That's another funny thing, now that I think of it. Sometimes when you mend a chain, the place where you fix it is strongest of all."

-Thomas the Tinker from Bruce Coville's Into the Land of the Unicorns

The first thing angels are taught when it comes to fighting is to know their enemy. Fallen angel, demon, human . . . each with their own strengths and weaknesses . . . had to be considered before battle began.

Gabriel's enemy today was demons.

There were two types of demonic battle strategy. One, a large group rushes en mass directly at the target. Two, a single demon waited patiently for a target to be rendered vulnerable and took advantage to make the pain last. The former is usually employed by lesser demons, and the higher classes enjoyed the privileges of the latter. While their methods differed, both outcomes were about equally dangerous. It simply depended on personal preferences between death and torture.

Gabriel was about to face a fairly standard mix: three with some decent power between them and half a dozen grunts. He knew none of them by name, but the archangel didn't need names to hold power over the twisted souls.

Gabriel decided that the demon that had drawn blood from Gabriel's siblings would be the last to die. The attendant at his left-hand would be allowed to go temporarily free in order to spread the story, and as such would be one of the first that Gabriel dealt with.

It was important that one of the intelligent demons be exorcised in order for the account of Gabriel's anger to spread. Gabriel's touch would mark the demon so that the next time it assumed corporeal form, Gabriel could find and destroy it to make sure that his message was properly conveyed.

It was equally important that no one realized Gabriel had let the demon go to begin with.

Gabriel returned to the physical plane directly behind the right hand lieutenant and took off its head with a casual swing of his sword. Demon and host died instantly with a flare of brilliant light and the low rumble of distant thunder. Gabriel dropped the corpse, and turned to face the rest.

"Well, this shouldn't take long."

He had been right. All but one of the demons had rushed him.

Gabriel flung the first demon to rush him over the counter simply to put it out of his way. Next, he buried his blade in the chest of a portly man bearing a demon with a pitbull-like determination, and seized the previously-chosen demon with now-empty hands. Slamming his palm over the possessed-woman's forehead, the demon flew from her mouth in a wrenching scream of black gritty smoke. It stung anew considering how out-of-practice Gabriel was, but he felt a renewed sense of determination as he exorcised the demon straight back to the pit.

The woman slumped in his grip. Susan Walker was just lucky that the demon which had possessed her was crucial to Gabriel's plan. Tonight she would go home to her twin daughters with her memory of the last week wiped clean. The other hosts would not be so fortunate.

Gabriel couldn't afford mercy.

Gabriel pushed the human out of harm's way and she hid under the nearest table without further prompting. Reaching for his sword, Gabriel leaned back wards and rolled out from under the animalistic teenager possessed by something much nastier than the boy could have imagined.

A smaller demon in the body of an athletic young woman reached for him. Gabriel rotated the blade into a backhanded grip, caught her arm with his left hand and swung his right back sharply. The blade pierced her throat and the light was a dimmer wash; the thunder paled as Gabriel already focused on the next demon to approach.

Michael and Lucifer were show-offs. Gabriel had learned alongside them and could demonstrate similar technique with enough skill to cause envy among his brethren, but he never used it in battle. Gabriel hated fighting, hated killing, hated raising his hand against his brothers and sisters. And demons just weren't worth the effort.

Gabriel used fast hard strikes to rid himself of demon after demon, always quick to return to a ready stance. It was his way of controlling the power he wielded. With a thought, he could level the whole town, and his mission required more finesse than that.

Eventually he had to face off with the lesser demon inhabiting the teenager. Its rank was obvious in the gibberish it snarls, unable to speak coherently even through possession. It might be a crossbreed with a hellhound. Demons were twisted all up inside, but this one had practically doubled back on itself. Gabriel suspected it to be badly crippled by the way it kept rolling and launching itself for transport. At first it made the demon dangerous, unpredictable. Now, Gabriel knew the pattern of movement.

Gabriel only dodged once because of the bad grip on his blade. It turned so tightly—springing again before Gabriel could get his blade up to fend it off. Swinging left-handed, he knocked it away with the hilt of the sword. It burned the boy's face, and Gabriel ignored the agonized garbled scream.

He quickly rotated his wrist to wield his weapon properly again in time to slice the head cleanly from the shoulders of the second-to-last grunt—a middle-aged woman with a wicked pair of knitting needles smart enough to stay hidden and wait for Gabriel to become distracted. It might have worked on a human or even a really minor seraph, but Gabriel could sense the demonic taint better than the average angel.

The teenager-shaped demon had regained its balance on all fours and made another leap at Gabriel. The archangel sent it flying with a thought; it rebounded off a booth with a sickening crack, falling broken to the floor.

