Butterflies and Hurricanes

Part 2: Gabriel

Part 2

Ch3: Gabriel


Mary’s parents, by necessity, never dwelt on the past.

Sure, they would throw around the usual ‘how I met your mother’ stories, but the details of how exactly Deanna ended up in hell, or what Castiel had to go through before he fell were always conveniently glossed over.

The nephilim woman had well formed ideas of the theocracy which once ran heaven, but she could never truly grasp the oppressive weight of Michael’s rule, nor of the layers of subterfuge and corruption rampant in the ranks. She sometimes compared her ignorance to a Canadian trying to understand living in the Soviet Union during WWII.

In much the same strain, Mary knew her mother and uncle fought demons and monsters before derailing the apocalypse, and she knew her grandfather John died somewhere in between.

Looking at this strange parallel version of her home, Mary began to realize that she knew very little about her parents.

Her family, consisting of the legions of heaven and hunters of earth, would converge around the focal point of her mother and father to address a major threat. That was how the witch Rowena was defeated, when her machinations threw hell into chaos which subsequently spilled out onto earth. That was also how the fairy realms of Oz were put back to rights (though to be fair, Charlie headed that operation, though se had a support network to fall back on instead of splitting herself in half when the critical strike was needed).

Here, however, when she told Sam and Dean that a demon was after them, the brothers shrugged.

“We should be making plans,” Mary insisted, “Consolidating our forces and contacting the local hunting network!”

“Network?” Dean laughed. “Yeah, and might as well call the justice league while you’re at it.”

“You mean you don’t know any other hunters?” Ben interjected, laying a calming hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter. We just need to find dad. He’ll know what to do.”

The nephilim scoffed audibly.

Dean rounded on her. “You show some respect, little girl. Our dad’s one of the best hunters out there.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she sneered, ignoring Ben’s warning squeeze of her shoulder. “He wasn’t around when I was growing up.”

Sam didn’t seem surprised by the comment, but Dean looked stricken.

“That’s fine, you guys do what you have to. We’ll keep you updated on what we uncover.” Ben said, trying to diffuse the delicate emotional bomb ticking down in the room. He scribbled on a pad of paper from the motel desk. “Here’s our numbers. You two give us a call if you need anything, ok?”

“I should be the one telling you that,” Dean grumbled. The small upturn at the corner of his mouth betrayed his lighter mood, as he took the pad from Ben’s hand.

Later, after the Winchesters had parted ways, Mary rounded on her cousin.

“How could you let them run off like that? We should be sticking together!”

“We were freaking them out,” Ben said, calmly sorting through his own duffle bag. He was running low on gun oil, and would have to pick some up before leaving town.

“They’re family!”

He fixed her with a cool green stare. “No, they’re not. They could be, but they’re not. Family’s a two way street, and we might catch their interest as a novelty, but, as they are now, Sam and Dean don’t have room in their lives for anyone but themselves.”

“But we could help them!”

“Yeah, while keeping our less than normal powers under wraps. That will sure be easy. It’s not like we’ll be body guarding a couple of trigger happy xenophobes!”

She slapped him across the face. “You shut your mouth!”

Ben massaged his jaw, pain already fading due to his passenger. He sent a mental thanks to Gadreel, who was hovering apprehensively at the edges of the transgenic’s mind, wondering if he should intervene. He turned his attention back to his cousin.

“Look Mary, tactically we have a better chance of helping them if we aren’t with them. I know you want to work together, but Dean is not a team player, let alone a general like your mother. He’s barely older than us.”

The nephilim’s shoulders sank, as her unseen wings drooped from their attacking posture. “I know. It’s so weird seeing them like this.”

“Yeah, probably more for you. At least I can differentiate Dean and your mother by appearance. You’ve got the whole soul thing to mix it up too.”

She nodded glumly.

Ben folded his last shirt and zipped up his duffle. “I think we should start checking out signs and omens. See if we can track any demonic activity. If Sam and Dean call us, we can fly over, so we don’t have to stay too close.”

