"Goddammit Bobby you old fool! Open up!" Ellen raps at the door. It's a damn near miracle the three of them got this far. It took them three hours, several payphones, and the stunned patrons of a roadside diner and stealing a truck off the side of the road for them to get from that field to Sioux Falls. Where Anna promptly fell over by the entrance, stating that there are Angel warding in the door way.
"Ellen? Jo?" Bobby opens the door with a shotgun. "What are you two- get in here- what the hell-" He exclaims at the state of their injuries.
"Wipe the Angel wardings first, Bob- got an Angel with us." Ellen points to Anna with her thumb.
Bobby nods. If Ellen says the Angel can be trusted, then he will do it. But hell, he is pretty goddamn worries for Sam, and the boy(His boys, they are both his boys), and he hasn't heard anything from him for days, with the Apocalypse going on-
"Get in here," He wheels himself in, wiping bits and pieces of the seals away as Ellen and Jo carries the Angel in. Ellen carries Anna onto the couch, and Jo went to fix the Enochian sigils with Bobby's gruff instructions.
"Why the-" Ellen waves to the sigils, downing a drink and wincing as Jo replaces the blood soaked bandages on her arm. "Precautions? I thought the boys have an angel friend, or something like that. Two Angel friends, if what you said bout Lucifer is true."
At least that means they no longer have to search for Lucifer, Anna mumbles from the couch and Jo pats her back and hands her a fifth of whiskey. Kids. They grow up fast.
Bobby grumbles and downs his drink. Ellen and Jo showing up like this. A chain of islands in the Pacific getting frozen after a freak storm only to have all the volcanoes explode. All over the news. And all at the same fuckin' time. Various Apocalyptic symptoms cropping up all over the place. People in Michigan turning up with Swine Flu all over the place. That stuff ain't natural, and Bobby is willing to bet on the Apocalypse being behind all this.
"Michael's here."
"The Archangel?"
Bobby nods grimly. "He wants the Apocalypse bad. Real bad. And he's wearing Dean."
"Dean is possessed?" Ellen slams her glass down. No good. No good at all. Jo and the Angel are now passed out on the couch. She would have to ask Anna about Michael tomorrow it seems.
"That idjit." Bobby answers and it's the only answer they need.
"Shit."
Dean hits a roadblock somewhere in between Detroit and Sioux Falls. More of a case than a roadblock, really.
"Two lovers," He points to the papers. "Ate each other to death. On Valentines day, no less." He grimaced at the description. "Sounds suspicious to you?"
Castiel nods, frowning. "Should we not prepare for the Apocalypse?" He asks. They have noticed the signs. It's not quite obvious as rains of fires and locusts, but obvious enough for them to know that it is not natural.
"Well, it's coming along, nothing we can do about it." Dean shrugs. "Might as well save some people and hunt some things along the way, yeah?"
"Yeah." Cas nods, like everything Dean says makes some great cosmic sense to him. "I get it." God, the quotation marks around them can be heard, and Dean snickers.
"C'mon, Cas. Let's go!" Dean pumps his fists into the air. He should be searching for Sam and Lucifer. He knows he should be but people are dying, dammit, and Dean still cares too much to ignore this in hope of another hunter picking this up. Besides, there is just something about the circumstances surrounding this case that picks at him, like there is something that he should know but he does not. "My Michael senses are tingling. Tells me that this case might have something to do with our case." Our case being the Apocalypse, and what a clusterfuck that one is.
"Michael senses?" "Spider man. You know, like a spidey sense?"
"I do not understand why a man-arachnid hybrid has anything to do with you."
"Never mind, Cas, never mind." Dean parks the impala and they check into the motel, now decorated with flowers and hearts and horrid shades of pink in liu of Valentines day. Eugh. Even the Michael part of his shuddered at the sheer amount of pink. And yeah, sure, it might be unhealthy to separate himself into 'Dean' and 'Michael,' but no one is pointing fingers and calling him crazy just yet, so Dean counts this as a job well done.
"We gotta start on your pop culture education when this is over, Cas."
Turns out that when it said they ate each other to death, it really meant that they ate each other to death.
"Ew." Dean states, poking at the body parts. "Barely anything left, man."
"I've searched," Castiel pokes at the intestines with his finger. "There seems to be no hex bags, or any curse of any kind."
