caveofsapphires | suddenly my eyes are open [open]

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suddenly my eyes are open [open]

WHO: Gabriel (Sylvester Wilton) and [OPEN]
WHAT: Gabriel got taken in for a memory-modification. Now he's a little bit weirded out.
WHERE: Sleeping quarters, Bakery, Bar, Temple, streets in-between.
WHEN: Tuesday 10 to Saturday 21 April 2012.

This was one Hell of an elaborate prank. Except that Gabriel was starting to doubt that it was a prank, exactly. Dad wouldn't have thrown him into a place where the inhabitants drilled into his skull. Or experimented on him. Or ... did something Gabriel wasn't quite aware of but which must have happened, because going off to the clinic and then waking up in his quarters without knowing the in-between kind of indicated something happened in the in-between. All at once he remembered the 'dancing alien' prank he'd pulled and wondered if this was in any way similar. Maybe Lucifer had done it, except that Gabriel was fairly sure even Lucifer had no idea where archangels went after they died or how to capture them before they went there.

Maybe this was some kind of archangel's afterlife. If so, Gabriel's only hope was that Luci's turned out worse in the end.

With a groan Gabriel rubbed his temples, trying to wish away the ... it wasn't a throb, exactly. More like a hollow ache. He'd tried to snap it away, naturally, but that had only made the headache worse, so he'd stopped.

"Note to self," he told his reflection in the mirror. "This ain't a game anymore, and pushing the line results in ... in ... something. Just because you've already died apparently doesn't mean it can't happen again. I mean, look at the Winchesters."

With that pep-talk, he staggered to his feet and out the door.

The next five days were, in a word, weird. He still had no idea how to bake, but when he walked into the bakery on Tuesday he found himself automatically pulling out the ingredients for icing and had finished making a multi-tier wedding cake before he realised what he was doing. (Of course, then he had get rid of the excess icing. The cake wasn't actually saleable either, but Gabriel figured he deserved a reward for actually doing some baking and not having it completely burn.)

Tuesday night and Wednesday morning he discovered that powerless archangels in human bodies could, indeed, get sick from eating too much sugar. He made it to work--for a little while--he just didn't get much work done. (Instead he spent most of it looking green and slumped on a chair near the cash-register, with neither the appetite for sweets nor the energy to bake.)

On Thursday after work he went to the bar. If he could get sick, maybe he could get drunk too, and then he could get rid of this niggling uneasiness (fear) that Something Was Wrong. He succeeded in getting drunk quite well, and for a happily oblivious night completely forgot what the hell he was meant to be uneasy about, if anything.

He just didn't make it to work on Friday and spent the day in bed, groaning over the hangover, yelling at anyone who made too much noise and then going back to bed to groan some more.

On Saturday he found the Temple, a tiny little hole in the wall whose only two seats were cut into stone and whose altar sported a couple of thick candles. There was another worshipper, but he left when Gabriel told him to skedaddle, and then the archangel had a very unproductive one-sided conversation with the candles. Anyone passing by might have heard the final rather frustrated and faintly echoing refrain of, "Dad, if you can hear me, get me out of here!"

By Sunday morning something had settled in his mind and he finally became aware that he, in fact, had an extra memory that had been hiding by pretending it belonged there. A memory of baking a multi-tier wedding cake, colour-coordinated with the wedding party, with the mother-in-law hovering over his shoulder. The realisation it was there made him shiver.

He imagined it lurking and giggling, and named it Marie.

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Aziraphale grimaced briefly and was tempted to tell Gabriel exactly what Crowley looked like, snake-y attributes included, if only to shut him up for longer than five seconds. He didn't, of course, but it would have been so satisfying, and it would probably have gotten them onto a different (albeit more dangerous) conversation topic.

"I did tell you it wouldn't work," he said. "Why do you think I'd give you tools to trick me into it if I don't want to do it?"

His glass was solid in his hand and the scotch burned slightly on the way down, although less than it had been doing earlier. It was so odd not to be able to control this. Still, it was a distraction, which was welcome, given the melancholy that was beginning to slip over him. He did not want to talk about Crowley any longer. He really didn't.

A few months ago he would have pushed. A few months ago he would have seen the flicker in Aziraphale's composure, marked it as a weakness, and taken every advantage. In fact he opened his mouth to do just that and then paused.

Gabriel had opened up, unintentionally, and Aziraphale hadn't pushed. And something about the expression made his stomach flipflop unpleasantly. So instead the archangel said with a crooked smile, "I'll work on that. So tell me: how'd you keep yourself sane in London all those years? Don't tell me it was just the booze, or I'll have to book you for extra lessons in not being boring."

Sitting back slightly, Aziraphale gave Gabriel a warm, if slightly unfocused, smile. The change in topic was noted and appreciated, although he kept his mouth shut about it. He was already getting the sense that drawing attention to Gabriel's more gracious impulses would only make him defensive.

