Sinner's Angel
His name was Joshua Carter, son of late Emily and Ethan Carter, brother to Jayne, once Carter, now Bradshaw. An unmarried man in his mid-thirties, with no significant income, no valuable belongings and no friends who would miss him. His sister Jayne had told her friends and her husband’s family that she had no living relatives. In her mind, her brother had died a long time ago, leaving in his place a stranger who drank too much and did not care whether he lived or died. For the most part, she was right. Joshua, called Josh by his acquaintances and customers, did drink too much and had for some time. When it came to life or death though, she was very much wrong. Josh wanted to die.
In the end, it was this desire which drew Gadreel to him. Not the desire of those who prayed to be useful in Heaven’s grand plan, or those who who were seeking a spiritual experience, but the utter desperation of a man who had run out of options and still hesitated to commit that last and ultimate sin of taking his own life. Gadreel could offer very little, and promise even less. Being a vessel for one of the first fallen angels was not something many would aspire to, no matter how devout. Josh did not care. His Catholic upbringing had consisted of a baptism, a sporadic church attendance, and a puritanical grandmother. The message he took away was warped, filled with eternal hellfire and none of the love. He set rules for himself which he then broke, as many alcoholics tend to do. He lied, he cheated and stole, he killed in the service of his country, and in the end, if his cowardice disguised as unwillingness to commit yet another sin had not prevented him from it, he would have committed suicide as well.
His single request was simple on the surface. To be at peace.
Gadreel readily promised him peace and more. Only those memories which the man wanted to keep. An eternity of being free from his failures and mistakes. When and if Gadreel decided to return, a place for the man’s soul in the kingdom of Heaven.
This is how one of the first fallen angels found himself encased in flesh and bone, kneeling on the filthy barroom basement floor. Not through the faith of the devout or the sacrifice of the pious, but through the depths of despair of a man who had nothing left to live for.
It was strangely fitting.
--
He spent the first night on the roof of the bar, watching the stars. He let himself feel the chilly wind against unfamiliar skin, the rough surface that scraped against his shoulder blades where his wings burned with a dull and sickening pulse. Lucifer had called humans filthy creatures, numb to the truth and lacking in beauty. To some extent, Gadreel had agreed. The world they had created after being expelled from the Garden of Heaven was a filthy world. They walked through a valley of death from the moment of conception, rotting slowly from the inside out. Their air was thick with exhaust and stench of burnt oil. Their stars were dull from pollution. Their earth was torn and conquered and weeping. If he let himself listen carefully, all he could hear were the demands of the vain and the cries of the lost.
And yet, they were free in a way he had never been. They built this broken world with their torn hands, built it on failure and sin and loss, and it thrived. There was a beauty in it Lucifer could never recognize, never understand. In Heaven’s prison, Gadreel had been a stain on the purity of his Brothers and Sisters, a shameful example that most preferred to forget. Here, on earth, none of that mattered. He could build something, he could become someone. A new world had opened up around him and he swore that he would not let this new life go to waste.
--
Dean Winchester’s call caught him off guard.
He stood still, undecided, hot pavement burning through the soles of his vessel’s worn sneakers. The Righteous Man, archangel Michael’s one true vessel, praying for help. Asking for a favor and offering one in return. Sounding desperate.
Gadreel had not chosen a destination quite yet. He’d had some vague and unexplained need to see the wonders humans had created during the millions of years he had spent imprisoned. His own knowledge of such things was limited. Instead, he’d tapped into his vessel’s cognition and found misty recollections of ancient structures, impressive towers and crumbling castles. Flat, colorless memories, no doubt gathered from books and movies, but they had sparked his curiosity. If he stood in the grand shadow of Craigmillar, would he smell the fires of the Anglo-Scottish wars? If he touched the Great Pyramid of Khufu, would he see the blood and tears of the generations that built it? There was so much to see, so much to explore. He could spend centuries wandering this world and never succumb to boredom.
He’d never even considered becoming involved in the eternal struggles of Heaven. His Brothers and Sisters did not need him. More so, they did not want him. And Dean Winchester was Heaven’s servant.
Wherever this man was, danger would soon find him. The safest place was no doubt as far away as the limited modes of human travel would allow.
“Hell, it’s no secret that we haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
Gadreel remembered similar words, promises made that were later broken. How he had yearned for approval back then, especially from God’s favorite, His most beautiful. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face and wondered if this is what it meant, to place the mission above everything.
“But you know that I am good for my word.”
