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uberbonedFor the first time in a very long time, Gabriel thought about Heaven.
Heaven-As-It-Was, not Heaven-As-It-Became, because there was a significant distinction between the two. Back in the early days, they were a family, a cohesive unit. They were soldiers and servants, but familial love came before orders, but that was because the orders were simple. There was just their Father and the Word and Heaven. Love thy father and thy brothers and all shall be right with their world.
And then God changed the rules. Gabriel didn't know why. Maybe the Old Man just got bored with servants that did everything He asked of him. Maybe He was fickle, maybe He was trying to shake things up. Try hedging a bet and you'd still probably come out wrong, because who can really fathom the decisions of God, Himself? So humanity came into the picture and three archangels watched them from their Father's side. One of them worshiped them as their Father asked, one of them questioned why when it wasn't his place to do so.
And one of them didn't say much of anything at all on the subject.
Millenniums later, Gabriel still wouldn't have said shit with a mouth full of it about the whole thing. You couldn't get him to stop talking, but bring the subject back around to the truth and he got quiet or defensive or cruel. He still didn't know the answer to the question that got Lucifer banished to the Pit. Are they worthy?
God thought they were and then he up and left two families. For all the angels and humanity knew, he'd gone off and started a new race of beings on Pluto and just left his original children behind, once again. The angels destroyed each other on His word, the humans destroyed each other because they had the free will to do it, and now the angels would destroy everything, because they didn't know what else to do.
And then there was Gabriel, the middle brother, who still wouldn't say a damn thing, because he never said anything. When Michael and Lucifer fought, he watched the whole thing and it tore him apart, but he never could tell them to stop. When questioned why he refused to pick a side between them, he ran from the question and ran even farther from the answer. The curtain of Heaven parted for him and then never opened again.
He dove headfirst into the existence of a pagan god and enjoyed every second of it, always telling himself that if God so loved the world, then his second angel would make the world worthy of that unconditional, undying love that he wouldn't show his own angels. He'd find the worst of humanity and teach them lessons they'd never forget. Eventually, there became a fine line between where the fun began and where the actual belief that it was God's work ended. Maybe it did eventually become more about his own amusement, maybe he did get twisted into something less of an angel, because of it. Maybe he deserved it as much as they did.
And he had no illusions about the End. The Big Finish. The Final Curtain. Whatever you wanted to call it. He didn't run to the Barge to escape a death sentence he knew he had on his head if the rest of the family ever knew he was alive and unwilling to cooperate. Sure, he was putting it off, because, in the end, when the axe came down, it would be Michael or Lucifer's eyes he'd be staring into- the brothers he abandoned Heaven, because he loved too much to watch them kill each other becoming his undoing. And it would hurt, but it wouldn't hurt nearly as much as watching his family tear itself apart had hurt.
And that was the real reason he was here, why he pretended like seeing Sam and Dean didn't make him ache in ways that he'd never let on, why he made some deal with some shady guy he didn't trust, because, in the end, all he wanted was for it to be over. And he could broadcast that, show the world that he wasn't some two-bit asshole who couldn't cut it as an angel and made a living being a dick to other dicks, but it didn't matter. Why should anyone get to see that everything he ever did, he did because he loved too much- because in the end, he needed a way to fix this that didn't involve hurting the only people he used to give a damn about. In the end, he was always going to be the coward of the family, running away from every problem, because he didn't know how to do anything but keep quiet and watch. The Messenger couldn't send humanity the Word of the Father, but the Word of Gabriel got caught in his throat. Maybe he taught lessons, because he never learned any himself. He was coward. That was what it all came down to. And that was all anyone would ever see.
Maybe Bela Talbot was right about everything.
What good was having an escape if everything kept coming back to him? What good was being here if everything made him realize how fucked up he'd become?
The more bullshit that came out of making that announcement, the more irritated he became with himself, until eventually locking himself in his room and waiting for more vitriol and asspats to come out of it just made him want to hurl his journal against the wall. He wasn't looking for sympathy. He wasn't looking to play the moral high ground. He was looking to manage to keep a tenable hold on the last thing he had left, which was the fact that no matter what he became, no matter how far he sank, he wasn't a monster. Whatever. Like he really cared. Like he was really here looking for anything other than a way out that he was too cowardly to get himself.
He wandered up onto the deck, putting himself as far away from everything as he could, and planted his hands on the railing, staring out into the nothing, a light breeze ruffling his hair slightly. He was stuck here- one way or another, he was stuck here. He was gonna have to keep going, biting down his irritation at being stuck in one place sandwiched between people he couldn't stand and people he knew he'd miss when this was all over and he had to go back.
Killing you would be like euthanasia. Putting down a rabid dog. You're nothing like them. They look down from heaven, see who you are and what you've done, shake their heads and say 'Hopless. Case.'
It's a cycle. It's why he never let himself care that much about anything since his family, because that was where it always ended up, wasn't it?
An archangel stood on the deck of the Barge, braced against the railing, and wondered if any part of this was going to get better.
