Welcome to MoL Part 5! Whoop whoop!
This one's more filler than anything else, Gabriel getting to be sad and considerate, but also learn some new vocabulary words!
This chapter's AKA is 'Do You Know What Monachopsis means?'
{May, 1909}
The hunt was simple. In and out.
He was home before he knew it.
In all honesty, Gabriel had forgotten when he started calling the Bunker, a house full of people more than willing to kill him if they knew what he really was, 'home'.
It was disorienting, to consider a place like that 'home', but that was what it had become. Gabriel didn't have heaven, not anymore, and the pagans could barely be considered his friends. More like 'Acquaintances that won't kill each other. Most of the time.'
"Gabriel!" Vance called, cutting through Gabriel's searing headache like a pick axe. The witch in league with the fallen angel had blasted him, a spell that was supposed to implode his skull. All it did was give him the mother of all migraines and a general hatred of light.
"Voice low, Vance." Priscilla talked softly, her airy, sophisticated tone coming out with the volume. "Gabriel was hit by the witch. Minor spell, a headache for a few hours."
Gabriel dragged forward a bound, blindfolded and ear-covered figure. "But we caught the floozy! Go call Wayne, tell him I got him a present. Gift wrapped." Gabriel grinned loosely, then winced.
"You should go lie down." Vance instructed. "You'll get a crack at her for this later, but go get rid of the headache first."
"Done and done." Gabriel smirked weakly. "Bye, girls."
"Bye Gabe." Pricilla waved while Isabelle signed something along the lines of 'Goodbye Angel' as they left.
"Let's go have a play with that one, shall we?" Vance chuckled darkly as he pulled the unresisting figure down the stairs, heading for the dungeon.
-{[|]}-
Gabriel sat on a comfortable wooden chair, a lazily contented expression on as he watched the angel scream for release, tied down as she was.
The Enochian engraved collar around her throat clinked with the chain that held her down, the shackles on her wrists rattling with her movements, shifts and shouts for her siblings to help her.
Gabriel knew they wouldn't be coming, or if they were, they were coming to kill her before the Men of Letters could crack her. That was, if the angels could even sense her anymore. They probably couldn't, with the whole 'Bunker' issue.
She spat a gob of blood at Wayne's feet, slow, coughing, mocking laughter snaking into the air around them. The angel growled something in Enochian, which only made Wayne hit her with the sword and demand 'ENGLISH' at her, but it didn't work.
This is just getting sad... Gabriel huffed, standing and stripping off his jacket, unpinning and rolling up his sleeves. "Hey, Wayne, buddy, can I get a crack at her?"
"I suppose." Wayne stepped back, leaning against the wall with a sweeping gesture.
Gabriel grinned sadistically, picking his Archangel sword off the table of weapons, walking in front of the angel and squatting to rest his butt on his heels. "Heya sweetheart. How you feeling?" He asked, tilting his head.
She hissed something clear in Enochian. 'Eat shit' was the basic translation.
"I know, baby, I know..." Gabriel murmured softly, running a hand gently over her head and down her hair. Pulling her a little closer to his face, he mouthed some response Enochian. 'Obviously t'was you, who already ate of that bitter meal.'
Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click, staring at Gabriel with disbelief and astonishment. "There you go." Gabriel purred happily. "You wanna try English now?"
She nodded, but was still in too much shock to actually speak.
"Good," Gabriel smiled. "Now, you're going to tell Wayne what he wants to know, or we're going to play 'How much do I know about angels'."
The angel swallowed sharply, but her mouth remained closed and unmoving.
"He's our lead angel biologist, kid." Wayne announced from somewhere behind them. "I wouldn't tempt him."
She spat a revolt at the human, but remained in Enochian. 'Foul mud-monkey! This is no human!'
'That may be true.' Gabriel responded in kind, touching the tip of his blade to the bottom of her chin. 'But you're not quite sure what I am either, are you?'
'The silver is not...' She stammered, waiting in fear.
'Burning me, no.' Grinning toothily, he slid the tip of the knife down to the hollow of her throat. 'Actually, I am human, for now. So you're going to tell us what we want to know, and maybe I won't kill you.'
'You'll kill me either way.' She hissed back, defiance burning in her eyes.
'You're right. The least I can do is promise a swift death. Heaven won't be as kind, will it?'
The angel went very silent once again.
"Alright..." Gabriel announced impatiently in English. "Let's try this again."
And he sliced the knife under her left collarbone, angling the point to carve the meat away from the bone, going through her True Form like a hot knife through butter.
She screamed, wings flapping behind her in terror and pain. He had hit one of six energy centres in the angel, basically the angelic equivalent of a sensitivity spot. "Hey, uh, Wayne, can you get me a pair of Holy Oil Glasses? I want access to her wings."
"Wh-what?!" The angel gasped, breathing heavy and panicky. "N-no, ple-"
"Here you are." Wayne handed him the elegant, horn-rimmed glasses, which for Gabriel were only for show. He could already see her wings.
"Alright..." At her next flap, his hand shot out and caught the top joint of her brown-silver wings. "...You wanna talk yet, or still-"
She spat at him.
"Point..." Gabriel pushed the wing down, then twisted up and brought it forward again in a swift movement. A loud crack followed by the angel's agonized screeching wail, bordering her true voice, rang out. She slumped slightly, panting reedy and overly high-pitched. "Taken." Gabriel finished with a small sigh. He hated hurting his own species. Admitted, he didn't exactly like any of his own kind, but still...
With soft noises and breathy whimpers, she shook hard, like a constant shiver, under his hand. "Trust me, sweetie, you can make it stop."
"...Hea-Heaven'll-ll... Kill m-me an-anyway..." She murmured, tears streaking her cheeks as she hiccuped.
