(I don't own Supernatural; I just got ungrounded. ConsumedByTheShadows, your comment really made my day (and I can relate to binge reading). Thank you. And thanks to all my other readers too.)

Sweating was an unusual feeling but it's exactly what I was doing when I woke up. I groaned and threw back the purple cat sheets, feeling like I'd just stepped out of a volcano. Other than feeling overheated I felt fine, though my feathers currently lacked their usual luster. It was dark, but my eyes had no trouble seeing.

I was good at being silent as long as my huge ass wings don't run into anything, and by some sort of miracle I silently moved across the room without running them into anything. Castiel was gone, which was fortunate since he would have noticed that I was awake.

I didn't bother with shoes, my feet unaware of the snow that crunched beneath them with every step; my breath came out in a wispy fog, curling and dissipating. The cold air felt good on my burning skin.

The door creaked when it opened, but I was out and closing it before any of the Hunters could notice, though I heard a half-awake snort rise from one of the beds.

I waited outside for a moment to make sure nobody was awake before I set off, watching tendrils of my Grace spread out away from me, the ends rolling out of sight, wavy bridges connecting them to me. I had figured that by this point I would recognize the feel of his presence, but I felt nothing and didn't know how to figure out how there was a difference among those I did not recognize the presence of. My Grace skimmed against some that felt a little odd in the same way that Apollo had a certain oddness compared to the Maples.

I didn't stop until a spike of terror pierced my chest with such intensity that I gasped, doubling over in surprise; I clutched at my chest, taking a deep breath. It wasn't the first time I've dealt with the feelings of those nearby and I shoved it to the side, retracting my Grace to me so I could focus completely. I followed it, snow crunching beneath my feet as I dashed to the origin of the fear. I skidded to a stop when I passed an alley, pressing myself against the corner of the wall and glancing into the alley with a single eye, half of my face facing the wall.

The woman was young, a college girl perhaps. She was trembling, from fear or the cold or even both, her attacker pulling at her coat and scarf. The man was larger than her and I could smell the alcohol on his breath from here. The whole thing made my gut churn and my vision tinge red as I remembered when I had been faced with a similar danger.

I reached down, scooping up a snowball, forming it with my hands. I felt nothing but indifference, calm as I sculpted my snowball before throwing it like a softball. It hit the man in the face hard enough to knock him off his feet and into an icy puddle. The woman was sobbing, eyes wide.

"Run," I warned her. She didn't need told twice, taking off without another moment of hesitation.

The man let loose a roll of curses , stumbling to his feet and eyes landing on me, "you're gonna pay for that, midget."

I watched him stumble towards me, a part of me amused at his effort. I cringed at a flash of pain, and he took a swipe at me. I recovered, taking a step backward before I slammed my fist into his jaw, rewarded with a loud crack as his jaw broke and hung in an unnatural way.

He cried out in pain, hands flying to his jaw, but I slammed my hands into his chest, sending him flying into the wall of the alley; he fell, landing in the disgusting slush.

"Wh- wht- you?" he stared at me, fearful now, as he should be, face contorting in pain as he slurred out his words through a broken jaw.

"Not a midget," I wiped my hand against my forehead, confused when it came back with sweat. I rubbed my face with a sleeve before turning my attention back on my prey, "I mean, come on dude, I'm not that short. You're barely two inches taller than me."

He went to scream when I moved towards him, but I grabbed his jaw and squeezed, making him cry out, sobs wracking his body.

There was a voice in my head that sounded an awful lot like my conscience, telling me to punch the life out of this jerk; I wanted to kill him, deliver justice in my own way. My fists were flying before I even realized I was punching him. A normal person's hands would have broken, especially when hitting another human's skull, but you have to love that Archangel resilience.

I didn't stop until I realized I was practically making juice at that point, the guy's body already cold. My chest heaved, heart pounding. I had to blink the dizziness out of my eyes a couple times before I could find it in me to stand up. My hands felt weird and my fingers stick together. The snow was red, trickles of blood flooding over into the storm drains. Several drops of blood rolled from my hands down my arms, leaving red trails behind them. It looked like paint where it was dry. Really red paint.

I choked, stumbling away, staring at my own hands in horror. I quickly struggled to get off as much as I could with nearby snow, scrubbing the skin raw in places where the guy's lifeblood was stubborn. I hurried away from the scene, my clothes splattered with the stuff. My face and neck itched, but I ignored it in favor of scurrying home.

