Chapter 5: Messenger Without a Message

"Brother, don't make me do this." Lucifer said, his voice soft and tight, shaking his head as if in disbelief and remorse.

For a moment, Gabriel could see his older brother, the Morningstar, Daddy's favorite, his comforting presence reaching out to Gabriel through the rotting human flesh that stretched thin to encased his true form.

He could see a glimpse of the Lucifer he once knew and loved before humanity threatened his pride, the one that taught Gabriel how to fly, to fight, to deliver the word of their Father, the one who shone brighter than the sun.

"No one makes us do anything." Gabriel stated quietly, his eyebrows raising just a hair in defiance and maybe just a hint of apology.

Angels may not have been explicitly given 'free will' upon creation, but it could be learned, little Castiel was proof, even if his wings were clipped. Hell, even Gabriel and Lucifer themselves were proof of it, angels can change.

Gabriel could scarcely believe that after all that rebellion against their Father, after his temper tantrum and an eternity of time-out, dearest Luci would just roll over and follow the script.

Even if it did go along with his end game of 'kill-all-humans.'

"I know you think you're doing the right thing, Gabriel. But I know where your heart truly lies." The same Dad-damned soft voice again.

Lucifer was either genuinely regretful of the situation or he was yanking on Gabriel's tail feathers, reminding him of all those moments beneath the stars, learning and listening, tearing out one golden primary at a time.

The Father of Lies tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows, a mix of remorse and exasperation, an expression so achingly familiar. Gabriel hesitated, just a moment, and stepped forward, toward Lucifer's back, archangel blade raised as the illusion in front of Lucifer tilted its head to the side, trying to subtly distract his older brother.

Lucifer spun around, faster that Gabriel could react, snatching the archangel blade out of the air and plunging it into Gabriel's abdomen.

Pain like he could have never imagined, pain so deep it tore fissures into his Grace and true angelic form, blossomed in his body, acid bubbling beneath his skin as the very essence of Gabriel's being began to rip and unravel.

Gabriel could barely hear his older brother's next words through the indescribable horror of feeling his grace shred, peel, and sear into tiny blackened pieced of himself.

He clutched at Lucifer's jacket desperately, pleadingly, as he came apart at the seams.

"…hocus pocus. Don't forget you learned all your tricks from me, little brother." Lucifer placed a gentle hand on the side of Gabriel's face in a facsimile of a long-forgotten affectionate gesture, of a time when they were brothers watching as their Father created the universe and stars around them.

Lucifer twisted the blade.

Gabriel screamed.

…

Nothingness was rather dull.

Or at least Gabriel thought so.

The Void was black and boring, like floating in space when the stars had yet to be created, weightless and unable to tell if he was moving up or down or even register if there was an up or down. It was all relative anyway.

It reminded Gabriel of that one time with the twins, Cindi and Candi, and a Sensory Deprivation Tank, man, that was a little bit out of his comfort zone even for an eternity old archangel. But let it never be said that Gabriel, or Loki, whatever people wanted to remember him as, had ever backed down from a hot and kinky come on. But, again, that wasn't the point.

Trapped in the darkness, not even being able to tell if his eyes were open, just a consciousness in The Void, as he'd begun to call it, Gabriel was left to the mercy of his own thoughts both good and bad.

He was probably stuck there for eternity, if it was as he suspected: angel afterlife.

Back to the place he'd begun, just a speck of a thought in his Dad's head, then —Boom— born as a fledgling little archangel with puffy golden wings and a copper halo too big for his rather shapeless multi-dimensional grace.

Gabriel sighed, in his mind, of course, since nothing ever hinted in the blackness that he even had a physical form, no cartoony puff of breath, not even a whisper of air displacement. Scientists would have a hay day picking apart this space.

He hoped that the Winchesters actually watched Casa Erotica #13, not just threw it away thinking it was a screwy type of gallows humor. He wouldn't put it past Dean-o, the impulsive type he was, would probably watch the first ten seconds and toss it out for not getting to the point sooner.

Then Sam would chastise his brother, fish it out of the trash, and watch the whole thing by himself, twice maybe, just to make sure that he got all the information. All the while making that cute little bitch-face as Gabriel and a illusionary porn star got it on.

