Perception

(Reposted, once again, from Archive of Our Own and Tumblr. Here is the full original text, including that one delicious reference to my Christmas dinner of  2018. Remember the Before Times, when you could drink coffee for dinner with friends and not worry about getting the plague? Anyway, this here is Part 14 of the [now almost 30-installments long] Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels series.)

Promised my readers a holiday-themed installment of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Sorry it's a little late; I, too, wound up at a Christmas party and got distracted by a dinner comprised entirely of black coffee and homemade M&M cookies.

As I've said before, this series isn't always in order. If there's a special part of the story or a request or something, I'll jump forward or back in time. This takes place just a year after Gabriel's rescue (which I always figured took place in the fall, but I'm not fastidious about the timeline).

Anyway, come on over to Tumblr and let me irritate you, and/or contact me directly: http://unityghost.tumblr.com

Thanks for reading and happy holidays!

Gabriel really thought he'd been ready. But the air was thick with perfume, spices, meat, wine - and he needed to find an exit.

Mary Winchester's friends were throwing a holiday party several miles north of the Men of Letters bunker. Just over a year had passed since Gabriel's rescue from Hell, and he'd insisted to Sam - who had shown skepticism - that he could handle a crowd, and that he would probably enjoy seeing somewhere new. After all, Gabriel had accompanied them on a few hunts here and there and, for the most part, been fine.

Except that that was partly because his grace was now often at full strength. When Gabriel had enough of it on hand, he could shut out smells and sounds that drudged up bad memories. And while it was harder to ignore things that he could see in front of him, his grace gave him access to a clearer head and more self-control.

Yet even as his grace remained mostly steady, there were days when it fluctuated for no apparent reason. Gabriel had had moments when he would try and protect himself against things that upset him, only to find that he couldn't. Inevitably, now and again he was compelled to eat to maintain his grace levels, or to get a few hours of rest.

After almost a thousand years of having it clawed out of him, perhaps Gabriel should have expected this quasi-gracelessness - this never knowing whether he would be at full power, or some power, or no power. But he'd been so desperate to get his grace back that he hadn't once stopped to think that it might not be the same as it had been before.

It was exhausting. He simply wanted the random ebb and flow of grace to stop - even if it meant leaving him with no grace at all. That was better than wanting his grace and sometimes having access to it, then having it torn out of his grasp within a matter of hours.

Now, swallowed up by the crowd of strangers, he wove his way towards the door, all the while snatching glimpses of unfamiliar forms and faces. The Christmas jazz playing in the background flowed in and out of his ears - a brass rendition of Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.

It suddenly struck him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd sung anything. He had once had a good voice, but hated to think what centuries of silence might have done to it.

"Gabriel?"

Gabriel jumped and whirled around, but relaxed when he saw who it was. "Cas. What's up?"