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Once Ketch had gotten him out, Gabriel hadn't stopped praying. Even if his father was long gone, completely ignoring his youngest child's beg for comfort... It was familiar. Prayer was something Gabriel had found himself falling back on more and more in the last thousand years or so.
And yet, despite the fervor of his desperate plea, his prayers went ignored.
Gabriel had had conversations with his father. He had lived under the same divine roof. He'd watched as legions of Angels were created with a single wave of his hand. He knew God existed.
He just didn't care.
That's the only explanation the young archangel could come up with, to explain his current situation. God, his loving, gracious, forgiving father, didn't care about him.
Because he was back. Back in Hell, wrapped in the familer Enochian chains, writhing in the agonizing grip of Asmodeus.
Gabriel had been beaten by the Prince before. He'd been battered and thrown, bruised and torn, tortured and broken. But, in the millenia he'd spent in the Prince of Hell's grasp, he couldn't ever remember hurting this much.
His grace was nearly gone. What little he'd regained had been ripped from his vessel the moment Asmodeus dragged him back to his cell.
He'd tried to fight; of course he had! But the Grace he'd been able to nurture just hadn't been enough to stand up to his captor. All fighting had done was cause him more agonizing hours at Asmodeus' nonexistent mercy.
Now, he was back in his cell, his wrists chained, arms hanging by a hook from the ceiling. His toes could barely brush the cold stone of the prison. His shoulders ached and throbbed, all of his weight pulling on them.
He closed his eyes, his head lolling to the side. Gabriel focused his attention on what little remained of his tattered Grace. He pulled the scraps of his power away from the pain in his arms, trying to regroup them in an area free of burning pain.
It was made harder, however, as there weren't many places left in Gabriel’s beaten vessel that wasn't in some kind of agony.
Gabriel let out an exhausted sigh. He was so tired. He was tired of being in pain, tired of kneeling to some upstart demon. He was tired of being so powerless!
He was tired of flinching back every time the door to his cell swung open.
Gabriel averted his eyes from the white suited man sauntering into the confined space. Gabriel hated to admit, even to himself, how terrified he had become of the southern prince.
"Well, well," Asmodeus drawled, "you certainly are a sight for sore eyes, Gabriel, my boy."
The sound of his name on his tongue nearly made Gabriel gag. His fear was visceral, making spears of ice shoot through his nerves.
His toes brushed the ground as he tried to push himself back, away from Asmodeus as the demon approached him.
Gabriel's heart stuttered in his chest, the remnants of his Grace screaming as Asmodeus stepped right up, their chests almost touching.
"Oh," Asmodeus breathed, "how I have missed that look in those beautiful eyes of yours."
Gabriel looked away, breaking the eye contact. His breathing was still uneven, and his hands were trembling where they wrapped around the chain supporting him.
"Ah," the Prince corrected, a rough hand grabbing at Gabriel’s bruised jaw. His face was lifted once again, his throat closing. "Eyes on me, boy."
Gabriel wanted to speak. He wanted so desperately to spit in his face, sink a dagger into his chest, rip his limbs from his body one by one-
But the only sound Gabriel could manage around the fear slowly suffocating him was a half-aborted whimper.
The Prince of Hell smiled and released his tight grip on the archangel’s jaw. "Now," he continued, wiping his hands off on a white handkerchief. "I do believe that we need to have a chat, you and I."
Asmodeus crossed the small cell, letting his shoulder lean casually against the opposite wall as he watched Gabriel’s struggling breaths. "A little birdy told me," he drawled, his accent growing heavier, "that you have been keeping something from me."
Gabriel's head shot up, his golden eyes wide with terror. Nothing good ever followed those words- in fact, it was almost a near guarantee that he was about to be put through the wringer.
"I'm n-not," he whispered, "I s-swear I'm not."
"Hmm." Asmodeus studied him, examining the way his eyes filled with terrified tears, the way his body swung in the air as he shook his head.
"It's such a pity," the Prince said, crossing back to stand before Gabriel. He leaned close, grabbing onto the front of the angel's ragged shirt. "That I don't believe you."
From his suit pocket, Asmodeus pulled an empty glass syringe.
"No," the angel breathed, "no, no, I swear to you- Please, no-" He flinched away from the pointed metal tip that Asmodeus tapped against his cheek.
Gabriel forced himself to meet his captor's cold gaze. "I don't have anything left to give you," he pleaded. "Whatever you think I'm hiding, I swear I'm not!"
Asmodeus tilted his head. "See, now," he droned, "my little bird says otherwise... See, I've been generous enough to leave you with a small amount of grace." He trailed the point of the needle down Gabriel's cheek, tapping it against the hollow of his throat. "But I was thinking recently about our little... business here. And I realized that you have been keeping things from me."
Gabriel was scared to move, with the syringe so close to his skin.
"Now, your little stint in the outside world may have reminded you of your past life. But, Gabriel, son, I can't just let you forget about how this works, see."
Asmodeus leaned close to Gabriel, his breath wafting over the other's face. "You. Belong. To me. Every part of you, boy, is mine." The Prince let the needle point brush a lock of blood-matted golden hair away from Gabriel’s face. "I'll ask you one more time," he said quietly, "Are you hiding anything from me?"
Gabriel wracked his mind, trying to think of something- anything at all- to give him. "No," he finally said.
Asmodeus tutted, shaking his head as if he were disappointed. "You know, son," he said softly, "lying is a sin."
"Please, please, I'm begging you!" Gabriel cried, "I don't know what you want from me!"
"You're a liar, Gabriel."
"Please! Please, I don't know-"
"And sinners must be punished."
Gabriel screamed, tears of agony streaming down his battered face, as The Prince of Hell plunged the syringe into the side of neck. He could feel the remnants of his Grace being ripped out of him, like his entire body was being flipped inside out.
"I hate to do this to you, son!" The Prince had to speak loudly to be heard over the tortured cries of the youngest archangel. "But keeping things from me will not be tolerated!"
The glass compartment of the syringe gradually filled, the glowing blue essence flowing straight from Gabriel’s veins. He begged and pleaded, his words slurring together, feeling every moment as his very soul was torn out of him. His Grace was almost gone, nothing left but small wisps clinging to his vessel.
He couldn't survive this. He wasn't strong enough.
Gabriel didn't have any strength left in him. His head rolled forward, his eyes closed. Even as pain racked his body, he couldn't find it in him to struggle anymore. He didn't have the strength to fight it. He felt his body relax, unable to keep fending off the encroaching darkness.
There was a quiet rustle of feathers, and Gabriel felt his wings materialize on his back. He was suddenly a lot heavier, the weight of the new limbs pulling his weak body down, putting even more strain on his wrists.
He groaned weakly. He didn't have enough strength left to sustain the pocket dimension his wings had been stowed in.
Asmodeus gasped softly. "My boy," he breathed, "if I'd have known you was hidin' this much beauty, I'd'a done this years ago."
If any of his prayers were answered, Gabriel supposed he was glad it was this one: his vision went black just before the Demon Prince's hands began running over the undersides of his six shimmering wings.