Gabriel toed it onto its back dispassionately with his sneaker. It snarled and whined like an injured animal that had been cornered. That's all it is. Gabriel raised his blade.

"Well done," the last demon murmured, without looking up at Gabriel. It's cradling an angel's blade in both hands, the handle wrapped in a rag to protect the demon's already-singed hands.

Gabriel lowered his weapon. He would suffer the demon's touch upon his sister's weapon no longer.

"I see you recognize my prize," his opponent purred. "Lucifer—"

The blade ripped free of the demon's hands and slammed into Gabriel's waiting hand. The archangel settled the full weight of his gaze upon the demon. "Lucifer would smite you for laying claim to what is not yours."

Gabriel has to believe that much of his brother.

He punctuated his words by driving his own blade into the grunt's shoulder to pin it to the floor. Gabriel meant to deal with the leader last, but he's too impatient. This creature could wait. Smoke poured ominously from the wounds sustained by angelic contact, but it could wait.

The more important demon was eyeing him warily. Gabriel shifted his grip on his sister's sword uneasily. Demons never just sat still for their executions.

The illusions gave him pause.

Shevael, all words, wings, and light, bound into a soft bookish-vessel that couldn't do justice to her true form but retained the marks of her studying. The ink simply stained her fingers instead of her ruffled wings, and Gabriel was so relieved that she hadn't died with a sword in her hand. It wouldn't have fit the shy scholar. Gabriel remembered a sweetheart content to spend her days in Heaven's halls with a book in hand, perpetually perplexed. Though one of the lesser angels, Shevael had been one of Gabriel's favorites from the old days.

She reached out with her vessel's hand for Gabriel's—or possibly her weapon, but Gabriel doubted it. On his other side, Castiel laid a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, hesitantly. He was actually in his vessel the way it was supposed to be before Gabriel had gotten a hold of it.

Castiel, all light and shadow, his wings a rare dark shade that had attracted attention from every corner of heaven. The blue eyes of his adult vessel couldn't begin to compare to the deep gaze of the soldier that Gabriel knew from the frontlines of Heaven's army. He hadn't been the strongest, but once Castiel had his orders—nothing could stand in the way of his completing them. Anael had bragged about her subordinate's intelligence, and Gabriel had kept watch from afar as the youngest of their kind grew slowly into a brilliant tactician and a loyal soldier.

Gabriel felt his grace crumple with rage at the sheer needless loss, but he pushed outward, bolstering it with the image of Castiel, bound into a child's vessel, bare foot and vulnerable and still spitting defiance from the safety of Dean Winchester's arms. Stupid kid brother.

Gabriel snapped, pinning the demon in place. His calling card as it so happened, and the demon recognized him as Gabriel slashed it from naval to nose.

"Nice illusion," Gabriel offered critically, as he stood off to the side, inspecting his work. "But mine are better." He didn't waste the grace on a demon, just waited the split second for it to look up and drove Shevael's blade through its bared throat.

The thunder echoed throughout the building and the light was so sharp that for a moment, Gabriel thought that he may have brought Raphael down upon him. It startled him; he didn't have time for that now. It was with relief that Gabriel realized that although he might have borrowed a bit of his brother, Raphael hadn't decided to grace Gabriel with his presence.

Raphael carried grudges for millennia.

Gabriel wrenched Shevael's blade from the dead human, and stepped back from the former demon-container. It was such a waste just like everything else about this whole war. Gabriel carefully wrapped his sister's blade in silk conjured up on the spot and tucked it away carefully inside his coat. Then he turned towards the last demon.

It knew its time had come, and the demon fled beneath the mind of its host. Intelligence returned to the eyes, and the teen gasped in broken but coherent English. "It . . . it hurts. Please."

The boy was not so much larger than Castiel's current vessel. Instinctively, Gabriel crouched beside the boy and rested one hand on his forehead.

Spencer Michaels was fourteen years old. He had watched the Jeepers Creepers movies seventeen times, and was the middle child of what had been a normal middle-class American family. His most prized possession was a customized skateboard, and he was flunking math.

Two weeks ago, a demon possessed him, and slaughtered his entire family. The battle in the diner had broken his spine, seared the pattern of the cross into his face, and left a hole through his shoulder just above his heart.

Any brief thoughts of exorcising the wounded demon and spending the rest of the day chasing it vanished. He laid two fingers on the child's brow to put him to sleep, and pulled down on his sword until the heart shattered under the force. He stroked the human's hair once the way Sam Winchester had stroked Castiel's.

Then he stood and snapped his fingers, leaving the mess to whoever found it.

