Chapter Text
Gabriel got around. That is to say, he knew his way around a body. But nothing, in all his laundry list of seductive sins, had he found anyone quite like Potter.
Potter's body responded as his own did; it felt like he was touching himself. He hadn't realized they'd become so in tune with each other, so perfectly aligned.
He had the young man shoved into his own closet, legs spread wide, lungs gasping. He knew he could do anything to Potter right now, make him give up anything freely with the right touch. But all Gabriel really wanted in that strange, very mortal moment of coupling lust was to get his mouth on Harry Potter.
So he did.
Which brings us back to point a. Gabriel got around. That is to say, Gabriel was for all purposes of the word, a bit of a slut. Potter was well enough endowed to pose a challenge but not a threat, and he took him in between his thin lips inch by inch. The head of Potters cock scraped across the roof of his mouth before fitting itself snugly into the back of his throat. He took in the last remaining inch or so and swallowed, humming as Potter ripped at his hair.
“Bloody buggering hell!” Potter groaned,thighs slamming shut around Gabriels head. “Oh hell, oh Merlin, oh fuck fuck fuck.” Gaining purchase on the half opened drawer of the wardrobe, Potter thrust upward sharply, legs trembling.
The trimmed patch of dark curls surrounding the base of his cock suddenly scratched against Gabriels nose as Potter fucked into his mouth with pained little whimpers. He let him do it. Hell, he encouraged it, slipping his hands up under Potters pert little ass and urging him on till the man was so deeply buried in Gabriel's mouth he'd probably come directly into his stomach when he shot his load.
Let it never be said Gabriel wasn’t a giver.
He hummed around Potters cock, swallowing without the need to breath. He let go of Potter's ass, to tug at the tightly drawn ball, sticky-wet like his chin, with candy-flavored spit. His own neglected cock hanged hard and heavy between his legs, trapped in the thin fabric of his shorts.
Oh the joys of a human body, he thought idly as Potter hissed, nails scraping across Gabriels scalp. He felt the balls in his hand draw up further,and that,if nothing else to was signal enough to warm him.
He wasn't fond of the taste of come, not that it mattered, because as he suspected, Potter shot straight down his throat. It had, as he expected it wouldn't, no effect on his Grace, but that didn't mean he wasn't motivated to keep trying. He eased off his Vessels dick, resting his head against Potters hip bone. Only to be pushed back, rather abruptly.
The boy apparently had an exceptional recovery time. Gabriel tumbled backwards, landing ungracefully on his ass. “Up, up!” Potter hissed roughly, urging him onto his feet. He kissed him roughly, leading Gabriel in a backwards walk to the bed.”On your back.”
Wait what?
“I was under the impression that I already established,firmly I might add, that I am not a bottom,” Gabriel said, propped against the mattress. Harry was standing between his legs, knees bent against the bed, one hand dipping into the waistband of Gabriels shorts. He felt the fabric vanish from his skin, the ancient, fragmented bit of Grace in Harry's magic shivering against his skin. “It's nothing personal,” Gabriel said, head falling back.
“I don't want to fuck you,” Harry breathed, and then grinned. “Well, thats a lie. But I don't want to fuck you right now. Roll over.”
He pulled Gabriel to the edge of the bed and coaxed him rather roughly onto his belly. Harry’s knees hit the unforgiving floor, and he gasped as a hot, sweaty palm was pressed firmly between Gabriel's shoulder blades. “Oh.”
Nails scraped down his spine, raising a trail of faint scratches. Dropping his his forehead to the mattress, he groaned as Potter licked his way back up the pale pink welts, tongue warm against his skin. A hand curled over and around his sides, following the line of his hips and sharp jutting pelvic bone until it was wrapped firmly around his aching cock.
He could feel it in his wings, that seductive touch, sending sparks up his spine so intense he found himself biting into his lip to keep from screaming in his real voice. He could feel Potters magic, grace-tainted and hot, sinking into his skin, into him until it touched things long forgotten.
His magic was inside of him. Potter was inside of him.
That wasn't how this worked.
Gabriel found that didn't care.
His hip was cupped in a possessive palm, nails carving crescent moons into Gabriels soft flesh. The hand on his cock worked him slow, agonizingly slow as Potter drew out his torture, waging a war on Gabriels body.
“You taste like sunshine,” Potter commented, mouth moving along the raised knobs of his spine as he spoke.
“All the easier to ba-ah! Bask in my glory,” Gabriel managed to stammer out, his usual tone of amusement falling away as his voice broke.
Chuckling darkly, Potter's hand clenched around him, thumb swiping over the head. “Show me then,” he said quietly, playfully, nipping at Gabriels back,” you in all your glory.” He finished his whispered words by sinking his teeth ruthlessly into the bottom point of Gabriels left shoulder blade.
Gabriel came.
His orgasm came without any sort of usual warning. He'd been close of course, but not that close. And yet, he came, and came, and came, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he bit his own lip to keep from screaming.
Even so, he whimpered, and just that murmur of his real voice was enough to crack the ceiling overhead. Potter had gathered him up, pressing Gabriel's back to his chest as he worked him through every delicious spasm, thin pearly liquid spraying across the navy blue bedspread.
“You're glowing,” Potter whispered against his ear.
He opened his eyes, and sure enough he was, a soft white light emanating from nowhere and everywhere at once. On the wall adjacent to them, he could see the shadowed forms of his wings, stretched across the striped wallpaper and beyond the line of their peripheral vision, as if wrapping around them in the room.
“I've never seen anything like it,” Potter breathed, dropping his chin on Gabriels shoulder. They were still kneeling, back-to-chest on the floor. Gabriel's held himself up just barely, palms splayed across the mattress as he let his head tip to the side against Potter's in an unconsciously comfortable display.
“It's just the shadows,” Gabriel said after a long while, eyes tracing the lines the shadows of his wings made. “They're even bigger in person.”
Nudging him, Potter urged him into a kiss, sweet and post-coital slow. He sighed, warm breath brushing across Gabriels mouth, tasting of sated joy and regret. “You have to go,” Gabriel commented, and Potter nodded unhappily.
