Gonna change it up with a Gabriel centric one today ;)
Thanks again to Kathy for your reviews! I'm glad you're still enjoying these ^_^
14. Torture
Truth be told, Gabriel had never thought much about torture.
Sure, he'd been beat up in skirmishes, and people could argue that he tortured people, but he'd always preferred to use the term 'just desserts', 'comeuppance' whatever. After all, the people he went after as the Trickster deserved it, and he always executed their demises with a flair that few who called themselves 'torturers' ever had.
He never thought about what he would do if he was forced to endure endless amounts of it, certainly. And what exactly that would do to him. He'd seen torture performed, but never once thought 'that could be me'. Of course it would never be him!
And then it was.
At first, he hadn't exactly been sure what Asmodeus wanted with him. He figured he'd just be kept around as a trophy or maybe ransomed to Heaven for some reason. Asmodeus had little going for him as far as the Princes of Hell went. He was weaker than his brothers and sister, and he'd always been on Lucifer's bad side, which made him even more determined to prove himself.
Gabriel had been shocked and indignant when Asmodeus had first come to torture him.
It hadn't been so bad at first. Gabriel could certainly endure what a stupid Prince of Hell decided to do to him. Even if he spent hours laying into Gabriel with a flail specially created with celestial steel barbs until there was no skin on his back—after which he would just start all over again on his front. Or when he took a brand of holy fire to the rest of his body, and threatened to do the same to his wings if he could figure out how to make them corporeal. Or the endless beatings while Gabriel was strung up in sigiled cuffs so he was made no stronger than a weak human. The crunch of a broken nose, the sickening crack and horrifying agony of ribs breaking. Choking on blood from a punctured lung, or other internal injuries because Asmodeus wouldn't stop until his insides were turned to pulp. One broken leg, and then another. And then Asmodeus would leave him in a broken heap where he fell, listening to the snap of his bones fusing back together as he screamed in agony.
Sure…that was all well and good. Gabriel didn't care. He was an archangel after all, a Trickster, Loki God of Mischief, he could take it.
And then Asmodeus apparently got tired of his smart mouth. That was all Gabriel had left, his words, his damned silver tongue that had gotten him into so much trouble over the years, but also out of it. Eventually Asmodeus had had enough, and he had his demons hold Gabriel down, his head strapped up tight as the yellow-eyed bastard slowly, agonizingly, pulled a needle and thick thread through Gabriel's lips. Permanently silencing that silver tongue.
It had gotten worse after that. Asmodeus had aspirations even Gabriel hadn't guessed. He'd been experimenting. And one day when he came into Gabriel's cell while he was lying broken and bloody, recovering from the newest beating, he held a syringe. Gabriel didn't know what he was doing at first, but could do nothing but watch it horror, making unintelligible screams past his sewn lips as Asmodeus jabbed him in the neck and began to extract his grace.
Gabriel had never felt such agony. The feeling of having his grace ripped apart, taken from him, even though it wasn't all at once, it was…
Too much.
Gabriel had never thought he would be broken. That just wasn't in him. A little pain, whatever. He could handle it. He could. But Asmodeus taught him that he couldn't. That he was weak, that he was broken, that he was nothing but an animal. A tap that Asmodeus was allowed to use for his own purposes whenever he wanted. So that he could shoot himself up with archangel grace, make himself into the most powerful Prince of Hell instead of the weakest. And Gabriel began to believe that was true. He began to believe that the only thing he was good for was Asmodeus' drug addiction.
"You're mine, boy," Asmodeus's hot breath was on Gabriel's neck as he leaned in close, craning Gabriel's head back by a fistful of his hair—blood-matted and disgusting. The needle slid into his neck and Gabriel whimpered and strained, feeling the perpetually half-healed wounds surrounding his mouth grating against the thread that kept his lips together. "You're never going to be anything more than my juicebox. My favorite plaything. No matter what, we're connected, and I'll always find you, boy. Always."
XXX
Gabriel jolted upright, panting heavily. His hand flew to his mouth and felt skin and stubble, but no thread. He peeled his lips apart and licked them with his dry tongue. He took a shuddering breath, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands.
He was fine, Asmodeus was dead. He was fine.
There was a light knock on the door and he knew it was Cas before he heard the angel's voice. He could feel his grace.
"Gabriel? Are you alright?"
Gabriel took a moment before he looked up, pasting a smile on his face for his little brother. "Oh yeah. I'm peachy."
Castiel knew he was lying. Gabriel wasn't bothered by that. The younger angel simply came into the room and sat in the chair next to the bed. Neither of them said anything but his presence was enough. Gabriel gave him a grateful look and lay back down.
He didn't need that comfort. He was an archangel. He could take care of himself.
But it was also much appreciated.