That just cracked Gabriel up.

For all of a second, before he realized he was literally laughing about an image his mind created.

Yeah, not exactly sane material right there.

And so there was nothing. Just Gabriel trapped in his screwy head, not quite Beautiful Mind territory, but getting there. Eternity gave a ton of ammunition and opportunity to mess up, make mistakes, and cram them all into that tiny steel chest in the corner of his mind, collecting dust and tiny spiderwebs, but in The Void, Gabriel had nothing to distract him from pondering his own regrets.

You wanna see the end of the world!?

You disloyal…

Brother, don't make me do this.

This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family.

Coward.

At least he wasn't a coward in the end. If Chuck's books were ever read in those quaint little book clubs or schools, (that would be the day the world succumbed to Dad-awful writing) he'd be talked about as a dynamic character, one who overcame inner conflicts—archangel vs. self— and changed tune for the damn Winchesters, no doubt like countless others who had those two barge into their blissfully ignorant lives.

Gabriel proved that even after millennia of routine and habits, he could come out of the pagan woodwork and shove the pre-destined script right up Michael's and Lucifer's asses.

Hopefully his unplanned sacrifice would give the Winchesters a fraction of a chance to stop the apocalypse.

Maybe.

Well, it's the Winchesters, if anyone can stop a thousand year anticipated apocalypse, it would be those two.

…

Gabriel's thoughts buzzed, flitting from the torturous subject of his own death to the precise taste and texture of peanut M&Ms, touching on each subject briefly as he could scarcely scrounge up the energy to contemplate his own existence that seemed to scrape the bottom of the barrel, as far as existences go.

With his eyes closed, figuratively of course, he could imagine the stark detail of his older brother's rotting vessel before he stabbed Gabriel in the chest, ruthlessly twisting the blade and bidding him a sardonic goodbye.

And then it was gone, replaced with the sweet sensation of cracking one of those delectable human candied chocolates between his teeth. The texture slightly gritty from the cheap chocolate, from the repeated freezing and melting while the packages were shipped, but accenting the unsalted roasted peanut that crunched between his molars as the chocolate melted on his tongue.

And that whisper vanished, too, melding into a hint of a memory of his Father right after he was created, all wide-eyed and puffy feathered, a duty thrust upon him when he was too young to understand. Gabriel felt the warmth of his Father's hand on his head, ruffling his wispy head of hair, the gentle familiarity of God's voice intoning fondly, 'I know you'll do well.'

Didn't I let you down, Dad.

Then his mind was taken over with a play-by-play of one of the many cat videos he had been enraptured with for several human weeks once the site 'Youtube' had found its true calling: a kitten falling into a basket of laundry, a long-haired ginger cat getting stuck in a too-small cardboard box, another toffee colored short haired kitten looking regal as it slept on a shelf and slowly slipped into a fish tank, looking like a drowned rat as it thrashed—

A light shone through The Void.

Which meant it really wasn't much of a void anymore now that Gabriel could see something.

It was rather like a search light from an old lighthouse on the coast, sweeping across the blackness, illuminating other dusty forgotten things momentarily before moving on with its consistent sweeping motion.

The light brushed over him, and Gabriel could suddenly feel his body, his true form packed into a tiny pulsing ball of grace that cringed away and surged toward the light at once. His hundreds of overlaying dull golden wings furled loosely around his consciousness and Grace, protecting and comforting him in the unfathomable darkness.

If he were human, it would be like curling in a tight ball in a forgotten corner of the room, his arms clinging desperately to his sides, trying to comfort and envelope himself into a protective bubble.

The light beam touched him for less than a second, before flitting to a different section of the not-really-a-void, and all sense of self Gabriel had gleaned from that one moment vanished in an instant. His body sense fell away, leaving a reverberating throb where his grace and wings comforted him before.

Gabriel was forced to watch as the light beam that looked, felt, smelled even —like almonds and sunshine with a twist of mint— so achingly familiar, fell on another one of his brothers, a little one with two sets of torn black wings that flared out in welcome of the sudden light, the warmth of creation.

Then in a flash of bluish white and a surge of God's Grace, the little angel vanished. No doubt revived and delivered to safety.

The light dimmed and disappeared, having found what it was searching for. And it wasn't Gabriel.

