Remembrance (Of Things Past) - Below:Part Two
Gabriel surfaced again. This time he knew years had passed since his last recollection. He looked around, trying to place this memory. The house was silent except for the faint creaks of timber settling and the sound of mice and birds in the roof space. He was curled up in a nest of quilts and blankets, the room completely lacking in furniture, lit only by the dull gleam of sunlight through thick curtains.
As he lay there, almost smothered in the piles of quilts and cushions, he felt a tug on his grace again. He remembered that this had been what had awoken him. Closing amber eyes he explored the feeling, the strange pull. Not his Father, that sensation would have been much stronger. This was very faint, but with a feeling of desperation.
Now that Gabriel had woken, his body came out of the stasis he had placed it in and feeling returned. Cramps and pins and needles assaulted him, his body jerking and contorting as muscles spasmed and skin itched and flushed with blood.
Gabriel cursed and ignored the strange pull as he restored order to his body. Why did he keep hanging onto this body, when it always caused such problems each time he woke? Oh yeah, because it kept him hidden from his family. He looked down at the pale honey skin, the muscles that twitched underneath. He knew that if someone ever x-rayed this body, they would find the entire skeleton etched with Enochian symbols and other symbols of protection and deception.
Mind you, that would be after they had stopped staring at the feathers that were scrollworked on his back, blending from grey over his shoulders to shades of amber and copper that trailed down his back, each long feather delicately barred in speckled black and grey and white, the tips curving just over the rise of his ass. Spending so long in a vessel left its marks. The pull came again, stronger and urgent but still distant.
“Dammit, I’m coming, I’m coming. Stop pulling whoever - whatever- you are!”
Fingers snapped and Gabriel was outside, staring at the sad, rusting hulk of the Buick. Time and the weather had taken their toll, the tyres flat, rust pocking the sills, the chrome grill dull under layers of blown leaves and other debris. Gabriel guessed he was walking.
Hunger crept up behind Gabriel, digging sharp claws into his stomach, at least that was what it felt like. His body craved sugar. He flashed to the nearest shop, briefly distracted by all the new shiny sweets before grabbing handfuls of his favourites. He ripped one open, cramming it greedily into his mouth.
“Hey, Sir! You need to pay for those!” the clerk yelled as Gabriel made for the door. Gabriel finished inhaling the first bar, sugar hitting his bloodstream, the rush tingling through him. He swallowed hard, running his tongue over lips and teeth, chasing any stray slivers of chocolate.
“No, I don’t. Because you never noticed me, you were too busy looking at that blonde model over by the magazines.” Gabriel’s fingers snapped, and he laughed as the clerk whipped round so hard he sent a display stand crashing to the floor, then tripped over it as he tried to look cool and collected.
Gabriel took his time with the next bar, savouring the taste of caramel, the way it melted, sticky on his tongue. Feeling somewhat restored, he returned his attention to the matter of that annoying pull on his grace, deciding to find the source and quite possibly smash it into tiny pieces.
He tilted his face upwards, closing his eyes, letting the sun warm his skin as he turned in a slow circle. Like a compass needle aligning itself to north, he aligned himself with the faint pull. He opened his eyes, to find himself facing south-east, looking towards Tennessee, Georgia and then Florida. Oh well, the Sunshine State it was. Click.
Gabriel stumbled, muttering under his breath. He was really out of practice with this zooming across the world shit. His temper rose, why did the world find it so hard to just ignore him, to let him give up and disappear? He briefly wondered whether his Father had actually turned up to sort this mess out, but dismissed that idea. No one had really heard from him in the last 2000 years and Gabriel certainly didn’t think it would change now.
Muttering to himself he stalked down the road, filling a couple of mail boxes with unsolicited porn and rearranging the street numbers. The pull seemed to be coming from his left, getting closer and closer. Gabriel stuttered to a halt as a black Impala roared past him, the tug on his grace dopplering and fading as the car disappeared round a corner. Why did he have the strangest feeling of recognition?
He followed the car, pausing on the low roof of a building across from one of the ubiquitous motels that dotted the highways of America. He watched as a dark haired man, jaw line shadowed with the beginnings of a beard, hauled himself out of the car and rushed to open the door to a room. Gabriel felt no connection, watching him haul two duffle bags out of the trunk, dropping them just inside the door.