“Now I really don't want to,” he said with a sigh, pushing himself up gracelessly and flopping onto the bed. Gabriel crawled up beside him, sprawling out on his belly. “So, semen didn't work?”
“No, but it was worth a try,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Maybe even bears repeating.”
“I'll miss you.”
“You'll be gone three days,” Gabriel snorted. “I won't go anywhere.”
“Pff,” Potter said, rolling on his side to press against Gabriel. His cock was half-hard already, he noted, but Potter didn't seem to mind it. “Where would you go? What on Earth could possibly be better than me, my bed and,” he paused, hand riffling under the left pillow, where he extracted a half eaten bit of Wizard chocolate Gabriel had become violently addicted to, “chocolate?”
Pausing, Gabriel almost found himself frowning. Potter posed a very good question, if not a perplexing one. Gabriel had never been particularly effusive, so he blamed any and all emotions flittering through him at that moment on post-orgasm brain and asked himself the very same question.
What could be better then this?
“Nothing.”
“Lets try again,”Potter said, pushing himself up into an awkward sitting position.
“You're good but you're not that good,” Gabriel said, looking back at Potters spent cock. “Although I suspect there's a spell or something for that.”
“There is but it makes your balls itch. Anyway, that wasn't what I was talking about,” Potter replied, rustling through his night-stand drawer. He pulled out a mangled looking saftey pin. “Lets try again.”
Oh.
Oh.
Potter poked his pointer finger and slid it between Gabriels lips without so much as a by-your leave.
Silence echoed for a moment, and they both felt the tension set when nothing happened. “But I want you to have it,” Potter breathed. “You have to believe me. I...it isn't you. It's me and my issues. I don't want you to...I really thought...”
“Hey,” Gabriel said at once. “Shut up. Don't worry. I feel okay and you know, we'll keep trying or whatever. I like the semen idea. I think it bears repeating.
It earned a laugh out of Potter who leaned into him. “Shut up,” he said with a happy sigh. Gabriel knew he'd be leaving, so he let himself enjoy the moment in silence.
The arrival of the Winchesters was not without fanfare, though Gabriel hadn't been expecting anything else.
It began with a blur of blonde, streaking past him through the kitchen, the cool minty scent of Luna trailing the way to the door. Gabriel followed leisurely behind, amusement perking.
“Dude!” Dean Winchesters voice carried across the small front yard, and through the wards, his disgruntled outrage audible. “Get your witch off our angel!”
His gruff tones were followed by the screechy harping of none other than Hermione Granger. “Bloody hell, Luna, get off the poor man! For Merlin's sake, you're frightening him!”
“He’s kind of have that expression he made when I took him to that brothel,” Dean cut in, just as Gabriel was pushing open the door.
Sam boggled, eyes snapping to Dean. “You took an Angel to a whore house!?”
Blinking, Dean gave his brother a blank, confused look. “I didn't want him to die a virgin.” Winchester-logic, at it's best.
“Hello Sam, Dean...Castiel,” Luna said with her typical misty, breathless tone. “I've been waiting for you.” Though the comment was issued broadly, it was easy to see who exactly she meant.
Castiel was flat on his back, flared trench coat bunched in his fists as he struggled with where to put his hands. His mouth was open, a faint peek of immaculate white teeth and pink tongue exposed as he breathed in sharp, frightened pants. Luna was perched back on her heels, seated firmly on his stomach, both hands splayed across his chest as if she had pounced on him. Gabriel figured she probably did, given the Winchesters uproar. Her dress was hiked up around her thighs, and she was barefoot, grass peeking up between her toes; each toenail was painted a different neon color. Her hair was wild, spilling over her shoulders in broken wavy curls, so long and unruly it painted white-blonde streaks across Castiel's chest and neck. She was, well and truly, a wild thing, appearing even more wild set against his brothers immaculate self containment.
“Luna---”
“Hush” Gabriel cut in, waving an ever flippant hand at Granger. Neither Luna nor Castiel looked up from there places, seeming to be frozen in their own world on the front lawn. “Back away slowly. We're not going to want to stick around for what comes next I'm sure. From what I've learned, your Luna can be fairly single minded.”
“You know,” Potter's blond man-friend said from the doorway, “Lovegood mentioned making new friends, from low places and high places. Two low, two high. Angels and...whatever it is you Muggles do. That would be you for then?”
“Good Merlin,” Granger said suddenly, staring at the pair in wide-eyed horror. “Luna's been going on and on about a blue eyed man. Said he was her....” She looked away, cheeks flushed as the first and second button of Castiels pale blue shirt undid itself. Castiel himself squeaked, eyes going impossibly wider, but Luna only smiled, her hands still planted firmly on his chest.
“What comes next...” Sam began, mouth falling open. “What the hell is this? A mating ritual?”
“More like foreplay, in the form of the most epic staring contest ever. Who do you think will blink first? My bet is on Cas,” Gabriel said with a grin. “I wonder if it'll end up in the Winchester Gospels?”
Granger took it upon herself to urge them back into the house, though Gabriel caught her peeking back over her shoulder, only to squeak and blush, slamming the front door behind her. It was a good thing that the current location of Grimwauld was fairly isolated, for any possible neighbors would be getting quite the show if Luna's look of determination was anything to go by.
It took the better part of the evening to explain everything. They took it admirably; after the almost-apocalypse, little could surprise them.
“So, magic is real and it's all you and your freaky angel wish-ball's fault?” Dean said, scratching the two-day stubble on his chin. “Eh. Could have been worse. You could have been responsible for televangelists.”
“Who's to say I'm not?” Gabriel replied with a lazy grin. The only thing that could make the night better were if Potter were there. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked the Winchesters. He, Castiel, Sam and Dean made up a very strange family. It was a testament to that very statement that Gabriel had come to them when in need. He wasn't sure he could leave Potter, especially before his grace was repaired, but he wasn't really ready to see the back end of the Winchesters yet, either. So really, it served him just fine that they should be here, mingled among his witches and wizards.
“Good, your friends are here,” Potter said, suddenly beside him, as if manifested by his yearning thoughts alone. It hadn't surprised Gabriel, who had felt him before he appeared, but the same could not be said for Sam and Dean.
