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alchemyaliceAuthor: AlchemyAlice
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel
Spoilers: Season 5
Warnings: Woo, epic non-specific violence! Also, supreme butchering of religious tropes, etc, etc.
Disclaimer: Riffing on stuff that isn’t mine.
Summary: It starts with headaches, and it ends in a clusterfuck. So, business as usual, Apocalypse-wise.
V.
Castiel flies close, Dean notices, like Michael will shake him off if he doesn’t. He’s not really sure why, but he knows that every time he tries to come through and ask Michael shushes him—gently, but firmly enough to make it clear that this is not to be discussed. They pick up Seraphim and Grigori, who look at Michael within his true vessel and yet doing no harm to it, and believe in God’s intentions.
They speak to Jophiel the archangel, however, to no avail. He and Michael speak softly, so that not even Castiel can overhear, but their words are heated, and Castiel can feel and see the crackling storms of their wings as they outstretch and snap in a duel of wills. Eventually Jophiel just disappears, and when Michael turns back, he is Dean.
Dean is furious. “That fucker deserves to get his ass kicked. What a pompous douche.” He looks at Castiel, and then at the assemblage of angels who are waiting nervously behind him. “Um, sorry. Michael’s a little frustrated, so he’s taking backseat for a second. Cas, is there a way we can use the angel network to call on these guys without alerting Zach’s friends? I don't think we're going to be swaying any more archangels this way.”
Castiel thinks for a moment, mulling over his knowledge. “There is a possible ritual which we could perform,” he says eventually, “Which can create such privacy through a sigil marked on those who follow Michael. We would not be able to communicate amongst each other, but Michael could speak to them discreetly.”
Dean nods. “That’s a start. Could I talk to them, too?”
“I don’t know. Given the unique nature of your situation, we would have to wait and see.”
Dean looks out over the garrison. “Okay. Where do we have to do this ritual?”
“Anywhere. But I will need supplies.”
“Right. So, Bobby’s?”
Castiel nods. They fly.
***
Gabriel reappears with a rustle of wings that Sam is starting to slowly become accustomed to, whether he wants to or not. Maybe it’s because Gabriel’s an archangel, but his appearances and disappearances are a bit more subtle than Castiel’s, or even Aziraphale’s. He raises an eyebrow. “Back so soon?” he asks.
“Michael’s coming. He’s bringing friends,” Gabriel replies.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says faintly. Crowley snorts.
“Why are you nervous? These are your buddies, not mine.”
Aziraphale just continues to look discomfited. “They are colleagues, not buddies, as you say. And as you well know, our agreement has not always made me as productive in their eyes as I could be.”
Sam rolls his eyes. They had explained their arrangement to him as they worked, and Sam has no idea how heaven managed to keep anything straight, considering their shenanigans. Gabriel sits down next to Sam and puts his feet up on the table. “Any progress?” he asks idly.
“We’re trying to work out a weather pattern that Lucifer might be causing as he moves,” Sam says, and pushes his laptop to face Gabriel. Gabriel eyes the chart briefly.
“The Morningstar is sort of like a black hole, sometimes,” he says. “He sucks the air from a place. We used to attribute it to his beauty, but then, you know, shit happened, and I’m pretty sure it’s just his general bitterness now. So, look for low pressure areas.”
Dean appears with Castiel alongside. “Hey, Sammy.”
“Hey. How’s Michael doing?”
“Doing his thing. Raphael sucks. Oh, and there are about fifty angels hanging out outside, waiting to get Michael’s autograph so that he can talk to them on a private line. Do you think you could help Castiel do the ritual for it?”
“He’s busy,” Gabriel cuts in, before Sam can say anything.
Dean stares at him blankly.
“Excuse me?”
“He wants me to go kill the Leviathan with him,” Sam says, and braces himself for a hissy fit. But instead of Dean yelling, he gets Michael sliding in.
“Are you still not over that, Gabriel?” he asks, crossing his arms. It’s a weirdly feminine gesture, and it looks hysterical on Dean. Sam finds himself biting the inside of his cheek as Gabriel bristles in response.
“I just don’t like leaving a job undone. So sue me.”
Michael cocks his head, and gets a very strange, knowing expression on his face. “And you’re taking Sam with you?” he asks.
“May I? Pretty-please?” Gabriel says coyly. Michael seems to take a moment for serious thought—or is it Dean, now? Eventually he looks at Sam.