Heaven-As-It-Was, not Heaven-As-It-Became, because there was a significant distinction between the two. Back in the early days, they were a family, a cohesive unit. They were soldiers and servants, but familial love came before orders, but that was because the orders were simple. There was just their Father and the Word and Heaven. Love thy father and thy brothers and all shall be right with their world.
And then God changed the rules. Gabriel didn't know why. Maybe the Old Man just got bored with servants that did everything He asked of him. Maybe He was fickle, maybe He was trying to shake things up. Try hedging a bet and you'd still probably come out wrong, because who can really fathom the decisions of God, Himself? So humanity came into the picture and three archangels watched them from their Father's side. One of them worshiped them as their Father asked, one of them questioned why when it wasn't his place to do so.
And one of them didn't say much of anything at all on the subject.
Millenniums later, Gabriel still wouldn't have said shit with a mouth full of it about the whole thing. You couldn't get him to stop talking, but bring the subject back around to the truth and he got quiet or defensive or cruel. He still didn't know the answer to the question that got Lucifer banished to the Pit. Are they worthy?
God thought they were and then he up and left two families. For all the angels and humanity knew, he'd gone off and started a new race of beings on Pluto and just left his original children behind, once again. The angels destroyed each other on His word, the humans destroyed each other because they had the free will to do it, and now the angels would destroy everything, because they didn't know what else to do.
And then there was Gabriel, the middle brother, who still wouldn't say a damn thing, because he never said anything. When Michael and Lucifer fought, he watched the whole thing and it tore him apart, but he never could tell them to stop. When questioned why he refused to pick a side between them, he ran from the question and ran even farther from the answer. The curtain of Heaven parted for him and then never opened again.
He dove headfirst into the existence of a pagan god and enjoyed every second of it, always telling himself that if God so loved the world, then his second angel would make the world worthy of that unconditional, undying love that he wouldn't show his own angels. He'd find the worst of humanity and teach them lessons they'd never forget. Eventually, there became a fine line between where the fun began and where the actual belief that it was God's work ended. Maybe it did eventually become more about his own amusement, maybe he did get twisted into something less of an angel, because of it. Maybe he deserved it as much as they did.
And he had no illusions about the End. The Big Finish. The Final Curtain. Whatever you wanted to call it. He didn't run to the Barge to escape a death sentence he knew he had on his head if the rest of the family ever knew he was alive and unwilling to cooperate. Sure, he was putting it off, because, in the end, when the axe came down, it would be Michael or Lucifer's eyes he'd be staring into- the brothers he abandoned Heaven, because he loved too much to watch them kill each other becoming his undoing. And it would hurt, but it wouldn't hurt nearly as much as watching his family tear itself apart had hurt.
And that was the real reason he was here, why he pretended like seeing Sam and Dean didn't make him ache in ways that he'd never let on, why he made some deal with some shady guy he didn't trust, because, in the end, all he wanted was for it to be over. And he could broadcast that, show the world that he wasn't some two-bit asshole who couldn't cut it as an angel and made a living being a dick to other dicks, but it didn't matter. Why should anyone get to see that everything he ever did, he did because he loved too much- because in the end, he needed a way to fix this that didn't involve hurting the only people he used to give a damn about. In the end, he was always going to be the coward of the family, running away from every problem, because he didn't know how to do anything but keep quiet and watch. The Messenger couldn't send humanity the Word of the Father, but the Word of Gabriel got caught in his throat. Maybe he taught lessons, because he never learned any himself. He was coward. That was what it all came down to. And that was all anyone would ever see.
Maybe Bela Talbot was right about everything.
What good was having an escape if everything kept coming back to him? What good was being here if everything made him realize how fucked up he'd become?
The more bullshit that came out of making that announcement, the more irritated he became with himself, until eventually locking himself in his room and waiting for more vitriol and asspats to come out of it just made him want to hurl his journal against the wall. He wasn't looking for sympathy. He wasn't looking to play the moral high ground. He was looking to manage to keep a tenable hold on the last thing he had left, which was the fact that no matter what he became, no matter how far he sank, he wasn't a monster. Whatever. Like he really cared. Like he was really here looking for anything other than a way out that he was too cowardly to get himself.
He wandered up onto the deck, putting himself as far away from everything as he could, and planted his hands on the railing, staring out into the nothing, a light breeze ruffling his hair slightly. He was stuck here- one way or another, he was stuck here. He was gonna have to keep going, biting down his irritation at being stuck in one place sandwiched between people he couldn't stand and people he knew he'd miss when this was all over and he had to go back.
Killing you would be like euthanasia. Putting down a rabid dog. You're nothing like them. They look down from heaven, see who you are and what you've done, shake their heads and say 'Hopless. Case.'
It's a cycle. It's why he never let himself care that much about anything since his family, because that was where it always ended up, wasn't it?
An archangel stood on the deck of the Barge, braced against the railing, and wondered if any part of this was going to get better.