With his fingers still curled around the outside of his glass, he tapped perfect nails against the etched designs, then let his hand fall flat on the table. There was nothing to hide, really.

"I stayed away from the major fires - " Except for the one that had burnt his shop to a crisp, of course, but that was only major to him. " - and had very little to do with kings. Other than that, I kept to myself." He smiled again. "It's a really fascinating place. Lots of history. Of course, I watched it all happen, so perhaps history is the wrong word."

"History's boring," Gabriel claimed, lifting his finger, with just a little too much enthusiasm to not be tipsy. Or maybe he was just trying to work on that 'getting away from serious topics' thing. "Because of exactly that. It doesn't count as history if you damn well lived it. Then it's just your past, and who wants one of those?"

He shrugged, flapping his hand. "Should've just burned the whole lot down and rebuilt it, if y'ask me." In fact, he might have been ... indirectly ... responsible for some of those fires for that reason.

"Pasts are interesting things," Aziraphale said neutrally. He had mixed feelings about his, for lack of a better word, life. There'd been a lot of missed opportunities, some time wasted, but also a good deal of certainty that he had to admit he sometimes missed nowadays. Of course, he was also certain of new things now. Companionship, protection, "the morning sun of heaven" - on Earth, but near enough and lovely enough to be the same thing. Continued existence. Contentment.

He shook his head slightly. He was being sentimental.

"History is important to people, though," he added, shaking his head more vigorously at Gabriel's last comment. "I think it might be hard to know who you are without it, if you're - not us."

They were beginning to touch on far too serious topics again. What, were those topics just following them around or something? Gabriel could think of so many different ways of answering Aziraphale, and all of them treaded too close to 'serious business' for the archangel's taste.

"We need a drinking game," he said instead, completely changing the subject. "Any suggestions? If you're a budding alcoholic you'd better have some, or I'm going to be disappointed."

Aziraphale openly rolled his eyes. "I might," he said, "but if I did I wouldn't tell you what they are. I'm sure you can be creative enough on your own." He wondered if Gabriel would take that as a compliment. Probably.

"Killjoy." Gabriel pouted, his fingers rat-a-tatting on the side of his glass. "I'd suggest we take a shot for every time we see a clone in a helmet, but I'm not even sure the stormtroopers know this place exists. Or acknowledge it, anyway."

Aziraphale wondered briefly why Gabriel was talking about German soldiers when there obviously weren't any here, and then dismissed it as unimportant. "Consider it a challenge, if you like," he said, and gave a 'go on' motion.

Clearly Aziraphale needed to be introduced to Star Wars as soon as possible. The archangel hummed and leaned back in his chair, arms stretched upward. They were essentially the only people in the bar at all, so therefore any drinking game would have to be with each other.

Oh, that was one! Grinning, Gabriel raised a finger. "Ever heard of 'I never'?"

Aziraphale cocked his head quizzically, feeling a bit concerned at that grin. Gabriel grinning only ever seemed to end poorly for him. "Ah, no, I don't believe so. How does it work?"

"Well, we have to change that right now!" The archangel sat up and leaned on the table, raising his glass in a wild motion which somehow didn't spill anything. "We take it in turns to say something we've never done, and if the other person's done it, they have to take a shot."

He wasn't quite out of it enough yet not to realize that Gabriel was putting himself at a certain disadvantage, given his apparent wealth of experience. He opened his mouth to say something to that effect, and then closed it and nodded warily. "I suppose," he said, fingers skidding off the glass and tapping haphazardly on the table.

"Of course," Gabriel added with a smirk in afterthought, "as far as you're concerned it should probably be the opposite. So! I'll start." He leaned back in his seat, still grinning, and poked a finger in the air at Aziraphale. "I never wore tartan."

And here he'd thought he'd get out of this unscathed. Aziraphale looked at Gabriel for a long moment, considered backing out, and then eyed his drink. Oh, well. He drank what was left a little too fast, hissed at the quick-fading burn at the back of his throat, and considered the archangel. "I've never played a horn," he said lightly. Best to start out somewhere safe.

"I knew it!" Gabriel jabbed the air at Aziraphale again, laughing, and indicated the server for more drinks. At least, he was laughing right up until Aziraphale said that, and then his expression of mirth faltered for a moment before he yanked it back up again. "Foul play, bro."

He down the last of his own drink, motioning for the bartender to hurry it up with those others. "I never," he started, then pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. Finally he smirked. "I never wore a bowtie."

The server came by with an intimidating array of alcohol in silly little shot glasses. Aziraphale only rarely saw the point of shots, and it was generally when he was already drunk and avoiding thinking about things. This was very much one of those times. He took one, drank, coughed, and pointed a little hazily at Gabriel. "Are you trying to make some sort of point?" he asked. "I never intruded into someone else's pantheon."

"That your taste in clothing sucks if you've lived in England since the turn of the century," Gabriel retorted. Then he waggled his finger with a tut, slammed down a shot, and came back with, "I never attended Mass in London."

