Dirty Little Secret (Revealed)
***GIF IS NOT MINE***
Rating: none! Typical canon violence
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.
Warnings: Violence, blood/injury, canon-typical hunting danger, strong language.
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.”