They both drew their guns on instinct, but it was Dean who fired, Dean who had always had a hair-trigger, sinking a bullet straight into Potters head.
And then, chaos.
Wands were drawn, and curses flew, and Gabriel was at Potters side in an instant, feeling more useless in that moment then he ever had. He pushed at his grace, begging it to do something. His palm was hot where he held it against Potters head, but nothing happened. He was useless here, utterly useless, couldn't even heal a bullet wound......He was going to kill Dean Winchester. Screw grace, he was going to strangle him.
“Shit!” Dean hissed, eyes wide as he watched Potter crumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table as he went. Gabriel felt his heart sink to his stomach as he turned golden angry eyes to Dean Winchester. All the fluffy feelings of camaraderie were gone in an instant. “Oh fuck,” Dean whispered, obviously horrified. “I...I just...I mean, he came out of no where! You know I can't control it...it's a reflex.”
“I'd have a hell of a lot less work to do if my guys had reflexes like you,” Potter grumbled to the floor, and he was there in a flash, helping him up. His face was bloody, but the wound was gone, leaving nothing but fresh pale skin in it's place. “Good aim too.” He turned to Gabriel, green eyes bright with amusement. “You were worried.”
“I thought you were dead,” Gabriel replied with whip-quick humor.“It's a good thing your not, I suppose. I wasn't looking forward to killing Dean. I mean, you kill one Winchester, you have to kill them all, or they just keep coming back, like weeds or outside-cats, and I rather like Sam.”
Potter let him have his fun, let him hide the last fading tendrils of absolute fear behind laughs. “I told you, I won't die untilI'm ready. Bit convenient, that.”
“Wow,” Dean said, breaking the silence. Grange was still glaring at him, subtly restrained by her ginger husband. “Is that like a wizard thing?”
“Oh no,” Ron said, grinning over a scowling Hermione's head. “That's a Harry-thing. You'll get use to it. Er, just...don't go getting any ideas about putting it to the test. We're all a bit protective of him,” he explained, giving his wife a pointed glance. “Some more then others.”
“He shot him!” Granger shrieked, slamming her hand on the table. “I don't care if he's bloody immortal! It's just not done.” She whipped out her wand. “Accio gun! Accio gun!” The Winchesters gun's flew out of there holsters, slapping into each of her hands. She emptied the bullets in each one and then turned the guns into a salt and pepper shaker, respectively. “No guns in the house! Even Draco knows that! Honestly, what if he had shot----”
“I'll just take her home,” Ron suggested, even as he led his ranting wife out of the room. “Night mate!”
“Night Ron!” Potter called out, dropping into the chair beside Gabriels. “Well, that was fun.”
“Dude,” Dean said, as Sam elbowed him hard in the ribs. “I am really sorry. It's kind of reflex. Shit appears out of nowhere, and I shoot it. It's a habit that’s done me good for a while.” Dean stared mournfully at the salt shaker, which now had the words Remmington etched into the glass.
“It took him many months to stop drawing his gun on me,” Castiel offered. “He's shot me no less than twelve times.”
“Ah, well,” Potter scratched his head, wiping a bit of blood from his nose. “Probably a good thing Herme's took your guns then. Quite a bit of popping in goes on at Grimuald, and we're not all starfish.”
“He means they don't all regenerate,” Sam added, for Deans benefit, who scowled in return.
Sam was still berating Dean for having shot Harry, after all he drew his gun and managed to look at what he was shooting before he pulled the trigger, ten minutes later. Gabriel and Potter looked upon them both with fond little grins, while surreptitiously trying to not look at Luna and Castiel. What had been amusing before was quickly working it's way to the angelic equivalent to a Tijuana floor show. Castiel was visually flustered, red in the cheeks and fidgeting, for fucks sake. If Luna hadn't had her hands where he could see them, he'd have thought she was giving him a hand job.
He supposed, given what he knew about himself and these frisky magical folk, hands really didn’t matter.
“So....you're hunters?” Dean asked him, as he was sorting through the post. “Capping bad guys and all that?”
Looking up from Remus's weekly letter, Harry shrugged. “I'm a bit fixated though. We deal mostly with Dementors. Now that they've taken to inhabiting Muggle...erm, non magical environments, it's more crucial that we wipe them out.”
“Because we can't see them,” Dean replied thoughtfully. He looked past Harry, eyes turning hard. “You're...magical world...it's very lenient.”
“Lenient how?” He asked, curious. As far as he knew, the Magical world was rather out of touch and prudish.
“I walked in on the twin gingers.....”
“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Yeah, they do that.”
“And thats okay? I mean...they’re brothers,” he said, with obvious inflection. “You know the old no-no taboo about incest.”
“Yes but...who are they hurting? Magical or not, men don't go knocking other men up. It's not conventional and not always well received, but here? At Grimuald? We know that they love each other. And besides, I die and come back, and they don't blink an eye. Who am I to judge them for their peculiarities.”
“It just seems wrong.”
“Yes,” he nodded, watching the way Dean Winchesters eyes flickered to the living room where Sam was in deep conversation with Hermione. “But there are worse things than loving someone so deeply that even a taboo like incest can't come between you. I can tell you whole halfheartedly that no one in this house will ever judge Fred and George, or anyone else, for it.”
Blinking, Dean turned back to him. “Sammy loves it here. “You're an alright bunch.”
Giving Dean one more long look, Harry fished around in his pocket for a bit, extracting a tiny door. “Take this,” he said, sliding it across the ground. “All you have to do is open it, and it will lead here. It only works once, but if...you ever need to escape, well. You'll always be welcome here.”
****
“Our friends are certainly playing nice,” Potter said to him, the next night. “Sam, Dean and Cas fit right in here.”
“They don't get to meet to many hunters who truly understand what they've been through,” he replied with a shrug, rolling onto his belly beside Potter in the bed. “Though Cas and Luna...that’s a bit out of left field.”
“She's been waiting for him for ever,” Potter commented. “Since she was very young. I asked her to marry me once.”
“But your gay!”