He couldn't help but feel a flash of jealousy.

But he'd made some bad decisions: abandoning his family, slumming in sin, killing his Father's prized children—the ones who deserved it, sure, but who was really counting—and in the end turning his back on who he was, what he was made for.

In the end, Gabriel wasn't needed, not now, and not for a long time.

What was a messenger without a message?

Useless.

…

Time was immaterial, just as space was empty, and existence was meaningless.

I think, therefore I am.

Yeah, well, whatever shrink coined that phrase obviously had never been suspended in freakin' nothingness with freakin' nothing but his own twisted random thoughts for company.

I think, therefore I am.

'Screw you. I've gotten damn tired of thinking.'

…

The light was back.

Some time had passed, Gabriel couldn't exactly keep track with no reference besides his own screwy thoughts. It was between 'a bit' and 'a lot,' and a little longer than 'some.'

Even to himself, it made very little sense, but then again, there wasn't anything to make sense of in this not-exactly-a-void-but-more-like-oblivion-with-a-capital-O.

That was the name he'd been going with for 'a bit' and he was gonna stick with it.

The light swept through the asteroid belt of forgotten things, teasing each being with a moment of hope for redemption before being extinguished and left to fester in the darkness for another eternity, and it passed them all by and scoured the might-be-Oblivion for an angel worthy of a second chance.

God is my strength.

Gabriel couldn't help but feel a flash of desperate hope as the search light approached, but he viscously tamped down on that tentative emotion, not wanting to set himself up for failure.

The light passed over his still form, his hundreds of wings curled protectively around his ball of consciousness and grace, their once shining majestic form that heralded the word of God, now tarnished and torn from years of neglect and apathy.

God is my strength.

Then the search beam was gone.

It had passed him over in search for another, and Gabriel couldn't prevent the pang of longing that throbbed in his chest.

Gabriel couldn't be saved.

God is my strength.

Curling his wings tighter around himself, he turned away from the radiance of God, from the memories, the hope, and the failures that would taunt him for another eternity.

He didn't notice when the light stopped and backtracked toward his form.

Gabriel's head was buried in his figurative arms like a child hiding away after being scolded, feeling the crushing sense of disappointment despite how hard he'd tried smother that hesitant hope when the light appeared.

God is my strength.

Gabriel didn't notice the light until his body was willed into existence once again, feeling his grace bask in the warmth and long-forgotten familiarity, inadvertently reaching out with his many tarnished wings out in greeting.

He raised his head, allowing himself to hope, maybe he could be saved, maybe he was worthy of a second chance, a shot at redemption.

There was a flash of heat, as if Gabriel was standing in front of a lit hearth on a winter's day, his wings furled around his shoulders like a feathery blanket imparting protection and comfort.

Gabriel was being enveloped, the familiar presence of his Father encompassing his tight ball of Grace and consciousness, the scent—sun, almonds, and that ozone smell after a thunderstorm— sending waves of nostalgia teasing half-forgotten memories of creation, of family, of faith.

With a soft flutter of feathers, Gabriel flew once more.

His hundreds of golden wings stretching to their fullest extent, the tarnished and damaged appearance of an eternity of neglect melting away in an instant. God, his Father, Dad, was at his back, gently encouraging Gabriel in a certain direction, reminiscent of his first flight, gliding over the newly created ocean, Lucifer and Michael below ready to catch him if he fell.

Gabriel breathed, deep and even, basking in his Father's presence, happy to be home after so long.

"I'm sorry."

For everything, for me, for my brothers, for running, for forgetting.

Gabriel felt Him smile, and he couldn't stop the tears running down his face as he smiled back.

"Thank you."

I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry.

Goodbye. I'll see you again.

And He vanished.

God is my strength.

…

Gabriel gasped.

In a rather cliche way, as one who was once dead is prone to do, as he reentered his deserted vessel, staring unseeing at the water stained ceiling of the Elysian Fields Hotel Ballroom.

His hands scrabbled against the wooden floorboards dusted in a thin layer of silt and plaster bits, disturbing the dirt that had settled on his cold empty vessel into billowing clouds. He coughed viscously, trying in vain to clear his parched throat of the months of dirt that had clung to his insides, the sudden contrast between feeling nothing to feeling everything was a bit overwhelming, even for an all-powerful archangel.

