I'm back. I'll make this quick. I don't own Supernatural, and hello! Thanks for reading.

Chapter Eight: I think I'm Gonna Puke…

A woman, choking and gasping for air as her doctor stares in fascination at the consequences of the diseases he was running through her veins. Lips moving in a countdown, the woman's eyes rolled back into her head with a brief flash of sickly green coating the irises. Celeste, her name is. Was. The doctor counts down and gets closer and closer to one until finally her time runs out. Pestilence doesn't even flinch when bright green ectoplasm mixed with vomit coats half of his face and lab coat. After all, his experiment worked. Now to check on his other patients…

Shooting up with a gasp, Gabriel held his mouth and gagged as he ran to the bathroom. Dean's snores also trailed off abruptly with a curse when the archangel accidentally crashed into his bed and sent it into the wall. Oh, sweet mother Mary that was disgusting! Who knew that dream vomit could suddenly taste like real vomit? He really had hoped never to find out, but surprise! Atropos apparently still had a grudge with him after the whole losing her planner incident.

Praying fervently to God almighty that the taste and sensation would go away, Gabriel slid to the floor and moaned as he reached up to flush the toilet. Pestilence wasn't someone he was going to get anywhere close to anytime soon or he might just have to kill himself. Puke wasn't the way to an angel's heart, it was the way to discover what was in his stomach. Speaking of the digestive organ, it was really not his friend right now. This he discovered when it decided rather abruptly that the triple chocolate cake he'd eaten for dinner would taste good a second time. Bashing his head against the porcelain savior might have given him a headache, but it didn't help his stomach or the vision of old lady Celeste. Poor lady.

Dean hesitantly walked in behind him and opened his mouth to speak. Gabriel swiftly cut him off. "No, it wasn't the cake. It appears Pestilence makes a dent in my radar and apparently my stomach. Gross doesn't even begin to cover what I just saw. You boys are going to have to call in the cavalry for this one. Wait, I am the cavalry. Too bad, because I am skipping town until this whole thing blows over. He's all your's, Dean-o."

"I was going to say that Cas called. He's in a hospital somewhere and he's got a dead battery. Thought you fixed that?"

Sighing, Gabriel muttered, "Kid, unless you want toilet water wrapped around your insides this is not the time to tell me what I already know. It's a better comparison to a pool with a leak. I just filled Cassie's stores, it doesn't mean the power will stay. Like I said, oh wait. I didn't tell you this…well, Zacky is siphoning off boy wonder's grace. There you go, now go away before I hurl on your feet."

"Wait, what?"

Instead of an answer, the archangel snapped his fingers and sent the annoyance back downstairs. He might have put Dean somewhere a lot less pleasant but the clenching in his stomach said a big 'no'. Coughing and retching, Gabriel raised a fist in the air and wailed, "Damn you, Ammeron! Damn you back to Hell!"

Hearing the door slam shut as the Winchesters left, he promptly decided it was best to listen in. Pestilence might just have something nasty up his sleeve in store for the boys and it was better safe than sorry when considering the fact that Dean was Michael's vessel. Even if he didn't say yes, his brother would undoubtedly make life extremely unpleasant to live should anything happen to him. Double for Lucifer, considering this horseman was extremely rebellious and would probably give him genital herpes or something. Angels couldn't heal a disease directly from Pestilence, either. So if Luci got on his bad side…This was going to be an extremely long night…

Of course, hours after the brothers initially left he was proven wrong. Now sitting in a recliner that was definitely too old to have real comfort, Gabriel heard the coughing begin. Sounded like…scarlet fever? Yep. Looks like the old fart took out a favorite of his. Crashing into walls in a fever-induced delirium would only prolong the agony of seeing whatever the hell his enemy was doing, so Gabriel gave them an early Christmas gift. Kind of. Seems like there's some wards around the hospital. They know the angels are helping the knuckleheads. Gritting his teeth, the archangel began the painstaking process of trying to remove the angel wards without being turned inside-out. Just another day in paradise, after all. Ce la vie.

Foot-tapping got him nowhere fast since it just caused further distraction. Checking in on the boys, he discovered a cocktail of illness spreading through their bodies. Including Syphilis. Wincing in sympathy for the brothers, he renewed his efforts to get through the shielding. Ooh, looks like Cassie's joined in on the failure front. This is not going so well. Blinking suddenly, Gabriel shook his head and grinned when his little fledgling expertly(clumsily) cut off the horseman's finger. Jumping up, he shouted, "Score one for Team Freewill!"

Hours later when they came through the door, slumping and weary, the archangel nearly fainted. The reek of unnatural power radiated off of them strongly enough to kill the Legion and Michael combined. As it was, he fell on his ass and blinked repeatedly to try getting the sickly green starbursts out of his eyes. When they just continued into the living room, that was when he took action. Grabbing the Winchesters with a burst of water from the sink, he snagged Castiel's silly trench coat and yelled, "OUT! Come back in three weeks when you don't feel like Pestilence!" before throwing them through the doorway and into the yard.