"We can rule witches outta this, then." Dean watches with morbid fascination as Cas sniffs the corpse. He could probably do it, if he is still full Angel and all that but the basic human response against grossness is still in him. That's probably a good thing, Dean reckons. Michael needs Dean. Michael needs to be Dean, and be with Castiel. Being Dean keeps things in perspective. And with the ingrained need to follow the plan and the orders playing at him, he needs perspective more than anything.
"Be my Valentine?" Dean pushes the heart towards Cas when he noticed the carved symbols. "Hey, wait-" He pulls Cas over before the other Angel could answer. "Check these out."
Dean recognizes the symbols on the hearts. Of course he does. But that would mean- nah, no way.
"This is the work of a rogue cupid."
"Rogue cupid." Dean answers flatly. It shouldn't be funny. He knows what cherubs do. But it sounds so damn funny. Rogue cupid.
"Yes, a rogue cupid." Castiel answers. Why is Dean laughing? This is a serious situation.
"Right. Let's go check out the rogue cupid, then." Dean pats Cas on the back, pants suddenly too tight at the intense look in Cas's eyes. Goddamn, they are so blue, and the white of the walls just makes them stand out more. Dean coughs, stepping away.
Where the Hell did that come from? No way he is getting frisky in a mortuary. But the way heat is radiating off Cas- Dean narrows his eyes. Something is not right here, like all his inhibitions regarding Cas is particular is switching off. He has a feeling that what is at work here is more than just a rogue cupid.
That thought is proven by meeting the man himself. The cherub sobbed at Cas's accusations, hugged them, cried some more, hugged them again and flew off.
"Well that was productive." Dean grumbles, steering himself away from Cas. Definitely not the cherub, then. Something else is at work here. "C'mon, Cas. We got work to do." Cas nods, face all serious and eyes so bright that it hurts. Work, Dean, work. He reminds himself.
Gabriel may seem calm, and as happy as a clam, no matter how unhappy those things seemed, but he is most assuredly not happy. Or calm. At all. Now that Samsquatch has passed out Gabriel begins his long process of panicking, which usually ended badly, since the last time he panicked like this was right before Lucifer fell. Father, he remembered that day all too well.
Heaven was falling apart at it's seams ever since the war started, and so was Gabriel's relationship with Lucifer. They were so close, they were so close and it hurts to see his brother raging on and on about humanity. Gabriel liked the humans, for all their faults. He could see their potential, something that none of the other Angels seem to be able to do.
Gabriel tried to talk to him, he really did but no matter how hard he tried, how many times he flew back and forth from Michael to Lucifer to Michael and back they would never listen. He would fly until the feathers tear off his wings and Raphael drags him back until they were healed, and he would fly again and again and again. He talked until his throat was sore and raw and they pushed him aside time and time again.
Gabriel never gave up. But the war went on. Michael became colder, harsher, demanding Gabriel to choose either him or Lucifer, and Gabriel could not. Lucifer is his lover and Michael their eldest brother and he loves them both. He remembers Michael's sword at the tip of his throat, the first Archangel in a fit of rage with Gabriel on his knees and Raphael holding him back. If not for Raphael, Gabriel would have been dead. But even their healer drew his sword and joined the war. There is no escape, and with both Michael and Lucifer pressuring him to join a side, the first thought of leaving graced Gabriel's mind.
It scared him. It scared him so much. Heaven was his home, he belonged, with Lucifer and the other Archangels. This is a war, a full out war with sides and family tearing each other apart, fledglings barely knowing how to fly taking up swords. The first Angel to die died in the war. The first Angel to fall fell in the war. And no matter how much Gabriel begged their father refused to step in, like he planned for this all along and maybe he did. Gabriel made sure he left no sign of himself behind, opting to fly away from the backdoor of Heaven as fast as possible until he finds a vessel, and then he flew some more.
It took years, years until he found another home Asgard and Frigga and Odin, and even more years before he made sure that this realm cannot be reached by Heaven, not even through the rainbow bridge. They took him in, became his family, replaced the space left behind in his mind, but it will never be
the same. Still, Gabriel took to his new life as a trickster like fish to water. But then he had to leave. There is always a but. It was during the rise of Christianity that Gabriel returned to Earth, wave after wave of prayers calling out to him, observed as humans became prophets bound by their times and traditions.
