Chapter Text
{May, 1909}
"Gabriel!"
Marcus' voice rang clear through the hallway, searching for a particular golden-haired odd biologist.
"Marcus, some of us are trying to bloody sleep..." Vance emerged from his room, rubbing his face.
"Sorry, Vance." Marcus smiled apologetically. "Have you seen Gabriel?" He questioned as the tall, dark haired man leaned on the doorway.
"Can't say I have, Marcus, sorry." He shrugged, yawning. "Try the Archives. Or ask Vincent. He knows everything in this bloody place I swear." Vance yawned again, jaw popping as he did so.
"Thanks, Vance." Marcus grinned. "Get some sleep."
"You woke me up." The younger, though larger, man growled good-naturedly. "I'm going to get coffee. If I spot Gabriel, I'll keep him around until you get to him."
"Thanks!" Marcus called over his shoulder as he continued down the hallway, turning into the War room. "Oh!" He gasped when he noticed the two ladies at the table with one of the other men. "Good morning, everyone." He greeted.
The shorter blond girl, in a soft blue dress, turned to look at him. "Hello, Marcus. Good morning to you as well."
"Ah, Priscilla, it is good to see you again." He smiled. "And Isabelle, ever silent, always hunting." He laughed gently.
The taller, dark haired girl smiled mysteriously, raising her hands to sign out a few words.
"She says 'it is always a pleasure to be back among friends.'" Priscilla translated.
"I couldn't agree more, Isabelle." He nodded to her. She smiled softly, then turned back to her book. "De'van," Marcus turned to the younger, a skinny, lanky almost-boy who didn't quite fit with the elegance of the room. "Have you seen Gabriel?"
"Yes, actually." De'van turned on his chair. "He was in the Archives, last I saw 'im." He waved a hand to the hallway. "You could also try his room."
"I'll check the Archive first." Marcus agreed with an eye roll. "Thanks, De'van."
De'van hummed a 'you're welcome', Priscilla and Isabelle waving at Marcus' retreating back.
The biologist trotted down the hall, shoes tapping as he headed for the Archive, a room rather obvious in the grand scheme of things. The door labeled '7B' wasn't quite closed, but it was obviously occupied, lit from within.
"Gabriel?" Marcus questioned, knocking on the doorframe to make his presence known. "Are you in here?"
"Marcus?" The man who responded was sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded in paper, with a happy-go-lucky grin and ink smudges all over his face. His hair, a dark, honey-brown, was ruffled and a little worked over, Gabriel obviously not having slept for a while. All the same, his golden eyes were bright and excited. "I'm here, yep! What can I do for you?" Gabriel, because of his... strange accent, said 'you' more like 'yah', but it was engaging and interesting.
"Mostly? To see if you've slept yet today."
"Of course!" Gabriel sounded like he finished, but when Marcus gave him a glare over his glasses, Gabriel looked down. "Not..."
"Get some rest." Marcus ordered.
"But Marcus, research!" Gabriel gestured to the scattering of papers around him, messy, but with an order. It was interesting to examine. Gabriel worked in such odd ways sometimes.
"But Gabriel, sleep." Marcus mocked nasally, walking over to nudge Gabriel with a foot. "Go. Now. The research will still be here when you get back."
"Ugh, fine..." He sighed, standing. Gabriel was rather short, a kind, clever person who enjoyed tricks to no end. Younger than Marcus, but the most brilliant translator and mythologist that he had ever met, and as a result, Marcus really couldn't help but treat him as almost a son.
That meant ruffling his messy hair when he stood up, only to have his fingers entangled in the smaller's long, tangled mess.
"Ack!" Gabriel exclaimed, dragged off balance by the assault on his head.
"Whoa, sorry." Marcus carefully extracted his fingers, though Gabriel winced with each movement, making the elder question if he was being gentle enough. "Brush that mess."
"Fine, Marcus." Gabriel huffed, moving past him, pushing out the door. "Don't touch my research!" He called from the hallway, making Marcus chuckle and shake his head as he knelt down to see what Gabriel had been working on.
Pages and pages of Gabriel's near-calligraphy writing was translations and summaries on angels, demons and every halfbreed imaginable.
"Angel research..." Marcus sighed. "You crazy bastard, Gabriel... You crazy, crazy bastard."
{October, 2013}
Crash-landing had been painful.
Gabriel had felt the heat of some unseen fire lapping at the tips of his wings and instantly guessed what had happened. He had felt a Nephilim die already, and had heard the anguished cry of Gail, the Cupid.
He wondered, briefly, what poor bastard had his Grace taken.
Then he remembered that he was about get his damn wings burned off.
Wheeling around, Gabriel reached within himself for Loki's icy powers, cloaking his wings in the cool frost, wreathing them in a temporary cocoon of safety. Fear lodged itself in his throat, a chunk of bile that felt like he would choke, angelic adrenaline filling his True Form like a wave.