The call comes a month later.

Ben is talking Gadreel through the finer points of utilizing non-supernatural senses to detect lies on potential suspects, while interviewing witnesses to what seems to be either a ghost or serial killer. The transgenic will take care of the problem wither way, but enjoys the mental exercise on non-time sensitive cases.

Mary is the one who picks up, while her cousin is playing the interested reporter making a documentary.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice sounds weak, as if each breath is a struggle.

“Are you ok?” the nephilim asks, sitting up from her slump in the passenger seat.

The hunter coughs. “No, baby girl, I did something really stupid. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t Marty McFly you.”

“What?” Her chest clenched at the familiar address.

“So, you’re ok? No body parts vanishing from a picture?”

“Abba, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

Dean’s soft smile radiated even through the phone. “...can you tell me again about your family?”

“Tell me where you are first.”


Unbidden tears streaked down the woman’s face. “...My baby brother Jim can’t, get around, as well as the rest of the family. So when he turned sixteen, you took him on a week long road trip and taught him to drive the Impala. I was so jealous, I didn’t talk to him for a month. You made me run courier duty with him until I got over myself.”

A wheezing laugh tickled her ears through the receiver. “I sound like a pretty cool dad.”

“The best. Dean, where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. Look I have to-”

“Your pet name for my other parent is Cas,” Mary shot out, trying to keep the hunter on the line. She reached out with her senses, disentangling the radio waves bouncing from her phone to the cell towers.


“You two are so cute together. Once Cas filled the whole bunker with purple hyacinths to apologize after you guys had a fight, and you disconnected the cable for a week to stop them from getting any more sappy ideas from the Hallmark channel. Then Charlie jut told Cas to take you to a car show.”

The radio waves bounced from tower to satellite, back down to earth, landing somewhere in Nebraska.

Dean laughed again. “That’s some good advice.”

“Charlie’s awesome!”

Just a little bit more, she had the correct county. Just a little more time to find the town.

Sounds rustled in the background, and a door clicked open. “Dean, I found this faith healer-” Sam’s muffled voice mumbled in the background.

“Mary I have to go,” the hunter said.

“No wait-”

“I would have really liked to get to know you, baby girl.”

The dial tone never sounded so bleak as it did then.

Ben returned from his interview to find his cousin curled up in the side of their stolen car, weeping.

“We’re going to Nebraska,” she snarled through her scratchy throat, before grabbing a fistful of his leather jacket, and pulling him along for her county wide search for the Winchesters.

Later, after Sam and Dean called to let them know this death sentence was a false alarm, and hey, reapers can apparently be bound with certain spells, Ben leaned over the toilet, clutching his stomach.

“Please,” he begged, as his stomach lurched again. “Next time you want to take me for an extended flight, don’t.”

The duo continued their crisscrossing of the country searching out demon signs and taking cases as they appeared.

After a close miss in Chicago, and Dean and Sam resolutely refusing to answer their phones, Mary called in a vacation, and took her cousin to Hawaii.

Gadreel especially enjoyed the rain forests, quietly commenting on how it reminded him of his last, incredibly brief, time on earth. Ben was content to let the angel have free reign to commune with nature as much as he wanted, and spent the time napping in the back of his mind.

However Mary, being the child of two beings who did not know the definition of taking a non-working vacation, flitted across the globe and ether for a distraction. The emptiness of this parallel earth irked her, as she was used to finding angels, or at the very lease demons, taking up the non-space between atoms.

This earth was spiritually desolate.

Except for the reapers, of course, but Mary tended to steer clear of them when she could. Ted back home was nice, but he bore her family’s attentions with the grudging resignation of one who knew they had no choice but to go with the flow or be overwhelmed.

The nephilim had a faint memory of the reaper escorting a gaunt man in a dark coat to one of the family picnics where her mother made pie, but Mary had been hustled inside and kept under guard so she wouldn’t fly off, so she didn’t ever find out who he was.

Something graceful tickled the back of her tongue, so faint she would not have noticed it from the usual spark of creation, were she not searching for a memory of home in this strange place.