The Gabriel and Castiel Show

Castiel stared at the ice cream tower and turned his face up to Gabriel's bemused expression. A drop of cold ice cream landed on his hand. "It is melting," he pointed out.

"Ice Cream does that in Florida," Gabriel returned, catching a splotch of strawberry that threatened to escape. "Eat it before it melts all the way."

Castiel gave his brother a dubious look, and inclined his head just enough to push at the cold treat with the tip of his tongue. It tipped to the side, and he hastily attacked it from a different angle. He concluded that there was no way to eat it neatly.

Gabriel laughed and handed him some of the napkins that his older brother conjured from thin air. Castiel mopped at the chocolate on his face tiredly.

They had begun the day's excursion at a beach in California. After both had nearly drowned, Gabriel relocated them to a dog show in Colorado. Bored, they moved on to the zoo. Castiel decided that providing no one asked, the incident with the Tigers never needed to be mentioned again. And he was endeavoring to forget the Reptile House entirely. Briefly, they managed a calm period at Castiel's favorite playground, until Gabriel decided that they needed "bigger rides."

Which brought them to Disney World. At least Gabriel seemed to be enjoying himself. He had been quiet when he returned with Shevael's blade earlier. The brothers had put the blade away for the time being, and Castiel did not actively protest his brother's day out.

Mostly because Castiel had a plan.

Castiel held out his ice cream to his older brother. "I need to be excused," he offered awkwardly. His brother nodded, and took the ice cream distractedly, attention on the small child screaming unhappily about a fear of heights next to an uncaring parent. Castiel took a step away, and Gabriel's head swiveled back around, questioningly. "I need to be excused," Castiel repeated, and pointed at the large sign.

"Angels," Gabriel snorted, his eyes already back on the little girl.

Castiel swallowed hard in preparation to lie. "Falling." He was one—how would Dean put it again? One lucky son of a bitch. Gabriel took his guilt at lying to be embarrassment at his current state.

The archangel grimaced and nodded sharply, making a flapping motion with his hand, ice cream disposed of with a thought. "Go on," Gabriel allowed, and focused on the woman struggling against the straps of the ride now. Castiel hadn't seen a pterodactyl in millennia.

He moved towards the restroom sign, checking over his shoulder one last time to make sure Gabriel was completely distracted before closing his eyes and willing himself away.

Although Gabriel and Castiel hadn't discussed it—being otherwise occupied by television, battle, and enamored tigers—Castiel felt the surplus grace that his brother had shared with him, waiting for the opportune moment to make his escape back to Sam and Dean.

He never expected Gabriel to use it as a leash.

Castiel stepped back wide-eyed. He appeared to still be in the park, a large rollercoaster rose above him on the left, and a brightly costumed employee was hugging small children to the right. The family staring at him across the pathway made him very nervous, and he tried flitting away again, but nothing happened. Castiel tried walking and found himself running into an invisible barrier as a tug urged him back in the direction of the ride where he had last left Gabriel.

Castiel turned and flew to the shade of the nearest concession stand awning. That worked, as it was closer to Gabriel. By Castiel's measurement, he had perhaps a three hundred yard radius between him and Gabriel.

Although that distance was rapidly closing as Gabriel moved closer.

"Son of a bitch," Castiel swore quietly, checking over his shoulder hastily. Then a wrinkled hand closed over his ear and jerked him around again.

"What did you just say, young man?" a grandmother of seven demanded.

"I said 'Son of a bitch,' ma'am," Castiel volunteered willingly. "Please excuse me. I must . . ."

She shook him hard, and Castiel tried to follow the movement to avoid injury to passersby. "That's what I thought. What's your name? Where are your parents?"

"I am called Castiel. I have no mother, and I am attempting to search for my father, if you would be so kind as to unhand me . . ."

"I never! The woman thrust her purse into her nervous daughter's hands and began dragging Castiel towards an informational kiosk of some sort—outside the boundaries that Gabriel had set.

Castiel didn't know what might be activated if an unwitting individual attempted to remove Castiel from said-boundaries. Knowing his over-protective brother, it couldn't be good.

"Let go!" Castiel demanded, digging his feet in. "Let me go!"

"Mom," the younger woman tried to intervene, "maybe we should just let the park officials handle it."

"I have never been so rudely talked to in all my life," the old woman insisted. "I intend to have a word with his father, indeed, I do."

Castiel reached out to his brother. "Gabriel, help!"

"What did you do?" his brother demanded, but didn't wait for an answer before flying in. Castiel had never been so relieved to see the Trickster-Angel before in his entire existence—and that included when he was dying for a second time.

