sp8isgr8

10

Rare Ships

↳ Debriel

“I see right through you, you know that? The smart-ass shell, the whole ‘I could give a crap’ thing? Believe me, it takes one to know one.”

“Better late than never, huh? […] And Dean, you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother, not any more. So this is me, standing up.”

  • Hallelujah
  • The Canadian Tenors
Play

There was something poetic about a fallen angel sitting in a pew, especially considering Gabriel hadn’t prayed in decades. What was the point, when there was nobody listening? 

It was still raining outside, and the sanctuary was freezing; he was soaked to the bone and shivering hard enough to make his muscles sore. There had to be something poetic, too, about the frigid air in the stone-walled chapel, and about the old, scuffed wooden cross on the altar. 

Gabriel had always hated poetry anyway.

He rested his elbows on the pew in front of him, pressed his forehead to his knuckles and tried to remember how to pray. He couldn’t, not like he had before, when he’d known that somebody out there would hear or even care. There was no going back to that, but there was one more prayer in him that he needed to get out, and it ached in his chest where Lucifer had plunged that foul blade.

His voice shook with cold as he rasped out, “Dad?”

There was no answer. 

He leaned back in the pew, getting tired now, the cold seeping into his very bones as his Grace seeped out. The laugh that punched its way from his gut was bitter and harsh. 

“Almost thought you’d listen,” he scoffed. “Stupid.”

He was alone in the church, and alone in the world, and his vision was becoming hazy. He winced, rubbing his chest; the ache there was dull, throbbing and deep.

He drew in a breath, and his voice was barely audible as he asked, “Why did you leave?” Silence. He grew angry. “Can’t you tell me that at least? Don’t you owe me-” Enraged, he tried to stand, and the deep ripping sensation in his ribs forced him back down into the pew. He was dizzy.

“Please…” he pleaded, his voice pained and rough. “Please, Dad…please…You don’t have to save me, just tell me you’re still around. Tell me you didn’t just up and leave us to die like animals…”

Nothing.

Maybe it was true. Maybe he had forgotten how to pray. 

He was tired…so tired. He lay down on the pew, rested his head on a hymnal.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.”

His voice was weak. “Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.”

His eyes grew heavy. “Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.”

He closed them. “Amen.”

There was something poetic about a fallen angel dying in a church.

2

And maybe we got lost in translation

          Maybe I asked for too much

                    But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

                              ‘til you tore it all up

                    Running scared

          I was there

I remember it all too well

Pancakes || Gabriel & Castiel

Gabriel’s at one of his houses that he randomly created by thought. It’s not far from Minnesota and he thinks he’s going to stay here longer than he usually does. He’s a traveller and he never had the patience to stay still at one place. Even in Heaven, Gabriel was always running or rather flying around, and he would be considered hyperactive if anyone knew what that really meant then.

The archangel’s in his white singlet and red boxers get up with William, his Jack Russell Terrier somewhere on the second floor. Gabriel can practically hear his barking from the kitchen where he’s actually making pancakes from scratch, without his angelic powers. He’s expecting someone, though he wouldn’t be sure that his guest would be too happy about how Gabriel’s going to call him here.

When he’s almost done with the pancakes he sends a distress signal to Castiel. “Cas, I need your help." is all he says before cutting of the angelic communication and resuming his pancake making.