Doubling back over Colorado, Mary tasted the air again, sifting through the dampened sound waves of earthy ritual sacrifice to the heavenly spark underneath.

Her feathers fluffed in interest.

The earthy feel reminded her of the two times Madam Kali had visited her family. Once to collect a sacred statue kept in the bunker’s vault, and another to have tea with her mother and coo over Jim’s multiple chubby baby arms. The goddess had never been explicitly welcome, but Kali and Deanna had some kind of mutual understanding with each other, that no one else had been able to puzzle out.

Swooping closer, Mary ran her metaphorical hands through space. There, in a cleverly tied fold, her fingers caught. Curiosity mounting, the nephilim wiggled into the disguised pocket space.

An angel she had never seen before awaited her.

“Hello!” she chirped, wondering whether she should flee or not. Though, this particular angel looked powerful enough to easily stop any escape she might try. So, in true Winchester fashion, she bluffed and blustered her way through her terror and immortal peril.

“Mah Nishmah?” the angel said, voice rumbling as if through a thousand violin strings in a wind tunnel.

“Shlomi Tov! Just running my wings through creation.”

Low laughter reverberated through her bones, striking a familiar chord in her memory.

Mary searched the being’s faces, trying to place its metaphorical features and expression. “I...how do I know you?”

The angel crouched low, gold eyes watchful and blank. “You don’t.”

She wafted into the air, skimming the feathers of his multitude of wings to alight on one of his outstretched hands. The woman stared at the celestial being, trying to place his faces. “No, I do. You’re....” she wracked the recesses of her memory.

“If you knew me, you would not be so casual in how you spoke, little half-human.”

“Because I know you, I don’t feel any danger.” The worn memory slithered close to the conscious levels of her mind, before sinking into obscurity again.

The angel considered her words, thousand faces watchful. “Even if I have no ill will towards you, our brethren will not be as kind if they see you flying so openly. You should be wary.”

“I’m careful,” she said, fluffing out her feathers imperiously.

“But curiosity can kill the canary, so you might want to be more discreet. Wouldn’t want those pretty wings cut.”

The nephilim flushed. “Well, why are you here? I thought angel’s weren’t allowed on earth at this point in time.”

“...You really have no idea who I am.”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve introduced ourselves.” She straightened her wings and held out her hand. “My name is Mary. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Amusement lit within the multiple golden eyes, swirling them to liquid pools of lava. He held out one of his fingers, and carefully shook her proffered palm with the tip of a claw. Mary couldn’t wrap her hand around even the claw’s narrowest point.

“They call me Gabriel.”

“The archangel!” Mary’s interest spiked, as she tried to take in the being’s metaphorical appearance.

She had never seen an archangel up close before, them being an endangered species in her home dimension. Once she spotted the dusky edges of Raphael’s wings while visiting the heavenly courts with her father, but the archangel had been deep in discussion with his lawyers, and took no notice of her, thankfully. She recalled the archangel as a murky twilight in the scottish highlands, streaked through with the taste of lightening. Black eyes were closed in every face, but creeping fogs of grace clung to the heels of passers by, in what once may have been a gesture of comfort.

Gabriel was not like Raphael.

Instead of obscured landscapes, he echoed with looping geography, cracked deep like shifting continents. Wings waved high amidst the crests and troughs of light and sound, each feather a trumpeting herald presenting his appearance.

Mary felt incredibly small compared to such power.

“Yes, the archangel” Gabriel said, eyes scrutinizing her just as closely as she was him.

Her neck and ears flushed scarlet. “Well, shouldn’t you be upstairs minding the masses?”

“No,” he said simply.

Mary waited for more, but the wordless space stretched on, permeated by the chiming oceans of grace flowing through the being before her.

She coughed. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Gabriel. We should chat again some time.”

“You are unexpectedly irreverent.” An idea of a smile settled on his less inhuman face, as she fluttered from his palm. “Very human.”

“Thank you,” she preened. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“Most would not take that as a compliment.”