Old ladies were scary.

"Castiel!" Gabriel shouted above the gathering crowd and his orders echoed in Castiel's head alone. "Come here now."

Castiel gave a jerk that actually had an effect this time as the woman refocused on his brother and darted towards Gabriel. Castiel expected Gabriel to take wing the moment Castiel was in reach, but Gabriel grabbed his shoulder instead and pinned him to the archangel's side with a hard cuff upside the head that hurt considerably more than the old woman's grip.

"Thank you for finding him," Gabriel smiled prepared to act his most charming. It temporarily stunned the grandmother, who gaped for a long moment, before regaining her indignation.

"Are you this . . . this delinquent's father?" she demanded righteously.

"No," Castiel muttered into Gabriel's shirt, before Gabriel could tell the lie he was considering. "He's my brother."

"I demand to speak with your father, young man," the woman poked Gabriel in the chest.

"That's not possible," Gabriel explained softly. "Our father left some time ago." Castiel ducked his head in an attempt to look like a saddened human child.

"Mother," the younger woman hissed, but her mother would not be deterred.

"Are you responsible for him then?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I heard him use the most appalling language . . . and at his age too!"

"We will discuss it," Gabriel promised so sweetly that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Thank you for the charming consideration that you've showed a lost little kid." The woman sputtered, but Gabriel gave Castiel's shoulder a squeeze. "Go on, Castiel. Thank them."

Completely confused by his brother's game, Castiel nodded and murmured his appreciation, attention equally divided between the mother and daughter, both of whom were now flushed scarlet as the crowd looked on.

"Come on, Castiel," Gabriel urged, and pulled Castiel along. The smaller angel had to run to keep up with his brother's strides—an annoyance since Castiel's vessel had been taller only twenty-four hours ago. "What did you say?"

Castiel felt his vessel's cheeks warm. "Son of a bitch," he muttered lowly.

Gabriel let out a low chuckle that didn't sound all that amused. "Since when do you swear, Castiel?"

"Dean is a bad influence," Castiel grumbled, risking a cautious look up at his brother. The same tired expression from this morning was back on his face. Castiel felt unsettled by that expression even though his escape attempt had been a justified maneuver.

Gabriel glanced down at him, and ruffled Castiel's hair absently. "Could have told you that," he sighed. "Alright, did anyone see your Houdini act?"

Castiel regarded his brother blankly.

"Did anyone see you appear out of midair?" Gabriel corrected. Castiel nodded reluctantly. Gabriel sighed, and with a snap, Castiel's clothing changed color and style abruptly. A funny hat fell over his eyes, and Gabriel tipped it back automatically for him. Gabriel had replaced his own clothes with brightly-colored and loudly-patterned shirt and shorts in clashing colors. Probably because of the pterodactyl incident.

"Now that we've gotten the escape attempt over with, can we just have fun now?"

Castiel sighed, and pointed to a ride at random. "I am curious about that one."

Gabriel laughed, clapped his hand over his brother's shoulder again and snapped away half the line. Castiel submitted himself to the dizzying effects of mechanical entertainment, and resolved to wait until tomorrow for his next attempt.

We now return you to your regular broadcasting.

Milk and cereal had been more successful than soup and sandwiches. Castiel hadn't bothered fighting them over breakfast, simply ate the Honeycomb cereal placed in front of him and continued to study the Sumerian etchings that Bobby had dug out from under the texts on the Babylonian pantheon.

Bobby was pacing back and forth between the stove making pancakes for the rest of them. Castiel had turned the offer of hot breakfast down, but Dean was not going to press it this morning. The kid had eaten something for his peace of mind. That will have to do for now.

More pancakes for the rest of them.

Drowning his pancakes in enough syrup for twice their number, Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam is also eating predominantly for Dean's sake rather than his own, but his practically-vegetarian nonsense is a lot easier to ignore with Bobby's home-cooking being tailored to their specific preferences.

"So," Dean goes for nonchalant, "how goes the Sumerian, Cas?"

Blue eyes focus on him slowly. "While this information may have come in handy during our experience with Famine, I do not believe it will provide us with any assistance in confronting Pestilence."

Dean sighed, and added more syrup to his plate. Sam rescued the syrup and looked at Dean's pancake tower with disapproval. "Don't worry, Dean. We've got a fairly solid plan this time around."

"Yeah, 'cause that worked so well with Famine," Dean grumbled, poking a sausage suspiciously.

"Have faith, Dean," Castiel repeated solemnly. The effect was not at all ruined by the milk mustache that the pint-sized angel had acquired.

At least that was Dean's story, and the oldest Winchester was sticking to it.