I slunk into the room like a bad dog -ooh, bad analogy, that opens a whole new can of worms that involves the death of a pagan- but it seemed that everybody was still asleep. It was almost too simple how easy it was to slip into clean clothes after washing away all traces of the night's events away in the motel sink. By the time anybody even showed signs of beginning to wake up, I was slipping under the covers of the bed I was being able to use. The Winchesters had been kind enough to take the floor, a tangle of limbs in the dogpile the brothers had managed to arrange on top of the blanket bed. The two giants made the blankets look like throw blankets.

I smiled at the sight and laid my head against the pillow. I didn't feel like I was burning up as much anymore.

"Thomas MacGeruh, 26, was found beaten to death this morning."

I didn't even spare a glance at the bar's television, staring at my two hands that were wrapped around the shot glass. It was only one shot and it seemed that the... fresh air... I had gotten last night had done me good; I didn't feel sick anymore and the fever had died down after Sera loaded me up with a bag of sugar. I'm not talking about a bag of candy; Sera literally handed me a bag of actual sugar and told me to eat it. The trickster part of me had almost gone through the ceiling.

"You think it has anything to do with the case?"

"Hmm?" I glanced at Sam as he sat down next to me, "does what have anything to do with the case?"

Sam nodded his head towards the tv, "the kid they found pulverized this morning. The Maples went to check it out and Dean and Cas, uh, our Cas not yours, went to examine the body that we know is connected to the case. That leaves me and you with the witnesses and the family and friends of the victims."

I glanced at the older Winchester, who was speaking to my brother, Castiel, as they ducked out of the bar. The Maples seemed to have already left.

I glanced at the tv, watching as the reporter informed the station's watchers on the situation. It seemed the girl I had saved hadn't spoken up yet, if she ever would. I tuned it out, glancing back at my hands. I felt horrible.

"You still feeling sick?" Sam whispered, leaning in closer so as to lower the chances of being heard, "you've been quiet lately, even for the new you. Is there any other effects from dimension travel that you've been having?"

New me... right. Amnesia thing, memories. I downed the shot glass before I spoke, "yeah, I'm fine, let's go."

I didn't feel a shred of guilt about killing that guy.

And that's the part that worried me.

"Good morning," I introduced as the door opened, "I'm Agent Lokes and this is Agent Balder-"

"Sam?"

Sam gave the girl a once over and stiffened considerably. I felt a wave of annoyance and awkwardness rise from the moose man, "Becky?"

She squealed a little, hopping a bit, before grabbing the Winchester's arm and pulling him, "come in, come in!"

I stood there awkwardly, confused, but her iron grip found its way onto my arm and she tugged me into the house as well, closing the door behind us. I shared a look of trepidation with Sam, but it was too late. The excited woman waved us into the living room, locking the front door which did not go unnoticed by me.

"You must be here about the recent murders!" she said; her bookcase caught my eye and I went over to examine the many books on it, all of them proudly portraying the words 'Supernatural' in big letters, "I've been keeping track of it, but I didn't expect you of all people to be checking it out! Is it something major!? Is Amara back!?"

I stiffened at the word, dropping the book I had pulled out from the shelf before I could even glance over the first page, "A-Ama- A-Am- Amara?"

She cast me a weird look, "who are you?"

"We're working the case with another pair of Hunters at the moment, he's one of them," Sam said, thinking quickly, "uh-"

"Jarvis," I said quickly, falling back on a name from what felt like another life. It seemed like it had been centuries since I was living in a box, though it's been little more than almost two years since I woke up in that alley. The first year sucked but this year has been much better... I guess, if you overlook all the near death experiences and all the supernatural crap.

"How do you know about Amara?" Sam frowned. I felt afraid just hearing her name mentioned.

"Chuck's newest books; I just finished them all!"

I grabbed the newest looking book that looked like it was the last and tossed it to Sam, who flipped to the end of it. Annoyance crossed his face and he tossed it back to me after checking out the last few pages, "right up to me getting shot."

"British Men of Letters," my mind supplied, but Sam didn't seem to have heard me say it. I slipped the book back into its spot and picked up the one I had dropped, the first one it seemed. I grinned and showed him the cover, before slipping the book back in place, "nice Fabio you got going, Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy," he said immediately.

