I need everyone to enter the era of understanding that Cas has zero taste or class. He is a blue collar angel and that is literally the whole point. His fuckass pretentious brethren are the ones who like luxury and think they're too good for lowbrow human experiences. The whole POINT is that Cas is different.
Cas likes beer and grape jelly and reality t.v. He is not watching nature documentaries; he's watching 90 Day Fiancé. He does not have a garden; he has 3 potted succulents at BEST and only because Dean takes care of them. He watches porn for the plot. He likes emojis. He's a jock. His most frequently-worn item during his graceless arc was a hoodie. He's kind of a fuckboi.
I genuinely believe seeing a ham and cheese pinwheel at a party would have caused him to wax poetic about human ingenuity.
Recognition for my working class angel who acquired his taste in music third-hand from a mechanic via the mechanic's construction worker son. He doesn't even like to read. 🙏🥰🙏
Will I ever get over how Castiel smiting a demon and Castiel transferring back to Jimmy are visually very very similar in the episode where we learn that vesselhood is very much a form of angelic violence? The answer is no
Pairings: Fem!Reader x Gabriel, Background Destiel (implied)
Summary: Winchesters sister raised by “John” after tragedy, a skilled hunter shares a deep secret: a forbidden bond with the trickster Archangel Gabriel. When a hunt goes catastrophically wrong, a desperate prayer forces a dramatic rescue and an even more dramatic revelation for Sam and Dean.
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
A/N: During my most recent SPN rewatch I realized the archangel Gabriel doesn’t get nearly enough love in the fanfic community! So I decided to write some myself! This is my first story with him and I definitely plan to write more! Got a few ideas in the works! Hope you enjoy! This one’s for you Gabriel! ;)
The familiar scent of stale motel room air – cheap detergent, gun oil, and the faint tang of spilled beer – was usually comforting. Tonight, it felt stifling. Sam was hunched over ancient texts spread across the rickety table, brow furrowed. Dean meticulously cleaned his favorite .45, the rhythmic click-clack of metal a counterpoint to the low murmur of the local news on the TV. You traced the rim of your lukewarm coffee cup, your mind miles away.
Specifically, on a certain celestial being with a penchant for candy bars and terrible jokes.
eight months. It had been eight months since Gabriel – not the Trickster persona, but the weary, surprisingly vulnerable Archangel beneath – had first lingered after saving you from a vengeful spirit Sam and Dean hadn't spotted in time. What started as wary gratitude after he popped into your motel room late one night (“Just checking the structural integrity, sweetcheeks. This place is a deathtrap… literally.”) had deepened into stolen moments: hushed phone calls when the boys were on a beer run, texts filled with absurd memes and genuine concern (“Heard you tangoed with a Rugaru. Need backup? Or just chocolate?”), and prayers answered with startling immediacy.
He’d become your constant. Your confidant. Your… well, more. Much more. Last week, crammed into the Impala’s backseat while Sam drove and Dean snored, you’d felt your phone vibrate. A text from Gabe: Thinking about telling the big bad hunting brothers. Can’t hide this forever, Sunshine.
Your heart had lurched. NO, you’d texted back frantically. Not yet. They’ll flip. His reply was a simple, resigned winky face. He understood the depth of their distrust.
Now, hunched over a map of the abandoned slaughterhouse where people were vanishing, Dean slammed his gun down. “Alright, enough recon. This thing’s feeding. We go in tonight. Sammy, you take point left flank. Y/N, right. I’ll head straight down the main kill floor. Radios on channel three. Don’t do anything stupid.”
The hunt was messy from the start. The air inside the derelict building was thick with the coppery scent of old blood and something foully acidic. Flickering emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows. You moved cautiously down your assigned corridor, flashlight beam cutting through the gloom, pistol steady. The first screech echoed, bone-chillingly close. A Ghoul, faster than expected, lunged from a side room. You fired, catching it in the shoulder. It snarled, unfazed.
Another joined it. Then another. You were good – damn good – but three Ghouls in close quarters were overwhelming. Your shots went wide as you dodged claws. One raked your arm, hot pain searing. Your radio crackled with static – Dean’s voice fragmented: “Sam! My position… swarmed! Y/N? Sta—!” Sam’s panicked shout cut through briefly before dissolving into noise.