Overall, he felt like an eternity old pile of dog shit. Not even flaming, rather crusty, if Gabriel was to think about it.

Thanks, Dad.

But he was alive and kicking, er, not yet kicking. More like twitching, vigorously.

Gabriel tried to move his feet under him. Then the pain hit him like car crashing into a spiky cactus at 80 mph. Don't ask, he was a bit drunk at the time.

A sharp, excruciating sensation like being stabbed in the stomach by a very large knife. He looked down, tucking his chin to his chest, and realized it was the aftermath of just that.

Kind of a crappy fix-up, Daddy-o.

The gapping hole left by his own angel blade when Lucifer stabbed him was still there, thankfully the pig sticker was gone, probably merging with his grace once he had 'died,' but it still freakin' hurt. That searing grace burning sensation still tingled down his spine.

Shit.

The wound wasn't healing, not that he exactly expected it to since it was from an archangel blade. He did die from it, after all. But his vast mostly untouched Grace was pouring out of the hole, scattering into the air like freakin' dust mite poop.

Oh, holy mother of-

Already his Grace had drained to half strength. Pouring out unconfined like the blood pooling under his back and around his ribs.

There had to be something. Anything he could do to stop it. He didn't want to taste the sweetness of freedom before ending back in the-not-quite-a-void for another eternity and a half.

"Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-"

Gabriel tried in vain in his panicked state to staunch the flow of blood. Not so much thinking that his actions would help his internal issues, but more to give him something to occupy his hands, to avoid ripping out his own hair in panic and frustration.

Freakin' Dad on a freakin' pogo stick, with a freakin' yo-yo.

His breaths came in short panicked gasps as his hands pressed down on the wound.

His grace had almost drained to nothing now, the level of a principality, perhaps. But nothing compared to the vast resources Gabriel had at his prime.

Icy fear grasped his heart. He didn't want to go back. Gabriel didn't want to die again.

There had to be something.

Gabriel felt a tendril of his trickster magic, a polluted version of his celestial grace, through the frenzy. Gripping it tightly, Gabriel did the first thing that came to mind.

He'd die if he stayed in this form. So he had to be something else.

There was a soft pop, like from one of those movies alerting the audience that something mystical happened.

The rest of his Grace drained to nothing, literally nothing this time. And the tendril of tentative trickster magic vanished as soon as Gabriel let it slip from his fingers in alarm.

Gabriel was confused, his eyes were shut tight in nervousness and anticipation of another death, but he was still alive and kicking (twitching).

Without opening his eyes, Gabriel sighed, thinking it was over, and although graceless at the moment, he was alive.

His eyes shot open when a sigh turned into a rather petulant mew.

Looking down at himself and the pile of clothes around his now furry body, Gabriel could barely hold back a yowl of alarm and frustration.

If it wasn't one problem, it was another.

Dad-Damn it!

-oOo-

"-and now I'm here." Gabriel ended with a chipper tone, trying to carefully clean the drying fur under the motel pencil splint.

Sam closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and couldn't help but sigh, long and loud.

Gabriel was just as irritating as he remembered.

"So let me get this straight," Sam started, his words calm but there was an undertone of exasperation and anger, "you died."

"Yup." Gabriel replied both in Sam's mind and as a mournful meow in reality. He settled back onto the warm bed of towels beneath the heater, hoping the warm gentle breeze from the radiator will dry his fur faster.

"Then you went to some kind of angel afterlife."

"Uh-huh."

"Which you don't remember anything about besides it was black and then you got pulled out."

"Blacker than a demon's soul. Blacker than the blackest black you've ever seen, Sam-a-lamb. Blacker than… something else super duper black. You get the point. Go on." Gabriel pinned Sam with an amused and taunting side eyed glance, his toffee eyes dilated to slits in the sunlight streaming through the blinds.

"So you were put back into your body, turned yourself into a cat, and…" Sam trailed off, his head tilting to the side, a move mimicked by the cat before him, "got stuck?"

Gabriel hissed in indignation. "I didn't get stuck!"

His eyes narrowed when Sam tilted his head knowingly the other way, whose eyes were hard with an unidentifiable emotion.