“Do you want to do this?” he asks, and now it’s definitely Dean. He seems to still be mulling over something else, which, maybe Michael told him something important? Sam can’t really tell these days, but apparently he’s still intent upon listening to Sam first. “If you don’t wanna go, Sammy, just say the word,” he says, and his tone is about as proprietary as Dad’s was when Dean would ask permission to take girls out.
In fact, Sam notices all of a sudden how serious this question is. It’s the first time since Dean called him back from their separation that he’s actually considering letting Sam out of his sight, and out of the established safety zone. Sam still isn’t sure what had got him to make that initial phone call of reconciliation, but he has been acutely aware of how Dean has been watching him ever more closely, in what seems to be both worry and defiance. Yet another thing on the to-do list: Ask Dean what the hell happened while he was gone.
In the meantime, though, he’ll respect the choice Dean’s giving him, and considers his options. On the one hand, Gabriel’s a goddamn Trickster, archangel or no, and that’s both worrying and encouraging; worrying because hello? trust issues much? and encouraging because Gabriel’s probably the most powerful ally he could get, barring Michael, so if he could actually bring himself to trust Gabriel farther than he could throw him, he could say with relative certainty that even this potential fight with some unholy monstrosity could leave him unscathed. And finally, well, he’s honestly felt a bit left out of the game recently, what with Dean gallivanting off with Cas and Michael to go do epic things with angels. So eventually he says, “Sure, I’ll go. It’ll be nice to go and kill something instead of staying back with the books for once.”
“All right.” And…huh. Sam’s seen that expression before, and it’s the one Dean wore every time Ruby was around. It’s righteous, possessive, and totally what he would have worn if Jess had lived long enough for Sam to propose to her. Which makes no sense at all, given the context.
“But you let him get hurt,” Dean growls at Gabriel. “And Michael and I will end you. Done and done, you hear?”
“You’re no fun at all,” Gabriel admonishes, unfazed. “No fun at all. Besides, what does Michael care?”
Michael flares through, and Sam gets a flash of his wings. Woah. “I care,” he says, very distinctly. Gabriel raises his eyebrows.
“All right. Jeez. I’ll make sure the kid gets back in good shape.”
“’Kay. Be careful then. And Sammy? If Gabriel here gives you crap, you call me.”
“Dean. I can take care of myself.”
“Actually, that was Michael,” Dean slides in, with a crooked smile. “Looks like you have two protective big brothers now.”
Sam sighs. “Great.”
***
So while Michael and Castiel create a private angel radio for their garrison, Gabriel takes Sam to Iceland.
The Leviathan is massive. It’s now only a league beneath the surface at best, and it moves and billows like the magma that rises from underwater faults in the earth. Sam can only see its shape vaguely, whale-like in its general build of blackened rotundity, but its fins alone stretch a quarter mile, and the tail gives its wickedly sharp impression to the south of them. It snorts, and the waves that result look like the cresting of orcas in and of themselves.
Sam looks blankly out at it from the coast and says, “What the shit are we supposed to do about that?”
Gabriel cocks his head from side to side, then lifts a finger in a considering manner. Then a great many things happen in very quick succession, many of which are Sam seriously thinking that holy shit he is going to die right the fuck now.
It goes like this: Gabriel’s little gesture results in a fifteen foot-long spear materializing from nothing, wickedly sharp at its point and forged from what looks like solid platinum. “Um,” Sam observes eloquently.
“Right. See, last time I tried this I was alone, and Lucifer was making a hell of a racket,” Gabriel says casually. “But since Big Bad’s all busy trying to track you down in bumfuck nowhere America to make you his bitch, I figure he’s not really paying attention to his sea monster portion of the show this time around. So we should be fine.”
Then he hands the spear over to Sam. It’s heavy, but not as heavy as it should be, considering. Sam hefts it with a certain amount of curiousity.
“I’m even letting you use my awesome spear of awesome,” Gabriel adds. “I made it myself. Be proud.”
“How am I supposed to use a weapon that’s twice as tall as I am?” Sam asks. Gabriel’s cool must be rubbing off on him, because his voice is steady as a rock. Or maybe taking on a sea monster the size of a small island with a fucking spear is just too far beyond his powers of comprehension for him to be anything but calm. Either way, his hands aren’t even shaking.