"Got it, Sam-I-Am."

"Ga- Jarvis, I'm not kidding," Sam shot me a warning look, but I just grinned and grabbed a random book, flipping it to a random page, "Becky, it was nice seeing you but we should be going."

"No, no, no! I've got information you can use!"

I glanced up from the page before turning my attention back to the book, only half listening as this Becky person raddled off a list of names who she suspected could be suspects. Though he looked doubtful, Sam wrote them down all the same, as well as the information. It seemed like a lot of nonsense to me; why would a monster want to suck out somebody's fat? That sounded disgusting. I tried some fat that was on a piece of meat once and it had not been a fun experience. To eat nothing but fat? Ew. Give me a tootsie roll any day. Speaking of which...

"Sounds like a pishtaco," Sam said, gears churning in his head.

"A fish taco?" I asked, pulling the wrapper off of a dum-dum I've been saving; I barely noticed as I let the wrapper fall from my hand, a bad habit that I barely noticed.

"Pishtaco," Sam corrected, swooping down and grabbing the wrapper, crumpling it up and shoving it into his pocket, "Dean and I have faced one before. They're from Peru; look human until they get their sucker out. You have to cut that sucker off with silver."

"Hah," I grinned, amused by the childish humor that arose in me, "what a sucker. Heh? Get it?"

"I get it," Sam rolled his eyes.

"A fish taco..." Becky hummed, eyes squinting in thought.

"Pishtaco," Sam corrected.

"Yeah," she nodded.

I turned my attention back to the book, scanning the page. My eyes caught on a familiar name on the page I had opened it to and then it caught on my own. My entire death scene, caught in explicit detail; I felt a lamp grow in my throat and quickly closed the book, putting it back in its place on the shelf.

"I've been keeping track of things, too," she said, quickly grabbing up a messy stack of worn notebooks and handing me one of them, "that one, I think. Or maybe-"

I flipped it open; obviously not having learned my lesson from the Supernatural book, my eyes caught on my own name and focused on it. My face went red as my gaze skimmed over her handwriting and I found myself in a terrible predicament over whether to continue in stunned horror or whether to drop the notebook in mortified horror and go become a nun in the hopes of cleansing myself after reading this. Can guys become nuns?

"Oh! Nope," she quickly made the choice for me, grabbing the notebook and shoving a different one that looked the same on the outside into my hands, "here, this one. Phew, I should really write something on the front to tell them apart."

I tried to say something but it came out as a strangled sound that quickly died in my throat. But the mistake had already been made and she was watching me with worried eyes, waiting for judgement on her story from the outside audience. My face felt like it would melt off my face with the amount of heat that was burning it; no doubt it had gone a color redder than anybody's face has ever been, "uh, um, that was, uh, that was an, um, interesting story. I, uh, never thought of using my- of anybody being able to use wings in such a way for, uh, such a thing."

"Really?"

"Uh, y-yes, uh, wh- what exactly?"

"Oh," she smiled at me, obviously pleased and mistaking my horror and traumatic experience as awe for her fanfic, "well, since Sam and I never worked out-"

"Thank God," I heard Sam mutter quietly.

"-I've gotten into ships!"

"Sh-Ships?"

"Yes, exactly," Becky nodded, "Sabriel is my OTP."

"OTP?"

"One true pairing?"

"Pairing? Is- is Sabriel a person?" I stared at her, trying to shake the mental image in my head.

"No, silly," she laughed as if what I had just said was quite amusing, "Sabriel is the ship name! You know..." -she leaned in close to whisper- "Sabriel as in Sam slash Gabriel?"

"What is slash?" I blinked, only having gotten more confused.

Sam nearly choked, whipping his head up from his notes on the information Becky had given him, "why are you talking about slash?"

"He doesn't know what slash is," Becky said, "anyways, it's slash as in," -she linked her fingers together- "Sam and Gabriel, together. Slash."

"Like friends?"

"Little bit more than friends."

"Best friends?"

"Little bit more."

If anything my face grew even redder. I linked my fingers together, copying her, "like, together-together?"

"Together-together."

"I don't understand," I gaped and Sam seemed just as horrified if the disgust radiating off of him was any indication. That kind of hurt, I'm not that bad, but at the same time, I wasn't too keen on the idea either, "but I- but Gabriel- but..."