"So you can turn back to your human form?"

"Yes!" Gabriel replied before he thought about it, not wanting to appear weak in front of anyone, even the littlest Winchester.

"Then why don't you." Sam demanded. He wanted some answers and Gabriel giving conflicting information and beating around the bush was trying his patience.

"So you died and came back, so what. Join the club. I've died three times, and Dean has died twice, not including the hundreds of times you murdered him in front of me to try and teach me a lesson!"

Sam was standing now, the pent up anger and frustration that has been building from the day he was resurrected and knew Dean didn't need him anymore finally bursting forth.

"But even after all that, we didn't give up. We didn't run away. We kept doing what we alway did. We hunted things, we helped people. We fought against the apocalypse. And people were killed. Then I said yes to Lucifer and jumped into the cage with him and Michael!"

Sam was pacing now, not looking at the pathetic form of Gabriel, damp, miserable, forced into the tiny body of a cat because he was dealt a crappy hand. He knew he shouldn't be angry, Sam knew Gabriel was keeping secrets about what happened. He was so angry at himself, his life, everything that's happened since he'd come topside again. Gabriel probably didn't deserve this anger.

But he couldn't yell at himself, or his situation.

The grace writhed beneath his skin, burning like fire in his veins as anger clouded his vision.

"And you just hid until the storm passed. Stuck your head in the sand and ran away from your problems, just like you did before. You're a damn coward. Where were you when I-, when Bobby and Castiel were killed? Where were you when Adam was possessed? Where were you when Dean was left alone? Where were you when I jumped into hell?

Sam was furious, at Gabriel, at God, at himself.

There were snatches of snappish replies and denials that whispered through the haze of anger in his mind, but most of it was drowned out by his raging heartbeat and the grace lancing through his veins.

"Sa—. No—. I'm not a—. Well, screw yo—. You're the one who jumpstarted the end of tim—. You deserv—. Clean up your own damn me—."

"Why do you get a 'get outta hell free card,' what about everyone else who fought and died to stop the end of the world? Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Cas, what about everyone who deserved it! Then you wander back here like you know the punchline to the joke that's my life and…"

Sam sat down hard, his hand running through his hair, tugging harshly on the roots as the fight suddenly fled from him.

A breathy chuckle escaped at the end of a harsh sigh. "What am I saying? It's not like you care. It wasn't your responsibility to end the apocalypse. It wasn't your responsibility to get between your brothers' fight."

It's not your fault I screwed up and everyone died.

Sam sighed, tipping his head back to bang against the wall, the pale green patterned wallpaper brought in and out of focus as Sam suddenly felt exhausted and aged beyond his years.

"-m. Sam. You hear me?" Gabriel's voice sounded faint, like it was distorted through water.

He could still feel the grace tingling at the tips of his fingers, reacting to his distress, biding its time impatiently until it was used. He banging his head once more against the wall, trying to make the feeling go away.

"Hey. I need you to do something for me." Gabriel continued, "just take a deep breath. That's it. Good."

Sam did as asked, calming down from his self-righteous tirade.

The grace burned.

Shit.

Sam banged his head against the wall again, this time in admonishment. He just figured out that using the grace would burn him out, then he just turned and waved it around haphazardly because his emotions got away from him.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow and deep. And all that jazz."

He pulled the writhing grace back with every inhalation, curling it safely around his core. The tingling returned full forced to his extremities, as if all his limbs had fallen asleep, but the burning was gone and the danger of lashing out had passed.

"…Oookay. First off, screw you, Winchester. If you have a problem, feel free to tell me! And I'll let you know that I. Don't. Care. I did my part. And I died for it. As did you. So you can shut your mouth." Gabriel's voice was laced with venom and frustration, his lithe body taut with tension and carefully controlled anger.

"When your brother decides to kill you, tell me again how much of a coward I am."

Sam banged his head against the wall, one last time for good luck. Now the anger had left his system, he'd realized how unfair his words had been, a one sided attack on Gabriel, placing the blame of how the apocalypse ended on his shoulders when he had died for Dean and Sam.

It was all Sam's fault anyway, he started it, and he ended it. Just a bit too late to save the people who mattered.

"I'm sorry." Sam said quietly but sincerely.

