This was...more humbling than the actual prison with the demon.
Gabriel stared up at the ceiling, all the lights on in the room. Logically he knew that with the lights on he wasn't going to go to sleep any time soon.
But he didn't want to be in the dark again.
Taking a deep breath his hand went up to touch his lips again, fingers lingering at the wounds that were still there from the thread, he could feel the lingering effect of the magic on them that silenced him.
The magic was gone but he couldn't find his voice, sometimes a noise would come out but otherwise, he couldn't speak.
He sat up and threw the covers to the side, going back to the bathroom. Someone had come in before he came back to clean up the blood from his shower, he wasn't sure who. Turning the sink on he cupped his hands under the water and washed his face, gripping at the sides of the sink tightly before he looked up at himself in the mirror.
Fuck but he looked like shit. Even clean he couldn't wash away the pain and the torture, the look in his eyes and the bags under them. He looked down at his hands, his nails were jagged and broken, at some point he had tried to claw at the bars and door keeping him there to no avail.
His summoning sigil was still on his palm too, once Asmodeus had realized that he had used some of his remaining grace to activate a sigil, he didn't know which one, he had to destroy it as best as he could. Carving it into his skin had been painful, he only had one chance to do it, so he had to take his time and let his nails dig into his skin bit by bit.
Taking another deep breath Gabriel pulled away from the sink and sat down on the edge of the bed, bowing forward to bury his head in his hands.
Asmodeus kept him at the edge with his grace, taking as much as he could without completely turning him human. Made sure that after a certain amount of time his grace would start to build up again and just drain him to the last point all over again.
He had done the summoning out of desperation, a last hope and a last call. He had nothing else left, he'd never be able to build up enough grace to escape on his own, so he tried to summon his brothers and sisters for help.
None answered except for one that he didn't recognize, Johnny Winchester.
He had no idea how to feel about the kid, nephilim were abominations according to upstairs and the fact that no one had come to smite or do anything to him was puzzling and made no sense. Even he remembered the few handfuls that a nephilim created, a squadron would almost immediately be called to kill it before it came into its prime power.
He had stayed away from the nephilims back then, he had no desire to even come close to them, back then he had been on the run away from heaven and everyone else.
But Johnny...he was the exact opposite of what he had expected from a nephilim, he was a kid through and through, he just had a few extras that showed his parentage.
And that...that bothered him more than anything.
The idea, the thought, that Lucifer had been the one to do this. To create a nephilim like this. Gabriel felt his stomach churn, an oddly human feeling, and bile rise in his throat.
Lucifer had always been different but even to this point...he never thought that his older brother would've done something like this.
Especially to Sam.
Sam was...different. She was Lucifer's one true vessel and each angel is predestined and programmed to wish to protect their vessel, a good stable vessel meant more power to the angel that inhabited the body. To want to hurt their destined vessel, especially Lucifer who had been tied to destiny just as much as Michael had been to Dean, and with everything that Lucifer had done to her just showed how much his brother wasn't really the brother he once knew.
He had hoped that some of that brother had remained, some of the brother that had taught him how to hold the stars in his hand and how to throw it in Michaels and Raphaels robes that he remembered and a part of him loved was still there.
But no, Lucifer that had been is dead and destroyed. He knew that when Lucifer had killed the fake him and he knew that now when there was a nephilim he had forcefully fathered him with his predestined vessel.
His nephew.
He didn't have much to do with the kid just yet. Just bits and pieces that he could already see were mainly Sam. The kid that had answered his summoning and almost immediately the result was that Sam and Dean had come to rescue him. The kid had even saved them when Asmodeus seemed to almost get the upper hand.
And now Sam wants him to train the kid to use his powers properly.
He wasn't a teacher, even back in the day when he was in heaven he left the lessons to the other three, he was the one that taught the younger angels, or at least the ones that weren't afraid of him just because of his status, how to fly and sneak away and how to create things for fun and not just duty.
But he could do it. He owed them this much at least; for the rescue, for putting him up with a room and board and everything else. They welcomed him into their home, even letting him join them to eat at the dinner table.
And that was a new thing, having to eat because his body had to eat. He wasn't sure how long it was going to take for his grace to come back completely, but until then, he was pretty much only a slight step above humans.
A part of him wanted revenge, wanted to go back out into the world and find Loki and hurt him in every way that he could, starting with his children, before driving a wooden stake into him.
But another part of him knew that he was in no condition to do that. He had to wait, he had to be patient; that was something he learned how to be in that prison, and he had to come back to himself. After that, he could decide what to do.
Getting back into his bed he pulled the covers up, staring at the patterns that the lamps made on the ceiling as he waited to see if he could relax enough to fall asleep.
He was safe here, warded and protected and Asmodeus can't get in. The Winchesters were here, and one of them was his nephew.
His nephew.
He wanted to get to know the kid better, get to know Sam Winchester's kid, because she was right; he was hers and no one else's. He wanted to help her and help him.
He owed them that much at the very least.
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