-naked woman for what he soon realized was probably more than a few seconds too long.
It was the wings truth be told that made him pretty much certain she wasn't human; humans didn't have wings. Angels had wings, but she was definitely not an angel; no Grace, no presence of God about her. Some monsters had wings, but as he tilted his head, regarded her, stared at her, he was pretty damn certain she wasn't really a monster either. She was...something, but the trickster did not know what and he was more disconcerted by that not knowing, him Gabriel, (ex) Messenger of the Lord, a Trickster god, him of all beings, being unaware of whatever this creature laying unconscious on the ground was. But what he did know was that the wings reminded him a bit of the past; they were black, pitch and pure as the darkness itself, not burnt or painted yet felt as if they were the shadows themselves given a physical state for her. Feathers, like a bird's, like an angel's, and his eyes came across the blood, both the dried and the still flowing from a gaping wound. A blemish on her wings, something that made his own shudder in sympathy; he did not know her, he did not care but he was struck with the sympathy of an injured wing. That had to hurt.
"What kind of trouble did you fall into, fledgling?" the words came easy and smooth though he hadn't spoken them in millenia, not since back when there had been fledglings, not since back when he had still been Gabriel. He would say it with a chuckle back then, a murmur of amusement and just a touch of concern as he watched over the younger angels, the cherubs who were just learning to walk, to fly, to sing, to be God's good little soldiers. One would stumble, one would get hurt, one would get covered in dirt and feathers and look up at the elder archangel with their baby eyes and he would just chuckle. "What kind of trouble did you fall into, fledgling?" He did it with all the younger angels as they all found some sort of way to cause themselves trouble. To Anna, to Balthasar, to Zachariah. To Castiel. And now to this girl, who didn't feel like an angel but who he couldn't stop himself from calling fledgling; maybe it was the wings, maybe it was the trouble. Maybe it was that he missed those days, those golden shining days, so very badly.
He leaned down beside her and placed a hand over the wound. The two were alone, the city park Gabriel had decided upon whim to walk through in the dead of night devoid of people, just the rustling of other feathers as birds watched from their nests, and even if they hadn't been, even if they were surrounded by a crowd, he would have still knelt down, though perhaps only after sending the humans away with some illusion or trick; unwilling to be stopped as he was, he was not a fool anyway and exposure would only lead to trouble. But at the same time he couldn't just leave this girl to suffer, that much a tiny twinkle of good will in his Grace impressed upon him in that moment. The angel took a breath, he barely had to focus; his powers were strong, and though healing wasn't exactly his specialty or something he did a lot, not nearly as fun as using his powers to trick people into their own demises, it wasn't hard either for an angel, an archangel like him. Golden light, his own special brand of Grace moving through his fingers, started to knit towards skin and tendon, wipe away the blood, heal the wound.
He didn't expect it to bite him though, whatever it was; it wasn't her, she was still fast asleep, long black strands of hair, the same midnight as her wings, covered her face and she hadn't moved or made a noise since he'd found her laying there in the middle of the park. He knew she was alive of course, could sense as much, but she had certainly not stirred even as he tried to heal her. No, rather instead it was something else, a presence he felt only as he tried to heal her and fix the damage to her wings, something truly malicious, something that didn't want her wound closed. It sparked and bit at him and he was startled, thrown for a loop as he pulled away and stared at the wound. The girl made a soft noise, akin to a coo of a bird, and winced a bit, seeming to be waking finally; Gabriel simply watched, waited, stared. And he heard more rustling, more movement nearby, and his Grace felt ablaze. Something was there, he turned his head to look, to see if he could see it, find it; something was watching them and he could feel the bloodlust rolling off it in waves.
"What?" spoke a soft voice and his attention was moved again, away from what was going on out there and back down to the girl with the injured wing and the torn dress. She seemed confused, she furrowed his brow. He didn't care; his attention was on the blood color of her eyes, clear, deep, but not demonic. She was not human, she was not an angel, she was not a demon, and there was something out there licking it's lips at her.
"Who are you?" she asked and almost seemed scared, trying to move but wincing in pain; her wing shuddered and quaked, a movement of pain rather than anything else. There was that sympathy again.
"Sit still," he told her with a forcefulness that he was sure would have made Michael proud. It wasn't anger or pride or the resolve of a soldier that formed it though; he wasn't sure what it was but he didn't want her to move, barely to breath at the moment.
His gaze moved again and without thinking his wings quivered, unfurled, extended. Most couldn't see them of course, couldn't see through the veil into the spiritual plane on which his true form existed; the shadows they cast though in the dim streetlights, the very force of his Grace with his wings unfolded as they were, this was enough to make the vast majority of creatures tremble and fall to their knees before the majesty of one of God's archangels. And he could hear whatever it was out there scuttle away, run from the Trickster, and Gabriel half smirked.