“Then they clearly don’t know what they’re talking about! Humanity is awesome!”

He chuckled like waterfalls flowing off the edge of the earth. “I suppose you’re right.”

Mary winged towards the edges of the pocket dimension. “Well, Shalom.”

“Shalom,” the archangel breathed out, sending golden winds of grace to tickle her feathers and aid her flight.

“What?” Mary shrieked. “Dean’s been in the hospital? In a coma? Because of DEMONS?”

Ben winced at her pitch, and closed the lid of is laptop to better pay attention to his cousin’s conversation on the phone.

“I don’t care if your phone broke in the car crash, Sam. Put me on your damn emergency contacts next time!”

The hunter’s placating tone sounded through the receiver, but the nephilim’s holy rage remained unquenched.

“No! You don’t get an excuse, this is exactly what we’re here to prevent! You’re supposed to call for backup when shit hits the fan, Sammy. Cas dammit, we’re your family! You don’t keep stuff like this from family. Now, where the hell are you?”

Sam’s brow beaten tone sounded once again, and Mary snapped her phone shut.

“We’re going to Grandpa Bobby’s,” she stated, already whirling to collect her scattered belongings from the hotel floor.

Ben nodded, sharing a quiet mental commentary about not poking nesting dragons with his passenger. Gadreel cited numerous examples from his youthful wars against the Darkness of healers being the most dangerous foe to face, when one wished to be let free of the field hospitals.

In no time, the trio had flown with their stolen car all the way to North Dakota, just half an hour outside of the Singer Salvage Yard, so as not to garner any suspicion as to their supernaturally quick travel.

Mary didn’t even wait for the engine to turn off, before she leapt free of the vehicle to wrap her arms around Dean, who was working on the impala in the garage.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” she snarled into his chest, eyes burning.

The hunter’s distaste at the contact softened at her tone, and he carefully draped his black greased arms around her shoulders. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Ben left the daughter and parent to their reunion to join Sam on the porch.

“Is she all right?” the taller man asked.

“Mary is unusually aware of her family’s mortality,” Ben said, glancing sideways at his sort-of-uncle. “She knows she’s going to outlive most of us, and reminders of that leave her shaken up for a while.”

Sam didn’t have anything to say to that.

The dimension travelers spent the week with Sam and Dean at Bobby’s house.

Mary clung to Dean’s coat tails like a duckling, passing him tools when he worked to restore the totaled Impala, sitting across from him when he snuck snacks from the kitchen, and generally only letting him out of her sight to sleep and use the facilities.

The hunter didn’t discourage her attentions, only looking at her with a soft expression as he explained the inner workings of an engine and the virtues of pie.

Sam and Ben spent the time in the library, alternatively research binging on their laptops and talking with Bobby about useful books to read.

By the end of the week, everyone was antsy for action.

Around that time, they also found a lead to someplace called the Roadhouse.

Giving Dean a break from Mary’s clinging tendencies, Ben took the elder hunter with him in the stolen compact, while the other two Winchesters took the Impala.

The uncle and niece rode together in mostly silence, until Sam was forced to ask a question which had been nagging him for a while.

“So, where did your parents meet? Because I just can’t see Dean settling down with anyone.”

Mary shot him an incredulous look. “You kidding? The second mom got pregnant she retired, and dad was the worst mother hen ever. I remember when Jim, my brother, was little. Mom was going stir crazy with how much dad doted on her.”

“Must run in the family.” Sam slanted a gaze at her.

“Oh, shut up.”

The party paused at a rest stop for some pie and dinner.

A tickle of grace at the edge of Gadreel’s senses prompted Ben to excuse himself to the parking lot.

Lurking under a streetlamp, a trench coated figure watched his approach.

“Hello there,” Ben said amicably, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Gadreel hung close to the edges of his nervous system, rallying his grace in case a smiting was necessary in the immediate future.

“You are not meant to be here,” the blue eyed angel said.

“If we’re being fair, I don’t really want you here either.”

“I belong in this universe, you and your companion do not.”