As the demonized one brother and worshiped the others. As they slaughtered each other in the name of faith and land and wealth. He learned then, of Lucifer's final fate, one even worse than his exile. Gabriel had suspicions back in the halls of Asgard, a voice whispering in the back of his mind that he should at least check on Lucifer, know what Michael will do to him because it was clear that Michael would win, with their father on his side, ordering the Angels to bow down to the humans.
He pushed them to the back of his mind, opting to stay in the comforts of ignorance, playing pranks on the royal courts as he forgot, slowly but surely. He stood at the edge of the cage then, whispers of Devil, Devil chanted by the prayers, as Gabriel shouldered the sheer hate humans sent to his brother. He grew bitter, then. Bitter and playful as he disguised himself as Loki, the Trickster God King who punished the hurtful in fanciful, demeaning ways. It was a sort of revenge, in a way.
Gabriel, at this point, is torn about whether he wants Lucifer to gain his memories back. Without it, he is free, from the burden their family brings. But all those memories, with Gabriel and the others and Gabriel in particular, the good ones, they will be gone too and in the end Gabriel will be the only one who remembers them.
Sam Winchester falling off the bed shakes Gabriel from his thoughts.
"Ow." Sam groans.
"Ha." Gabriel snickers. Better to focus on the now rather than the past, eh?
Sam rubs his eyes. For a moment there, he was back on any other case at some backwater town's only shitty motel, running with Dean and hunting whatever monster they have on their trails. For a moment there, things were simple. The old days. And then he remembers all the shit that has happened and the moment breaks.
"Mornin' to you too, sunshine." Gabriel looks entirely too awake and entirely too smug for Sam to not want to punch in right on that grin. Not that it would do any good. He might even break his hand.
Once he did shower(and was assaulted by Gabriel's awful singing from outside the door) and set off to make himself coffee, Sam begins the usual process of finally waking up.
"Why is he still asleep?" Sam frowns from where he sits, sipping the coffee from a cup that looked far to small for his hands. Gabriel shrugs.
"Probably have something to do with the memory blockades, or something."
"Memory blockades?"
"Dad probably put it there." Gabriel sniffs, suddenly bitter about all this again. He loves his Father, he really does- he could not not love him, but he is so cryptic about everything he does.
"God blocked Lucifer's memories? But why?" Sam finishes the rest of his shitty coffee, and pokes Lucifer. Unresponsive. He pokes the sleeping Angel again.
"It's probably a test, or something." Gabriel shrugs. It's always a test. Everything is a test to his father. Nothing new here to see, move along.
"Oh."
"We better run along, Sammy. Can' t have Mikey find us."
Gabriel whistles and steps out of the door, leaving Sam to heave Lucifer up all by himself and drag him out of the room.
And suddenly, Lucifer remembers. Well, not all of it, but he does remember. Bits and pieces, flashes of strong emotion assaulting him from all ends. This is more than a dream, he can tell. There are cracks, cracks in the restraints his father set on him. He tries to break the seals, but the pain keeps him away. His father- so it was his father that spoke to him last time he dreamed.
His presence, his lack of presence, it comes in bits and pieces and Lucifer loses most of the pieces, but the sheer ecstasy of being in his father's presence and being around his brothers and the pain of the fall, and he grasps at the pieces and comes away empty handed. Most of the time, Lucifer stood there scratching away at the sigils and his hands come away bloody but the painted symbols of his father's power remains, mocking him and locking his memories away behind closed doors.
The doors fade away into the Cage, newly built and there is Michael, Michael standing above him with righteous fury etched into his face and Lucifer knows who Michael is but why Michael is doing this escapes him.
"Lucifer, Lucifer!" A voice calls, tugging at him. A warm golden glow settles against his cold.
"Gabriel!" He calls back. A constant presence. Gabriel. But then there was the war, a war that his mind did not recall but his instincts did. Michael meant danger and Gabriel meant his and Raphael meant brother. It was like his mind is being torn to pieces, memories fighting to resurface, against the cage the sigils put them in. And Lucifer is torn between wanting to know more and wanting to know nothing.
More meant reopening old wounds and uncovering things he did not want to know. More meant uncertainty, but there is a sudden thrill in uncertainty.