The scales were tipping again. This time, he could be the one to salvage something from the chaos. He could be something better, something greater. Maybe not in Father’s eyes or in the eyes of Heaven, but in the eyes of these imperfect creatures, he could be something more than an angel who let the serpent in.
--
“You want to help? Start with a name.”
It should not have been a surprise, to wake in the ring of holy fire, trapped and weaker than he’d been. He had forgotten, over the long centuries of his imprisonment, how distrustful human beings could be. There were no other angels present and still, his mouth nearly formed a lie. It was discouraging. He could not even take one small step on the path of righteousness without stumbling.
“Gadreel,” he said, rising slowly to one knee.
Dean’s face showed no recognition and he took a small comfort from it, for the time being.
“All right, Gadreel. How do I know you’re not hunting me or Cas like the other angels?”
“Oh, I am sure there are many angels who are. Many more are on their way here, most likely.”
“How do you know that?”
“You put out an open prayer like that...”
A foolish thing to do. He had heard many whispers about Dean Winchester over the years, calling him many things, yet he had never heard him called foolish.
“I must really be desperate,” the man finished his thought.
Gadreel got to his feet, grateful that the ring of fire was spacious. He did not feel too steady on his feet any more and whatever assistance Dean Winchester needed, it would probably require all the strength that Gadreel had left.
“Believe it or not, some of us still believe in our mission,” he said, “Circumstances have prevented me from answering prayers in the past. I intend to remedy this now.”
Dean studied him for a few moments as if looking for falsehood.
Gadreel steadily held his gaze.
For once, he had nothing to hide.
“You said you were hurt during the fall,” Dean said finally.
“I was,” Gadreel said, fighting a sigh of relief, “Entangling with my brother back there did me no favors. But what strength I have left, I offer to you.”
--
He should have guessed.
He knew the history, he’d heard the rumors. Lucifer stepping back into the world did not go unnoticed by anyone, least of all him. He had trembled in his prison the entire time, torn between the urge to hide and the urge to pray, his dreams supplying false hopes of freedom gained at the hands of the one who had led him there in the first place. The tales of Dean Winchester’s brother, the Boy with the Demon Blood and Lucifer’s true vessel, had traveled swiftly, even to the far corners of Heaven.
The Boy with the Demon Blood had become the Boy who Saved the World, locking Lucifer back in the Cage with the same determination he’d once used to let him out. From Damned to a Martyr to a Hero in thirty years, a pitiful third of a human lifetime.
In the hospital bed. Dying. Eyelids so pale they seemed translucent, the delicate cobweb of veins giving them a bluish, unnatural hue. Cheekbones sharp above the hollow cheeks, heart beating erratically, fighting even in his last moments.
“You still able to cure things after the fall?”
He should have guessed and yet he hadn’t. For the love of a brother, the Winchesters have done the impossible more than once.
“Yes, I should be, but... he is so weak.”
Lucifer’s vessel. Even if Dean had never spoken his name, if Gadreel had come upon him with no prior knowledge, he would have recognized the vessel meant for God’s favorite. He would have known him by the immaculate contraption of blood and flesh and bone, by the loveliness of his features. Lucifer’s terrible and sharp beauty could not be contained by anything less.
The ring of a cell phone interrupted his train of thought. Dean answered it and stepped outside, the phone pressed to his ear.
Gadreel carefully placed his hand on the pale forehead, acknowledging and discarding the uneasy feeling of committing a sacrilege. He fed a small amount of strength into the weak body, enough to keep it fighting. Then he assessed the damage, immediately knowing he would have to prioritize. Certain organs would continue to function despite the damage. It was the more delicate ones he needed to focus on, the brain and the lungs and the heart.
Sam was very weak, his body exhausted from fighting the inevitable.
Gadreel could do this. It would take time and effort and it would postpone his own recovery, but he could save this one life.
The door opened again, the glint of the angel blade breaking his concentration.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dean advanced on him with the weapon and Gadreel stepped back and away from the hospital bed, both hands raised in a placating gesture.
“You did not ask. You asked for my name and I gave it freely.”
“Lucifer’s pet? One of his rebellious angels? You don’t think this was a detail you maybe should’ve mentioned without being asked?”
It was an effort not to measure the distance to the door, not to plan an escape route.
“I made a mistake.”
The man circled him with slow, calculated grace, placing himself in between Gadreel and Sam. The blade was steady in his hand. He sounded furious.
“Dooming the entire human kind? This is what you call a mistake?”