Bemused and intrigued despite himself, Gabriel remained where he was, watching as the man came back to close the trunk and then open the rear door, leaning in. Slowly he re-emerged, arms wrapped carefully around a torso. Awkwardly he manoeuvred the body until the figure lay limp in his arms, like a swooning bride. The head lolled back, brown hair tumbling in soft waves away from high cheekbones, long lashes shadowing eyes that Gabriel somehow knew to be hazel.
Blood trailed across pale skin, trickling from the boy’s nose. Gabriel had the strangest urge to rush down, to take the boy, no, the young man, to heal him. He held back, watching the dark haired man push the car door closed with his hip and disappear into the motel room.
For the first time in a long while Gabriel was interested in something. He watched the door absently as he tried to decide why he was interested. There was a memory missing, something connected to the car, to the young man, but not the older one. He knew he’d never seen him before. The door opened and the older man came out, climbing back into the car and heading off at top speed.
Gabriel wondered why he had left the young man behind and then laughed softly to himself. Was he or was he not the Archangel Gabriel, the amazing Trickster, a being stopped by no locks, his curiosity never left unsatisfied, no fun left…unfunned??
“Damn it, that’s not a word…unenjoyed…nah…well anyway, someone woke me up and now I’m bored!” Gabriel said to the pigeon perched next to him on the roof.
“What say you finish this off…” he tossed the pigeon the remains of his candy, “…and I’ll go down there and see what’s what.”
The pigeon cocked its head at Gabriel and then blinked slow pigeon eyes as the angel disappeared.
Gabriel looked around the motel room, looked like this one hadn’t changed since he was last awake. A soft moan brought his attention to the figure laid carefully on one of the beds, a towel pressed against his ribs, hazel eyes glassy with pain and unshed tears.
“Dad?” The voice was soft with pain and fatigue, deeper than Gabriel had thought it would be. Long limbs shifted awkwardly as if the person inside wasn’t quite used to their body being that size. Thick lashes swept over the dark eyes as the young man tried to focus.
As soon as Sam realised that the figure across the room was not his father, he tried to reach the gun left handy on the bedside table. Pain ripped through him and he bit down on a scream, a huff of air escaping parted lips. A shaking hand pointed the gun at the figure swimming in and out of focus across the room.
“Who are you? My dad will be back real soon and I have a gun.”
The words ripped into Gabriel, memory coming flooding back, as he recalled almost the same words coming from a small child. He stared at the defiant figure, fighting through the pain to protect himself.
“Sam?”
The voice was a whisper, bringing the figure into focus. Sam blinked, a tear dropping off his lower lashes, trailing down to mix with the blood smeared across his cheek. He allowed himself to drop back against the pillow, pushing the wadded towel more firmly against the gashes that tracked his ribs. He stared at the man who had suddenly appeared in the room, flicking his gaze quickly to the door to see the line of salt was still intact, the doormat with the devil’s trap on its underside still in place.
So he was probably not a demon. Sam kept the gun pointing at the man as he walked slowly towards the bed. He looked fairly normal, dark jeans, black shirt, a kind of heavy army shirt come coat thing over the top. Brown hair flopped down over a high forehead, before the man pushed it back, revealing eyes that looked so familiar to Sam. They flickered from amber to gold to pale brown, worry crinkling the corners.
“How do you know my name?” Sam croaked. “What are you?”
Gabriel noted the ‘what’ instead of the more usual ‘who’ and wondered exactly how much the young man knew and what exactly had caused the injury that was causing the thin towel to blush pink. He flipped straight to default mode and lied.
“Bumped into your Dad outside, we kinda go way back. Asked me to come in here, have a look at you. See if I can patch you up a bit.”
“You a doctor?” Sam swallowed another groan, his ribs felt as if fire ants were eating him alive, his head pounding with each pulse beat, his vision swimming in and out in nauseating waves.
“Well, it’s more like something I do on the side…” Gabriel trailed off, feeling strangely unsure.
“Ah, one of those friends.” Sam choked on the laugh that tried to bubble up, but at this point he was willing to let Dr Nick Riviera operate on him if he said it would help. “Here, you wanna see?”