"It does not 'suck'. I don't know what it would be sucking, anyway." He pulled another shot toward himself, stared at it for a long moment as if sizing it up, and took it a bit too slowly, so that it would burn down his throat for a bit longer.

"I never . . . " Perfectly-kept nails picked absently at the table, until he waved his hand vaguely and managed, "I never didn't attend Mass anywhere. Er. That is, if you never went to Mass, you have to . . . " He pushed the nearest shot across the table and muttered something about double negatives.

"Well, it definitely wouldn't get certain people of the female persuasion sucking anything," Gabriel said with a ridiculous amount of dignity. He ruined it by leaning forward to stage whisper, "I'm talking about you getting head, by the way."

Then the archangel pushed himself back with a lurch, opening his mouth to say something else before it snapped shut again. For a moment he stared at Aziraphale, his fingers tapping the shot-glass.

And he didn't drink. But finally he said, "I never tried to lecture someone at one of Caligula's parties."

It took him a moment, a very long moment, to understand what was meant by that particular colorful idiom - he was so behind on modern lingo - and then he recalled a particularly uncomfortable afternoon intervening in a wayward vicar's trip to the neighborhood house of ill repute and nearly knocked Gabriel's drink into his lap. "Well, stop!" he retorted sharply at Gabriel's whisper, red from drink and frustration at constantly tripping into conversations in which he was entirely out of his element.

He did manage to miss Gabriel's hesitation, although he noticed the lack of drinking. Pulling the shot glass towards himself, he tilted his head curiously with none of his usual tact, asking without asking, though he wasn't sure if he wanted an answer, really.

These were beginning to feel very smooth going down, he noticed as he took the shot, and put it down on the table rather harder than he needed to. "I never . . . " He frowned. "Did all seven. Sins, that is."

Gabriel's hand instinctively shot out to catch the drink and some of it spilled across the back of his hand, but he was too busy laughing to care. "I never stop," he said with such a leer that it was impossible to mistake his meaning. He rapped his fingers in a pattern on the table, stopping to think that one over even as he smirked again. "I never did 'em all either, more's the pity. D'you how hard it is to get all seven of those strippers in one place? Whoo!"

Gluttony was an obvious yes. So was lust. Sloth ... sloth he didn't want to think about, but that was also a yes. Wrath ... yeah, okay, done that. Envy? Had he really done envy? After a moment he decided yes, he'd envied humanity, so that counted. Was it pride for him to actually believe he could save Luficer and Michael from themselves, to keep them from fighting, all alone, without their younger brothers knowing? Yes. It must have been. And then pride again to think he knew better than the knuckleheaded Winchesters, when apparently they were right.

But greed ... was it greedy to want his family back together? To want them happy, and whole, and not fighting? He could make whatever he fucking wanted, so it wasn't like he needed much in the way of material possessions. To have his family; that was all he wanted.

Was that too greedy?

Finally he realised he'd been sitting there and thinking over it for far too long, and gave Aziraphale a grin made wobbly if only because he was drunk. "What was the question again?"

Aziraphale was never too drunk to tut disapprovingly, although when he was heading towards truly and magnificently intoxicated, as he was now, such exclamations were less subtle than he probably intended. He stared at nothing very much, rubbing the pads of his fingers across the table, as Gabriel overthought things - which might have been a mistake, since it gave Aziraphale time to think, too.

Generally he didn't mope when he was drunk, because he generally was drunk with Crowley, who would not have allowed moping, or with a book, in whose company he could never be upset. However, the relative quiet allowed his mind to drift back to home, not a particular place or time but a more general feeling of comfort and safety that he was missing here.

Tamping that down, he took another shot without realizing he didn't have to and looked at Gabriel a bit blankly. "Sins. But you didn't do all of them, apparently. Not to worry, you're better for it."

"Are you lecturing me, little brother?" Gabriel asked with facetious disbelief, clapping a hand to his chest with the sort of loose movement only the drunk could achieve. "I'm impressed. Or maybe wounded. Haven't decided yet." He took a shot anyway, just because he was halfway sure that wanting his family to be all together and happy and peaceful was being overly greedy, and then pointed at Aziraphale. "I never got terrified of an older brother."

Afraid for, yes. Angry at, yes. Worried about, yes. Terrified of? No. He didn't think. He was pretty sure. It hadn't been fear that kept him out of the fight so long.

He blinked and considered getting offended, but really, he had been terrified, hadn't he? "You never met who I was actually afraid of," he mumbled, taking another shot. "And - well. You never did."

He'd be dead right now if it had actually been his Gabriel, of course. Instead of doing - whatever this was. What was he doing? Oh, yes, thinking of a question. "I never - " This was no good, he was running out of ideas. "Never had a romantic relationship?" he hazarded, tapping his fingers uncertainly on the edge of the table.

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i see those feels gabe.

you're seeing things, duh.

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this will end in tears

he's too drunk to think it through

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