“Yes,” Potter laughed, and Gabriel did too. “And she did point that out. But she's a darling, and we've always been quite close. If my preferences hadn't ran toward the more penile side, and she hadn't shot me down with brutal bluntness, I'd have married her in a heart beat.”
“All the more reason to thank Castiel for existing, I guess,” he replied, surprisingly possessive. “Potter---”
“I know,” Potter grinned, nuzzling into his neck, hand sliding down Gabriels chest.
“This is all very strange for me,” Gabriel commented, letting himself melt into Potter's touch. “Very domestic. Very feely.”
With his hand coasting down Gabriels soft belly, fingers dancing across the waist of his pants, Potter nipped him in the shoulder. “Not feely enough---”
There was bang as the door swung open, Draco's pinched face appearing. “As much as I don't need to see this, the twins just unearthed a massive nest. They seem to think with your angel's help, we can draw them away from the Mardi-Gras festivities, and take them out.”
Making a spectacularly bitchy face, Potter hauled himself out of bed.
“Well, thats our cue,” he said with a sigh. “Think your friends would like to come? They can't see them, but they can help keep other muggles out of our way.”
“Potter look out!”
Harry hissed, the cold feeling of doom encroaching upon them. They'd certainly found the nest, he realized, as Dementors poured out from the storm grates. The Winchesters shivered, eyes glazing over in despair as they sank to their knees in inexplicable tears. When word had come that they had a lead on a nest of Dementors, they took the opportunity to test their new Angel-Bait. It was nearing the heart of New Orleans biggest celebration, and there was no better time. They'd made a mistake though, miscalculated just how many they could draw with Gabriel and Castiel. It had all been a very massive mistake, and now they would all pay.
Gabriel, he could see him, cutting a path through the tear-struck crowed. “Gabriel don't!” He cried out, slashing out with the scythe. Dementors stumbled around him, crumpling before their brothers as they continued to rush forward.
There were too many, more than they'd ever handled. He slashed and hacked, and watched his friends fall, pale and frightened, trembling hands fighting back even as they fell into their own horror. He knew what they saw; they all had their own horrors after the war.
Draco would see his Lucius die, falling to the ground with a dull thump as Draco stood over him, covered in blood, wand hand aimed and trembling at the man he'd called father as he hexed the lifeless corpse, tears painting pink trails down his bloody cheeks.
Luna would feel her wrists split open at the sharp edge of a knife wielded by Bellatrix, the sounds of the woman cackling madly and smearing Luna's blood all down her Azkaban-weathered body in delight, while Luna slipped in puddles of her own trailing blood as she scrawled across the floor in escape.
Harry still saw his mother as she crumbled to the ground, fingers curled loosely around the bars of his crib. He would reach out to her, his chubby pale fingers tugging on her red curls as he cried, and Voldemort cursed him, blinding him with brilliant green light.
“Harry!” He heard Gabriel's voice as he clung to his scythe, swinging it feebly. He was surrounded, curtains of shredded,liquid black fabric like a sea of Lethinfolds blanking out the light as he crashed to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his head. There were just to many, more than they ever expected...his friends...he had to save them...Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.
The Reaper-spawn had swarmed them, creating a cloud of doom thick as molasses. He could feel it pouring down on him, all his misdeeds, all his mistakes, all the horrors he had seen and caused, but he pressed on, the tattered and torn edges of his thin-stretched grace flaring brightly inside of him, tingling up and down his spine. He knew, knew as deep as his rivers ran that this time he'd let them loose, six hundred and sixty-six wings made of ozone and sunshine and pure God-Given grace. It would tear him apart, he knew it would without a doubt. His body, at its ends already, would not survive.
But that didn't matter, the urgent need for survival that had always served him well, as he watched hundreds of Reapers close in on his hunters, his friends. They fell, one by one, stumbling in a flood of their own fears until all that stood was Harry.
And when Potter fell, nothing, not even himself, mattered any more.
His wings were like razors, tearing through time and space and skin. He could feel the blood between his shoulder blades pouring down his spine like a warm sticky river. Their weight was unfamiliar, to long ignored,and he staggered under the force of them as they stretched miles wide and tall.
The Reapers came at him, came at their Death, Death of Death, dusty boned fingers tugging at him, tearing at his hardened feathers. He was too much for them, to bright, to pure, burning them out one by one as they struggled to devour him first, fighting even with each other. They sank into him, feasting on the Light of God, his Grace or what remained. It was torn from him in frightening kiss, and he watched from above as his beloved body crumpled to the ground, too weak to hold on against the Dementors Kiss.
He'd been Reaped, harvested from his body, carved out and gutted like a fucking pumpkin and for what?
For Potter. For Harry.
Dying, going home, didn't seem so bad. It seemed worth it.
“What the fucking fuck was that?” Harry demanded, rounding on the Winchesters and their blue eyes angel. Both his lot and Gabriel's were far worse for ware, battered, bruised, and covered in blood and Dementor-guts. What few Dementors who hadn't died upon touching Gabriel had long since fled. They wouldn't come back here, Harry was sure of it. “What was that? Where did they take him? Who took him?”
Castiel swallowed, eyes wide as he stared at the charred, sulfur stained crater where Gabriel had once stood, wings out stretched, face torn in agony. Harry had already collected Gabriel's limp,pale body, pouring so much magic into it, he himself felt dizzy. But he could feel it, feel the lingering traces of what was left of Gabriel's grace slipping away and he knew, no matter what, he couldn't let that happen.
“I'm afraid we did not anticipate this possibility. When we prepared for the inevitability that our brothers would eventually come for him, signaled by his flaring grace. Surely the release of his wings would have been seen, I have no doubt. We knew...he knew that they would come. However....we expected them to come from...above.”
The Brothers Winchester’ paled in tandem, their matching eyes growing wide with horror. Dean spoke first, hand curled over his mouth. “Cas, you don’t mean----”
“No,” Sam breathed out, reaching out to clutch his brother, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, what happened to these people. “No, Castiel, no---”
**
“So...those...people who took Gabe. They weren't Angels?”