You were cornered, back against cold concrete. Blood dripped down your arm onto your jeans. One Ghoul bared its teeth, lunging for your throat. Cas? Busy. No time. Pure, unadulterated terror seized you.
Gabe.
The prayer wasn't formal. It was raw desperation, flung into the ether:
Gabriel! Please!
The air cracked.
Not with thunder. With pure, blinding power.
Time seemed to warp. The lunging Ghoul dissolved mid-air into golden dust. The other two were flung backwards like ragdolls, smashing against the far wall with sickening crunches before dissolving too. Standing between you and certain death was Gabriel.
But not the Gabriel you usually saw.
His eyes blazed with furious white-gold light, illuminating the grime and decay around him with an unearthly radiance. And behind him, stretching impossibly high and wide, filling the corridor with their impossible presence, were his wings. Not shadowy impressions, but solid, breathtaking reality. They were massive, intricate feathers shimmering with molten gold and deep, warm umber, edges blurred with pure angelic energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. They weren't just wings; they were sunlight given form, radiating warmth and ancient power.
“Took you long enough to call, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice resonating with an underlying power that vibrated in your bones. His eyes softened slightly as they met yours, the fury momentarily replaced by intense relief.
Before you could even gasp his name, he was beside you. Strong arms scooped you up effortlessly. One powerful wing curled around you like a living shield, cocooning you in warmth and the dizzying scent of ozone and honeycomb. The other wing stretched outwards in a protective arc. You felt a dizzying lurch, the world dissolving into streaks of light.
You blinked. Suddenly, you were standing on solid ground under a clear night sky, the scent of pine replacing the slaughterhouse stench. The Impala was parked nearby. Sam and Dean stood ten feet away, weapons half-drawn, eyes wide with shock and confusion, scanning the unfamiliar forest clearing.
Gabriel still held you cradled securely against his chest, your bleeding arm supported. His wings were still visible to you, pulsing gently now rather than blazing.
“Whoa there, fellas!” Gabriel chirped, his voice back to its usual flippant tone, though his grip on you remained firm. “Easy on the artillery! Just delivering your slightly dented package.” He looked down at you, winking. “Told you I’d catch you.”
You couldn't help it – a shaky giggle escaped your bruised lips.
Dean recovered first, his face hardening into fury. “Gabriel?! What the hell are you doing? Put her down! Now!” He took a threatening step forward, gun rising unsteadily.
“Yeah,” Sam echoed, voice tight with fear and suspicion, his own weapon trained on the archangel. “Let her go!”
The instinct to protect Gabriel, the need to stop this before it escalated violently, surged through you despite the pain. Ignoring the ache in your ribs and arm, you reached up with your good hand, tangled it in the collar of Gabriel’s surprisingly soft shirt, and pulled him down towards you.
His eyes widened slightly in surprise just before your lips met his.
It wasn't a chaste kiss. It was passionate relief, fierce gratitude, and pure love poured into a single action meant to shatter your brothers' assumptions. His lips yielded instantly against yours, warm and familiar, his arm tightening around you possessively.
After a long moment that felt both instantaneous and eternal, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Well,” he murmured, his breath warm on your skin, his golden eyes dancing with amusement only for you. “What happened to me staying your dirty little secret?”
You grinned up at him, adrenaline and affection making you reckless. “I had to thank my angel somehow,” you whispered back.
He laughed softly again – a warm, genuine sound – and carefully lowered your feet to the ground. His hands lingered on your waist for a moment, steadying you as you wobbled slightly on unsteady legs. You immediately leaned into his side, your head finding its familiar resting place against his chest. His arm slid securely around your shoulders as you both turned to face your utterly gobsmacked brothers.
“Surprise?” you offered weakly, gesturing between yourself and Gabriel.
It was like detonating a bomb made of pure Winchester confusion.
“When?!” Dean exploded first, his gun still half-raised but his gaze darting wildly between you and Gabriel. “How?!” Sam demanded, lowering his gun slightly but looking utterly bewildered. “Why?!” Dean added, sounding almost betrayed. “What the actual hell?!” Sam finished eloquently.
You laughed again, the sound brittle but real. Gabriel squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.
“Whoa there, Trigger,” Gabriel said smoothly, holding up his free hand placatingly. “What’s with the third degree? Relax! She’s my girl.” He punctuated the statement by pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.
