Where The Devil Don't Go

Gabriel - Two

Imagine: Gabriel protecting you when Sam and Dean cast you out for being a witch.

Words leave you as you stare into those bright green eyes burning with anger, and your heart falls silent.
"Answer me!" He roars, clutching your book of spells.
But you can't will your lips to move. As if stuck underwater, everything is slow and warbled as he points a shaky finger in your face.
"Do you have nothing to say?" His green eyes search your face.
You gulp. "Dean, I'm sorry."
He scoffs, throwing the ancient book at the wall behind you.
"Sorry?" He repeats. "Is that all you can say? After everything we have been through, (Y/N)."
"It's not my fault." You defend pathetically.
"Yeh, I've heard that one before." He runs his hands through his hair and tugs at it in frustration.
"I'm a natural witch!" You scream. "I was born like this! Don't make me hate myself even more than I already do! I try to use my power for good. I have helped you and Sam on countless hunts and this is what I get for it." You trail off, tears cascading down your face.

Dean remains stone-cold and the two of you stare at each other, daring the other to resume the argument. Dean goes to open his mouth, but the motel door swings open and Sam strides in; carrying bags of fast food. He notices the spellbook strewn on the floor and the position you and Dean are in.
"What's going on?" He questions cautiously.
"Are you going to tell him, (Y/N), or do you want me to?" Dean sneers, his eyes are full of hate.
Gulping, you turn to Sam and more tears slip out of your eyes.
"Sammy." You pause, unsure of how to word your confession. "I'm a witch."
His face goes pale and his brown eyes glance at Dean.
"What?"
"She's a witch, Sammy. A goddamn witch! I found her spellbook." Dean growls, his voice like thunder.
"I was born with my abilities." You sniffle, picking up your precious book. "I don't hex people or curse them. I just help you and Dean on hunts. The amount of times I have healed you two, so you don't sell your souls is countless."
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Sam asks softly, but his eyes are filled with the same hate as his brother.
"Because I knew you would act like this! Not every witch or werewolf or vampire is evil!" You run your shaking hands through your (H/C) hair. "You won't believe me because all you have ever encountered is the evil side of the supernatural. The good ones stay out of the limelight. I have never killed someone unless I was on a hunt with you. I use hex bags to protect us. I use spells to help you sleep, so you stay alert and healthy. Have I ever hurt you guys?" You bite your lip and shake your head. "I'm one of the good ones!"
"Get out." Dean mutters coldly.
"What?"
You can't believe what you are hearing.
"Get. Out." Dean repeats. "I never want to see you again. If we catch wind of you, we will hunt you down and kill you."
Your (E/C) eyes move to Sam as you start pleading.
"Sam, please."
"You- you are-"
"Beautiful, a genius, immensely talented-" You smile, attempting to make light of the situation.
"Dangerous."

Hearing those words escape Sam's mouth tips you over the edge. As much as you try to hold it in, the pain comes out like an uproar from your throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water start falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. You're right. You know you are. You're right and they won't listen. You could explain all damn day and they still won't get it. Your face has become rigid, jaw clamped tight, teeth grinding. It's time to get out of here before you do something they'll make you regret. They're glaring at you like you did it on purpose. In their heads, this is a victory already. In their warped logic, your anger means they're right. Just because they kept their cool doesn't prove the veracity of their argument. They're just coolly wrong. You need to turn away now, turn before you snap at their wide judgemental stares.

"Fine." You manage to choke out, as you grab your packed bag. "Screw you."
On the way out, you slam the door hard; you hope their stupid brains rattle in their stupid skulls. With each stride, you just know that you're the subject of discussion.

Eventually, you reach another motel and you numbly book yourself into a room. You dump your bag on the grotty floor and fall apart quicker than wet paper. You hit the wall and try to scream, but your voice is melted by the sound of the place. The muffled sobs wrack against your chest. The world turns into a blur, and so do all the sounds. The taste. The smell. Everything is gone. The last painful emotion slams against you before you lose the feeling of feeling. Everything darkens into nothingness as you pass into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

Opening your (E/C) eyes, everything seems peaceful and calm. You can faintly hear cars driving along a road and the pleasant smell of breakfast invades your nostrils. You are lay in a bed with a fluffy pillow under your head and a soft quilt on top of you. How did you get here? You can't remember much of last night. A shape moves to you and grasps your sweaty hand.
"Hello, (Y/N)." A smooth voice whispers.
You blink hard and make out the shape of a man. He has brown hair and whiskey coloured eyes filled with kindness.
"I am here to protect you." His voice sounds like a lullaby and you start drifting back to sleep. "As long as I am around, you will never have to be scared or sad."
"W-who." You yawn. "Who are you?"
You feel his smile warm your skin.
"They call me Gabriel."