“They weren't from Heaven,” Castiel replied gravely. “Those were minions of Lucifer; demons, real demons. They would have been drawn to the Reaper-Spawn, and could have easily hid among them. It is most likely perchance that they found Gabriel. Lucifer...will be pleased, with this turn of events”
Dean took that moment to cut in, face pale as he spoke. Harry didn't know the whole of Gabriel's story, but it seemed as if the Winchesters did. “Dude, if it weren't for Gabriel we never would have won. He...his help was pretty much the deciding factor.”
Closing his eyes, Harry spoke quietly, his fingers already twisting the ring he wore. “And where did they take him?”
It was Castiel who spoke, though the answer was known among the group without question. Luna had taken her place at his side, curling her pale, dirty hand in his. She whispered into his ear, and he nodded solemnly, honesty breaking his usually composed voice.
“There is only one place to take him; Hell.”
“Can you get him out, Cas?” Sam asked, earnest and wide eyed. He was pasty white, a sheen of sweat painting his skin. Harry couldn't help but wonder what he saw when the Dementors were near. “Like you did with Dean?”
Castiel wavered. “I...they weren't expecting me then. And I was given a way in. I have no way to enter the gates of Hell this time, nor would I be able to escape once there. Not only that, but they will be expecting it, as I have played that hand before. I am sorry.”
“I'll go,” Harry said quietly, tugging the ring “I can go. I can...I know a way.”
“I thought that thing went to Purgatory,” Dean said, watching Harry flip the ring into the air, and catching it neatly in his palm.
Harry shrugged. “Before I met Gabriel I didn't know where it went. But I knew...I know how to get in. The same way any other mortal goes....” He sighed, slipping the ring back on his finger. “Accio Dean Winchesters gun.”
“Hey!” Dean said, eyes going wide. “Come on...Potter, don't do this. There are other ways! There are always other ways.”
“We don't have the time. He...he did this for me,died for me. Who am I to not do the same?” Harry lifted the gun, pressing the barrel to his temple. “I have to get him back. Just...protect our bodies; Hermione will know what to do. Stasis charms, put us on ice, I don’t care. Please. We have to have something to come back to.”
Shoulders slumped in defeat, as if Harry's words had more meaning than he knew, the trio nodded in tandem. The brother stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder, the pain in there eyes too familiar, too knowing. “We can do that.” He would ask them their story, Harry decided, when he returned.
“Come home Harry,” Luna said, her voice bright, and her eyes pale. “We'll be waiting.”
***
It wasn't Heaven.
In all his years, it was Heaven that he feared. But in all those years he had never imagined he could end up here.
In Hell.
Lucifer, his angry red-headed step-child of a brother, stared at him from his cage, the illusion of his face pristine in a way it hadn't been when Gabriel lead him to his fall.
“How did I get here?” Gabriel asked, without looking at his brother. This wasn’t what he expected. For all that he’d been bad, he’d been good. He was sure of it. His father wouldn’t send him here. He wouldn’t. Which meant---
“Why the demons brought you, of course,” Lucifer replied lightly. “How fortuitous that they'd been spending so much time with those delightful creatures. Dementors have a way of leaving behind them a trail of deliciously empty hosts. It was purely coincidence, wonderful wonderful coincidence, that they should find you in the Reaper-spawns midst. Perhaps I am a lucky man after all.”
“Perhaps you need a breath mint.”
“Brother,” Lucifer said, grinning at him, white teeth catching the light of invisible hell fire. “So good of you to visit. I had no idea you wished to travel so far sough. The weathers great this time of year, isn't it?”
“It's a little dry,” he replied glibly, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt theatrically.
Lucifer shook his head, a smile so wide it split his face. “Gabriel, oh Gabriel. How dearly I hoped for this day. You might even say my prayers have been answered. ” He lifted his hands, clapping in a slow, mocking applaud. “Congratulations, brother mine. You betrayed the betrayer. You always were a tricky little bitch. How does it feel? ”
Gabriel licked his lips, lifting his eyes to stare at the cold cavernous ceiling. The walls were made of fire and flesh here, burnt and charred, pulsing sluggish pumps of dark red blood. It was like looking at someone from the inside, all twisting tendons and sticky meat. He looked back at his brother, and sighed. “I can’t say it leave me all warm inside. Outside, maybe. It feels like you’d think it would feel, brother mine. What do you want me to say? Sorry?”
“You do almost sound repentant,” Lucifer replied, amusement writ in his pretty features. He was wearing the face of Sam now; a flawless illusion to throw Gabriel of his game.
“Oh I don't regret it,” he retorted with honest ease. “I did what I had to do, like I always have. I wanted to stay out of it, but you kept pushing. You just kept pushing and pushing, and Father----”
“I wasn't the only one who pushed,” his brother replied mildly, one brow raised with cocky confidence. It looked good on Sam's face, if only because it was such a rare sight.
“Did I say as much?” Gabriel asked, with a shrug. “No, it wasn't just you. It was all of you bastards. Micheal and Raphael and fucking Zachariah, Luce! Zachariah, all up on his pretty perch pretending he mattered. The fucking brethren...they were willing to kill their brothers for Armageddon. And on whose orders? Gods? No. I know God. I know him, I have been his voice, and this? What happened? It was never God.”
“Father,” Lucifer spat, lashes fluttering around his narrow eyes. “Just another dead-beat dad. We're abandoned Gabriel. We and humankind alike. Abandoned!”
“No!” Gabriel roared with uncharacteristic rage.”No. He's still here. He's everywhere. But you? You and Michael and Raphael and the rest of them, you can't see it with your heads so far up your asses. I've lived in this world, where you all just watch. I know: I know that God is here, with these magnificent creatures, these messy magnificent fucked-up creatures. And if he doesn't want to be found, well I don't fucking blame him. He should be ashamed of you all.”
“Shame!?” Lucifer cried, reeling back. “You are by far the most shameful, gluttonous, greedy, lazy, prideful,lustful, vindictive wrathful creature I have ever met,and I dwell among demons.”