The barrage of questions continued – frantic, overlapping demands for explanations about timing, motivations, and how this was even possible given Gabriel’s… history. You did your best to answer between winces of pain from your injured arm. Gabriel mostly offered sarcastic quips (“Met cute? Let’s just say I saved her bacon… metaphorically and literally once from a grease fire.”) and deflections wrapped in humor. Slowly, grudgingly, amidst muttered curses and disbelieving head shakes, you saw a semblance of understanding begin to dawn beneath their protective suspicion. They weren't happy – Dean looked like he’d swallowed a lemon – but the immediate hostility faded into wary confusion.
Sam was glancing between you and Gabriel with a mix of concern for you and dawning curiosity about your obvious happiness. Dean just looked grumpy and deeply uncomfortable.
You turned in his arms and looked up at Gabriel again, smiling softly at the sheer impossibility and rightness of him being here openly. Your gaze drifted past his shoulder, drawn irresistibly back to his wings. They were retracting slightly now, folding more neatly against his back like majestic banners of light and feathers only you could perceive fully. Their glow pulsed gently in time with your own heartbeat.
“They’re beautiful,” you breathed, the awe clear in your voice as you stared at the intricate patterns of gold and amber feathers shimmering with celestial energy.
Gabriel actually blushed faintly, a soft pink tingeing his cheeks as he looked down at you with an expression of wonder mixed with affection. “Yeah?”
“Why haven’t I seen them before?” you asked softly, reaching out instinctively with your good hand towards the nearest wingtip shimmering near his shoulder. “Not even shadows?”
He caught your hand gently before it could touch the ethereal feathers, bringing it to his lips for a kiss instead.
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t sure you’d be able to see them,” he admitted quietly. “Didn’t want to worry if you couldn’t.”
You frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, Gabe? Why wouldn’t I be able to see them?” You glanced over at Sam and Dean. Sam was watching your interaction intently but with evident confusion about what you were looking at. Dean was scowling at Gabriel but seemed equally perplexed by your focus on seemingly empty space behind him.
Understanding flickered across your face as you looked back at Gabriel. He smiled knowingly.
“Only an angel’s soulmate,” he murmured softly before leaning down to kiss you gently again – a sweet confirmation that stole your breath despite the lingering pain.
You kissed him back, melting into his side.
A sudden, sharp intake of breath came from Dean. He’d been staring at Gabriel with intense concentration during the kiss. He cleared his throat roughly, interrupting the moment.
“That’s… that’s only true with an Archangel specifically… right?” Dean asked, his voice strained, his eyes locked on Gabriel’s face with an intensity that went beyond anger. There was a flicker of something raw and vulnerable there – hope? Fear?
Gabriel pulled back slightly from you and turned his head towards Dean. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face, pure mischief dancing in his golden eyes. He didn't say a word. He just winked.
Dean Winchester visibly paled beneath his usual tan. A deep blush crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks as he looked away abruptly, suddenly finding the pine needles on the forest floor incredibly fascinating.
Sam glanced between his blushing brother and the smirking archangel holding his sister, utterly bewildered by this new layer of silent communication. “Dean? What? What does that mean?”
You stifled another giggle against Gabriel’s chest, feeling the vibration of his own suppressed laughter rumble through him.
Gabriel leaned down again, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered conspiratorially, “Do we tell him now?”
You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with shared amusement and the sheer relief of survival and revelation. You shook your head minutely, squeezing his hand where it rested on your waist.
“Nah,” you whispered back, your gaze drifting to where Dean was still stubbornly studying the ground, the blush deepening on his neck. “Let him figure it out.”
a lot of fics fuck up angel grace stuff. canon fucks it up too because of dabb era nerfing angels even more than carver era did so let's break this down.
angel grace recharges. we know this from lucifer's arc in s13. it recharged because he still had some of his original grace left. cas' grace only faded in seasons 9 and 10 because it wasn't HIS grace. once he had his own grace back, it should've recharged just like anael's did after she shared her grace with lucifer. if we follow the original lore of angel grace, there is no "wasting grace" or need to recharge. there is no exception to that until the concept of stolen grace comes into play.
cas should've been fully powered again.
