Author's Note: I meant to get this edited and up earlier, since it was already mostly written. But I was writing letters to government officials instead. It did end up being a bit short when I rearranged the order of some scenes between this chapter and the next one, so I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Disclaimer: You know.
Chapter Twenty-One: A Royal Mess
"Sam Winchester, have you lost your damn mind?"
Sam chuckled humorlessly. "Dean thinks so."
The Archangel was pacing, the air around him practically churning in response to his agitation. "I never thought I'd say this, but Dean-o is right. You cannot possibly be thinking about going back to Hell. To the Cage. To Lucifer!"
"There was a time when you would have happily seen me go to Lucifer with open arms," Sam pointed out. "And given me a helpful shove in the right direction. Play the game. Follow the rules. Accept my fate and all that. Remember?"
"Yes," said Gabriel, flushing slightly under Sam's rather pointed green gaze. "I remember. And then I remember you two chuckleheads convincing me to defy my brothers and all of Heaven and help you throw him back in the Cage instead. By some miracle it worked, and now you want to let him out?"
"Not let him out," said Sam hurriedly, shuddering at the thought. "Just talk to him. Ask for his help."
Gabriel laughed wildly, hysterically. "Ask for his help? Odin save us! Yeah, that should go over real well. Hey, Luci, I know we tricked you and shoved you back into prison for all of eternity. But could you maybe help us do the same to your auntie? Pretty please with the blood of your enemies on top?" Gabriel stopped to look at Sam, breathing rather heavily for someone who technically did not need to breathe at all, his hands flapping rapidly at his sides as though in imitation of his currently inaccessible wings. "Anyway, I've told you, even if this idea weren't completely and utterly insane—which it is—my brother can't stop the Darkness any more than I can. He's not powerful enough. No single Archangel is."
Sam ran a hand through his hair. A thought niggled at the edge of his brain. No single Archangel.
"Look, Sammich," Gabriel sighed, unconsciously mirroring the hunter's gesture, making his sandy hair stand on end, "I'll do whatever I can to help. But if I were you, I'd forget about these visions. Nothing good ever came from getting mixed up with Lucifer."
Sam definitely couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, ok," he said noncommittally.
"Sam," said Gabriel, "I mean it, let it go."
"You all say that, but no one can come up with another option…" Sam stopped talking because there was no one listening. Gabriel had wandered away, humming that dumb song from Frozen.
"Crazy-ass Archangel," Sam muttered, almost affectionately.
*****Icarus*****
Crowley was completely, utterly, royally pissed off. He had been that close. Amara had been his. Until Dean-Bloody-Winchester had swooped in and stolen her out from under his nose. And to add insult to injury, the absolute moron hadn't even been able to control her or dispose of her; he'd just turned her loose on the bloody world. Again! It was unacceptable! It was humiliating! It was…it was…it was bloody irritating.
Crowley waved an impatient hand, exploding the sniveling demon who had been droning monotonously on about soul counts and territory disputes, but it wasn't satisfying.
"Clean that up!" he barked at another underling. "Then get out of my sight!"
"Yes, My King, right away My King," said the demon, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to comply with Crowley's commands before he was similarly disposed of by his monarch.
The King of Hell glowered, but the beginning of a plan was already taking shape in his mind. The Winchesters were a continuous and maddening thorn in his side, but he had put up with them for this long, what was a bit longer? The most pressing concern at this moment was Amara. The girl was out of control, and an out of control Amara could easily spell the end of the world, perhaps all too literally. And speaking of spells…
"Damien!" Crowley drummed his fingers against the armrests of his throne impatiently. "Damien!"
A short, stocky demon sporting rather dirty coveralls and a beanie pulled down low on his forehead scurried into the room, bent nearly double in a bow. "Yes, My King?"
Crowley wrinkled his nose at Damien's appearance, but let it slide for now. It was time to call in the favor Dean Winchester owed him for helping to save the life of his pet angel. First, though, he needed another player in his corner. One he knew would not come willingly. He fixed his laconic gaze on the nearly prostate demon, who was literally shaking in his combat boots. Good. At least he could still inspire fear in his minions.
