Supernatural: Seeking Solace
Title: Seeking Solace
Author: bagheera_101
Rating: PG?
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel
Word Count: 922
Warnings: Angsty archangel? XD
Spoilers: None, assuming you know of the existence of Gabriel. XD
Summary: Even an archangel can lose faith sometimes; what he wishes would restore his faith only makes things worse until he finds hope in an unexpected way.
The lights overhead are steady, humming with an artificial life of their own. It is a stark contrast to the objects they illuminate, the strangest bits of everyday life torn from their environments and displayed in glass boxes for people to marvel over.
These people cannot imagine what it would be like to live forever. Immortality was a dream prized by far too many of those haunting the halls of this place, considering the cold comforts of its reality. Few could truly understand what it would be like to walk into a museum after hundreds or thousands of years and watch herds of gawkers ogling random shards of pottery as if they were supposed to mean something significant. Then, the herds of gawkers would move on and forget, with only a very few tempted to linger and imagine the rich and varied life that must have gone on around these shards, movies of tragedy and romance playing through their minds.
An archangel walks among these people with a purpose fixed in mind, stepping around glass display cases and refusing a brightly coloured map of the museum, recently reprinted with large text for the visually impaired, because he knows where he's going. It's calling to him, and the draw is strong enough that he needs no complimentary museum guide to help him find it.
His light hazel eyes are distant enough to make the guards glance at one another and draw closer to the artifacts they protect, as if he will suddenly snap and announce that he's holding the place up, so could they please hand over their most valuable treasures. These lowly servants of the public interest (employed by the private corporation, to protect their interest in history) are the last thing on his mind, below even the gum he stepped on while avoiding a flock of school children outside the entrance.
Far more important to him is catching a glimpse of something that has been lost from him, and the rest of the world, for over six hundred years, something that he believes will ease the ache in his heart.
He finds it hanging by itself on a section of wall, and snorts at the notecard beneath it that declares it perfectly preserved. He sees the dulling of the bright reds of his wings, the flaking and chipping away at the paint behind the painted figure, the yellow peeking through the rich blues of the cloak.
Gabriel stared at what should have been his own reflection for a long time, examining it as if it were a long-lost friend. A slight quirk of one lip expressed benevolence, and the bright look in the painted eyes had faded to a mournful one. Where once he had gained peace and purpose from looking upon an artist's inspired portrait of him, he only saw sadness now.
For one of the three great archangels, he didn't have much faith. He struggled to believe in Heaven, which he had abandoned long ago in pursuit of cold, empty shells of reality, creating play worlds and hiding in them rather than facing his own family. Humanity, to Gabriel, was worth saving... more so than Heaven.
He had expected to feel the same rush of emotions as last time: the same restoration of faith, the same sudden devotion to his cause, the same overwhelming love for the universe. Instead, all he sees is a disillusioned archangel giving his blessings and hiding his pain. It feels like a mirror reflecting his past at him in a mocking derision of what it meant to be an archangel.
I'm trapped. Heaven needs me, humans need me, and I have to think of the greater good. I can't always run from my fate. Maybe it's better to just... embrace it and not try to feel at all.
Gabriel clearly sees now that the comfort he was hoping for with a fervour akin to prayer is not forthcoming. He turns to leave, when movement catches his eye. He hasn't been the only one staring at the faded, aging painting so coldly displayed and illuminated.
A wrinkled old woman, stooped from age and leaning heavily on her cane, stood there and just gazed upon the angel's chipped and gold-tinged face. She didn't appear to have any interest in the other artifacts, just like he didn't notice them. Her face bore the signs of a life well-lived and spent laughing, and her hand shook slightly where it gripped the knob on top of her cane. Her short silver hair peeked out from under a simple cloth cap, the rest of her clothes equally simple.
Intrigued, Gabriel stood and watched her for a moment, tilting his head as he heard her start to speak.
“Dear Gabriel...” her soft voice was barely audible over the humming of the lights and the chatter of other patrons. The archangel felt a slight stab of impatience and shifted a step closer, which didn't interrupt the older lady at all. “Please look after my Wilbur today in Heaven, and be with my boys here on Earth. Amen.”
Gabriel's heart squeezed as he noticed the lack of prayers for herself or her own needs. Still curious, he watched her leave the gallery hall. The archangel saw the security guard and the cashier half-bow out of respect and murmur a quiet, “Good night, ma'am. See you tomorrow.” A moment later, he heard the cashier murmur to another, “I stopped charging her card years ago. Just don't seem right, you know?”
There was a softening of the archangel's heart as his light hazel eyes teared up slightly.
