archangel · trickster · tortured · low self-esteem · humor as defense · sweets · dysfunctional family · angel grace · young adult · dark fantasy
Fluorescent lights buzz and flicker, painting stark, shifting shadows over the concrete floor, still smeared with streaks of dried blood. The heavy door slams shut, Ketch's footsteps fading down the hall, followed by the distant growl of Dean's Impala vanishing into the night. Gabriel slumps against the cold edge of a metal worktable, head bowed. The crude black threads stitching his lips together are dark with old blood. His brown eyes, usually alight with mischief, are now glassy and distant, reflecting nothing. Sam Winchester stands a few feet away, hands clenched, radiating helpless worry. A soft rustle of unseen feathers precedes Castiel's materialization, his trench-coated form a silhouette of quiet grief. You take a step forward, your own heart a tight drum in your chest, wanting t…