With his customary grin quirked, Gabriel never wavered. “But for my many, many, many sins, I never forgot my duties. I served our Father while serving myself. I acted as Judgment and punished those worthy justly. I stood by as the Voice of God, awaiting his word. I loved the world he created, every stinking, disgusting, messy bit of it; the lies, the deception, the sex, drugs, and pain. I loved it all, personally even. I did as he asked. I betrayed no one, not even myself. I lived as he bid me, and loved as he willed it. ”
Lucifer rushed forward, nothing but a line of holy fire between them, flickering up and sizzling against his skin as he grinned, malicious and cruel, down upon Gabriel. “Lived and died. Do you know what you'll be come here? A demon, Gabriel. See if daddy loves you then.”
“I've been a pagan God Luce, I'm way cooler then that,” Gabriel said, leaning casually against the flesh-wall. “I'm not just one of your minions. You can’t break me.”
“You'll give in,” Lucifer said with a cringe-worthy laugh. “With enough time, they all do.”
*****
Waking up dead, no matter how many times, would never be anything less then disconcerting. Harry peeled himself up off the ground of the familiar white room, casting his pool of dark congealed blood a passing second glance. Gingerly, he probed at the gaping wound in his head, open, warm, and streaming a thin line of blood even where he stood, soaking the neckline of his Henley.
“Suicide Clause,” a lilting voice said from behind him, and he turned to see the caustic face of Death, mouth pulled into a stern line. “You get to keep the wounds. I don't suppose you aren't staying, young Master I do so enjoy your company. Can’t say I have many...regulars. A few, but not many.”
“No,” Harry replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I need you to take me to Hell.”
Death blinked, but his expression never wavered. “What?”
“I need to get in and out of Hell,” Harry repeated. “They took my....my friend. I want him back.”
Death sighed, put upon and weary. “When at first we met I had wondered, no matter what you claimed, how long it would be until you demanded resurrection,” Death replied with a tired sigh. “That you lasted this long.....”
“It isn't resurrection,” Harry said in a rush. “Gabriel, he's....an Angel. My Angel. Er...I mean I'm his Vessel. But mostly he's....he's my friend.”
“You speak of the Archangel Gabriel?” Death asked, both brows raised. “My my my, Master Potter, you don't do things by halves, do you? You realize it won't be easy, yes? It is not a matter of simply walking in and out of Hell. That happened once before, you know, with a mortal. An Angel just swooped right in and plucked him out. Security will have risen since.”
“I have the Hallows to help,” Harry said in reply, fingers immediately tracing the cool silver band on his finger. “And Gabriel's scythe.”
“The cloak might hide you, but being seen or unseen will not be your only problem.” Death countered.
“I can't die.”
“There are far more worse things then dying Harry Potter,” Death said, offering his hand.
Harry took it, and said nothing.
The scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils, burning his throat as he breathed. He could smell the pain in the air, fingers clenching absently where he gripped Deaths arm.
“Welcome to Hell, Potter,” Death said, with a certain amount of unwelcome smugness. “This is as far as
I will go. Return here, and I shall take you home. Remember this though, there is no sin here, no mercy. It is in you to be kind, to be forgiving, but there is no forgiveness here, only pain and punishment. Time runs differently,” he explained, shoving a watch into Harry's hand. He looked at its face, as they ran too fast from number to number. “That will tell you how much time has passed. For every ten years that passes in Hell, the
Earth will have only aged a month. Remember that. The longer you stay, the more it changes you.”
“Changes me?” Harry asked, disconcerted. They'd been here only two minutes, and already he wondered how much time had passed at Grimwauld.
“You have touched the Dark too often already, Harry. You wield a dangerous power,” he said softly.
“I never wished to control you--”
“And this I know,” Death cut him off with a sad smile. “You are far better a Master then I've ever had. And for that I am great full. But still, your power is great and terrible, and it changes you.”
“The horns,” Harry realized, touching his fingertips to the sharpened points protruding from his head.
“Every time I use the ring....”
“They are a personification of the darkness you delve in,” Death surmised. “You are dark, Master. You cannot have seen what you have, have touched such darkness and left unstained. But you are also good. But Hell? Hell will change you, if you let it. It will steal who you are. You must be ruthless here. The only thing that can save you is your focus. Your goal. What really brings you to Hell? What is Gabriel's worth that he has you standing at the gaping mouth of hell, ready to tackle it's darkest of armies?”
Harry swallowed, eyes turning back to the cave. “Love,” he said with the same sort of finality he felt when killing Voldemort. “Love brings me here.”
“Hold tight to that.” With his same sad smile, Death nodded once. “ I wish you the best of luck, kind Master Harry. Return to the mouth of the cave with Gabriel, and I shall take you home.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Harry there alone. Death had spoken of armies, Harry thought, steeling himself for war. He freed his cloak from it's stash the bottomless pocket of his leather jacket, swinging it over his shoulder. In the light of hell, it did not look as silvery as it once had, but dripping, inky black, as it settled over his shoulder. The weight of it was familiar, unlike that of the Elder Wand in his hand. He slid the pale wand into his hip holster, wondering if he'd even remember to use it. Summoning Gabriel's Scythe into his hand, he
entered Hell, head high, and heart hammering.
The walls withered around him, built with bricks made of undulating, naked, battered bodies, the faces of sinners twisted in agony. The walls were made of people, Harry thought and cringed, and the ground was thick with torn flesh, ash, and blood.
Screams rent the red-flickering darkness. The only light offered to illuminate the way were errant lines of blazing hell fire, burning paths through the skin of the damned where it may. He made no eye contact, pushing onward past the pleading, begging mouths as they cried out to him.
Deaths watch was warm in his pocket, ticking to fast against his thigh. The path never seemed to end, the darkness only getting darker, though it never became difficult to see.
He came across his first demons an hour into the cave, how long that was Top-Side, Harry couldn't think to ask. They were Demons, for sure, though he'd never had the delight of meeting them. Their eyes were glossy black, reminding him of Snape, cruel smiles curling their lips reminiscent of his old professor.
Guards, he thought, standing outside a round arch way. The first circle of Hell, he realized. His knowledge of Muggle religious inner workings was minimal, but he'd heard of the seven circles.
