Clawed at the bars, beat like a heart to the ribcage, screamed like a roasted pig, but he was frozen. It was cold in Hell, and it never stopped being cold. It was the unrelenting Winter that lasted years and years, but the season never changed, like time itself had stopped.
Gabriel could imagine Lucifer there, but he wasn't in Hell anymore. He was about three feet from Gabriel, and this time he was the one frozen.
He pulled Kali closer to him, protectively. He found it strange that she was the first one he thought to protect. Until that moment he'd been rather sure that he didn't love her. She had tried to kill him after all.
Okay, that had hurt. Maybe he hadn't loved Kali, but he'd trusted her more than any other living being. More than Lucifer, Castiel, or Michael. If that was love, then he loved her more than anything. And he wasn't sure it was, but he sure wanted to protect her from the demented creature that Lucifer had become.
They couldn't see it, but Lucifer was still beautiful.
His wings were still white despite Hell's taint, they were raised high above his head like a dove's, his eyes like the clear water from before life. From when the lakes were all so clear that Gabriel could see to the bottom of them just by looking. He was still more brilliant than Gabriel could ever remember, and he found himself taking in a harsh breath. He'd never felt so imperfect.
So he acted imperfect. He smirked, made sure that he acted like Loki, like he was supposed to. And said something that he would definitely regret. It's hard for him to remember now, but he thinks it was something relating his brother to dicks?
Well, it wasn't a lie exactly. And he'd sent Kali away.
He had to think fast, he couldn't just let Lucifer kill him, could he? Perhaps he could use Lucifer's arrogance against him.
Lucifer was sure that Gabriel wasn't very intelligent, that he'd learned everything from his older siblings. So if only Gabriel could use that against him... An idea popped in his head like a lightbulb, brightening his eyes and his wings fluttered impatiently, as if ready for war. It had been so long since he'd come up with a battle plan. His body was impatient for the blood.
But he wouldn't be killing anyone today, no. No one except himself.
He silently made a copy of himself behind Lucifer and grinned cockily. He said something snarky, he's sure, though he can't remember now. And just as he'd suspected, Lucifer shoved the blade inside of his copy, not himself.
He then forced his copy to fall to the floor, and burnt the fake's wings into the ground. Then he disappeared.
...
He didn't tell Kali he was alive for a long time, but that's a story for next time.
Just then, he went to find Castiel. He wanted to warn him, remind him that Lucifer was not the sweet angel that either of them remembered. They remembered beauty, amour, France perfume, bright wings, doves, a soft voice, poetic words. Not what Lucifer had become.
But Castiel's blue eyes were not as innocent as he remembered. They were freedom, yes, but also a great deal of anger, and violence. His black wings fit him much better than they had before, though Gabriel didn't truly think that was his fault. He knew that Castiel had been put through a great deal of pain in his life. And pain was a motivator for evil. It was the black dye on white feathers and a white soul.
The darkness didnt' really scare Gabriel, though. It was the emptiness. Cas' soul was so damaged that parts of it ceased to exist. There were holes in the gray of his tainted soul. And it was horrible.
"Cassie-"
It was his brother who killed him that day, but not the one that they expected.
Castiel twisted the blade, looked at him cooly, but Gabriel wasn't fooled by his nonchalance. Another part of Castiel's soul died.
And Gabriel was sure that his would never recover.
"I won't let you hurt them," whispered Castiel. "You say you were going to help, but you -never- do. You are a parasite. You feed off of everything, but you never give anything in return.
Gabriel had no chance to reply. He was dead. There were not two imprinted wings on the floor, but six. And his whisky eyes stared upwards, no longer filled with the brightness of his miserable living.