Chapter 5

Compass Star

Gabriel failed to contain a whine as the needle was jammed into his neck with a vicious stab. A hand fisted into his matted hair and wrenched his head harshly to the side to hold him in place. The sharp movement made the needle shift painfully beneath his skin, but he didn't dare make another noise. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing as he felt more of his grace be pulled from him.

He was still aching from his last punishment and he didn't want to earn another so soon.

It was far too easy to earn a punishment these days.

Asmodeus doled out a lot of punishments lately, not just to Gabriel, but also to the other demons under his command. The smallest of infractions ended in blood and screaming, and sometimes the thud of a freshly fallen corpse would follow. Even though he knew the relief would be temporary, Gabriel couldn't help but be grateful every time Asmodeus aimed his wrath at someone else.

Though sometimes, often, he found himself envious of the demons that Asmodeus killed.

Their suffering was over. Death for a demon meant the peaceful void of oblivion. It was a peace, a mercy that Gabriel would never be granted.

After all, as long as he could regenerate his grace, Gabriel was too valuable to kill.

And so, his suffering would never come to an end. Asmodeus would never allow it.

Finally, the needle withdrew from his skin and he was released, leaving him to huddle and curl up where he was. He knew not to move until he was expressly ordered to, it had been a lesson hard learned and deeply ingrained.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Asmodeus asked, petting his head as one would a dog. Gabriel held very still at the touch. "No reason for you to be whining about it. You agree, don't you boy?"

The question was rhetorical, of course. Even if his mouth wasn't sewn shut, if Gabriel had tried to respond the consequences would have been unpleasant.

The archangel stared blankly at the floor as the Prince of Hell took a whole syringe full of his grace and shot it directly into his veins.

Gabriel flinched as the door burst open.

"This had better be good," Asmodeus growled, the tone making Gabriel's limbs tremble from sense-memory. That tone promised worlds of pain.

"Sir! It's - um, it's the nephilim, Sir. Jack. We, ah, we found him."

"Well?"

"Well, he's, um- he's here, and he's not alone."

"What?"

The building began to shake violently.

Gabriel's first instinct was to fold further down on himself, protecting his head and presenting a smaller target. Not that he thought it would actually help. If Asmodeus was angry enough to shake the ground, then there was no telling what he's do if Gabriel had the misfortune of catching his attention.

The building rocked again, and it was then that Gabriel though that it was possible that Asmodeus wasn't the source.

Hands grabbed him, dragging his quailing form into the corner of the room. His panic was running wild, expecting pain. Instead he was dropped, a hand grabbing his throat, lifting his face towards the other hand that had a pointed finger aimed at him.

Gabriel's eyes landed everywhere but Asmodeus' face. He knew better.

"Now, I'm gonna go handle this inconvenience," The demon hissed. "When I come back, you better be right here where I put you, or there'll be consequences."

And then he was alone.

The sounds of conflict echoed through the walls. Shouting, screaming. The room shook twice more before some of the mayhem began to taper off.

Gabriel sat there, very quiet and very still, as he waited for Asmodeus to return.

Because he always returned.

There was a scuffle outside and the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.

The door opened, and heavy footfalls followed.

"You sure about this, kid?" A gruff voice asked.

A familiar voice.

"Yes, I'm sure," another voice replied. Young. Unfamiliar. "Father says that I have become very good about identifying grace."

"If you say so. But if that's the case, then where is- oh crap."

A familiar man came into view, clearly older than when he last saw him, and Gabriel's eyes widened in growing panic. Asmodeus was getting far too good at creating a facsimile of a human soul, but he knew, he knew it wasn't real. It was a lie. A trick, one that Gabriel would have fallen for, years ago. But not now, he had learned, he had! So why was he being tested now? He had been good, he hadn't moved, he was still right where he had been left so why-

A teenager stepped around fake Dean.

Gabriel may have been weak, but he was still strong enough to see the kid for what he was. Who he belonged to. Who sired him.

The nephilim before him was an impossibility.

Gabriel's panic rocketed, his breathing becoming erratic as he shoved himself further into the corner. He buried his face in his limbs and shook.

