caveofsapphires | we are all illuminated

WHO: Gabriel (Sylvester Wilton) and NPCs; [CLOSED]
WHAT: They messed with one of Gabe's brothers. He does something stupid in turn.
WHERE: On the street somewhere heading back to his quarters.
WHEN: Backdate to Sunday 29 April 2012

They'd gotten Aziraphale. It shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was, because screwing with people was apparently what the Caretaker did and the two of them hadn't exactly been subtle. Yet when Gabriel figured it out, on that 'family night out', he'd been--

It wasn't surprise. He hadn't been surprised by the strength of his reaction. He'd been surprised by the fact that he wasn't. Aziraphale wasn't the brother he knew--not really. Yet he was still a brother. The younger angel was oddly endearing; like a somewhat oblivious puppy, eager to please but curious about everything else to the point of disobedience. Balthazar could take care of himself. Aziraphale, Gabriel was less sure about. The idea that the Workers had messed with that, given him more reason to doubt, filled Gabriel with a cold rage.

Which was why the trickster had got off his ass and buckled down. He still went to work--to his own unique definition of 'work'--but he used the time sketching a map of the cave and marking the most likely places to house a rehabilitation centre. He couldn't remember the route himself, and he knew for a fact there wasn't any building which screamed 'REHAB CENTRE: TWO MIND-DRILLS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE', which meant that it was lowkey and probably disguised.

When off work, or when using pick-ups from the depot as an excuse, he kept a keen eye out for the Workers. Anyone observing him would notice that although he still acted the same, there was occasionally a hard edge of intense purpose underneath it.

He lurked the guard HQ. He lurked the hospital. He did it discreetly, never for hours at a time and always in different ways--just out for a walk, out to deliver something, trying to get a bead on his map--but he watched them carefully, looking for clues. And those Workers he deemed most likely to have access to a rehab centre, he followed.

They led him on a merry chase. By Sunday evening he had a list of potential places, and was making notes on them as he wandered back toward his quarters. Nothing definite, of course, but a list, and he made a note to share them with Balthazar and that amusing little old man he'd met at the bakery.

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Enough was enough. While Gabriel may have prided himself as subtle in sneaking around, there were ways to make sure Sleepers kept out of trouble and it was easy to see that after a few days, Sylvester Wilton was trying to do the exact opposite.

It was why Thomas found himself approaching casually from a cross-section in the road. There was another, uniformed guard force member who was due to come by on his patrol in a few minutes; if Thomas was lucky, he would be able to time this just right. "Well, hey there," he greeted, raising a hand as he got closer. He turned it to point, eyes narrowed as if trying to recall something. "Mr... Wilton, right?"

Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not. "Thaaat's me," Gabriel said cheerfully, scribbling down one last note with a flourish and then folding up the paper and tucking it away, just as if Anselmo had just happened to come on him as he was done.

He squinted at the man, casual and relaxed. There was no sign he'd done anything wrong at all; no shred of guilt, no awkwardness. Nothing to see here, just out for a walk. Gabriel pointed, sharp and sardonic. "And you're our lead gremlin's second-in-command."

That movement, nor the notebook's existence, went unnoticed. For now, it went without comment... but there was certainly a mental note to give it more consideration later.

Thomas placed a hand to his chest, mock surprise lighting up his features. "What ever gave you that idea? I'm just the poor sap who got saddled with talking to you guys since—let's face it—I really like to talk." His hand dropped as his head tilted. "You, on the other hand... you're one of the bakers. Maybe I should drop by before you leave, pick something up for my partner. She could use it."

"And you love every minute of it," Gabriel told him, rocking back and forth on his heels with one hand in his pocket and one flourishing in the air. "The chance to talk as much as you like at people! You don't even have to worry about whether they're paying attention, am I right?"

He smirked. "Yeah, about that. You might want to hold off, unless you plan to accidentally poison her. Some training videos would've been nice before you threw us into the fire."

She could use it, eh? Maybe the Sleepers were being a pain in her ass. Gabriel didn't normally gift just desserts to minors, but he couldn't deny a bit of vindictive satisfaction at the thought that things might not be running too smoothly.

