Messenger of Letters

CHAPTER 4 - Back to the Future (AKA Makeouts in a Hippie Van)

{May, 1909}

"Y'all seen Gabe?" Shay walked in with her regular swagger, hair tired into a bun. "Wayne wants t'talk to him."

"I'm here, Shay." Gabriel's head popped out from behind a shelf, covered in dust. "By the way, call Emil for me. He needs to go through these back files. They look like the haven't been touched for a damn century!" He exclaimed, brushing cobwebs from his undershirt as he grabbed his suit jacket from a chair.

"They're from another Bunker, Gabe." Vance informed without looking up. "Remember? You wanted to keep that kitten from the Farm?"

"Kitten was cute! He had these nice little streaks of white!" Gabriel waved an arm as he marched for the door. "And if I was the only one here, I'd keep the kitten in the Bunker. He could catch some of the mice and shit." Gabriel whipped around the corner, only to stop three feet down and backtrack to stick his head into the room again. "Guard cat. And his name would've been Skeleton."

"You're batty." Curtis chuckled. "You're makin' me want the damn thing. Go see what Wayne wants."

"Yep, got it. Bye!" Gabriel swept out again, setting a light jog toward the stairs, on his way to the dungeon.

Wayne didn't talk much, not after his time of half dying and spending twenty minutes with his head in Hell, but he did make a spectacular torturer. Gabriel would never comment on whether or not he made sure that Wayne came back to his sister and brother, but it was leaning toward the former. It had been the first and so far only time he had used his grace for something noticeable in the Bunker.

The warding, though, was rather unique. Levels of different wards, only sections that had to be on at a time. The general wards though prevent the entry of anything malicious, anything with negative intentions to the inhabitants. That specific type of warding hadn't been seen in well over a thousand years, to Gabriel, so he was rather glad to see it the Bunker. They were called Blanket Wards for a reason. They trumped basically everything. They were demonic wording, in Enochican sigilwork, translated to be in Latin. Honestly, impressive.

They allowed him to walk through the angel warding like it didn't exist, especially after they added his name to the sigils, deeming him a member of their personal home. It was an honour, really.

For now, though, he walked to the dungeon, room 29 level 2, faintly humming something not quite of the time period under his breath, mouthing the words carefully as he spun into the dark area. "Hey, Wayne, you wanted to chat?" He called out, knocking on the doorframe.

A pained wail greeted him.

"Point taken... still at work." Gabriel huffed, marching deeper into the hall leading into the centre and peeking in.

On the ground, an angel lay. A fallen one, twisted up and burned by hellfire. Wayne, a thickset, large man with pointed, dangerous brown eyes and a soft voice that seemed very out of place on him, stood overtop of it's wings, walking around it and picking up a sword that made Gabriel wince.

It was his blade, technically. When he came to the Bunker, he said he filched it off an angel and used it as his own, but it was actually an Archangel's blade. Specifically, his. An exposure risk, but, well, prices to pay.

"Hey, be nice to my sword." Gabriel reprimanded when Wayne tapped it's tip against the wall. Everyone knew of Gabriel's probably unhealthy attachment to the sword, which he took with him when he went on hunts. But all the same... he'd much rather keep it at the story that Gabriel had managed to kill an angel and was protective over his prize than any other reason.