“Ah. What gave us away?”

“Heaven noticed an aberration of grace flying across earth. I was...questioned, as it most closely resembled my own. When it became apparent I knew nothing, I was assigned to take care of the problem.”

“And you’ve found us,” Ben said. “So, what will you do?”

Castiel looked sideways at the transgenic. “That nephilim is of my making, yet I do not understand how I could have so grossly disobeyed God’s commandments.”

“Things are different in our home.”

“Evidentially.” The angel looked back to the hunters. “She is like...water.”

“Like her other parent, or so I’m told.”

“The Righteous man.”

“Well, Righteous Woman back home, but yeah.”

The seraph’s shoulders hunched forwards hungrily. “To have resulted in such a being’s creation, those versions of ourselves must have felt....strongly for one another.”

“Would you like to see?” Ben said, waving at his temple.

The angel moved as if to place his fingers against the transgenic’s brow, but clenched his hand into a fist half way there. “No. I should not.” Blue eyes lingered on the dark haired woman as she smiled. “What she represents is not mine. The nephilim is only a possibility.” A deeper laugh drew his attention to the other owner of green eyes. “Nothing more.”

“But is Mary a possibility you will allow to let go?”

The muscles along Castiel’s back tensed, quivering. “I will...tell them I could not find the anomaly.”

A silent sigh escaped Ben’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Please do not. I fear this choice of mine will have far reaching consequences.” He looked upwards. “I must return. Please advise...Mary to fly more discreetly.”

The angel vanished in a flutter of wings.

The Roadhouse was officially Ben’s new favorite hunter hangout.

The Men of Letter’s Bunker was home, and Camp Chippewa was like summer camp, but the Roadhouse... Ben just wanted to grab his twin and hustle pool. He could picture Alec lording his prowess over the other patrons, drink in one hand, while the other tucked cards up his sleeves.

Such open normal human revelry was unusual to find in the hunting community back home. The transgenics, even after so many years free, did not readily comprehend how to easily intermingle with civilian populations. And angels, well, the less said the better.

When the Winchesters were preparing to leave, Ben took his cousin aside. “I think I’ll hang out at the Roadhouse for a bit. Ash has some pretty awesome ideas about tracking demonic activity, kind of like the online map Charlie set up in the bunker.”

Mary nodded, head pillowed on her arms. “I might stay for a while too.” She chuckled. “You know, I never wondered why mom named me Joellen, but I think I’m starting to get an idea.” A wide grin split across her face. “The Harvelle’s are awesome.”

“Hey Mary, is your cousin around?” Ash asked.

“I think he took Jo out for a salt and burn.”

“Oh. When you see him, can you tell him I hacked that government site he wanted, but didn’t find anything about manticores or mythological creatures. Though apparently area 51 has some great catering.” He trailed off, taking a swig of his beer.

The nephilim nodded, suddenly feeling a swoop of shame dive through her stomach. She had been so focused on her quest to save this version of Sam and Dean, that she hadn’t spared a thought to other members of her family who might be in trouble.

However, it seemed as if that branch did not exist in this universe.

Part of her felt infinitely sad that so many of her cousins simply did not exist here. Another was glad to spare them such suffering at the hands of Manticore.

A Trickster?”

Mary looked over to where her cousin was on the phone with Sam. Something tickled in the recesses of her mind; a half forgotten bedtime story about angels masquerading on earth.

“No, I don’t know anything about that,” Ben continued, typing at his laptop. “What about you Mary?” But when the transgenic looked over, she had already flown away.

When Mary is fifteen, she sits in the auditorium of Camp Chippewa and listens as Sheriff Jody Mills carefully explains about all the things which can happen to an unprepared woman, and all the mechanical knowledge needed to avoid such a fate.

Later that afternoon, Deanna takes her daughter aside and re-explains the facts of life, with careful notes and notations more suited to her specific circumstances.

“Now, I know gender doesn’t mean much to your Daddy’s side of the family, but humans take it a bit more seriously. So make sure you always ask what pronoun someone wants you to call them, otherwise it can get awkward.”

