Chapter Text
It had been two years since anyone had stepped foot in the motel and yet, apart from some more cobwebs and dust, it remained disturbingly unchanged. Even the body, lying sprawled in the middle of the room, didn’t show any signs of decay- though as he looked down at it Castiel knew that was because it had never truly been alive. It had been built by the pagan gods millennia ago to act as a Vessel for his brother, the archangel Gabriel, who had been killed by Lucifer the same night this motel was abandoned for good.
It was the first time Castiel had visited the scene of his brother’s death and part of him expected to feel some sort of emotional response to that. Instead he just felt tired, weary to the very core of his Grace. He had heard Sam’s prayer to him and knew that he didn’t have long before he would have to return to the Winchesters and admit that he needed their help, but first there was something else he needed to do.
Standing over the body of his brother, Castiel called upon the power of the souls within him and reached out for Gabriel’s Grace, scattered across the universe in billions of tiny fragments. Slowly he pulled them together, forcing them back into the empty shell before him and shaping them into the Archangel-turned-Trickster he had once known.
Castiel stumbled as he finished his task, just barely catching himself on the table before he fell. He could feel his brother in the Vessel before him and knew that he had succeeded, although just barely. Gabriel would need time to recharge his Grace and a safe place to stay with people who knew how to take care of weakened angels, and unfortunately that place wasn’t with the Sam and Dean.
Castiel landed outside a darkened bookstore in London, Gabriel heavy in his arms as he set the unconscious angel down on the step and knocked on the door.
“Find the Winchesters, brother,” he said quietly. “They will need your help.”
Castiel disappeared with a flutter of wings just before the door opened. Another angel stepped out, a puzzled look on his face that was quickly replaced with one of shock when he saw who was lying on his doorstep. “Oh, where’s that demon when I need his help?” he muttered. He dug out a cellphone, quickly dialing a familiar number as he knelt down next to the unconscious angel.
“Zira?”
“Crowley my dear, I need you to return here for a moment,” the angel, Aziraphale, said more calmly than he felt.
The demon Crowley was at his side a split-second later, suit wrinkled and still in the process of sobering up, but present nonetheless. “What’s he doing here?” he demanded, gaping down at where Gabriel was laying.
“I don’t know. I just found him like this,” Aziraphale said. His calm demeanor was starting to fade, being replaced with an ever-growing sense of panic. “I need to get him inside, which means you have to adjust your over-the-top wards on my bookstore.”
Crowley waved his hand absently, changing the warding just enough to allow Gabriel safe access to the house, and helped Aziraphale pick up the Archangel. They carefully carried him inside, Crowley once again sealing the door with a thought behind them.