But nothing, nothing signified freedom, of a sort. Nothing is lighter, more bearable, the easy way to go. More, or nothing?
He lets himself fall.
"Why is he still like that?" Sam asks, eyeing Lucifer's slumped form in the battered sedan Gabriel got from somewhere. He either conjured it or stole it, but whenever Sam asks, the infuriating Archangel just winks and wags his finger like it's some great secret.
"What?" Gabriel finishes off his food alarmingly fast. Sam winces at syrup covered bacon. Dean would hate that.
"Lucifer." Sam lowers his voice. "It's been two days and he's still passed out."
"I dunno." Gabriel shrugs. These humans and their food. So inventive. But by the gods does he still miss the feasts that Asgard held thousands of years past.
"But-"
"I don't know." Gabriel points the fork at Sam. "Now stop talking, Samsquatch, and let me eat in peace, kay?" And he really does not know. He would have expected Lucifer to wake up, at least, still the blank slate he is now, still too painful to look at but at least awake and he can't help but panic, again and again-
"Okay." Sam sighs, drumming his fingers against the polished plastic surface of the table, shifting against the hard plastic seat, legs cramped uncomfortably against Gabriel's. For an Archangel, his taste is far less refined than Sam would imagine. It's hard, doing this. This being nothing because Sam can do nothing.
Dean is being possessed by Michael and Sam did nothing. He ponders, over and over again about what could have driven Dean to say yes but the answer just would not come, some twisted game he keeps playing against himself. He did practically nothing when Lucifer got taken and he can't do anything about Lucifer being unresponsive now. Sam would like to think that him and Lucifer were somewhat friends, at least. Not like Sam is much of a good friend.
"Tone down the self-loathing, Sammy. I can't eat." Gabriel grumbles, stabbing at his breakfast. The human is practically broadcasting his feelings all over, and although Gabriel is not actively reading his mind he can still feel Sam's self doubt and it reminds him too much of himself to be comfortable. Sam throws a glare at Gabriel.
"Just finish and go."
"I should drive." Sam protests when Gabriel reaches for the door.
"Why?" Gabriel turns, leaning against the car. "It's my car."
"You could get us killed!" Sam dislikes reckless drivers, ever since the car crash that totaled the impala and started it all. Even if the driver was a demon.
"I could get you killed. Me, bulletproof. Luci, basically bulletproof. Face it, Sammy, you, are just too weak to do anything." Just like Gabriel was with stopping the war. It's cruel, what he is saying, but this has been building for hours and watching Sam's face twist in rage gave the Archangel a small twinge of vindictive satisfaction in his chest. Like lashing out at himself, but better.
The rage Sam has bubbling up his gut all day bursts as he slams Gabriel against the side of the door, not caring about the fact that he can kill him with the snap of his fingers.
"Ooh, getting all dominant, aren't we? Like to think that you're in control, or something. Face it, Sammy, you're not."
"Shut up." Sam picks Gabriel up by his collar, and slams him against the door again. "You shut up-"
"What can you do if I don't? Nothing- cause all you do is nothing-" Just like how Gabriel can do nothing about the war, and he thinks that he should be more sympathetic, but the anger just reaches over and grabs at him, anger at himself and at Michael and at Lucifer and the rest of the world-
"Fuck you." Sam snarls. "You don't get to say that- what the hell did you do- what the hell can you do about Lucifer? What about Michael? Or the Apocalypse? You are just some sick fuck who likes to play games with lives cause you can't control your own life!"
They were both breathing hard and glaring at each other, with people beginning to point and stare. "Stop." Gabriel glares up. "Shut up."
"You're telling me to shut up now, huh? Cause I told the truth? You're just a coward who ran away-" Just like Sam did, but Sam is too busy being shocked by Gabriel grabbing his shirt almost violently and crushing their lips together. A desperate bid to get them to both stop talking before someone gets hurt. It was violent, unhappy, bitter and angry.
People are staring openly, gaping at the exchange. Sam pushes Gabriel off him, opting to storm speechless and red faced to the other side of the car, slamming the door and hoping silently that the milling crowd did not see Lucifer. He would rather not touch on what just happened between him and Gabriel, not with a ten foot pole.
They drive off in an uneasy silence. A storm brews at the edge of the sky.