my hc is that chuck was suppressing cas' power in later seasons, especially in s15 when we see him struggle to heal someone. that's not grace fading, that's god himself being a hater.
so funny to me how the concept of the angel radio first gets introduced and deans like "a system which angels to use to communicate that works a lot like radio. huh. in typical dean winchester fashion i shall refer to this system as the angel radio!!!" and then suddenly thats the word for it. Like. the angels must have called it something beforehand (probably in enochian) but now that dean winchester is setting trends in angel land everyone wants a piece of that. By like next season he has his fully domesticated pet angel going "hey dean..... do u wamt me to chec angel rwadio... o//0" and he's like sure buddy, fully unaware that him and sam are like the main angel linguistics guys EVER. and its not even just cas. literally every single angle is like (omg how did you get that info!?) "i heard it on the angel radio.... mwahahah...... i shall now lobotomize your husband....mwhahahah!!!" they could literally start calling angel clothes homdookles and it would probably catch on.
the nature of consent to angelic possession should’ve been explored so much more
by nature, it’s incredibly predatory and we see explicitly with jimmy that castiel essentially groomed him into saying yes. obviously by picking someone already devout, proving his existence by healing him when he puts his hand in boiling water, being told he’s needed and special, but he also promises he will protect his family - a promise at best he never intended to keep or one he finds a loop hole in by assuming if the world is saved from lucifer then jimmy’s family, by default, is safe. but he never explains possession to him in simple terms; he never says what it will feel like, how long it will last, what it means for jimmy to say no or if he’s ever freed from his possession
jimmy, by definition, cannot give informed consent because he is never informed. he’s never asked in a bubble where there is no consequence from his no; it’s either jimmy says yes or the world will fall into an apocalypse, say yes or doom the world, say yes and save everyone you know and love, save your daughter
jimmy is conscious enough to feel like he’s been “chained to a comet” and to know he’s been dragged all over the earth and healed over and over. he felt bodily sensations and either couldn’t think past the physical pain to be aware of what’s happening outside of his body beyond that or was mentally suppressed by castiel but not put to sleep. jimmy’s hunger bleeds into castiel when he’s in proximity to famine so he isn’t comatose or frozen; he is starving. he is aware. he is suffering
how many vessels do angels go through, not because they burn out from contact with angelic grace, but because angels don’t care enough to look after their human needs? do they age while possessed? could jimmy have been trapped in this eternal purgatory of hunger and pain until the day castiel decides he’s done with him? a day that may never come since castiel seems to view switching vessels with the kind of annoyance one would have with having to buy a new car
jimmy is never told that even if it is over, he and his family will never be safe because demons will always want an ex-vessel; just to torture for fun even if he doesn’t have any knowledge of heaven. he and his family are never safe again from the second he says yes- breaking castiel’s promise
and when he is injured outside of castiel’s influence? when he’s dying of his own accord? even when it was indirectly caused by castiel himself? instead of healing him like he easily could and has? he decides to keep possession of his 12 yr old daughter and let him die. the 12 yr old who likely only said yes because he told her he could protect her and her family
all of that pain, all of that agony, the kind of experience that leaves a scar on your soul; and castiel didn’t think twice about inflicting it on a child without explaining any of it to her. and this is when he’s at his most loyal, inferring every angel is like this. how many angels are on earth at any given time? how many take their vessels back to heaven? how many hundreds of people are screaming inside their own heads, feeling like they’ve been chained to a comet, just to be told they consented to it? they asked for it?
what if someone said a verbal yes but internally didn’t want it to happen? is the verbal consent enough to override how much they don’t want it? even sam saying yes to lucifer in s5, is his desire to complete the plan and save the world enough to outweigh how much his body and mind must have been screaming that he didn’t want this? castiel, micheal, lucifer; they all use the person they want to possess’s family against them. they will keep them safe. they will save them. they will avenge them. faced with that choice, with the power and might of an angel asking you for something they’re telling you only you can give them, how could anyone say no?
lucifer saying, “i don’t lie. i don’t need to” and “i will never lie to you. i will never trick you”, is technically correct of him and all angels. but you don’t need to lie to manipulate someone and angels are better at manipulating and using humans than demons will ever be. at least demons are honest about how awful it is to be possessed by them, how forced it is. they never try to coerce someone into saying they want it
