{May, 1909}
"...And that's why I'd always choose Hell!" John finished, making De'van and Vincent burst out laughing, at the same time that Gabriel wandered, sleep-drunk, from his room. He was still in his dress pants and button-down, but he had at least removed his jacket and undercoat.
"Speaking of 'coming back', look who's no longer dead!" Vincent crowed to the young man, who flipped him off as he stumbled for the kettle containing the bittersweet, delicious promise of life: coffee.
"Right back at you, pal." Vincent grinned, a little sadistically when Gabriel turned the pot over his cup, only to have nothing come out.
"Whichever of you boneheads took all the coffee and didn't make more, I'm going to shank." Gabriel growled viciously, slamming the pot down and rifling through the cupboards for more grinds.
"Oh, calm down Gabe." De'van stood up, walking over to the shorter, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Here." He placed the bag of coffee on the counter in front of Gabriel. "Emil said that you needed a few minutes of panic, but I think that this is less panic and more murder."
"Yah' damn right." Gabriel snapped, taking the coffee, measuring and pouring the water into the kettle and setting it to heat before slumping in a chair at the table. Arms folded in front of him, Gabriel lay his head on the table, closed his eyes, and seemed to go back to sleep.
"That's your problem, Gabe." De'van noted.
"Whassat?" Gabriel slurred sleepily, one golden eye opening to a slit.
"You can stay up for hours, but after you sleep, it's all you want t' do." De'van reached over and patted the other between the shoulders, the people around the table laughing.
"Mock me all ya' like, I'm still the best translator here." Grumpily, Gabriel turned his head away from them. They all laughed at his childish display of irritation.
The tapping of feet announced a new presence in the room, one that moved with quick, distinct strides softer, but just as heavy as any of the men's.
"Well, someone get me a jitney!" Shay proclaimed in her black southern twang. "I didn't think I'd see me a shimmer of that golden hair before at least noon?"
"I got up before noon?" Gabriel groaned softly. "Cancel my coffee, I'm going back to bed."
"Unfortunately, I don't think that Curtis would appreciate that." Vincent sighed. "He keeps insisting that we have 'work' to do."
Gabriel let out an exaggerated, plaintive moan. "But sleep..."
"If I remember correctly, Gabe, we were on the opposite ends of this argument last night." Marcus grinned as he walked in, taking two mugs from the cupboard and pouring both himself and Gabriel a cup of coffee. "Shay, do we have any milk left?"
"I can't say we do, Mista' Brown." Shay answered, placing the coffee grounds in the cupboard, then turning around. "Gabriel, head up. Mista' Brown has got your coffee."
"Just pour it on me." Gabriel mumbled into the table. "I'm not getting up."
"Gabriel Moran!" Shay half-shouted, grabbing his ear. Gabe yelped as he was dragged into a proper sitting position, a cup of coffee slapped in front of him. "You have a job to do, you hear? Drink your coffee, and get out of my kitchen!"
"Yes Ma'm!" He obediently began to nurse his coffee, casting fearful glances over his shoulder at the ferocious older woman. "Fine, alright." He stood, all serious Gabriel again, narrowed, sharp eyes included. "Vincent, do me a favour. Send Winchester and Fletcher to the Archive for me." He picked up his coffee. "Tell them they've got ten minutes or I'm starting without them."
"Yessir!" Vincent spun off his chair, trotting over to the radio board to page the aforementioned pair, while Gabriel swept from the room, presumably to go get something decent on.
It always amazed Marcus how quickly that man could tidy himself up.
{October, 2013}
It had taken Gabriel a solid half-hour of rest, clinging to a dead, floating tree, wings hanging limply over it's slick bark, before he could pull himself to the shore.
When he finally dragged himself up onto the rough, cold, sharp gravel bed, he flopped onto his side, ignoring the sharp bite of pain in his ribs. He could feel where the cracked ones ground against each other, and the broken one seemed pretty determined to punch a hole in his left lung.
Gabriel didn't use his grace much nowadays, because an Archangel's grace tended to have a unique signature. He'd be pretty obvious to the right person, who could recognize him at any time. For now though, he used a slip of it to fix his fully broken rib, and to make sure that his arm wouldn't get infected.
Standing up was a painful process, that involved a lot of huffing and panting, growling and straining. When he finally did make it to his feet, leaning on the roots of the tree that helped him onto land in the first place, he almost went down again he was so shaky.
It was times like these that Gabriel remembered how rough having his wings broken could be. Admitted, to basically everything else, they were invisible and intangible, but to him, they ached and stung, heavy and now, a few burned and feathers ruined, while one of them was broken.
Gabriel growled softly under his breath, removing his green jacket carefully. His vessel was cold, the October air having chilled him clean through the skin, and the sudden lack of sleeves wasn't helping. However, he supposed that his time in Lebanon had taught him something, and he knew he had to wrap his ribs. Unfortunately, his arm was way worse, but healing that was going to draw attention, the opposite of what he wanted to do.
