Gabriel Big Bang
Title: Humanity
Author: mistalagan
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters: Gabriel
Summary: They found Gabriel on a tip from Meg, of all people - beaten and abused, a shadow of who he used to be. It’s not easy taking care of a powerless archangel, especially when dealing with issues of their own. And it would be a bad, bad idea to forget about the Leviathans…
Notes: This is for mistalagan the author, who's story I picked for the gabriel_bigbang this year. Theoretically Gabriel should be smaller and more skinny, but I rather liked the ending, when Gabriel gets better. I hope everyone recognizes Gabriel's cuffs? I'm also aware that's winter in the story and the leaves are obviously green, but ... I hope I'm forgiven?
“You alright?” Sam asks, sincere and sweet as ever, and Gabriel looks over the dusty cabin, the broken chairs still not cleared away, over Dean’s rumpled head just stirring on the couch; he looks over his scattered piles of paper, his nest of old, flat pillows and scratchy wool blankets; he looks over his cold feet, his aching legs, his wrists still trapped in unforgiving metal; he overlooks them all.
“You know,” he says, as the dim winter sunlight moves to slant across his vision, “I think I will be."
Author: mistalagan
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters: Gabriel
Summary: They found Gabriel on a tip from Meg, of all people - beaten and abused, a shadow of who he used to be. It’s not easy taking care of a powerless archangel, especially when dealing with issues of their own. And it would be a bad, bad idea to forget about the Leviathans…
Notes: This is for mistalagan the author, who's story I picked for the gabriel_bigbang this year. Theoretically Gabriel should be smaller and more skinny, but I rather liked the ending, when Gabriel gets better. I hope everyone recognizes Gabriel's cuffs? I'm also aware that's winter in the story and the leaves are obviously green, but ... I hope I'm forgiven?
“You alright?” Sam asks, sincere and sweet as ever, and Gabriel looks over the dusty cabin, the broken chairs still not cleared away, over Dean’s rumpled head just stirring on the couch; he looks over his scattered piles of paper, his nest of old, flat pillows and scratchy wool blankets; he looks over his cold feet, his aching legs, his wrists still trapped in unforgiving metal; he overlooks them all.
“You know,” he says, as the dim winter sunlight moves to slant across his vision, “I think I will be."