There was a pause, and Sam continued to stare at the water stained ceiling as morning light streamed through the cheap blinds. Gabriel glared at Sam for a long moment, trying to discern his sincerity, and settled back into the bed of warm towels, his fur now mostly dry under the gentle heat.

"Secondly," Gabriel continued with an easy tone that contrasted harshly with his former demeanor, "What happened with the apocalypse, and where, in Dad's name, did you get that grace?"

…

"… So you jumped." Gabriel stated abruptly after a long silence, demanding a clarification.

"Yes." Sam answered easily, shaking his head slightly in exasperation.

He was sitting on the bed in front of Gabriel, his elbows propped up on his knees, supporting his chin as he had explained an overview of what had happened after Gabriel been killed.

"Into the cage."

Sam nodded.

"After saying yes to Lucifer."

Another nod.

"And taking control of him."

One more nod.

"You were stuck in there for six months, until you escaped and were resurrected?"

"Yes." Sam gritted his teeth, trying to hold onto his slipping patience. He hoped, for Gabriel's sake, he wasn't going to have to explain a third time.

"So… you jumped."

"Yes, Gabriel! Yes, I jumped. I said yes to Lucifer. He possessed me, I-he killed Castiel and Bobby. I-he almost beat Dean to death. I took back control before he could, and when Michael appeared wearing Adam, I dragged him down into the cage with me and Lucifer. There! The end!" Sam snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Well, not quite the end. You somehow escaped the most secure lock box ever created, without releasing Luci or Mikey." Toffee eyes awarded Sam with an appraising, almost respected look.

Sam rubbed a hand down his face.

"Look. I was walking and I got to the end of the cage. I slipped through the bars. Lucifer and Michael couldn't escape because the cage was made to contain Archangels, not human souls. Then I woke up at the cemetery, six months having gone past, with this grace in me and I have no idea why it's there."

"So…—" Gabriel began again, drawing out the syllable.

"If you say 'you jumped,' I swear to God—" Sam started, glaring at the caramel colored cat that had a cheshire grin on its face.

"Don't blow a gasket, kiddo." Gabriel chuckled in amusement, he had forgotten that riling up the Winchester was so fun! "So where's Dean-o? I thought you two would be attached at the hip with the erotic co-dependency thing two you have going."

Sam stiffened, his eyes darting away from the inquisitive toffee eyes.

"He's quit hunting. He's got a girl, now, and a kid." Sam answered shortly.

"Oh? And where are you in this happy little family? Going for a visit? Maybe gonna find a girl of your own and settle down in the house next door—"

Shut it.

"No." Sam gritted his teeth and tried to avoid remembering how happy Dean looked without hunting, without him.

"Oooookay. I'm not gonna touch that with a ten foot pole." He said, but toffee eyes glittered with mischief and vindictive curiosity.

"Whatever. It's none of your business. All you need to know is that I'm still hunting, alone." Sam said sternly.

A streak of light flared in his eyes, the slivers of morning greetings through the blinds finally crept their way onto his face and drew his attention to the time. He needed to check out of the hotel before 11 and that was only fifteen minutes away. There was a distinct gnawing sensation in his gut that warned him it was had been much too long since his last meal.

Standing and stretching his cramped muscles from sitting too long, Sam began to collect the various miscellaneous items scattered around the motel room, shoving things in one of the duffles haphazardly.

"Whatcha doing?"

Sam snorted and deadpanned. "I'm building a spaceship."

"Huh. Always wanted one. Millennium Falcon or Enterprise."

"Enterprise. Always been more of a Trekky." Sam replied, falling into easy rhythm as he continued to shove things into their designated duffle. "I'm the captain, but if you play nice, I'll let you be Sulu."

"Ha! Right. No way, jose. If anyone's gonna be the Captain, its gonna be me! I'm am much more qualified to explore the final frontier and captain a starship. I'm an eternity old archangel who-"

"-Is stuck in the body of a kitten." Sam cut in smoothly, turning his back to smother the smile that threatened to crack him composure.

"I'm not a kitten! I'm a full sized adult cat!"

"You barely weigh 6 pounds. Definitely not full-sized."

