"Never again shall you thirst, for I am come to wet your mouth with wine and water, to quench your thirst with kisses. Words of Love from my own lips will serve as your oasis, and you shall never want for drink again."
gabriel, narrating to whoever’s writing the old testament, deciding he’s about to be hilarious: oh yeah michael’s sword is flaming, make sure you get that in there
edit: It’s come to my attention that @illusivexemissary has done a similar piece, so please take a moment to check our their beautiful traditional art!
Sam: I definitely understand wanting to escape a miserable and torturous existence because I'm currently trapped in one Sam: But I'm totally adjusted to it, you see, it's actually a GOOD thing
Both he and Sam immediately look to the archangel who cowers under their dual gazes. Still, he does not release the material of the trench coat. Casting a cursory look at the youngest Winchester, Cas kneels, slowly, carefully looking up to make eye contact with his broken brother. “Gabriel?”
Gabriel whimpers and holds more tightly.
“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re an angel?” Sam says.
Castiel tilts his head to the side. His head has been programmed and re-programmed so many times that no other reason springs to mind, but there’s something… itching, at the base of his hippocampus. There’s something more, maybe. Something beyond TV Land and the apocalypse and their encounter a scant few years ago. Something…
Gabriel touches his wrist with trembling fingers, and Castiel remembers.
He remembers being ostracized as a fledgling, others refusing to socialize due to his curiosity and empathy… and finding a friend in Gabriel, who was shunned for his playful nature. Gabriel, who taught him how to fly. Gabriel, who explained to him why no one would speak to him; would stand up for him; who would blot out the sun with his big, gold wings. Who was truly his brother, until he disappeared one day with nary a word.
Tears spring to blue eyes and Cas bites his lip, carefully reaching out to brush against the puckered skin of Gabriel’s cheek. Against all odds, the archangel presses into the contact. “Cas… tiel,” he rasps, his own eyes wide and watery and terrified.
Cas nods, the movement sharp and pained and disbelieving. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re safe, now. It’s okay.”
“Brother,” Gabriel says. Fingers leave bruises on Castiel’s wrist.
Carefully, Cas sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling the archangel to his chest in a twisted parallel of a hug. He buries his face in the filth of his hair, careful in the ways they touch.