He had no doubt where Gabriel would be; lucky number seven.
For all that they oozed evil, they looked like people. He had left his body behind, but wore the same facade here. Was it the same for these demons? Was the skin they wore in hell real; did they wear the flesh of innocent muggles here? It didn't matter, he told himself. It couldn't matter. For all that they couldn't see him, he couldn't pass without revealing himself.
They had to die.
Whipping his cloak over his shoulders, letting it flutter and reveal him, he summon his Scythe, swinging it without a blink. The demons stood no chance to his uncharacteristic ruthlessness as he sliced through their stomachs, severing their tops from their bottoms. They exploded, expression twisted and aghast as they burst into ash, quickly consumed by the hellfire.
He cut a path through all that came across him, his heart palpitating at the sight of hells victims, strung up by the skin, tortured and bleeding. The demons laughed as he came at them, scythe swinging, and eyes bright. They laughed, even as they fell, one by one by one, till the fire of hell burned black with the ash of its children.
Death had promised him an army of Demons, and he had not lied.
He was battered by the time he reached the seventh archway in hell. His hair was singed, and a chunk of his left eye was missing, leaving a gaping, clawed-out wound that continued to bleed freely, leaving a wake of red pouring down his face and neck and chest. His cloak fluttered from his shoulder, casting odd shadows across the flesh-walls where it obscured his body invisible.
His shirt was gone, for the most part, tattered cotton-blend shreds hanging from his shoulder, the white of it stained aubergine by blood and ash. His chest was bare, torn open to reveal an empty cavity where his lung had once resided. There were things in Hell far worse than demons, so he had learned, as the creatures of the dark descended upon him.
He killed all that challenged him with deft precision, mechanical in his rage, in his own fire. He had waged his war upon the army of the dark. He'd cut down demons, and monsters, and beasts alike. He waded a path through a sea of serpents, hissing out to them as they slithered up his body, wrapping him like limp rope. Bloody-crusted skulls crunched beneath his feet, but pressed on, the cold of the darkness struggling to drown him.
He was here for Gabriel, he reminded himself.
His Gabriel.
Harry never faltered, as the days passed, for all that he was broken and in agony. The seventh circle of hell was dressed in blood and guts, and he could feel the dark ache slithering across him like slime. His horns ached, worse than his scar ever had, bleeding freely into his eyes, or rather his eye, and gaping eye socket.
Standing outside of Hell’s heart, he felt something drop beside him, hitting the skin-soft floor with a splat. Crouching, Harry picked up his finger, Deaths Ring still circling it, and shoved it into his pocket. Deaths watch weighed heavy in his pocket, but he had no heart to look at it. It couldn't tell him what he wanted to know for he'd been here far longer than he ever imagined.
One week topside
Four months in hell.
Gabriel was waiting, whether he knew it or not. Harry wasted no more time. He could hear them already, those last snarling beasts of the dark.
****
“Can you feel him, Gabriel?” Lucifer asked, with malicious glee. “Storming the castle for you, the damsel in distress.”
“Well, I do look good in a dress,” Gabriel teased, though the edge in his voice was audible. He knew it was Potter; he'd felt his vessel as soon as Harry had stepped into Hell. It wasn't comforting; cold fear filled him, sending him to his knees. Harry couldn't be in hell, he just couldn't.
“Ah yes, your beloved,” Lucifer sneered. “A mortal, Gabriel? I thought you were better than that. And your own vessel, of all things. Talk about self-service. You know, I always did wonder how you circumvented the clause. The face your wearing is certainly very well made, if not a little dated.”
Brushing a weak hand over his own shoulder, he replied glibly. “This old thing? I just threw it on. I've always been a fan of business casual. I think it goes from day-wear to night-wear nicely though.”
“I certainly hope you're not banking on a rescue, brother,” Lucifer responded mildly.
“Nah,” he said shamelessly, waving his brother off. “This is probably about that twenty-bucks I owe him.”
Lucifer rushed forward again, dropping to a crouch before Gabriel, unable to touch him through the flame. “Laugh, Gabriel. Laugh and laugh and laugh till you choke on it. No mortal can save you, no mere mortal can survive down long enough to even find you.”
“Then its right and bloody good I'm no mortal,” Potters voice rang out against his ear drums, rough as gravel. It was the possibly most beautiful thing he had ever heard, more beautiful than the Heavenly Choir, than Gods own voice.
Lifting his head, Gabriel felt himself go cold. His Vessel was destroyed, burnt and beaten and...missing pieces. “Potter....” He couldn't believe his eyes; this couldn't be his Vessel. This had to be an illusion, one of Lucifer’s tricks. He'd done as much to Sam, as Gabriel could recall.
Spitting out a laugh, Potter came to him, trailing a river of dark blood behind. He fell to his knees, pulling
Gabriel up into his arms, real and solid against him. “I really hope you didn't like me for my pretty face.”
His face was wet against Potters cheek; he was crying. He was surprised he could cry. “You're really here. Why are you here? You can't be here.”
“Seven circles of hell, and this is the thanks I get?” Potter said, and his laugh was followed by the wet sounding splat of his intestines falling out of his stomach. “Er. Vastly attractive, that is.”
“This is your savior?” Lucifer asked, but he went largely unacknowledged. “He's falling apart, Gabriel! There is no way he'll make it back out, and with you in tow. He'll be eaten aliv---”
“Silencio!”
Gabriel stared down the length of Potters arm, where a pale wand was pointed at his brother. “You just...silenced Lucifer. You don't just silence the fucking devil!” He said with a snort, dropping his head onto Potters shoulder.
“I suspect it's the wand,” Potter replied, pocketing said boom-stick. “Packs a bit of an extra punch.” He turned his face back to Gabriel's, mouth into a sharp, slightly torn smile. “He might be right through. I....I won't die, but I am beginning to suspect that Death was right. There are much things worse than Death. I can't go back to my body like this. Magic can do a lot but...I think a Hell-hound ate my heart.”
“You have blood on your mouth,” Gabriel said, in way of reply. It was old blood, half dried and dark and Gabriel wanted like he never had before.