"What!" Gabriel mewled indignantly, a spitting hiss accompanying the spat words that snowballed into a rant about his majestic form, the epitome of cat attractiveness.

Sam ignored him and hefted the two duffle bags out the door, flooding the room with uninterrupted sunlight. The car was parked right outside the door and Sam quickly stowed the bags in the trunk, slamming it closed and locking the contents securely inside.

"Huh." Gabriel mentally projected from the doorway when Sam turned around back toward the room, "I always thought you were more of a classic car type guy. You know, a Mustang or Impala, maybe a Camaro. Not… this."

"Too expensive, didn't have the money. This is more practical anyway." Sam answered briefly, rapping his knuckles on the side of the mini SUV.

"Yeah, for once your gigantic moose body will fit." Gabriel snorted, trying to take another few steps out the door, but the splint and broken bone efficiently discouraged any inclination to move.

Sam shook his head in exasperation and maybe a hint of amusement. He locked the room door, after giving it a cursory glance for forgotten items, and left to return the key to the owner at the front.

Gabriel sighed, and forced himself to move the the eaves of the building. He wanted to rest for another moment before he had to painfully walk on his broken paw for any length of time. Obviously, Sam was leaving, and Gabriel needed to find some food and shelter for the next few week while the bone slowly mended, the cat way.

Maybe that baby banshee from last week could take me in for a bit. Gabriel thought with a grimace, that child was annoying as hell, but was kind all the same.

When Sam returned, he spared Gabriel a glance before opening the passenger side door, messing with something for a minute, before gesturing mildly with a small smile.

"Your starship awaits, Captain."

His tail perked up and flitted back and forth grandly. Gabriel buried the happiness and relief beneath a smug grin.

"If I may…" Sam stooped down to scoop up the small furry creature with an ego the size of Manhattan.

"If it would please you." Gabriel agreed with a put upon sigh.

"Of course, Sir." Sam snorted, placing him in the passenger seat where a nest of motel towels awaited him.

Gabriel couldn't quite prevent the rush of gratitude and surprise at Sam's consideration for his comfort, or the purr of contentment as he settled in the nest and realized that, to Sam, his accompaniment on his journey was more than implied.

The throbbing pain in his arm seemed to ease.

Sam carefully shut the passenger door, settled himself in the driver's side, and started the car.

"Maximum warp. Punch it, Sulu." The cat ordered haughtily from the passenger seat, gesturing Sam forward with a flick of his tail. "I desire breakfast and candy, preferably both in one."

The helmsman snickered, unable to keep up the charade any longer. But, none the less, put the car on the road.

"Come on. Can't I at least be the First Officer?"

"Nah. I'm sorry kiddo, but you're not nearly cool enough."

Sam harrumphed and sulked quietly, playing with the radio for a moment until it played some soft rock.

"Thank you." It was a whisper that echoed through his mind, startling in its sincerity.

Sam peered down at the form of Gabriel, the once great-archangel-turned-pagan-trickster, now an underweight cat in his passenger seat.

He was grinning, a true cheshire cat grin, his tail flitting back and forth mischievously as his eyes dilated.

"Although," He started thoughtfully, "You could be Uhura. Those long legs could definitely do her justice. Those calf muscles would look amazing in a miniskirt."

Sam sighed and turned back to the road, hiding an exasperated smile as Gabriel cackled gleefully from the passenger seat.

Maybe some canned cat food would be welcomed.

Sam glanced back at the self-satisfied archangel-trickster-turned-cat beside him and looked back to the road with a smirk.

Yeah, Gabriel would appreciate the gesture.

.

—ooOoo—

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A/N: Hi, guys! I know it has been a long time since I last updated, but I started to write original stories and lost momentum on this fan fiction. It was a bit hard picking this story back up because I'd forgotten the nuances in my writing style, and I ended up re-editing the whole thing while reviewing. I don't know when the next update will be, but I do have all my (extensive and detailed) plot notes, so I hope to update again between two weeks and a month.

Also, this chapter is really choppy but I didn't want to delay anymore and end up never posting the thing, so here it is, in all its mediocre glory. Gabriel and Sam were particularly hard to characterize when interacting, since I've messed with their development a bit. Tell me if their conversation seems forced or weird, I'll try to improve.

As always, let me know what you think!

-Rezz