The hunter chuckled. “Speaking of dicks with wings, if you do hook up with an angel, remember that consent is sexy. And by that I mean that the angel and the poor person they’re in should be on board before you try anything.”

That evening, Mary consulted her father on his opinion of the day’s topic.

His feathers rustled sympathetically. “As you know, angels have a word for the exchange of genetic information and creation of progeny. What your mother an I do is not that.”

Two of his sets of eyes closed in remembered rapture. “A human cannot feel more than the physical mechanics of what occurs, but neither you nor your brother would have been conceived if that was all which went on. Human souls continually surprise me with their resiliency. Love just...reaches out, wanting to create a new life.”

Blue eyes harshly focused on green. “Be careful not to force your grace upon them if you ever take a human partner. It is an invasion, and shall not be condoned. An angelic partner...it is much like doing battle. Communing grace is exhilarating, but the mechanics are very similar to overwhelming an opponent’s being to smite them. Rarely is it recommended to tie yourself so closely to one not of your choir. We also do not have the instinct to procreate. So while flirtations may sometimes be for play or provocative, they are always for pleasure.”

Mary cringed as her father detailed the varied and disturbing sex lives of multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent. There were lots of tentacles involved.

She found Gabriel having internet trolls be forces to live under bridges in a town so tiny, his true form could have knocked it over with a misplaced feather.

Gliding through the non-planar dimensions, she swooped low to pluck at his fur in greeting.

The less human head snapped at her heels in response, but she was already out of its reach, perched on a pair of his antlers. The elk head snorted, but didn’t shake her off.

“You should be more careful,” the messenger intoned, vocal wavelengths humming pleasantly through the base of Mary’s wings and soul.

“Why? Would you have bitten me?”

Golden pupiled multitudes rolled to fix upon her. “You don’t want to test me, kid.”

“I wouldn’t think an archangel would notice even if I did,” she replied coyly.

His eyes slanted away. “Well you’re not wrong.”

Mary smirked and dug her blunted claws into the closest perch. The being beneath her lunged out, but she had already darted away. Canine noses huffed, and beaks clacked as he lumbered smoothly in pursuit.

The nephilim slowed her flight somewhere in an empty patch of prairie, allowing her pursuer to catch her in his intentionally slow grab.

Long fingers with more joints than humanly accustomed caged her tiny form in a single palm, unwrinkled and reflecting gold like obsidian.

Her feathers rustled against the grace formed bars, all green eyes focused on her captor.

The archangel’s hand, one of the many not acting as a cage, trailed down her top left wing, fingers curling with incremental pressure around the joint, as if contemplating the easy twist needed to rip the appendage off.

Mary whimpered deep in her throat, clutching her perch on his palm tightly.

“See, you are afraid of me,” he said, releasing her from his entrapping fingers.

“I never said I wasn’t,” she panted. “Though, grabbing a girl’s wing like that, I admit the emotions are getting a bit mixed. Next time, just pull on my pigtail, ok?”

“You’re a cheeky little thing, aren’t you.”

She grinned widely, wings flaring in display. “Runs in the family.”

Leaping from his palm, the nephilim swooped around the galaxies large being, skimming over the feathered sea as if they were miles of grass punctuated by irises. The space between his wing joints echoed like canyons, and she crowed out a pleura of song just to hear the sound come back to her. The canyons rustled.

“Quit it,” the messenger said, eyes glaring from where they watched her around every crevice.

“Make me!” she sang, and the feathers shuddered again.

“Seriously, don’t make me get the fly swatter out.”

Mary darted in and around his horns, which cascaded like a forest. “Oh, I think I would at least warrant a double copy of Life Magazine.”

The landscape bucked, losing coherency as it slipped past the physical realm into pure light. A supernova baked and burned in blinding white, with Mary less than an electron at its very heart.

Sound waves swirled through the wisps of her wings, braiding the ribbons of grace into tickling knots of rainbows.

She laughed, unable to disentangle her soul from the remembered reactions of her body.