“Do I?” Potter asked, raising a singed brow. “Convenient that,” he murmured.
Murmured and kissed him.
The kiss tasted like blood, sharp and metallic, but it felt like sunshine and love and chocolate and sex and all kinds of wonderful fucking human, mortal things. It exploded inside of him as he wrapped his arms around Potters waist, both hands burning into the small of his back as he gripped them tight and raised them both from perdition, high on Harry Potters freely given blood.
He met Azreal at the mouth of the cave, much to his surprise. “Ah, Little Master,” Death said mournfully.
“Immortal does not always mean invincible.”
“He's immortal?” Gabriel asked, wide eyed in surprise.
“He won't die until he gives me permission,” Azreal replied, smoothing a pale hand over Potters forehead. It smeared a trail in the blood crusting against his face. “All in all, I have had far worse Masters than Harry Potter. You will fix him, won't you?”
“Yes,” he said confidently, holding Potter more tightly to him. “He fixed me, and I'll fix him. Then I'll kick his ass for every coming here, even if it was for me.”
“Did he do it for you?” Azreal asked mildly. “Funny that. He told me he did it for love. Bit of a soppy bugger.” Azreal slammed them back into their bodies with no warning, leaving them both gasping and heaving on Potters bed at Grimauld, pale blue eyes staring down at them, framed in curtains of soft blonde hair.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Luna said, as if he'd only taken an afternoon nap.
“Uuuuugh,” Potter groaned beside him. “Oh God.”
“Gabriel, actually,” he said dryly, peering over his shoulder at the groaning but pristine form of Harry Potter.
“Yeah well, that would explain why it feels like my spleen is lodged in my left kidney. Did you just get slap happy with the angel glue?”
“Hey!” Gabriel protested. “At least I got your eyeballs right. Imagine if I put it in backwards or something.”
Potters hand came up, swiping down his forehead. His palms scrapped across the sharp horns, cutting shallowly into his skin.
Looking away at Potters wince, Gabriel frowned. “Those I couldn't get rid of. I...tried. But they're permanent. Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Potter said, pulling himself up to sit beside Gabriel. “What are a pair of horns when I have you? God...I didn't think...when I got there, I wasn't sure....you brought us back, yeah?”
“Because you fixed me,” Gabriel confirmed. “Took you long enough, jack ass. I was down there for four months.”
“Four months!”
“Really?” Luna cut in, blinking. “We've only had you under the preservation charms for seven days.”
Something thunked on the stairs, a herd of feet thundering against the floor boards. The door burst open, a flood of people washing in. “You're awake!” Granger cried, her brown eyes bright.
“We noticed,” Potter said dryly, curling his hand into Gabriels. “Honestly, I'm disgusted you doubted me.”
“You've been out dead for a week, mate,” one of the twins said.
“We had to spell the door shut with all kinds of wards,” the red headed Weasley girl said. “Fred and George using your bodies as test---”
“We did no such thing,” Twin one said, followed closely by Twin Two. “Seriously, Ginny, you're lies and slander are reprehensible. I'll have you know we were only checking to see if Harry was really hu---”
“Alright, alright,” Ron waved them off. “It's good to see you up and about mate. Honestly, how many times can a bloke see his best mate die? You'll give me gray hairs, you will.”
Dean and Sam stepped forward, standing about as close as the twins did, which said a lot about the questionableness of their relationship. “A week topside,” Dean said, giving Harry a grave look. “You're a tough little dude. I guess you'd have to be. Never figured Gabriel's skin-suit would be a wimp anyway. But uh...I don't know. You're lot seems okay.”
“We helped hunt down the rest of the Reapers while you guys were....out,” Sam explained. “You're friends are great hunters. Taught us a thing or two.”
“Hey! We taught them stuff too!”
“Yeah, but I doubt they really have a need to pick-pocket a stranger,” Sam countered, with a grin. “Castiel taught Luna how to sweat in Enotian.”
“And Luna taught Castiel how to ----” Twin One began, but the Girl Ginger smacked him.
“No one wants to know what Luna taught Castiel,” she said with an eye-roll and grin.
Castiel piped up, a small smile of his own tilting his lips in the strangest of ways. Gabriel decided it looked good on him. “I don't know,” Castiel said, his tone still lacking the expected inflection. “I found her lessons quite...informative.”
“Yes well, that may be well and grand but sit through a lecture on crumple-horned-nargle hybrids and you'll be singing a different tune,” Granger cut in.
“So you've decided to keep the horns, then?” Draco asked, leaned against the bed post, and gave both he and Potter a sulking pout. “I don't appreciate you leaving me alone with this lot, Potter. A bloody week! And Granger is nesting. Do you know she insisted on folding my bloody socks! Please refrain from taking any more impromptu vacations, if you could,” he sniffed, tossing Potter a little smirk.
“Vacations! I destroyed an army of demons! I lost my bloody eyeball, you ars--”
Ron grinned as the crowed continued to bicker around him, cutting Potter off with a gentle cuff to the head. “We missed you mate, but we knew you'd be back. Can't get rid of Harry Potter, now can we? The
Winchesters taught Hermione how to hustle at pool, and the Twins loaded the Winchesters up on Wheezes. “Good blokes, the three of them, fit right in, they do. Though you might want to know.” He gave Potter a not-so-sutble wink, and let himself sink back into the crowed.
“Awe,” Gabriel cooed, curling himself into Potter. “Look how well they play together.”
Granger kicked in the shin, while Luna was stealthily sinking her hand into the back of Castiels pants.
“Reckon we should set up play-dates or something,” Potter agreed. “Take em' out for ice-cream, a nice walk in the park.”
Draco was narrowing his eyes at Sam, giving him a once over. Sam in turn did his best to tower over the shorter blonde. “With leashes,” Gabriel added. “And maybe tazers.”
“We could spray them in the face with water when they're naughty,” Potter suggested. “Or maybe do some kind of rewards system for good behavior? I mean...whatever Luna is doing to Castiel right now has to be good behavior.”
“We'll just have to take our time and see what works,” Gabriel said, turning to face Potter. “Could take a while.”
Potter grinned. Lucky for you, I've got a while."
-END