Then he heard the gasp and he turned to see the girl with large black wings of her own staring up at him with wide eyes. Namely staring at where his wings were, as if she could perceive them, could honestly see the truth of the strange man with the sandy hair and the golden eyes. See his wings, see his Grace, and her eyes just stared.
"What are you?" Her question had changed and he was tempted to call it rude but he didn't think she meant it that way and he was tired. It wasn't like a wanting to sleep sort of tired, just a general tired; tired of creatures trying to fight him, tired of things going bump around him, tired of humans and their attitudes, tired of trying to find somewhere to just have some fun and getting interrupted. Tired of fighting, running away from fighting only to be dragged back into fighting. Gabriel was just tired and he sighed.
"I'm the archangel Gabriel," he said and tried to smirk, one of his smirks, a half smile that would denote some sort of amusement, like it was a joke.
But her eyes were earnest, it reminded her honestly of Castiel and he wondered how the youngest of his celestial siblings was doing at the moment, getting a sense of something being off; the young woman continued to watch him and seeing the way his expression changed, just in the smallest ways, she frowned a bit and forced herself to her feet with some difficulty. Gabriel was used to be smaller than many of the people he dealt with, a problem with his vessel to tell the truth, but it wasn't so with her. She was small, thin, made tiny by her own eclipsing wings; her dress hung off her body mostly full pieces though her sleeves were ripped to shreds and it occurred to him she wasn't wearing shoes or socks or anything at all really below her knees. She was a good few inches shorter than him and thus had to look up at him, tilting her head as she regarded him. The Trickster didn't expect this, not the innocent look to her eyes nor when she had reached up to touch his cheek, her fingers cold but soft. They grazed over his skin and he would have shivered if he was human. Hell, he still did, and he thought again of how tired he was, how he wanted to be able to go back to being uninvolved in his family's drama and all the apocalypses and all the fighting and saving the Winchesters, saving Cas, saving everyone. Just get away and be away, even if just for a small portion of eternity.
"An archangel?" she asked again and tilted her head, again like Castiel; maybe they were secretly related. Maybe she was a Nephilim, but he knew she wasn't that because he'd still be able to sense Grace in her, and there was none. Her eyes seemed to search his face, "I've never met an archangel before."
"There are only a small number of us." Four, four archangels. And two were sealed away in a Cage deep in Hell, his brothers, his precious brothers.
"Admittedly I don't really remember meeting much of anyone before," she said and she spoke with a smile though the words rather startled Gabriel. Amnesia then? He reached up with one hand, touching her forehead gently with two fingers but before he could even focus the same thing happened; something struck back, forced him away, and both winced, stepping away from each other.
He looked at his hand, brow furrowed in confusion; he flexed his fingers, feeling the flow of his Grace, his essence, his life force and magic and all the things it encompassed. Nothing was wrong with him and he glanced up at her to see her looking scared. It wasn't of him though, he was certain of that; it was something else, something unrelated to him but not to what happened.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft, trembling and her wings fluttered nervously; the movement made her wince again and Gabriel grabbed her arm before she could step another step away.
The archangel that remembered the fledglings didn't think her running around injured was a good idea. The god concerned by the oddness of the responses to his Grace didn't want her leaving until he could figure out what was going on. Gabriel who could see the fear in her eyes and understood it and found some sympathy for that too didn't plan on letting her run. He shook his head, tried to speak in a calming way, like he did when Castiel had crashed back onto the ground after his first attempt at flight, when Balth had accidentally burned himself with his own burning blade, when Lucifer had first spoken of rebellion in soft whispers to his younger brother and Gabriel for all his love, all his understanding, had tried to tell him not to do it.
"It's okay, you don't have to run. I'm not going to hurt you." Her eyes stared at him, wide still, like a doe's, like a newborn angel staring up at it's caretaker for the first time. And he was touched by that sympathy again; he tried to smile again, he focused on her instead of letting his mind wander to his siblings again, "Do you remember anything? A name, a location, something?" What happened to her wing, why she was laying unconscious in a park in a ripped dress and nothing else, why though her eyes were red and she had large wings nothing else about her screamed monster or angel or demon or human.
She was silent, she bit her lip in thought; he watched her through it all and waited for some sort of answer, something to connect to her. But none came; she shook her head and he sighed softly, a reluctant sound but a sound nevertheless.
Something itched at the back of his head, the sensation of being watched again, and he pulled her against her chest and took a look around, surveying. His wings flexed and shook out a few downy feathers; the girl's eyes were glued on them, watching the archangel's wings move and her own quaked in response, twitching before he placed a hand upon the back of one and pressed it to her, gently, carefully.
"Let's go," he said and she opened her mouth to speak; he snapped his fingers before she could.