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Dean was an enthusiastic admirer of the female form. Everyone knew this about him—it wasn’t like he tried to hide it. When he saw a pretty girl, he made his appreciation known.
So when the young woman on the other side of the aisle caught his eye, Dean set down the shelf-stable pie he’d been considering (desperation does ugly things to a man’s soul) and straightened.
Her back was to him, so Dean couldn’t see much, but he deeply approved of the curves and the tawny hair that tumbled to her waist. Then she turned, and Dean perked up a little more. A perky nose, dark blue eyes, and a wide mouth that seemed set in a permanent smile—oh yes, Dean very much approved.
The young woman met his eyes and Dean squared his shoulders and smiled at her.
“How’s it going?” he asked in his patented, yet-to-fail deep drawl.
She rolled her eyes. “Does anyone ever fall for that?” she asked.
Dean blinked. “I….”
She didn’t give him a chance to finish. “Where’s Sam?”
Dean went for his gun but the young woman was on him before he got there. Two fingers to his forehead and his world went dark.
When he woke up, he was back in the bunker. Sam was leaning over him, green eyes worried.
“Sam?” Dean slurred. He felt like he’d been kicked by a mule. “Wha… happened?”
The young woman appeared in Dean’s line of sight as Sam hunched his shoulders, his forehead creasing in concern. She waggled her fingers at Dean, who groped for his gun, but Sam caught his wrist.
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s… Gabriel.”
Dean stared at him, and then at the young woman, who shrugged. “That’s Gabriel?” he managed.
“Apparently,” Sam said, sighing.
Dean picked the most convenient option of those available to him—he passed out again.
This time when he woke up, Sam was gone and the young woman—Gabriel, if Sam was to be believed—was sitting beside him instead. Dean bolted upright, flailing for something, anything, that would serve as a weapon, but Gabriel just rolled her eyes.
“Really, Dean, like anything you could throw at me would hurt me anyway.”
Dean clutched a couch cushion to his chest and glared at the archangel, who gazed back with amusement sparking in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Dean demanded. “I thought you were dead!”
Gabriel waved a delicate hand. “Witness protection. I needed to dump my vessel for… private reasons. This lovely young thing was willing to lend me herself for a little while, until I can get matters straightened out.”
“Sam went back to the motel,” Dean said, suddenly furious. “He barely talked for a week after he saw your wings burnt into the floor. And now you just show up out of the blue?”
Gabriel shifted her weight, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “It… wasn’t ideal, the way that panned out,” she said. “But it couldn’t be avoided.”
“Ideal?” Dean hissed. “I’ll ‘ideal’ your fucking face, you fucking—”
Sam pushed open the library door and Dean cut himself off. His brother was carrying a tea tray with several steaming mugs on it, and Gabriel sprang to her feet to take it from him and set it on the coffee table.
“So thoughtful,” she murmured, and Dean could swear she was batting her lashes at Sam, who cleared his throat and handed Dean a mug before sitting down on the loveseat.
Gabriel promptly sat down beside him, leaning over to give Sam a look down her top as she picked up a mug of tea, and Sam shot Dean a helpless look over her head.
Dean lifted one shoulder. It’s Gabriel, what are you gonna do?
“Where’s Cas?” he said out loud.
“I sent him on an errand for me,” Gabriel said. “Have you told him how you feel yet?”
Dean pointed a finger at him. “You keep your snub nose out of my business,” he snarled.
Gabriel rolled her eyes. “That torch you’re carrying for my little brother could be seen from space, is all I’m saying,” she said, and sipped her tea. She shot an appreciative smile up at Sam. “This is delicious, Sammy,” she purred, scooting a little closer.
Sam looked utterly miserable, sitting perfectly still as if afraid to move a muscle.
Dean stood up, dropping the couch cushion. “Could I speak to my brother alone, please?” he said through his teeth.
Gabriel lifted a delicate shoulder. “No one’s stopping you.”
Sam stood up and Dean stalked out of the room, his brother on his heels. In the hall, he spun.
“What the fuck is going on?” he hissed.
“I don’t know any more than you do!” Sam protested, running his hands through his hair. “She just… showed up with you, said she needed our help, and then you woke up and I… made tea.”
“While she flirted with you, what’s up with that?” Dean patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I won’t let her get close to you again. I mean, yeah, that vessel’s cute as a button, but it’s still Gabriel.” He shuddered.
Sam shifted his weight and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Dean narrowed his eyes.
“Spit it out,” he said.
“That’s not the problem,” Sam said.
“Then what is?” Dean asked.
“I…” Sam glanced behind him at the closed library door. “I liked him better as a guy, is all.”
Dean stared at him. “You like liked him?” he finally said.
“Maybe,” Sam mumbled, staring at the floor. “It was his eyes, I think. Or maybe his mouth. Or the way he smiled at me, really smiled, in Crawford Hall. I know he was playing a part, but—”
Dean held up a hand and Sam cut himself off.
“You’ve been crushing on Gabriel since Crawford Hall?” Dean said.
Sam ducked his head. “Sort of?” he muttered.