Of course, he didn't get his wish since it was Bobby's house. Unable to sense the horseman's touch, he let them back in about three seconds later after tossing a Hershey's bar into the bunker. Apparently, an old dog can learn new tricks when it involves something sweet and edible. Not that he was a dog. No playing fetch with him, or even his hounds for that matter. They prefer desiccated limbs. But again, not the point. After a while, the feeling wore off and the eedjits realized just what the youngest horseman was doing. Yes, youngest. Death is older than even god, bringing his power through the galaxies and exploding stars. Famine has always been there, since before the dinosaurs and way back when the demons were created. Chaos is the birth of a star in the seconds before it explodes. So Pestilence is young and relatively foolish to the ways of men and angels. He doesn't know what they can do.

Like Lucifer, he'd soon be screwed.

Pestilence was spreading the Croatoan virus through Flu Vaccine. Quick, easy and not likely to be discovered. It would be distributed all over the globe and nobody would ever know what happened until the planet looked like it came off of that 'Wall-E' movie. Only instead of garbage, corpses piled high as far as the eye could see. As lovely as it all sounded, Gabriel was fond of live humans even though they had their failings. Like snoring, for example. If Dean snored for just one more night, he was going to find a pillow shoved right up his-

"Alright, little brother, I don't really want to listen to the end of that sentence so think of something interesting. Met any girls lately? Tricked any humans?"

Damael. He was speaking to Gabriel in front of a horrified looking Castiel who looked very awkward holding a gun. Absently reaching out, he imparted the knowledge on how to use it inside the fledgling's head in case of emergency. Frowning, he searched for the barest hint of grace and was unable to find anything but the tiny echo and the feeling of misplacement. Sighing, Gabriel rubbed his forehead in hopes of getting rid of the forming headache with little success. It was sad, really. They were all going to die because of a petulant child under his father's thumb. AKA Pestilence under Lucifer's control. Nicknames were fun!

Wiping Castiel's memory of anything related to Damael, he grabbed his baby brother by the shoulders and turned him the way he'd come in. "It's the eleventh hour, bro! Didn't Bobby ask you to pack the car?"

This was going to be an absolute disaster.

Even though Gabriel felt moderately bad about staying in the salvage yard while his brothers and the humans went to do the Croatoan Cha-Cha, he didn't really do anything. Just sat still and listened for the sounds of hopeless screams when everything literally went to Hell so he could hopefully pick up the pieces and possibly put them back together. In other words, he was bored and insanely guilty. A deadly combination for Gabriel, who felt like every second passing by was going to ruin Aziraphael's life or his own. Castiel was still a big part of his life, just like Damael was in Azira's. It would be killer to have one or both of them die.

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. Stepping into the yard, he opened the dimension holding his wings and grasped one of the kitchen knives from Bobby's table. Gabriel didn't need a mirror to do this, but he did need his true vessel. Minutes later, Loki was free and a teenager from Cain and Abel's time was lying dormant in his own skin. Bringing the knife to his new vessel's back, the archangel began to carve Enochian sigils deep into the flesh. Amber and white wings shimmered briefly into existence each time a sigil was cut until they stayed.

Dropping the bloody utensil, Gabriel took flight at an incredible speed. Now glowing gold, his wings created a shimmering trail leading straight into the warehouse holding a very bloody battle. Tucking away the appendages, he stepped through the door and watched as Sam got the last survivor outside. Gabriel snatched his arm and shouted to the two humans, "Cover your ears!" Then he did the last thing anyone would expect.

He drew a blade and cut deeply into an arm.

Sam, not recognizing him, made as if to toss him through the door but a swirl of red smoke obscured his vision. In the middle of the storm, Gabriel whined as the virus ran through him until it reached his heart. Letting out a loud screech of pain as the virus was destroyed by his grace, he had the pleasure of seeing Sam's stupid face when he started to gleam a red-gold. Gathering the last of the virus, Gabriel paused and smiled widely at Sam, Bobby and Castiel before letting loose a near demonic screech. Bright light filled the room and quickly died. Amazingly, the irritating old man and the knucklehead both survive with their vision intact.

Stepping over to them, he asked loudly, "What? I'm not allowed to help now?"

Before he could say more, a low buzz made him blink. The others didn't seem to hear it so it must mean… "Hold on."

Yet again opening his wings, Gabriel followed the buzz with his eyes closed as it got louder. Stopping in front of a Pizza joint, he shuddered violently at the feeling of death in the place. Opening the door, it was no wonder why when Agremmon looked up from his lunch and said calmly, "I need you to take a message, boy."

Ignoring Dean sitting in the chair across from the horseman, he dropped his gaze and held out a hand. Death took it and the sensation of swimming through an icy lake forced a shiver up his spine. The worst part was when it reached his brain. Paling at what he was about to send, Gabriel dared to look Agremmon in the face only to see a smug smile fitted on the gaunt vessel. Nodding slowly, he braced himself when Death ran a hand fondly through his now golden-brown locks. "Ah, now here's a face I've seen often. You really must be careful, Gabriel, although I'm really not complaining. Angels with future sight are always good company to have. Off you go, then."

Gabriel went, and he took Dean Winchester with him. After all, he could feel the ring's power but he could also see it hadn't been as successful as anyone had hoped. Yet the future stayed the same.

For now, anyway.

There, done. Review.

Agremmon - Horseman of Death

Ammeron - Horseman of Pestilence

Damael - Former angel of Psychics (Future)

Aziraphael - Angel of Omens