“Well, I’m going to pull this fucker up out of the water enough for you to climb over him. Then I suggest you aim for the eyes,” Gabriel says, pointedly not answering his question. “The thing about massive creatures of destruction? Ridiculously slow. Impossible to beat unless you’ve got the right weapon, too, but hey guess what? We got that. So, stay light on your feet, try not to fall off, and if you deliver a proper coup de grace I’ll be very impressed. Sound good?”
“Um,” Sam says again. Then Gabriel takes off.
And what he said? Is exactly what they do.
The skin of the Leviathan is slippery, but its scales provide a certain amount of traction, so Sam goes with it. The Leviathan can barely feel his footsteps, and tries to shake him off like a horse would a fly, but Sam uses its intermittent spines to hold himself upright. He is reminded vaguely of the wildest of haunted houses he’s been into, the way the ground beneath him bucks, and the dark flesh rolls back to try and get a grip on its attacker and in doing so blocks out the sun, sending Sam’s world into temporary midnight. He gets tossed and thrown like a ragdoll, and at one point a massive, clawed fin rises over him and comes down like the goddamn Berlin wall on his ankle, but he makes his way like he’s crossing the Golden Gate Bridge in the middle of an earthquake as Gabriel shoves and goads and strikes like a cobra at the Leviathan’s head, drawing it upwards with both taunting and the sheer force of his will.
So finally, when Sam reaches its cresting head, slipping on seawater and blood, he grips fast onto the gasping gills on its snorting head and doesn’t hesitate—straight and true, he drives the spear into the eye of the Leviathan as Gabriel himself drags it up from the deep, causing massive tidal waves along the coasts of Europe and North America. The Leviathan rears up in its agony, throwing Sam off its body, and for a long moment Sam feels both weightless and broken in the air, and then he’s slammed onto shore with a snap of Gabriel’s fingers while the archangel throws the felled creature to ground. The waves crash up and around, soaking everything in its path, nearly dragging Sam back down into the ocean, but he clings brokenly to the rocks, feeling the shudders of the earth as it gives way to the Leviathan’s tumbling bulk, and then suddenly everything is so silent, so still.
When the world steadies, Sam sits on the shoreline, a jagged outcropping of rock that gives way to a cliff face, at the bottom of which lies what looks like an island made of black sand and obsidian rocks, except for how it heaves with laboured breaths that are giving way slowly to a death rattle. His broken leg is extended in front of him looking sickeningly crooked, and he cradles his limp arm carefully. He can’t remember when precisely the dislocation happened, and can’t quite understand how he managed to heft Gabriel’s spear despite it, but he’s willing to take what he can get at this point. The spear, now broken in several places, lies on the rocks beside him. There is a soft fluttering of wings, nearly lost to the crashing of the ocean waves.
“So…that was awesome.”
Sam grits his teeth. “Yeah. About that.”
Gabriel looks down at him and frowns. Sam can’t really tell whether it's with worry or disapproval at his inability to remain uninjured in the face of Satan’s version of a boss fight, because the next thing he knows Gabriel snaps his fingers, and he screams as his bones jolt back into their proper configuration with a sickening procession of sounds. He glares at the angel behind him. “No way you could have made that a bit less painful?” he asks bitterly.
“Not really,” Gabriel shrugs. “Not without putting a mind-whammy on you.”
“I would have appreciated it, in this case.”
“Really? Something tells me you wouldn’t. Not after everything I’ve put you through.”
Sam startles. “Is that…is that an apology, I’m hearing?”
“Nope,” Gabriel says, too casually. “I don’t apologize.”
Sam exhales harshly. “I guess you’re not forgiven, then.”
The Leviathan groans, a deep, final exhale, and goes still.
Gabriel says, “In that day the Lord with his sore and great and strong sword shall punish the leviathan the piercing serpent, even leviathan that crooked serpent; and he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea. Isaiah 27:3."
“Except the Lord didn’t,” Sam points out, massaging his shoulder. His ankle tingles, but feels okay. “We did. Also, it looked more like a whale than a serpent.”
“Yeah, well, I was also supposed to kill it centuries ago, so what can you do?” Gabriel shrugs. “We’re just eschewing prophecy left and right, yo.”
“If you ever attempt ghetto-speak again, I will do everything in my power to destroy you.”
“That is the least threatening thing I’ve ever heard.”
Sam sighs. There’s really nothing to be done about archangels. “Take me home, for Chrissakes.”
“Lucifer will not be pleased, you know,” Gabriel points out. “We’ve just thwarted him pretty hard.”
“He’s still destroying things across the globe.”
“Yeah, but now he has one less pet. I feel good about that.”