Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.
Your name: submit What is this?
White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.
“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?
_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”
“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”
Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”
“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”
“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.
“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.
“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”
“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.
In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.
Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.
Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”
“No.”
The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.
“Hi there.”
You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.
“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.
His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.
Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”
“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”
The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.
“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.
He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.
“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”
He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”
And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.
“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”
The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”
Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”
As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.
“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”
Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.
“He shot me,” you said.
“He did,” the stranger said.
“But I’m alive?”
“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.
“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.
He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”
“But—wait!”
_ _ _ _ _ _
Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.
“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.
“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.
“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.
“That was way too close,” he said.
Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.
“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”
“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.
“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.
He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.
“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.
You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.
Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.
“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”
Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”
You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”
“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”
You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”
Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.
“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”
Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”
“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.
“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”
Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.
“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”
“What is it?”
“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.
“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.
“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.
“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.
“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.
“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”
You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.
“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.
“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”
“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.
Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”
“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”
Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.
Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.
You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.
Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”
“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.
Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.
“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”
Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.
“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.
Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”
You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”
“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.
“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”
Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”
“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”
“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.
“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”
“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”
Your jaw dropped open. “What?”
“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.
“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”
Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”
Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.
“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.
“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”
“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"
“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”
Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.
“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.
“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”
Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”
That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”
You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.
“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”
“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”
Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”
Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”
They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.
Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”
“How is Y/N?”
“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”
Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.
“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”
“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.
Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”
“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.
Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”
“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”
“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”
“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”
On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.
“Hello, brother.”
Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.
“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”
Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.
“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.
“What was that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.
Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”
Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.
“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”
“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.
Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”
“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”
Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.
“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”
“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.
Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”
Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”
He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.
“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”
Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”
Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”
Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.
“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”
Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.
Part 2
