"Ah!"

You bent over, clapping your hands to your ears in a vain attempt to block out the head-splitting ringing that was filling the bunker's library along with a bright light. The overhead lights fizzled for a moment, than exploded, sending glass shards skittering across the floor and raining down over you. Without warning, the deluge of sound and light stopped as suddenly as it had started, the silence almost deafening as you cautiously dropped your hands from your ears and turned to see what the source of it all was.

You had met the Winchesters a few of years ago in a small town just off the west coast. People had been turning up dead with their hearts ripped out and their blood drained. You had only been working the case a couple of days when you bumped into Sam and Dean. After figuring out you were all hunting the same thing, you decided to team up in the hopes that you might be able to catch the "Werepire" as Dean had dubbed it, sooner. As it turned out (much to the disappointment of you and Dean,) it wasn't a cool hybrid, just a few vamps working alongside a pack of werewolves.

You had been pretty badly injured, and the boys offered to let you stay with them as you were currently living out of your car. (Which was a nice way of saying that you were homeless.) You fit in well with their little patchwork family, bringing a spark of light into their world of crippling guilt-complexes and buried feelings. When you had fully recovered, Sam had offered a permanent room at the bunker, which you had accepted without a second thought. Since then, the two boys and their socially awkward angel had become like the older brothers you never had. Which brings us to the present day:

Dean burst through the door, pistol in hand followed by Sam, who was clutching what looked like an angel blade. They both froze when they saw the figure in the room and you, surrounded by broken glass. If you hadn't been scared shitless, you probably would have laughed at the expressions that flashed across their faces, worry, shock, annoyance, before settling on the trademarked Double Winchester Bitch-Face.

"What the hell was that for? Do you have any idea how long it takes and how expensive it is to replace all these light!?" Dean's face was rapidly turning the color of his favorite pie filling (cherry, obviously) as he gestured angrily with his gun at the shattered fixtures, glancing at you questioningly from the corner of his eye. "You okay, (y/n)?"

You gave him a thumbs up; aside from a few small nicks on your arms and the beginnings of a headache, you were fine. He nodded, and you turned your attention to the man standing in the middle of the library. He was surprisingly short, with long-ish caramel hair. Faint smile lines decorated the skin around his warm, hazel eyes, and when he gave a cocky grin to the still hopping mad Dean, it lit up the room. What drew your eyes though, were the six loosely folded golden wings that towered above him, the feathers moving constantly in a mesmerizing rippling pattern. Wait… six wings?

"What's up Dean-o? Always a pleasure, Samsquatch." He winked at Sam before turning to you, glancing up and down before giving a low whistle. "And what have we here? The name's Gabriel sweetheart, but you can call me tonight." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and you let out a snort while Dean rolled his eyes, tucking his gun back into his waistband. So he's an archangel. That would definitely explain the six wings.

"Seriously Gabe, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I happened to be in the area when I heard tell that the Winchesters had adopted another member into their little gang, so naturally I had to stop by to meet her." He snapped his fingers and the broken glass vanished, lights returning to their previous un-broken state. "And may I ask, sugar, how did someone like you get saddled with my little bro and these two plaid-clad wannabe hipsters?"

"O-oh, um," you stammered, trying with minimal success to look at Gabriel's face rather than his wings, opting instead to study the ground between your feet. You had never seen anything as magnificent, but it felt kind of weird staring at them when everyone else acted like they weren't there. Maybe it was considered rude, or a breach of privacy or something. Were you doing the angelic version of staring openly at a woman's chest? Oh god, this could get awkward. When you glanced up, Gabriel was smirking at you.

"Eloquent, this one." You blushed, stealing another look at his wings from the corner of your eye as Sam came to your rescue.

"Actually, we met (y/n) on a case. She needed a place to stay, we had room, and she's a kickass hunter." He shrugged, shooting you a small grin. "It doesn't hurt that she's an amazing cook too." Your heart warmed at the praise, and you shot Sam a smile.

"Okay, well now that we've made introductions, do you think you could, y'know," Dean made a shooing motion with his hands. "Scram?" Now that he didn't have piles of lightbulbs to clean up and replace, Dean's expression had gone from 'I'm gonna flay you with a butter knife' to 'I'm mildly pissed and but considering letting you leave sans a few fingers.' Gabriel shrugged.

"What, my awesomeness too much for you to handle, Dean-o?" Dean rolled his eye, huffing out a sigh of annoyance and crossing his arms.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Gabe."

The archangel sent you a mischievous grin, whiskey eyes dancing as they met your (y/e/c) ones. "Great meeting you, (y/n). Hopefully we'll have a chance to get to know each other more…" he paused, eyebrows wiggling and smile turning flirty. "intimately."

"I would rather be pecked to death by a flock of hummingbirds," you stated flatly, though the twitching at the corners of your lips betrayed your amusement.

"Woah, there it is! I knew you had some sass in you, otherwise you'd probably be dead from boredom, locked up with these two lumberjacks 24/7." Gabriel leaned towards Sam and stage-whispered conspiratorially, "I like her. Keep her." Sam rolled his eyes as with a final wink at you, the archangel vanished.

Dean gave an exasperated sigh as he walked off, shaking his head and mumbling to himself about "Damn angels and their unnecessarily dramatic entrances and exits," and "keeping their celestial noses out of other peoples business."

"So (y/n)," Sam said, picking up a couple books that had been knocked off the table and handing them to you. "Now that you've met him, what do you think of-" he made quotation marks in the air "-The Mighty Gabriel, Trickster, Messenger of God and all that jazz."

"I'm not really sure," you said, stacking the books in your arms and plopping them on the table. "He doesn't seem quite as bad as what I've heard, but I guess looks can be deceiving, right?" Sam shrugged. "At any rate," you continued, "I'll reserve further judgement till I actually know him." Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"Just be careful if you do run into him. He wasn't known as the Trickster all those years for nothing."

"Will do." You pulled out a chair, dropping into it and opening Sam's laptop. There had been reports of people, specifically (h/c) haired women, going missing along one stretch of road just outside of Portland Oregon every spring dating back at least twenty years. The most recent one was only a week ago, a girl a couple years younger than you. According to some old police reports you dug up, that road was where a Jonathan Brown, suspected serial rapist and murderer, went missing twenty one years ago.

"Huh." You sat back, chewing you lip thoughtfully. "Well this absolutely reeks of ghost." You stood up and walked to the door, poking your head out and yelling, "Hey Sam, Dean! I got a case!"