Gabriel fired like a shot, six wings whipping at the air, an ever-undulating wave of power and energy, heading south over the United States. The sprawling land below held no wonder to him tonight, as the sky lit up with angels plummeting to Earth.
The heat that surrounded the frost barrier was beginning to melt his defense, charring the edges of his feathers, making flying heavy and difficult. He poured more energy into the barrier, determined to make it at least halfway there... He had to.
He knew precisely where he was going. After all, he had spent a human's lifetime there. It had been fun, to play at being fully human for once, even involved as he had been with the unnatural. It was terrifying and awesome all at once.
The layer of ice buckled, letting the all-consuming heat, greater than any hellfire, lick at the back of his wings, blackened streaks painted on his feathers. He patched it as quickly as he could, the crackling of ice a tinny undertone to the screams over angel radio, and the roar of flames.
Around him, angels fell, unable to protect themselves from the searing heat. Gabriel had to swing out of the way at one point, barely dodging a terrified, crying Ariel, who plunged past him without recognition.
Few of his siblings would find vessels early, and would instead spend their time floating around, looking for rest, and finding none. Some, he thought, like Castiel, would already be in vessels, and their wings would simply burn. He hoped his younger brother wasn't in too much pain.
The barrier over his smallest right wing suddenly cracked, the wing alighting with pain. Gabriel cried out in his true voice, echoing loudly across the sky, before he pushed his wings to flap faster. Below him, the wide expanse of Dakota farmland seemed to glow with joyful energy, like the earth was drinking in the angel's pain.
It was when the barrier over his second wing on the left side cracked, that Gabriel realized he'd never make it to Kansas. At best he was over Glenham, South Dakota, miles from where he needed to be. All that, and with very little hope of making it much past the border without damage.
The stretched blue, curving shape of the Missouri River sprawled across the plains, clawlike tendrils of smaller streams sinking into the surrounding land, casting life to the farmlands.
Guess I gotta put 'er in the water. He decided grimly, swerving over the river directly, following it south as he descended, dropping a few hundred feet quickly, flames already beginning to claw over his golden feathers, marring them with ashen black.
C'mon, just hold on, once the spell stops, your wings will stop burning, just a few more minutes, c'mon, c'mon... He urged himself, wings pumping faster, shooting over Forest City like a rocket, wings half folded into his chest, smoke trailing off him, a grey pathway of his defeat.
Mission Ridge rose grandly from the ground, shading a wide bend of the Missouri River. Gabriel's eyes flicked from the peninsula that made the bend distinctive a distinctive loop, then to the rocky hill that made up Mission Ridge, and finally to the bubble of space in the river.
With the spell boxing him in on all sides, and the barrier squished against his feathers, he realized that if he slowed down, he was going to turn into a spray of bloody ash in the sky.
If the only way to go is forward, then I guess I go forward! He pushed for more energy, the muscles in his back screaming for rest, for him to stop flapping like he wanted to tear them out.
Mentally, he marked a few locations, where he would angle his wings downward into a dive, where he would plummet to the wider strip of the river. The calculations were immense, taxing, and he knew where it would end up.
When he passed his mental marker, he pulled his wings in as hard as he could, combining all the barriers into one, surrounding his entire body from the spell, the frost smoothing down, a bullet wreathed in flame.
He plunged, wrapping his arms over his head, eyes squeezed tight as he guarded with his forearms, upper body locking down, every muscle tensing to a rock hard point.
Air rushed past his ears, whistling hatefully, blowing some of the flames out viciously. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, Gabriel wondered if he was going to be fine.
Then came the impact.
At the velocity he was going, hitting the water felt like slamming into a brick wall at Mach 3.
Gabriel spun, barrier shattering like cheap frozen plastic, bouncing across the water in a spray of white. He yelped in pain and shock before his he felt his vessel's ribs crack under the strain, as well as his arm and right top wing.
The final landing brought more agony, plus the realization that without his momentum, he was sinking. With a shout that released the last of his air, Gabriel kicked for the surface, heavy, waterlogged wings pulling him down, but angelic strength lent itself to help.
He swam against the current, determined to keep his head above water as he gasped for the surface, afraid and pained, floating down the river in an endless wash of water.
It took him a solid twenty minutes of struggling and pain to swim close enough to a dead tree, clinging to the shore by a few roots, to grab and hang on, to shut his eyes for a few seconds and relax. His beaten, broken vessel and burned, scarred True Form were exhausted. He had used a ton of grace just to keep from getting his wings too charred. Now...
There was a long pause as Gabriel refused to think for a few moments, soaking in the feeling of deep, calming breaths and of the water suspending him.
Fuck... He thought with a soft groan. My week just turned real shitty real fast.