Sam pulled the towel slowly away from his ribs, swallowing heavily as he caught his first good look at the three long gashes that ran parallel with his ribs, stretching from under his right arm, almost to his sternum. The skin was angry and red, puffing upwards, trails of clotted blood drawing patterns down over his slender waist, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. Sam gulped frantically for air, each gasp sending a rush of fresh pain through him.
Gabriel found himself heading for the small bathroom, hands automatically producing a doctor’s bag. Running on autopilot, he ran the taps until the water was as hot as it would get, soaking a cloth and placing it on another to cool slightly. Collecting everything, he went back through and arranged it all on the bed next to Sam’s. He had dressed Michael’s wounds often enough, Michael believing that wounds dealt in battle should be kept as a reminder of your failure to guard correctly.
“Okay Sam, steady breaths, nice and slow, not too deep. I’m just gonna clean this up, see what we got.” Gabriel knew he could have healed Sam with a touch, but for some reason he wanted to keep that side of himself hidden, to pretend to be somewhat normal. He huffed a couple of slow breaths, trying to get Sam to copy him.
As Gabriel ran the warm damp towel over Sam’s stomach, he stretched out gently with his grace, finding small traces of grace already embedded deep within Sam. He warmed them, feeding more of his power into Sam, knowing it would help him heal.
Sam laid back, eyes slipping closed, the world dipping in and out with his breath. The pain was fading, replaced by a glowing warmth that seemed to spread through him. Sam wondered whether that was a worrying sign.
“Hey kiddo, it’s not as bad as it looks. Come on back to me, need you to stay with me here.”
Gabriel produced gauze and padded the wounds before helping Sam shift to a sitting position so that he could wrap bandages around Sam’s torso, holding the gauze in place.
“There, all done.” Gabriel brushed the damp hair away from Sam’s eyes, “You wanna tell me what did this?” Gabriel was just looking to get Sam talking, to keep him awake, worried about the lump appearing on his forehead and the blood that had trickled from his nose.
“Troll,” murmured Sam. “Well, dead troll now. Just, you know… got distracted by the smell…God, Dean’ll have a field day with that.” Sam’s stomach heaved in memory. “Won’t happen again.”
Gabriel could hear the sound of the Impala as it drew near.
“Well, here…” Gabriel smirked and produced a clothes peg. “Just in case you ever run into another one. I may not be around to help patch you up. Places to go and all that…”
“So, what did you say your name was? So I can let Dad know you stopped by…” Sam trailed off; sure that he knew the man. The memory itched inside his head, but he just couldn’t get to it.
“No need for you to tell your Dad, Sammy. I was never here, you just get some sleep.” Gabriel brushed two fingers gently against Sam’s forehead, easing him into a healing sleep, burying the memories deep with the others.
Sam woke the next morning to see his Dad already up and packing. “Come on son, gotta go meet up with your brother. Didn’t think you were awake enough but nice patch job on the ribs by the way, make a hunter out of you yet.”
Sam stared down at the bandages wrapped round his torso, unable to remember anything about them. However, it wasn’t half as confusing as the fact that he had his fingers curled tightly around an old-fashioned clothes peg.
---II---
Gabriel was at a loss. He really didn’t want to head back to the house, to the rusting hulk of the Buick. For the first time he had been interested in something, in someone, and he felt the need to find out whether it was a one off or if there was more to this connection with Sam. He wandered for a few months, trailing up the East coast, watching the hysteria build in the countdown to the new millennium, He joined the masses in New York for the New Year, those waiting for the Apocalypse, waiting for the crash of civilisation, the fall of the computers and smiled to himself when the whole thing went off with barely a whimper.
As he stood amongst the crowd he could feel the waves of belief. Hope for this New Year, the new century. As people drank and kissed and fucked, the pagan side of him sucked at those feelings, the voiced and unvoiced prayers. Many gods had faded out, had given up, just as Gabriel had tried to do and all this power was just flowing around, free for the taking. Gabriel stuffed himself with the power, every power play, every fight that broke out, every act of lust and control and domination was a sacrifice to the pagan gods, intentional or not, and Gabriel fed until he thought his skin would pop.
He felt his wings itch inside his skin, knew that the curves and lines that seemed to ink his back would be raised and glistening with colour. He perched himself high above the city, allowed his wings to flare wide against the dark sky and watched the sun rise. Perhaps there was something in this world worth hanging around for.
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