Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Kripke is awesome and I don't deserve to kiss his boots, etc, etc.

A/n: I just wanted Gabriel to be brought back... pretty much the reason I wrote this. Spoilers for Season 5, 'Hammer of the Gods' and a bit of 'Two Minutes to Midnight' :(

Death was seldom petty.

He was on occasion, cruel. But mostly... he only did as he was meant to. He did not enjoy his task, nor did he despise it. It simply was.

He simply was. He was an inevibility and a necessity.

Nevertheless… at the moment the need for some manner of revenge, no matter how insignificant, held a certain appeal to the ageless entity.


How Death had grown to despise that petulant child. The gall of that accursed Angel. Holding him prisoner down in the Pit, and continuing that incarceration here on Earth. Being forced to do the bidding of such a self-indulgent creature may have been what caused this uncharacteristic behavior with in himself in the first place.

Thinking where he stood now and what he was considering doing simply to spite the Devil, Death found himself hating Lucifer all the more for forcing such acts of childish rebellion out of him. Were he not bound by magic, the Fallen Angel would be the first creature he snuffed out.

And Lucifer knew this.

So, Death's leash became intolerably shorter. It rankled him beyond measure. He was under near constant supervision now.

But he'd managed to shake his detail for the moment. Or well, kill his detail, anyway.

The magics prevented direct action. He could not approach the Winchesters (although he had a plan set in motion with a certain crossroads demon), or the other Angels (not that he would contact the very idiots who were letting his incarceration continue just so that they could see their little grudge match to fruition).

But he could do this.

Death gave a disgusted sniff at the rended bodies of the vessels of the Pagan Gods.

"What a mess. Like a toddler's finger painting."

That was not why he was here. These were but empty vessels. The Gods who'd inhabited them could no more be killed by Lucifer, than single drop of rain could flood a continent.

Their individual times would come, yes, no stopping the inevitable. No stopping him.

Be it during Ragnarok, Kali Yuga, or what have you. But, the point was that they would not die at Lucifer's hand. Not now, not ever. No matter how strong the Morning Star thought himself to be.

But bringing back their vessels would serve little to no purpose. Lucifer wouldn't care about a handful of resurrected humans. No. He was here for a different reason altogether.

He stepped into the hotel's conference room. It stank of burnt flesh and the passing scent of ozone and sulfur. Death was familiar with the smell. The scent of a freshly murdered Angel.

He approached the prone form lying on the floor. A reminder of the creature's wings had been burned black into the floor below the now unmoving body.

Yes, Death had certainly become petty.

For he had no love of this Archangel. In some ways this one was more childish than Lucifer, and frankly more annoying. Most of the time. Pretending to be a God. A Trickster. How arrogant these Angels of the Lord had become to claim such things.

But… this particular Archangel had not imprisoned him, and for that he instantly preferred him over his brother. This Archangel did not stand with Heaven or Hell either. Yet another positive note.

And most importantly of all, this Archangel could help ensure that Lucifer got what was coming to him. And that was reason enough.