"You know how in the Mystery Spot how Sam woke up every morning to Heat of the Moment?" her eyes were shining and I could feel the feels emenating off of her, so strong I almost found myself caught up in it, "well if you listen to the lyrics...!"

She made a strange squealing sound.

"Gabriel was so being so romantic! You can just tell! He basically started off the day apologizing to Sam for killing Dean everyday! And if you listen to the song!"

Sam glanced at me with the biggest what-the-Hell look that I have ever seen. I cannot speak for the old me so I simply gave him a helpless what-the-hell-is-going-on look. I couldn't stare at him for long with the story's mental image still stuck in my head though and my blush seemed to just be getting worse.

"I'm, uh, gonna go check out the other room just in case," Sam said awkwardly, making a break for it and leaving me alone with the girl who I was quite concerned may be in pain or going through a heatstroke with all the fanning herself and hopping around she was doing, muttering about the song lyrics.

"I am certain that the Winchesters hate the Archangel," I said, tilting my head, "after what he did, he would most certainly deserve it."

Anger rolled off her in waves, "Gabriel got killed saving them!"

"Still doesn't make up for it."

"No, don't you see!? That was his redemption arc! And now that it's been revealed that Chuck is God, then Gabriel will definetly be coming back; Chuck has to bring him back!"

"Wait, what?" that one sentence alone had shaken the mental image away in an instant, freeing me from the trauma of it, "what did you say?"

"Chuck has to bring him back?"

"Did... did you say... Chuck... Chuck is God?"

"Yeah, he writes the books," she beamed, "can you believe that!? I mean- whoa, are you okay?"

I didn't even glance up from where I had collapsed against the wall. If Chuck writes the books and Chuck is God... my eyes darted back to the book I'd moved back into the shelf. My vessel's heart pounded in my ears, my blood had turned to ice.

"Oh my Chuck, do you have like PTSD or something? There's a lot of fan theories that most Hunters all have at least a little bit of PTSD. Was it something I said that triggered it or- oh, is it just really surprising that God wrote those? I mean, I was really surprised-"

"I'm good, I'm good," I said, my own voice sounding like it was miles away.

My own Father had simply watched while Lucifer killed me, wrote every detail down in his little book and shared the entire experience with the world, probably laughing while he did it. Showed how much he cared. Make sure to write down every last detail. He was probably pretty happy with himself, watching his children tear each other apart, not even trying to help and then he ditched us again to run off with his Amara, even after what she had done.

Blood pooled in my mouth as I bit down on my tongue, struggling to hold back tears. I didn't want to cry like a weak little pansy, I wanted to be angry! I wanted to be furious!

"Are you crying?" Becky gaped at me, obviously confused.

"No," I sniffed, rubbing at my eyes, "I am simply very moved by your description of this Sabriel ship."

Her eyes lit up, "I can tell you more about it!"

"I'd be glad to hear it," I lied, struggling to compose myself, "I mean, the chemistry, wow, I can't believe I didn't see it before now. Can you... can you tell me more about Gabriel actually? I don't really know much about the books, being a Hunter kind of saps the wallet if you know what I mean so I can't really afford to buy them."

"I can lend you some of mine!" she said happily, running to her bookshelf, "as long as you're in town, I mean, as long as you can get them back. Do you want to start from the beginning? Or do you want to read the Gabriel ones?"

"I don't think it would feel right if I invaded Sam and Dean's privacy," I said, wiping my face dry and trying not to hyperventilate, "so just the Gabriel ones?"

"Sure!" Becky said, pulling out several books with speed that should have been impossible, "these ones have Gabriel in it, even the ones before they knew he was Gabriel and they just thought he was a Trickster. There's... he wasn't in many, but he's got a big following in the fan base."

"Thank you, Becky," I gave her my most charming smile, hoping she'd forget about my breakdown. It seemed to work, though my smiles aren't as bright as Apollo's or as easily faked as a Winchester's. Her face went red and her hand lingered for a minute as she handed them over, the breakdown swept away by her hopeless romantic of a mind, just as I knew it would. I carefully put the books in my bag and waited for Sam to return, only pretending to listen as Becky talked about her Sabriel fascination. My mind was too focused on my discovery.

I knew exactly what I would do when my brother came back and there was nothing that could change my mind now.