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Deus ex Machina

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Summary: So maybe he cared about humans more than he cared to admit. But, really, who was she going to tell? FFA Illyria/Gabriel (SPN) **Part of the August Fic-A-Day challenge**

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Fred/Illyria-Centered(Past Donor)akatFR151512051,0375 Aug 115 Aug 11Yes
Disclaimer: AtS belongs to Joss Whedon. SPN belongs to Eric Kripke.
Spoilers: Angel and SPN through Season 5
Summary: So maybe he cared about humans more than he cared to admit. But who was she going to tell? FFA Illyria/Gabriel (SPN) **Part of the August fic-a-day challenge**


The air was still; no hint of discernable movement, even to her eye. The dark, abandoned warehouse appeared to be just that.

Still, Illyria knew otherwise. She felt it, felt him. She refused, however, to indulge him and his fondness for insignificant, meaningless games.

“Show yourself,” she demanded.

At first, nothing happened, and she turned to leave. Then she heard him chuckle; it reverberated throughout the empty building, mocking her.

Eyes narrowed in anger, Illyria turned toward the sound, only to see Gabriel the Archangel emerge from the shadows.

Though she had the urge to rip the smug look off his face, she resisted. That he should request this meeting was curious, and she wished to know what he wanted – if he did not try her patience in the meantime.

Perhaps sensing her inner conflict, he came to a halt, leaving a deferential distance between them.

“Illyria, Illyria, Illyria. God-King of the Primordium. It’s been awhile, right?” he noted. Then he looked her up and down appraisingly. “I like what you’ve done to your hair.”

Illyria glowered at him. “Tell me why I should not render you from limb to limb, Archangel? For it was you and your kind that usurped my rule here upon Earth as I slept in the Deeper Well,” she spat out, her voice dark and dangerous.

Gabriel shrugged indifferently. “Because I have a proposition for you? A business one,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Then he gave her a small smirk, heedless of the way it provoked her even further. “Though, again, love the hair!”

Even as he uttered the last word, she was upon him, one hand on his neck, the other wrapping around his arm. Then, just as quickly, she released him, staring at him in disgust.

“Trickery. Cheap illusions unworthy of a god,” she declared.

“Ah, but I’m not a God, just his angel, or one of them, anyway. And the real me wouldn’t stand a chance against you,” he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. Then he grinned. “But seriously, hear me out. The Apocalypse is coming.”

Illyria felt her curiosity pique, despite herself. Still, she would not lower herself and reveal this weakness to him, a mere copy. “This does not affect me. I exist beyond—”

“Oh, but it does affect you,” he cut in. He gave her a coy look. “Word on the street is, you like this world as it is. Or at least, without my brothers screwing it up further.”

Illyria stared at him for a few long moments. “What is it you want?” she finally asked, weary of this conversation.

For the first time that night, Gabriel became very serious. He studied Illyria with a grave expression as he began fishing for something in his pocket.

“Have you heard of Sam and Dean Winchester? Because they’re the key to all this,” he said solemnly.

Then his expression cleared and he pulled hand out of his pocket, extending it to Illyria, offering the small object lying in the center of his palm.

“Tootsie roll?”


The End

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