In the end, he wound up forming a makeshift sling with his jacket, and struggling through the ribs.
Whoever cast that spell knew what they were doing. Gabriel thought, realizing how weak he was. He could feel every twinge of pain in his side, where the ribs grated against each other.
Bracing them by pressing his already hurt arm to his chest, Gabriel walked up and down the beach, seeking some way up the steep climb. He knew he was on the east side of the river, so it would be easier to climb. After that, he had to fix himself and go to Lebanon. His key was still in his pocket, and the Bunker would always be one of his homes. After all, he had really only ever had two. The pagans didn't count.
Gabriel limped up a slightly worn incline, chest spasming with pain and inability to draw a full breath. He couldn't use his broken arm, and struggling with the rocky slope was easier said than done, especially with only one arm at his disposal, but he did eventually make it up. Through pain and exhaustion, far beyond anything he cared for, he made it up.
In all honesty, he was debating whether he regretted trying to fly to San Francisco or not. If he hadn't, he'd still be in the Caribbean, hidden temporarily, but stuck and uninjured. Because he had, he was now a couple hundred miles from the safest place on this side of the continent, but he was also badly hurt and mostly cut off from his grace.
His week already sucked.
He supposed he was lucky enough to get washed into a random cove, that happened to have a road within seeing distance. It made the walk that much less painful on Gabriel.
When he reached the road, he knew it was probably for sight-seers and the insane that wanted to go camping. An old sign proclaimed it as '277th Ave', which didn't make Gabriel feel much better for his prospects.
"Damn..." He hissed, air coming in short pants now. "Half a day out of Pierre." On foot, with water and without injuries.
Best get walking. A voice that sounded disturbingly, annoyingly like Michael encouraged him, and he started a slow, limping gait down the rugged, dusty road.
The twenty minute walk stretched to thirty, then forty-five, before he finally reached the cleanly paved road that was definitely an access route. It looked like it was for truckers, almost, wide and well paved. For a while, Gabriel simply makes along beside it, gradually slowing as the pain in his chest got to be a bit much. The cold wasn't helping either, making his arm shake and jar the broken bone.
It was honestly unsurprising that he didn't hear the truck approaching until it stopped beside him.
"Hey, buddy, you okay?" An older, Caucasian man leaned over to the passenger window, drawing Gabriel's attention from the ground.
"U-uh, s-sorta. I'm good." He answered shakily, turning to look at him.
The trucker examined him with sharp eyes for a few seconds, before coming to a verdict based on his scrutiny. "Look, pal, I know pride is a thing, but y'h look like dirt. Where ya' headed?" Speaking now, Gabriel could hear the southern drawl in his voice.
For a moment, he considered lying, saying that he was fine, that he'd make it out ok. But honestly, why make life more difficult than it needed to be? "I'm headed to Pierre." Gabriel responded, casually smiling.
"Well ain't that convenient." The man grinned happily, popping open the passenger door. "I'm on my way that direction. Hop in."
Gabriel struggled into the tall truck with only one arm and some angelic strength, breathing heavy and deep, making his ribs blaze in agony. When he finally slumped in the seat, he officially hated whoever cast the damn friggin' spell.
"So, what's in Pierre for ya'?" The man asked as he shifted gears and pulled back on to the road.
"A bus, hopefully." Gabriel panted, bracing his ribs as best he could. "I need to get to Lebanon."
"Well now, that's a long ways to go with two feet and a heartbeat." He nodded. "And can I ask who is goin' to Lebanon?"
Gabriel chuckled at the wording. "M'name's Gabriel. Like the angel."
"Well now, Gabe, good to meet'cha. People 'round here call me TJ." 'TJ' announced.
"Glad that someone's got a heart around here, TJ." Gabriel nodded firmly, which made his ribs pinch and complain loudly to any sort of movement.
"I know it's not my place to pry, but I gotta know," TJ began, making Gabriel glance over. "but if you gotta be in Lebanon, what in God's good name are you doin' out here?"
Gabriel chuckled as he thought of the best way to explain. "Uh, well..." He coughed wetly, TJ leaning forward to click on the heater. "Thanks. Uh, I wound up with a few former 'friends', and they decided to see if I lived up to my old college swimming days." It was weak and made up on the spot, but for now it was a good idea of a lie.
"No offence, kid, you need some better friends."
"Yep, well," Gabriel sighed, good arm reaching up to press on his ribs as well. "heard that song before."
"You got family down south?" TJ asked, passing a marker that declared '184th St', braking to turn down a much better paved, newer road.
"As close to a home as I got." The younger man shrugged, immediately regretting it when his arm yowled in protest.
"Got someone y'can call?" The trucker offered him a cell phone.
"They won't be there. Kinda like a uh... meeting place, but not a home." Gabriel explained, wincing when he pushed his arm in the wrong direction.
"Arm looks pretty bad." TJ noted, nodding to the side. "You need me to call a hospital?"
The Archangel shook his head. "Naw, I'll get some help when I hit Pierre. At the moment, it'd just take an assload of pain for an ambulance ride." He huffed, doing his best to keep his ribs from screaming. "I can make it... uh, however long."
