Mandela Catalogue One-Shots!

What Am I? (Gabriel x Reader)

I return...with angst! Muhahahahaha!! Angst and lore and shit to make you all hate me juuust a bit more /j Also yes I pumped this out in like an hour jdjdksk

So you remember how I implied some things with Gabriel's connection to reality? And his connection to reader in Your Savior? Well... here's some more juicy details.

[TW! TW! This fic contains:

Mentions & Descriptions of Derealization
Self-Harm (no blood)
Descriptions of Panic Attacks
Intrusive Thoughts

Proceed with caution! Stay safe! 💙]

It was so quiet. Quiet, and fuzzy, and lonely. Gabriel hadn't felt this way in centuries, but for some strange reason, it was back. The sensation of actually feeling alone. Cooped up in the room you had given him, with only his thoughts to keep him company as you worked. You wouldn't be home for another hour. Normally, he would go out and try and do his own work, his own mind-bending, twisted type of work. Hushed whispers escaping his mouth as he leads another human into self-inflicted death. But... he didn't. Not today. Something didn't feel right.

He didn't know what it was that felt so strange and awful. A tightness that seemed to grip his very being, his soul. Why did he feel like this? He did not understand... he felt a new sensation creeping up through his gut and chest, a pressure he had never known. What was this? This feeling...he hated it. But was it...really something he was feeling? He tried to grab the wall. What wall? Is it even real?

It's not real, is it?

Are you real? Is this really you? Only humans are real, don't you remember?

No, no... he was real. He'd already felt it, reality. He'd reached out and clasped it in his hands when he found you, when he became a part of your life. He had to be real, right?

Your only purpose is destruction. You cannot love and live for Y/N... Y/N is just as disposable as the rest.

"Y/N..." you name felt foreign on his tongue, leaving the taste of fear in his mouth.

Don't you see? You are not allowed to be real. This world is not yours. This world is fake. You are nothing.

Gabriel shut his eyes. It couldn't be true! He covered his ears. He didn't want to hear it! He is real! You were real! He couldn't feel his face. Why was he so numb? Why couldn't he breathe?! Gabriel tugged at his hair, hoping the pain of it would pull him back to reality. Back to you. All it did was make things worse. His chest felt so tight. Was he suffocating? Could he even die? His vision began to tunnel. Was this dying? Was he fading out of existence?

Yes. Face it. You are not real.

Gabriel was gasping for air, the terror squeezing his lungs and eyes and ears, leaving him even more unable to sense his surroundings. It was all dull.

Dull. Fading. Escaping through his fingers like sand.

He tried to grab something, but he couldn't feel it. It all felt like static. Pins and needles but wrong. The feeling of nothing, no touch, just void. He really was dying, wasn't he? This had to be death.

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Something felt wrong as you closed the front door. Very wrong. The air was electric, and made your hair stand on end. The whole house felt cold and utterly, utterly lonesome. Static crawled it's way up your spine. You make your way upstairs. "Gabriel? I'm home early!" You call. "Are you alright in there, angel?"