“Oh my god,” Dean moaned. “There’s not enough brain bleach in the world.”
“This coming from the guy who’s in love with his own personal angel,” Sam shot back, and Dean stiffened.
“Are you guys done discussing your love lives?” Gabriel called. “Or do I have to pretend I can’t hear you for awhile longer?”
Dean glared at Sam, who sighed.
“This isn’t over,” Dean mouthed.
Sam just rolled his eyes and opened the door. Gabriel was sitting on the loveseat, knees together and feet crossed at the ankles. She smiled brightly at both men.
“Excellent. Can we get on with things that actually matter now?”
Dean followed Sam back into the room and they settled back on the couch, shoulder to shoulder.
“So what are you doing here?” Dean asked.
Gabriel took another sip of tea. “It’s a very long story.”
“Of course it is,” Dean muttered, slumping back against the cushions and crossing his arms.
“It goes all the way back to the creation of Adam,” Gabriel continued, ignoring him. “Dad used clay to make him, right? But it wasn’t just any old clay.”
Sam perked up a little, Dean noted with disgust. Ever the history nerd, his little brother.
Gabriel slanted a smile at him over her teacup. “Dad breathed life into the clay, molded Adam out of it, and poof, first man. But there were… scraps, left over, when he was done. Enough to make another person.” Gabriel shrugged. “So I… borrowed it.”
“You stole it,” Dean corrected, sitting up.
“Semantics,” Gabriel said, looking haughty. “Dad wasn’t using it, so I… did. I used it to make my vessel, the one you boys know. It wasn’t really meant to be my endgame vessel—more an exercise in what I could make with that clay. But I liked it, and I fit in it really comfortably, so I kept it. No one else knew about it, so when I skipped out of Heaven, it was the perfect thing to hide in.”
“I don’t believe this,” Dean mumbled, rubbing his face. “You stole magic clay, used it to make your getaway, and now you want our help getting it back?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go,” Gabriel shot back. Her shoulders slumped and Sam shot Dean a dirty look.
“What can we do to help?” Sam asked, leaning forward, and Gabriel sent him a grateful look.
“I know who took my vessel. I know where they are, and what they want it for. But I can’t get it back on my own. When Cas gets back with my blade, we can get moving,” she said.
“Wait, whoa,” Dean sputtered, sitting up again. “Who took your vessel, what do they want it for, and why is Cas in the middle of all this?”
“Cas is my little brother, and unlike you, he actually likes me,” Gabriel snapped. “Of course he wanted to help when I told him what I needed. As for who took my vessel, well… it’s a group of demons intent on breaking Lucifer out of the cage. They needed something strong enough to shatter the locks on the cage, something that could withstand the hellfire that surrounds it for a solid mile in all directions. Not even demons can stay unscorched in that much hellfire.”
“And you can?”
“Of course I can,” Gabriel said, her eyes scornful. “And my vessel can too, because of what it’s made of, but not for long. It won’t survive the trip unscathed, so above and beyond the imperative of making sure my asshole big brother with the rage issues stays safely where he can’t hurt us, I’d really like to rescue my vessel while it’s still in one piece.”
Dean sighed. “And of course we’re the only ones that can help.”
Sam put one big hand on his arm. “Of course we’ll do whatever we can, Gabriel.”
The smile that spread across the archangel’s borrowed face was the most honest one Dean had ever seen.
“So how did they get your vessel in the first place?” Sam asked.
Gabriel shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable. “It… might’ve been a honey trap. That turned out to be an actual trap.”
Dean snickered and Gabriel glared at him.
“There were Adamic symbols everywhere, okay? And I wasn’t exactly ready for them to basically fucking exorcise me.”
“They caught you off-guard,” Dean said, feigning sympathy. “It happens to the best of us.”
“I hate you,” Gabriel muttered.
Dean toasted her with his teacup.
The next several hours were involved in plotting, discussing entry into the warehouse where the demons were holed up. In between jokes about “rear entry”, Gabriel had more than a few excellent strategic suggestions. Her eyebrows went up when Dean commented on that fact.
“I am one of the oldest beings in existence,” she said. “I am a soldier, Dean, tested in battles the like you couldn’t dream of. Believe me, I know my way around a plan of attack.” Her generous mouth curved in a wicked smile. “I also know my way around my fair share of rear entries—”
Dean held up a desperate hand. “Yes, thank you, I get the picture.”
A flap of wings signaled Castiel’s appearance and Dean jerked his head up, relief filling him at the sight of his angel, disheveled and messy-haired as usual, but whole and healthy.
Dean cleared his throat. “Hey Cas, where ya been, buddy?”
Castiel gave him a confused look. “Retrieving Gabriel’s blade, Dean. I thought she explained it to you.”
Dean hunched his shoulders, feeling stupid. “Yeah, uh, she did.”
Castiel turned to speak to Gabriel, pitching his voice low, and Dean looked back down at the hastily sketched map of the warehouse.
An hour later, they were ready to go.
In retrospect, it wasn’t the worst fight they’d had. The demons were unprepared for the Winchesters and two very angry angels to burst in on them, especially with the special hex bags that Gabriel had helped make beforehand, the ones that made the demons explode when the bags made contact.