Waving that off, Thomas denied, "It's your job. Just listen to instinct and don't get so caught up in your dreams that you think you can't do it." He pointedly tapped his finger to his temple. "A lot of us had trouble with that, but trust me: all it's doing is just psyching you out."

Then he shrugged and grinned. "But, hey, if you're not paying attention, at least I get to hear the sound of my own voice." (It was, after all, a very sexy voice to listen to.)

"Baking is an instinct, now?" Gabriel asked, amused, and snapped his fingers in disappointment with a sigh. "Damn, I could really have used some of that. It's not easy, knowing you're the only one to rely on for delicious baked goods and they never come out right."

His grin didn't falter, but it took on a rueful edge. He liked this guy. He did. Anselmo had a sense of humour that wasn't as cutting as Balthazar's. It was more like Gabriel's own, when he wasn't edging too close to things he didn't want to think about. The archangel wondered who he'd been, once, and what he'd let go to become the Caretaker's lackey. "There's a word for that," he said. "It's called 'self-service'." He shrugged. "Or masturbation, if you want to get technical."

"It is when you make a living off it." Thomas eyed the finger-snapping, brow raised, then shook his head. "It'll come back. You just have to give it time. And hey," he continued, hands spread in a joking I'm innocent! gesture, "a man has to get by somehow."

One hand raised to point in the air, as if a thought had just struck him. "Speaking of! How have you been getting by? Work aside, this is probably pretty out there, huh?"

Gabriel noted the look at his finger-snapping and smirked internally. So maybe his habit was getting around. It was probably a bad thing, but they didn't believe it could do anything anyway, so why not use it to annoy?

"Now, if only it were that easy." It was an interesting thought, except for the part where instinct, for angels, was completely not anything to do with baking and how could he tell that letting instinct rule would let the City life take over, anyway?

Well, that and the fact it was letting the City life take over. Hells no.

"I miss sex," Gabriel said promptly. "There aren't enough loose women around here." Well, they were just talking about self-service. Anselmo left himself open for that one.

"Is that what you've been doing loitering outside HQ the last few days?" asked Anselmo, brows quirking. Yes, Gabriel, he most definitely knew about that and most definitely wanted to talk about it. His expression may have been on the censuring side for making him bring it up first. "Looking for some nice ladies to spend the night with?"

"Well, at least the ones there will be built," Gabriel said, leering a little, quite willingly going along with the farce. His heart was less obliging and pounded at the news that they'd seen him after all. Well, damn. He could be in trouble.

The question was, did he really care? A moment's thought told him no, not really. Not as much as he he knew should have, and not as much as he would have a year ago. They had messed with his little brother. His anger was cold and patient, but it did stop the fear, if not the adrenaline.

"Meaning they could kick your ass from here to Sunday," Thomas agreed with something of an obnoxious laugh. It wasn't entirely friendly, part of it being purely mocking, while some of it pitying just for the idea that Gabriel might be serious. He knew better, however, that Gabriel was not serious — it wasn't just the HQ he'd been caught lurking outside. "And at the hospital? You'll have to explain the appeal: women with needles were never really my type."

"Maybe I like ladies with attitude," Gabriel said with so much innocence it could only turn back on itself and become completely uninnocent. It wasn't even a lie, really; sure, most of his constructs had been hooker-types, but Kali? The fact he'd had something with her kind of said it all. "Women with guns, women with sharp instruments; what can I say?" He spread his hands and did a little wriggle. "I might just be a masochist."

Thomas laughed, snapping his fingers as he pointed over toward Gabriel. "Funny you should say that. Because we know it wasn't just the buildings you were lurking outside of, too." He pursed his lips together as if to say oh, you poor baby. "I don't know exactly what you take us for, Mr. Wilton, but we are trained professionals. We tend to notice when people start acting suspicious."

"You may have noticed, but I always act suspicious," Gabriel told him, his whole countenance displaying nothing but amusement. He spread his hands and shrugged, a whole-bodied movement. "Now, if I stop acting suspicious, that's when you should start to worry."

He was busted. He knew it, but he wasn't going to let on until they finally called him on it properly, with guards and all. It had taken a ring of holy fire before he'd finally given up the act with Sam and Dean; these schmucks weren't going to get anything less.

And, hidden under the light-heartedness, the simmering anger hardened to stubborn purpose.

we are all illuminated

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