"Then I can promise you, we'll make your death down here quick." He patted her head.
"...O-ok..." She whispered. "... W-Wayne... I c-can tell you... what you wa-want to know."
Gabriel's face darkened with a satisfied huff, and he quickly turned to leave, wanting away from that other angel and her now-broken wing.
-{[|]}-
Gabriel lay on his back at the top of his bunk, holding his book above his head.
"Gabriel!"
With a yelp, Gabriel dropped the book (A nice, thick hardcover) onto his face, flipping over as he spat out dust. "Damnit, Marcus, couldn't'ya knock or something?"
"Sorry, Gabe." Marcus shrugged as he padded further into the room. "You feeling ok?"
"Yeah, fine." Gabriel responded, sitting up and almost hitting his head on the roof. "Why, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. You were just really quiet after the whole thing with the angel earlier." Marcus leaned against the opposite wall, looking up at Gabe.
"Well, I definitely don't enjoy torturing, Marcus." Gabriel snapped, slumping onto his back and bringing his book above his head again.
"...s'long as you're ok." Marcus mumbled as he retreated from the room, leaving Gabriel to his silence and his book.
{October, 2013}
C'mon, dad, throw me a bone here. He thought at the downpour, so heavy he could barely see through it. The rain was loud and oppressive, attacking from all sides. Judging on how water-slick the road was getting, he'd have to pull over soon, or he'd wind up crashing, which wouldn't be useful.
Plus, he was tired.
Not the comfortable, casual feeling of sleepiness that came with rainstorms and their negative ions, but actual tiredness. No Archangel should ever feel tired.
And yet here he was.
The third time he had to force his eyes open was when he officially, well and truly, hated whoever cast the spell. They were actually, openly evil in his eyes, and when he found them... oh, when he found them...
Gabriel was lucky he was resourceful. His wings weren't burned off, protected by pagan magic as they were. They really wouldn't take long to heal, a few weeks at worst, and after that, he was going to fly straight to Heaven and pluck the imbecile's wings. He was going to shred every feather off the idiot, fillet his grace like a tuna fish, and scatter him across the galaxy. Maybe he'd even fly down to Hell and leave him with some rabid demons. Or cut off his wings, or even permanently disfigure them in some way, make them unusable for flight, before throwing his ass into Purgatory. Let off a flash of his own grace for fun, like a dinner bell. One way or another, whoever cast his siblings from their home was going to have hell to pay.
Gabriel pulled over to what he hoped was the shoulder of the road. He just wanted off the highway and back at the Bunker, even if there held the strange sensation of never belonging. Monachopsis. He remembered. Millions of words, in millions of languages, Gabriel had always enjoyed curious, engaging words such as monachopsis. The actual definition was something Gabriel was intimately familiar with; the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place. He hated the way it churned his insides like a whisk, ripping at his chest softly, the world's most gentle scraping, a mouse taking the layers off his lungs with delicate and tiny claws.
Another word, He thought as he watched the rain spray to the ground in peace and silence, shutting out all other thoughts for a bit. is chrysalism. Did you know that? He chuckled slightly as thunder roared across the sky. It's the feeling of peace when you're inside during a thunderstorm.
The desire to talk out loud was actually rather strong, as though he was talking to a sibling. He could remember a similar conversation with Michael years ago, but that was about another word.
For a long time, he just stayed, watching the rain fall within is bubble of quiet and safety, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds. Sleep would feel good, for a few hours. He really did need to get to the Bunker. There, he had security. He could use a little security. Maybe another person to hold on to. Gabriel wondered. He wanted a peaceful life. He had been on the run for so, so long. He needed solid food and sleep.
Sliding down so he lay on his side over the impala's seats, uncaring about the discomfort where the centre console pressed into his spine.
Taking his phone and setting it for 30 minutes, at which point he alarm would ring anwake him, Gabriel settled down for a quick nap.
Less than an hour now... Gabriel thought, reassured by the idea of being home. Carefully, he tugged off his jacket, folding it under his head, reaching up to turn on the heater. It was a cheap move for comfort, but he was lonely.
So, in a warm, rain-drenched car, Gabriel gradually, slowly, allowed himself to sink back into the seat to the sweet, quiet music of water pouring from the before he quite realized how tired he was, sleep swallowed him in it's soothing, secure embrace.
-{[|]}-
The most God-awful alarm woke him up.
At first, he actually wondered if he was back in Heaven, if the last few millennia had been a dream, and if his big brother Luci was screeching in his ear to wake him up.
Instead, it was actually just the fucker who programmed that freaking 'Sci-Fi' ringtone.
Sadist. Gabriel growled unhappily as the high-pitched screaming made a headache spring up, wanting to tackle him back to the seat and go back to sleep. It also didn't help the dizzying shift the world took as he sat up, head spinning with a splitting headache.
When was the last time I checked on my wing? He wondered abruptly, starting to pull them forward, so he could at least see and interact with them.
Which was when his broken one lit up in agony.
Gabriel bit his lip, hands tightening on the steering wheel to keep from howling with the pain. His right wing resisted the whole time he brought it beside him, pinned between the door and himself. It didn't really help, but he liked the illusion.
The grace surrounding the break was charred and inflamed, tumulus and uneven rather than smooth and aligned. Angelic infection. He realized with a soft groan of exasperation, followed by a slightly louder, more bitten whimper as he shifted the wing again.
Leaning over to lay the front seats as flat as possible, Gabriel shifted to the side, allowing his wing some space before pressing his hand to the damage. It was hot and swollen, a sure sign that he wound probably get sick within the next little while if he didn't make it to the damn Bunker.
So he did the smartest thing possible.
He put the car into drive and accelerated, resolved to taking the straightest route to the Bunker he could.
No matter how many speeding laws he broke. He was an Archangel. Fuck that.