Humans... give me faith.
Author: bagheera_101
Rating: PG?
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel
Word Count: 922
Warnings: Angsty archangel? XD
Spoilers: None, assuming you know of the existence of Gabriel. XD
Summary: Even an archangel can lose faith sometimes; what he wishes would restore his faith only makes things worse until he finds hope in an unexpected way.
The lights overhead are steady, humming with an artificial life of their own. It is a stark contrast to the objects they illuminate, the strangest bits of everyday life torn from their environments and displayed in glass boxes for people to marvel over.
These people cannot imagine what it would be like to live forever. Immortality was a dream prized by far too many of those haunting the halls of this place, considering the cold comforts of its reality. Few could truly understand what it would be like to walk into a museum after hundreds or thousands of years and watch herds of gawkers ogling random shards of pottery as if they were supposed to mean something significant. Then, the herds of gawkers would move on and forget, with only a very few tempted to linger and imagine the rich and varied life that must have gone on around these shards, movies of tragedy and romance playing through their minds.
An archangel walks among these people with a purpose fixed in mind, stepping around glass display cases and refusing a brightly coloured map of the museum, recently reprinted with large text for the visually impaired, because he knows where he's going. It's calling to him, and the draw is strong enough that he needs no complimentary museum guide to help him find it.
His light hazel eyes are distant enough to make the guards glance at one another and draw closer to the artifacts they protect, as if he will suddenly snap and announce that he's holding the place up, so could they please hand over their most valuable treasures. These lowly servants of the public interest (employed by the private corporation, to protect their interest in history) are the last thing on his mind, below even the gum he stepped on while avoiding a flock of school children outside the entrance.
Far more important to him is catching a glimpse of something that has been lost from him, and the rest of the world, for over six hundred years, something that he believes will ease the ache in his heart.
He finds it hanging by itself on a section of wall, and snorts at the notecard beneath it that declares it perfectly preserved. He sees the dulling of the bright reds of his wings, the flaking and chipping away at the paint behind the painted figure, the yellow peeking through the rich blues of the cloak.
Gabriel stared at what should have been his own reflection for a long time, examining it as if it were a long-lost friend. A slight quirk of one lip expressed benevolence, and the bright look in the painted eyes had faded to a mournful one. Where once he had gained peace and purpose from looking upon an artist's inspired portrait of him, he only saw sadness now.
For one of the three great archangels, he didn't have much faith. He struggled to believe in Heaven, which he had abandoned long ago in pursuit of cold, empty shells of reality, creating play worlds and hiding in them rather than facing his own family. Humanity, to Gabriel, was worth saving... more so than Heaven.
He had expected to feel the same rush of emotions as last time: the same restoration of faith, the same sudden devotion to his cause, the same overwhelming love for the universe. Instead, all he sees is a disillusioned archangel giving his blessings and hiding his pain. It feels like a mirror reflecting his past at him in a mocking derision of what it meant to be an archangel.
I'm trapped. Heaven needs me, humans need me, and I have to think of the greater good. I can't always run from my fate. Maybe it's better to just... embrace it and not try to feel at all.
Gabriel clearly sees now that the comfort he was hoping for with a fervour akin to prayer is not forthcoming. He turns to leave, when movement catches his eye. He hasn't been the only one staring at the faded, aging painting so coldly displayed and illuminated.
A wrinkled old woman, stooped from age and leaning heavily on her cane, stood there and just gazed upon the angel's chipped and gold-tinged face. She didn't appear to have any interest in the other artifacts, just like he didn't notice them. Her face bore the signs of a life well-lived and spent laughing, and her hand shook slightly where it gripped the knob on top of her cane. Her short silver hair peeked out from under a simple cloth cap, the rest of her clothes equally simple.
Intrigued, Gabriel stood and watched her for a moment, tilting his head as he heard her start to speak.
“Dear Gabriel...” her soft voice was barely audible over the humming of the lights and the chatter of other patrons. The archangel felt a slight stab of impatience and shifted a step closer, which didn't interrupt the older lady at all. “Please look after my Wilbur today in Heaven, and be with my boys here on Earth. Amen.”
Gabriel's heart squeezed as he noticed the lack of prayers for herself or her own needs. Still curious, he watched her leave the gallery hall. The archangel saw the security guard and the cashier half-bow out of respect and murmur a quiet, “Good night, ma'am. See you tomorrow.” A moment later, he heard the cashier murmur to another, “I stopped charging her card years ago. Just don't seem right, you know?”
There was a softening of the archangel's heart as his light hazel eyes teared up slightly.
Humans... give me faith.