SWOOSH. THUMP.

Running his hands over his body, breathing heavily, Gabriel squeezed his eyes tight, relieved to be in one piece. That run through Mary Winchesters timeline had been one hell of a trip; a little more than he had bargained for. Apparently that wasn't a timeline that anyone could mess with because just to watch it had taken a serious toll on him. Kneeling, he breathed heavily for a few more minutes before he was able to stand. Looking around, he realized he was on a beach somewhere in the South America; nothing around for miles but sand and water.

Once his breathing evened out, he continued to stand stock still, staring at the sand. There were mortals that Gabriel enjoyed, found funny, spent time with. Rarely did he find one that he pitied as much as he pitied Mary Winchester. Her childhood had been a blur of bullets, blades and blood. It became the fire she ran from her whole life. Until she found John. Then she had done everything - literally everything, she had to to keep the fairy tale. Only to be consumed by that fire in the end.

But that was the tip of the iceberg. What was in store for her sons... Gabriel felt cold thinking about it. Suddenly that cold pity turned to a cold anger. Not only was the plan in store for the Winchester family unfair by any measures but he knew that his brother was hurting... because of that same plan.

The orders left for them; to bring on the apocalypse. So much of it hinged on this woman that his brother had fallen in love with. Gabriel had run from the confines of heaven and the demands of that celestial machine a long time ago. He was perfectly happy to continue to live and let live. But he had been in love... a long time ago. As he knew Michael had been... once. It was a rare kind of happiness and when it was ripped away, it hurt in a way that can't really be described and the wound it left behind never really healed.

Almost as if his mind shaped the spaced around him, Gabriel saw two paths in the woods to the left of him as he looked around this fallen world. At the end of the either was pain, but a different kind. Pain from never feeling the touch of love returned. Or pain from watching the one who held your heart burn. He stared long and hard at those diverging paths, contemplating the metaphorical ones in his mind.

"Michael?"

The archangel sitting on the bench didn't reply.

"Michael? Can you hear me?"

Then his eyes fluttered and he looked at the younger angel, as if just noticing him for the first time although he had been standing there for a few minutes. He looked worn, tired, distracted...

"Sorry, Josiah, what can I help you with?" his voice was thin - like he had been holding the world up on his own forever.

"Michael, you asked to see me?" Josiah shifted nervously unsure if the summons had been authentic or created, not that that made a difference. He had to obey anyways. Michael furrowed his brows for a moment before closing his eyes softly, realization dawning on his face.

"Ah, yes... sorry Josiah. I was wondering how your regiment on Earth was doing?"

"Sir?" Josiah asked confused by the question.

"How are you doing with monitoring and protecting your humans? How are they faring? How are the angels doing?" Michael asked, patience in his voice.

"All things are going well, sir. Mary," if Josiah had been an observant angel he would have noticed Michael's lips thin as he said this name, "And John Winchester are taking care of their young son Dean. She will become pregnant with Sam very soon." Josiah couldn't think of what else to report. His regiment had protected the lineage leading up to this family for centuries. Typically they stood by, watching the world consume them, keeping them alive long enough to create the next generation. Every now and then they would intervene - stop a premature death, resuscitate someone too soon deceased. Nothing major, just enough to keep the bloodline going.

But Michael knew all of this. They were carrying out his orders; they always had.

"How are things going since Annas... departure?" Michael probed.

Josiah shifted even more nervous than before. Anna had disobeyed. She had... He didn't even want to think about it. Or her.

"Fine. Castiel has taken on many of her responsibilities and is functioning adequately," his response was short and to the point, to show his discomfort for the subject. Michael seemed to understand and smiled a small, strange smile.

"Good. Fine. Thank you Josiah. You may go," Michael said not looking up at the young angel. He left, relieved, in a soft flutter of wings.

Michael sat staring at his hands as the young angel fled his company. Anna's disobedience had been one of the paths that would move the story along. It was the plot line that pulled Castiel into a pivotal role. If Michael had had any emotion to spare for the young angel, it would have been pity. The fledgling was genuine, curious, and loving. He had caused his fair share of trouble in the past but had always responded well to treatment. Michael had no doubt that he would carry out his role perfectly. But Michael had decided to distance himself from the angel as his future unfolded; he needed to stay as far away from this particular fairy tale as he could.

Remorse and longing almost tangible in the air, Michael fluttered from the bench onto another part of heaven, another task to be completed.

"Dean, heads up buddy," the deep clear voice of John Winchester rang through the backyard. About 10 feet from him a little boy who was about three was laughing and waving his hands. He had on thick corduroy pants and two heavy sweaters to keep him warm from the crisp fall air. A hat just a little too big slid down the back of his head as he waited for his father to toss the little football.

John softly tossed the brown ball sideways to his son. Giggling, eyes locked on the ball, Dean hurried up and fell on top of the ball as he lunged forward for it. John hustled towards his son, scooping him and the ball, swooping him upside down. They laughed and giggled as John jostled the little boy.

On the small back porch behind the two, there sat a woman all bundled up, sipping on a cup pouring steam. She watched her husband and son play in the back yard, smiling contentedly.

And unseen by anyone, in the trees behind their house, an angel stood watching the small family. He had watched this bloodline for generations. But he had to admit, this generation had been one of his favorites. Mary was a loving, loyal mother. John was just as loving, hard working and protective of his family. Dean was a happy child, eager to please and just as loving as both of his parents. Castiel tried not to think about the future of this family; he just enjoyed this small moment - this memory.