Dean was rather taken with the sizzle pop noise the demons made, and was too busy fighting in close quarters with Castiel, their shoulders pressed together, to really take note of what Gabriel and Sam were doing on the other side of the big room, other than to make sure Sam was still upright and mobile.
Instead he focused on Castiel’s solid warmth at his back as he ducked a demon’s wild swing and then dropped a hex bag down its shirt. It screamed and exploded and Dean laughed, wild and fierce. He felt alive, blood singing in his veins, and he lunged forward at the next demon that appeared.
It opted for the wiser course of bolting, and Dean went after it, gun in one hand and another hex bag in the other. He skidded around the corner and hurled the bag, hitting the fleeing demon between the shoulder blades, and grinned viciously at the strangled shriek and the ensuing sizzle pop.
He turned back to Castiel and the grin slid off his face. Castiel wasn’t where he’d left him. Instead, he was a crumpled heap of tan streaked with red on the floor and a demon was standing over him, its blade dripping in slow, heavy crimson streaks, teeth bared triumphantly.
No.
Dean started firing without consciously registering what he was doing. He emptied his gun into the demon, which flew backward. Sam spun and took in what had happened. He flung a hex bag at the demon and caught Gabriel’s arm, but Dean wasn’t paying attention to them anymore.
He fell to his knees beside Castiel, who gripped his wrist weakly. “Cas, baby, c’mon, don’t you do this to me, this is nothing, do you hear me?” His hands were moving frantically as he spoke, assessing the injuries.
Castiel coughed, blood on his lips. “Dean….”
“Whatever it is you think you’re going to say, save it,” Dean said fiercely, blinking back tears. “Tell me when you’re healed, okay?”
Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he said more insistently. “I… love you. It is important to me that… you know that.” He coughed again and Dean closed his eyes.
“Gabriel!” he shouted.
There was a scuffling noise and then Gabriel was there, the real Gabriel, the one Dean knew, golden eyes and chestnut hair, that clever mouth set in concentration as he put both hands on Castiel’s weakly heaving chest.
“What were you thinking, leaving him like that?” he hissed as his hands wove an intricate pattern on Castiel’s skin. A blue glow sprang up around his fingers and Dean took an unsteady breath.
“Anything you have to say, I’ve already said, louder and with a lot more obscenities. Just… fix him. Please.”
“Working on it,” Gabriel snapped. “Shut up and let me concentrate.”
Sam appeared on Dean’s other side, a hand warm on his arm. “Deep breaths,” he directed him, and Dean did his best to obey. But Castiel was going to die, and it was Dean’s fault, and he couldn’t breathe, his vision was sparkling at the edges and there was an elephant sitting on his chest.
The blow across his face shocked him into sucking in air. Sam braced him with a hand on each arm.
“Better?” he asked.
Dean nodded wordlessly, unable to take his eyes off Castiel’s limp form.
Sam tightened his grip. “He’s going to be okay,” he said. “Gabriel’s the best. I have to go help his temporary vessel, are you alright?”
Dean nodded again and Sam scrambled to his feet and disappeared from Dean’s line of sight.
Finally Gabriel dropped his hands and sat back on his heels with a sigh. Dean leaned forward, staring at Castiel’s unconscious face.
“Is he—did you….”
“Relax, Casanova, your boyfriend’s gonna make it,” Gabriel said, exhaustion threading through his voice. He pushed himself to his feet and wavered. Sam appeared and lunged forward, catching the archangel before he collapsed, and Gabriel sagged in Sam’s arms, clearly too tired to even make a snappy comment.
Dean looked back at Castiel, who was stirring and opening dark blue eyes.
“Cas?” Dean said, hope and relief choking him.
Castiel’s lips curved a little and he pushed himself to his elbows. “You called me baby,” he said.
Dean blinked. “I—what?”
“When you thought I was dying,” Castiel said helpfully. “You called me baby.”
“No, I said ‘buddy’. I call you buddy a lot,” Dean said.
Castiel’s smile widened. “No. You said baby.”
“Slip of the tongue, then,” Dean said desperately. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“Yes it did,” Castiel said, and he caught the front of Dean’s jacket and pulled him down until their lips met. Dean stiffened briefly—he was kissing Cas, how was this possible—but Castiel wasn’t letting go and finally Dean took a shaky breath and then he was kissing back, sinking into it as relief and terror and love choked him in equal measures.
When they finally broke apart, Castiel cupped Dean’s cheek in one hand, blue eyes boring into his.
“Cas,” Dean managed. “I don’t—”
“I know,” Castiel whispered. “It’s alright, Dean. We’ll take it slow.”
Dean sat back on his heels and helped Castiel to sit up before looking around to find Sam.
Who was a few feet away, kissing Gabriel within an inch of his life.
“What the fuck?” Dean demanded.
Sam and Gabriel broke apart, Sam looking guilty, and Gabriel grinned.
“I think it’s time to go back to the bunker and talk about our feelings,” he said, and snapped his fingers.