Gabriel- Divine Love

It was hard to breathe in the abandoned cannery; the cave system beneath them was almost pitch-black. Sam, Dean, and Gabriel moved down with precision. Sam and Dean moved fast, practice making it easy to take out the tired, disoriented vampires, and Gabriel mostly zapped the bigger ones, occasionally complaining about the lack of ambiance.

"Honestly, boys, if I wanted to spend my afternoon in a glorified sewage pipe, I'd just listen to a political debate," Gabriel grinned, flicking his wrist to disintegrate a particularly vicious vamp. "Where's the flair? The drama? A little dry ice, maybe?"

"Just focus on the hunt, Gabriel," Sam groaned, wiping dirty water dripping from the ceiling onto his cheek with the back of his hand. "We need to clear this nest before they can grab another busload of tourists."

They pushed deeper down, the screams of the angry, violent vampires echoing and making it confusing to find their way. They found the main chamber, a grotesque nursery of blood-splattered crates and bones. As Dean raised his machete for the final sweep, they could hear a small, terrified whimper.

They looked around in the dark for the sound, finding it behind a pile of wet cardboard boxes. You weren't human, not really. They couldn't tell what you were in the dark. Dean froze for a second, shining his flashlight in your eyes. Sam seemed concerned about your reaction to the light. Gabriel seemed both fascinated and surprised, both at your existence and how he felt looking at you wince.

"A demi-human," Sam said, kneeling slowly, trying not to spook you further. "Looks like a bat. What were the vamps doing with you?"

You stumbled back, pressing yourself further into the shadows. You looked weak and vulnerable. Your clothes were torn, and your arms were covered in claw marks.

"They were probably… cultivating them," Gabriel said, his voice unusually quiet, surprisingly absent of his usual sarcasm. He took a big step forward, his usual energy replaced by gentleness. "Poor little thing. Must have been terrified."

Dean and Sam looked over at each other, not saying anything out loud. Gabriel, showing genuine concern? This was new.

They convinced you to come with them, mostly through Gabriel's surprisingly soothing voice. You clung to Gabriel’s shirt, burying your face in his chest as he carried you back to the car.

Back at the Bunker, your presence quickly became Gabriel's singular obsession. He set up a makeshift nest for you in a corner of the library, complete with soft blankets and a warming lamp. He’d bring you small, peeled fruits, tiny sips of sweet nectar, and sometimes, a piece of dark chocolate, not taking his eyes off of you. He sat nearby, keeping you company while you relaxed.

"Eat up, Starling," Gabriel said one afternoon, sliding a bowl of sugar-dusted raspberries toward you. He leaned back, popping a chocolate bar into his own mouth. "You keep eating like a bird and people are gonna start thinking I'm a bad host. And we both know I’m the best thing that ever happened to this concrete tomb."

As you nibbled the fruit, he reached out, his fingers grooming the edges of your wings. "Look at those wings. Absolutely majestic. You’re practically a work of art, kid. If you weren't so cute, I'd be jealous of the wingspan."

He spent hours near you, masking his deep-seated need to be useful with witty banter. Every time you leaned into his touch, he felt a flicker of something different and real. He needed you to be safe, but he didn't understand why.

"Don't get used to the shiny stuff," he’d joke, dropping a polished silver coin or a vintage marble into your nest. "Actually, do get used to it. You’re the only thing in this house with any taste. No one touches the hoard while I’m on duty, capiche?"

Whenever the Bunker felt too much like a prison, Gabe knew just what to do. One snap, and the library vanished. You’d find yourself floating in a starlit, violet forest, the air dark and warm and so comfortable, the way you loved it.

"Check it out," he’d grin, conjuring fireflies that looped around your head, blinking. "Way better than the view from Dean’s room, right? Follow the lights, little bat. Just you and me in the VIP lounge of the cosmos."

When you got restless, he’d cast a warm, heavy "hug" spell, making you feel like you were floating in a heated pool. "There we go. Take a load off. You don't need the Winchesters or their angst. Just stay here with your favorite Archangel. I’m way better company anyway."

One morning, the distress clicks started before Sam even brewed the coffee. You were tangled in your sheets, wings twitching in a frantic, half-awake panic. Gabriel was there in a heartbeat, his sass momentarily replaced by a panicked and protective focus.

"Hey, hey! Easy on the upholstery!" he chirped, though his hands were incredibly gentle as he untangled you. He pulled you into his lap, radiating a literal, golden warmth. "Who told you you could have a nightmare on my watch? That’s a major violation of the 'Be Adorable' policy."

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly you were sitting in a sun-drenched meadow under a weeping willow. He held a spoonful of raspberries to your lips, his eyes searching yours with a needy intensity he hid behind a wink.

"Open up, kid. I didn't spend a thousand years perfecting my culinary skills for you to go on a hunger strike. That’s it. Perfect. That's my good little bat."

He rocked you slowly, his arm shielding you from the illusory sun. "Stay right here. No monsters, no vamps, no grumpy hunters. Just stay small, stay safe, and let Gabe handle the heavy lifting. You’re doing great, sweetie. Practically perfect."

Later that night, he brought you back for dinner. The smell of grease and grilled onions hit the bunker almost a full minute before Dean actually appeared. He strolled in, holding a brown paper bag that was already almost dripping with oil, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Hey, kid," Dean said, ignoring the way the air in the room suddenly felt twenty degrees colder. "Gabe’s been feeding you nothing but rabbit food and sugar berries. Thought you might want a real meal. Double bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles. Best in the county."

Gabriel, who had been looking for the brush for your hair, turned with a glare.

"Dean. Buddy. Pal," he started, sarcastic and cold. "I know that hunk of junk you drive has filled your lungs with lead, but surely you haven't lost the last three brain cells you use for breathing. What is that?"

"It’s a burger, Gabe. Calm down," Dean rolled his eyes, reaching into the bag. "The kid needs some protein."

Gabriel snapped his fingers. The burger instantly vanished from Dean’s hand, reappearing in a nearby trash can, which then promptly burst into blue flames.

"Hey! That was four bucks!" Dean shouted.

"And it was forty pounds of cardiac arrest and salmonella!" Gabriel barked, stepping between Dean and your nest. He puffed out his chest, his shadow on the wall momentarily flickering with the jagged silhouette of six massive wings. "Look at them, Dean! They are a delicate, high-performance creature, not a garbage disposal for a roadside grease-trap. Do you have any idea what that much sodium would do to their wing-membrane elasticity? No, of course you don't, because you think 'nutrition' is a brand of beer."

He turned back to you, his face instantly softening. He reached out and stroked your hair, shielding your eyes from the "tragedy" of the burnt burger.

"Don't listen to the mean man, Starling. He doesn't understand the finer things. He probably wants to give you a heart attack so he can have more room in the fridge for his 'pie'." Gabriel cooed, manifesting a plate of perfectly sliced, organic dragon fruit and a small glass of chilled elderberry nectar. "Tell him you don't want that garbage."