"Damien." The demon immediately snapped to attention, accidentally met Crowley's gaze, and folded himself hastily into a bow once more, nearly losing his balance and toppling onto his beanie-clad head. The King of Hell rolled his eyes in a long-suffering manner. Honestly, did he employ demons or clowns? "Damien," he repeated, watching the lesser demon squirm with a certain detached satisfaction, "I need you to bring me my mother."
*****Icarus*****
Sam couldn't stop thinking about Gabriel.
It was very hard, after all, not to think about someone who insisted on singing "She'll be Comin' 'Round the Mountain" and "One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall" at full volume at multiple random intervals throughout the day. He also couldn't shake the idea that it wasn't Gabriel OR Lucifer, but rather the two of them together, who were the key to defeating Amara.
The guilt brough on by this train of thought was not mitigated by the fact that they were fast running out of other options. Gabriel had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Lucifer. The look in his eyes at the mention of his next eldest brother…it reminded Sam of how he himself felt when he thought of the Morningstar. He didn't want to make Gabriel look that way again.
Sam was starting to, well, maybe like was a strong word, but at least get used to the Archangel's presence in the Bunker. Yes, he still routinely jumped and swore at the Trickster's various disruptive, erratic, and rather startling antics, but still, he had begun to think of Gabriel as one of them.
"Whatcha thinkin', Samsquatch?"
"Fuck. Gabriel!"
The Trickster whistled and quirked his eyebrow at the hunter. "I mean, I wouldn't say no, Sammich, but don't you think you ought to at least take me out to dinner first?"
Sam rolled his eyes, refusing to give credence to the faint tingle of heat rising to his face. He should be used to Gabriel's off-color jokes by now.
"In your dreams, Gabriel. Now please get off. Of the table," he added hastily before the irreverent Archangel could take off running with that one.
Surprisingly, Gabriel obliged, sliding easily off the table; his thigh brushed lightly against Sam's arm as he did so. The hunter inhaled then exhaled slowly and deliberately.
"I meant off the table and out of my personal space, Gabriel."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" said the blond, running a hand through Sam's hair before dancing away.
Sam scowled and smoothed his hair back into place. "Oh, go bother someone else," he muttered.
"Aww, admit it Samsquatch. You love me. You'd be lost without me."
Sam gritted his teeth at Gabriel's retreating back. Damn that angel, or god, or whatever he was; he had made Sam completely forger what he had been working on.
*****Icarus*****
"Sam?"
"What now?"
Dean stopped short in the doorway, eyeing his brother warily. "It's that any way to greet the person bringing you beer?"
Sam sighed and stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders and both feeling and hearing them crack and pop. He was getting too old for this.
"Sorry, Dean. Thanks," he added, as his brother took the seat across from him and slid him an open beer. He took a grateful swig. "Ah, that hits the spot."
"So what's got you all bent out of shape?" asked Dean, taking a long sip of his own beer.
"Just didn't sleep well last night," said Sam. "This whole thing's got me on edge."
To tell the truth, Sam had barely slept at all in days. And when he did, he tossed and turned with confused nightmare visions of Gabriel, Lucifer, and the Cage. Hardly the most restful night's sleep.
"You and me both," said Dean heavily, taking another sip.
"How are things with you and Cas?" Sam ventured after another moment.
Dean shrugged. "I dunno. He's not…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "He keeps trying to listen to Angel Radio. So far no one's noticed him, but… A lot going on there, I guess. He says he's okay, though, so I guess I gotta take his word for it."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "He's always pulled through for us before. He hesitated. "Are you two…?"
"Hell if I know," said Dean. "Don't have time to think about that right now. Gotta clean up my damn mess." He glowered at his now empty beer bottle.
Sam wasn't sure whether he meant unleashing the Darkness on the world or the situation with Cas, or both. He wasn't sure Dean knew either. He settled on the former.
"Our mess, Dean. I had just as much of a hand in setting her free as you did. And we'll find a way to either end her or lock her back up again. Together.
Even if that meant he had to make a deal with the literal Devil. Or at the very least the King of Hell.
AN: So, as any of you who are also writers know, various amounts of ourselves find their way into our characters, intentionally and unintentionally. In this case, it's more intentional than not; I've definitely given Gabe some of my dyspraxic neurodivergent traits. Of course, as an angel his neurology would differ from a human's, so I'm not sure whether I'd count his as representation as such, but it's fun and feels good to write him like that :) And I hope you're enjoying reading him as much as I'm enjoying writing him.
-SQ