"It's a good hour trip, kiddo." TJ informed, turning on a '278th Ave'. "But you're tough. You'll be fine?"
"Yeah, I can wait." He said agreeably, trying not to wince with every breath.
"Well, if ya' check in the compartment there, y'can take a Tylenol." TJ made a small hand motion at the glove box, and Gabriel opened it to pop two of the (unfortunately nighttime) pills. "If ya' pass out on me, I'm not blamin' ya'." TJ had reassured. "Heard I can be pretty borin' t'talk to."
Over the next half hour, Gabriel made small talk with TJ. He had two daughters, which he had custody of after a horrible divorce, but they were happy. He actually lived in Huron, a few clicks east of them, and was out here on a special shipping route to Fort Thompson. Gabriel had told him that getting back home after the job sounded nicer than hiking his way to Lebanon.
He didn't know when he fell asleep, disconnected from his grace as he was, but it was after they hit the highway. Next thing he knew, TJ was nudging him awake.
"We're about to hit Highway 83, kiddo! Next stop, Pierre!" He called over the music, which was playing at a decent volume. Gabriel was honestly amazed he slept through it.
It was another twenty minutes of joking and waiting before they pulled into Pierre, a small town of not much at all, rather isolated, but surrounded by highways, making it a decent rest stop for truckers.
"Well, last call, Gabriel. Was nice talkin' to ya'." TJ smiled kindly as they pulled into a gas station, brakes hissing loudly, air making itself known.
"Thanks for driving me. Walking would've been a pain." He returned the grin, going to open the door.
TJ's hand caught his shoulder before he could start climbing out, handing him forty dollars and a few more pills. "Go to a clinic an' get yourself cleaned up before y' head out, alright?"
"I'll do that. Thank you again!" Gabriel was completely lying about the first part, slowly descending from the truck with his good arm, pocketing the pills and cash before walking away, heading for a more central part of town.
As he left, he took a quick glance back at the truck that had probably saved him a good deal of pain. Hey Dad, if you're listening... do me a favour and keep TJ safe. He directed the thought to the sky, hoping that God somehow got it.
Then he turned forward and started for somewhere he could start fixing himself up.
-{[|]}-
The walk had been painful and long, every step a cross between his ribs flaring and his arm grating. The temptation to just use his grace and heal the things was getting to be a little much, but he couldn't risk it. Not unless he was in somewhere safe.
When he found the Walmart, step one was getting tensor bandages. Wandering through the chaotic 'everything-is-here' store was like trying to make sense of IKEA; It just didn't work. He wandered for some twenty minutes before the aching fire in his ribs became bad enough for him to swallow his pride and ask for their location.
The cheapest ones were still expensive, but he got an extra long and a long one anyway. He could find sticks outside, to act as braces.
Step two was getting a map.
After opening a half-dozen and receiving no results, he managed to shred the last of his angelic dignity by explaining his direction to an underpaid, overtired teen who seemed excited and happy nevertheless. Said teen jumped at the chance to help, handing him the 'ideal map', which did happen to be the perfect map.
After paying for the bandages, Gabriel walked out into the sunlight, wincing and wishing that he could use his grace to summon some sunglasses. Even that though, would tip off a few angels within the area, and if he wanted to make it to the Bunker without incident, he was stuck dealing with things the human way.
At least he knew how to function. Most of his siblings would be stuck without half their powers and their wings, in a world they had no clue how to deal with. Half of them wouldn't even know to eat.
Turning the corner of the Walmart, mostly hidden from prying eyes, Gabriel sat, leaned against the wall, carefully wrapping up his arm. A pair of twigs he had found made a decent enough splint, protecting him from further pain while his grace subtly sewed the bone back together.
After that, he stood up straight and removed his shirt, tying up his ribs equally as carefully. The brace made him feel significantly better, allowing him to breathe more easily, before he pulled back on his shirt and jacket, sitting down with the map.
Tracing his route in pen, Gabriel had an idea of where he was going to go. Hitchhiking was dangerous and irritating, but he could make it. The magic of trucking highways was that he was never in danger of being unseen.
He would start with Pierre, see if he could hitch a ride to Vivian from the Fort, get to Presho, and then make it down the I-90 to Winner. The jump from Winner to Colome would be easy, but after that he had to convince someone to take him to Springview, Nebraska. Getting to Bassett would be simple, but from there to Taylor or Sargent would be a long trip. There was any number of small towns he could get someone to drop him off at on the Sandhills Journey from there, but he'd aim for Ravenna. From Ravenna, it was pretty much a flat run to Minden, from there to Franklin, and down there through Highway 8 to Athol. After Athol, it was basically a straight shot on 281 to Lebanon.
If he had a car, it would be a seven, maybe eight hour drive all at once.
With how he was going, he'd be lucky to make it to Springview by the end of the week.
Great. He reflected sarcastically. Abso-freaking-lutely great.
He got to walking.