Gabriel twisted around her, eyes flaring plasma. “Not so much fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?”

“Why?” Mary spluttered through her mirth. “Is this what I was doing to you? I didn’t know you were so ticklish!” Her laughter bounced around the archangel’s grace, striking long silent chords to ring like bells.

The archangel trembled. “You don’t know what you do to me, little girl.”

Claws tugged at the human tangle of her being, loosening threads as if pulling free a dense ball of twine. Mary gasped and shuddered, coming completely undone.

Her perceptions stuttered, and she blinked all of her eyes furiously, as the field in the middle of nowhere America came into focus around her.

Gabriel’s vessel stood several feet away, hands tucked in jeans pockets, golden eyes piercing.

In six long strides, she crowded into his personal space, face pressing close to his.

He stepped back.

“You’re cute,” the archangel said, his tone heavy with understatement. “But you don’t want this.”

“Yes I do,” Mary stated.

“Kid, you have no idea-”

“What, that heaven will smite me if we’re seen together?” She canted her hips to the side, fist balanced just above her belt loop. “They’ll do that to me just for existing in this universe, and back home everyone thinks you’ve been dead for ages.”

His posture stiffened, muscles along his back tightening. In another plane, miles of wing and feather flared, ready to attack. “You have no idea what you’re getting into. Do you know why the archangels never intermingled with the lower choirs? It’s because if we got to close our grace would overwhelm them, and, if they were lucky, they survived. Imagine blowing a kiss, and you burn someone’s wings black.”

One stalk forward, and his nose was barely a breadth from her own. “I’m a nucleur bomb, sweetie, and you’re a flickering christmas light. This isn’t going to end well for one of us.”

“And why do I believe you think that one is you?” She could feel her lips brush against his as she spoke.

He kissed her, hands tangling in her dark hair, aura flaring to scorch as it escaped his mental confinements. Mary gasped into his mouth, clutching at the front of his green coat, while the edges of her wings burned.

The archangel pulled back, eyes flaring gold. “Don’t bother me again, kid.”

He vanished in a flutter of sound.

Mary stood alone in an empty field, physically and spiritually frustrated. She carded her fingers through her feathers, trying not to saver the echoes of gold which simmered along her wings’s edges, as she put the mussed wavelengths back to rights.

A shuddering breath ripped into her lungs, followed swiftly by another, and another, until she was a gasping wreck.

It started raining.

What a pathetic syntax.

Mary stood shivering on the doorstep, face leaking sorrow from every orifice. “Grandpa Cain?” she sniffed. “Can-can I come ih-in for some- some tea, please?”

The greying man looked down at the trembling figure, brows unsure whether they should furrow in confusion or raise in surprise. They settled on a neutral gaze, as he opened the door wider to let the angelic being in.

She sat on his chintz couch, watching the beehive buzz away in the living room.

Cain handed her a steaming cup, which she gratefully took between her hands, but didn’t drink.

He settled back into the armchair across from her. “So, mind telling me who you are?”

The young woman sniffed. “I’m your....lots of greats granddaughter, from a parallel universe.”

The father of murder tilted his head. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look demonic enough to be related to me.”

“It’s a l-long story,” she sniveled, utterly miserable.

Cain sighed. “You can explain over a pot of tea.



March 2006 is skin, April 2006 is Faith, John dies in August 2006, Tall Tale is in February

Abba: father in hebrew
Mah Nishmah: a greeting in hebrew equivalent to ‘what’s up?’
Shlomi Tov: My welfare is good (hebrew)
Shalom: peace. Can be a greeting or farewell (hebrew)

When Castiel got back to heaven, he was thrown into re-education. It did not end well for anyone.

Uh, yes there is the potential for romantic feelings between gabriel and mary, just of the angelic variety, which is very very different from the human variety. Gabriel doesn’t want to accidentally kill her, because archangel grace is like a very strong base: potent and it burns down to the bone.

Big time skip to next chapter, but only because I’m hand waving the cannon that happened and not caring where it went.

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