“I have spent millennia imprisoned for my crime and I have done nothing but contemplate the steps that led me there. Lucifer is my brother. I loved him as you love your own.”
“Do not compare me and Sam to your sick and twisted family, we’re nothing like you.”
“My brother begged for my help. He lied to me and left me to rot in Heaven’s prison. I had no ill intent. I did what I did out of love. As much as our situations differ, I believe this is something you can relate to.”
“And that love brought you here? So you can put your hands on Lucifer’s vessel?”
“No. No, I wanted--“
Redemption. Forgiveness. All those things he was not allowed to have.
“I wanted to be on the right side of history for once. You had been deemed Righteous by God Himself, and when I heard your prayer I thought-- this could be my only chance. To do the right thing.”
“Castiel doesn’t trust you.”
“Castiel does not know me. Castiel knows of me, the same way I knew of you before I came here. You have left many dead angels in your wake. Castiel himself had rebelled against Heaven. I knew my life would be in danger if I answered your prayer, and yet I did not hesitate and I did not lie to you.”
He could see the man’s fury waning and pressed on.
“Your brother is dying, healing him will take time and strength I can ill spare. I ask for nothing in return.”
“You just wanna do the right thing,” Dean said, his tone mocking.
“I have been given a second chance. Against all odds. Not many men can recognize the value of this, but I believe you might. What else are second chances for, but for doing the right thing?”
“So, you’re just gonna heal Sam and you want nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Healing him will leave me weaker than I am now. I will not be able to protect myself from others. A safe place to stay and time to recover is all I require.”
“If you’re lying to me--“
“I am not. I swear, I am not.”
“--I will cut you in so many pieces Lucifer won’t recognize you.”
“I understand.”
Dean tucked the knife away and stepped back.
“Fine. Get to healing then.”
--
There was so much damage.
He started with all those places that were deprived of oxygen, reconnecting all that was torn and lost. There would be some memory holes, small ones. If he was stronger he would try and repair those too but he was weak and time was of the essence. It was exhausting, delicate work, and the presence of Dean Winchester fidgeting in the corner was not making it easier.
By the time he could move on to the lungs he was coated in sweat, his vessel recognizing the strain. He would have to rest. Only for a little while.
“He may wake soon,” he said.
“Is it done?”
“No, it is not done. There is a lot of damage. It will take days, maybe weeks. But he will live long enough now for the rest to take place.”
“Why? Why is it taking so long? I’ve seen angel mojo at work before. They heal, they move on.”
“You brother was not injured by any natural means. His body is self destructing through no influence that I could find or remove. It will take time to coax it back in the natural direction.”
The floor trembled under their feet and Gadreel grabbed the bed rail.
“One of yours?” Dean said, the angel blade already clutched in his hand.
His connection to his brothers and sisters was still full of static, but even without it, he was sure.
“Trying to secure a vessel. We need to move.”
“Can we? Can we move him?”
If it were any other human being, Gadreel would say no. But Sam, the boy who had survived Lucifer’s cage, was still fighting. He was still drawing strength from somewhere.
“Very carefully.”
Dean looked around the hospital room as if searching for something. Gadreel glanced around as well, for the first time noticing the slickness of the floors that were scrubbed too often and the heavy stench of sickness that had nothing to do with Sam Winchester. His hands still gripped the rail, only now - no longer distracted - he could feel the presence of those who had died in this place, in that same bed, on that same pillow where Sam’s head rested. His skin prickled uncomfortably, reminding him that this was one of those aspects of humanity he wanted nothing to do with.
“I’ll just have to carry him,” Dean said.
“You are not strong enough.”
“Screw you.”
Gadreel’s hands tightened, the metal pressing into the flesh of his fingers. If there was one trait he vehemently despised, it was pride. He truly hoped that Dean’s attitude stemmed from the concern for his brother, rather than some perceived insult to his physical strength. This was hardly the time for something so petty.
Sam’s eyelids fluttered.
“Sam?” Dean said, one hand grabbing his brother’s shoulder. “Sammy?”
How easily the man pushed all of his anger under wraps when calling his brother’s name. Even so, the thinly veiled panic in his tone was obvious. It must have been to Sam, too, because his fingers twitched, as if attempting to meet Dean’s grip with one of his own.
“My Brothers and Sisters are not here for him. They will seek you out first, and I cannot protect you both.”
Sam blinked a few times, tears pooling under his eyes, trailing over pale temples. He groaned softly.
“Sammy? Hey, man, can you hear me?”
His eyes opened.