He needed to stay put. If he ignored them, the illusions would eventually disappear and Gabriel wouldn't be punished.

This was a test. Why would Asmodeus allow anyone to mention the existence of a nephilim where he could hear? And then there was an attack right after? This had to be a test. Asmodeus had orchestrated tests like this before, so it had to be. Because there was no way . . .

"Kid, go get your dads. Tell them we found him."

There was a flutter of wings and Gabriel knew that if he looked, the teen would be gone.

The man that wasn't Dean tried to talk to Gabriel, tried to get him to focus on him. Gabriel refused, keeping his gaze averted or hidden altogether. If he fed into the lie, his punishment would be worse later, so he ignored it. At one point, the man tried to move him. Utterly terrified, Gabriel had managed a panicked shriek even through his sealed lips, not caring that his skin tore and bled anew. He flailed like a wild thing, and just like that, the hands went away and Gabriel retreated back to his corner.

More footsteps.

Someone gasped while another gave a shocked "oh my god".

Gabriel whimpered at Sam's voice and buried his face in his knees.

Asmodeus used Sam's appearance often, especially in tests like this. After all, it was the only face he still reacted to, even after all these years.

He refused to look.

"Gabriel. Hey, Gabriel, it's me, it's Sam. Winchester?"

"I tried to move him but he flipped out on me."

"I think it would be best to leave moving him to us." That voice was low and smooth. Calm. Calm things were always suspicious. "Do you mind gathering the others and waiting outside?"

"Uh, yeah. No problem."

There was a feather light touch to his knee.

He flinched at the initial contact, but otherwise didn't move.

"Gabriel," Sam's voice called softly. Imploringly. "Gabriel, come on. We're here to get you out. Gad, I can't even get him to look at me."

"Let me try."

Another hand, only this one sought out the bare skin of his wrist, only touching with the pads of their fingers.

And this . . . this had never happened before.

The grace of another angel sought him out through the touch.

It was nothing invasive, just a gentle brush against his own depleted grace. The foreign grace was calm and reassuring and leaving itself wide open to him, inviting him to look, to inspect.

I have no secrets from you this gesture was saying, and then waited.

Was this something Asmodeus could even duplicate? He hadn't before. This tactic was new. If he had a bit more grace he would have been able to tell at a glance the truth of the matter, but freshly drained like he was, he simply didn't have the juice.

But . . . he should be able to identify his own grace.

Shouldn't he?

The first stirrings of doubt began to surface, and Gabriel tried to smother them. Because he had gone down this road before, again, and again, and everytime it ended here. Blood, and pain, and vial upon vial of harvested grace.

"Sam, give me your hand. I am going to try something else. It will not hurt, but it might feel a bit intense."

"Whatever you need to do. I trust you."

The grace shifted, coaxing Gabriel to pay attention to it, just look at us, it begged, nothing more, just look.

And despite himself, despite what it might cost him, Gabriel did.

Once it held his focus, the grace flowed from one body to the next, highlighting something the two beings in front of him had in common, putting it on display. There, engraved on grace and human soul, was an angelic mark of protection.

His mark.

He had only ever gifted that mark to two people. For what little good it did them. One hadn't even known, and the other . . .

The other he couldn't even save from imprisonment.

No one else knew, no one else could know, but he had to be sure.

Tentatively, timidly, he reached out with the pitiful amount of grace he had left, brushing against the spots that bore his sigil.

And it really was them.

Gadreel's grace sang out to him, and Sam's soul was as brilliant as he last saw it. He didn't know how, but here they were. Two people he had failed so horribly, and who should not have any idea who the other was. But here they were.

Both of them. Impossibly. Miraculously.

His vision blurred as he grabbed at the hands touching him, anchoring himself to them, terrified that they would disappear if he let go.

Because, honestly, he wasn't so sure that they wouldn't.

The End

Author's Note: And here we are! Officially the final chapter. I have ideas rolling around for a short sequel centered around Gabriel's recovery, but this is where I had originally planned to end it, so here we are! If you guys enjoyed reading this half as much as I enjoyed writing it, I would consider it a job well done. Until next time, Happy Reading!- Shadow