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Chapter Text

The Honey Bean Café was already humming when Gabriel tied his apron behind his back and slid behind the counter. The espresso machine hissed like a dragon waking up, and the scent of roasted beans curled through the air like a promise. It was just another Tuesday, rain tapping gently on the windows, indie music playing low, and regulars trickling in with sleepy eyes and soggy umbrellas.

Gabriel liked mornings. They were quiet, predictable, and full of potential. He’d already made three cappuccinos, two matcha lattes, and one very complicated order involving lavender syrup and oat foam. He was halfway through restocking the pastry case when the door chimed.

And then he saw him.

The guy stepped in like he wasn’t sure he belonged, hood up, glasses fogged, laptop bag slung over one shoulder. He paused just inside the doorway, blinking at the menu like it was written in code. Gabriel froze mid-muffin placement.

Tall. Soft looking. A little rumpled, like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a poetry reading. Gabriel's heart did something stupid, like skip, or stutter, or maybe just melt.

He leaned on the counter, casually dramatic. “Welcome to The Honey Bean. Home of caffeine, questionable playlists, and baristas who flirt shamelessly.”

The guy looked up, startled. “Uh… hi.”

Gabriel grinned. “What can I get for you, handsome?”

The guy blinked. “I, um. Just a latte. Oat milk. Extra hot.”

Gabriel nodded, already reaching for a cup. “Coming right up. And your name, so I can write something poetic on the sleeve?”

“Sam.”

Gabriel wrote it slowly, looping the letters with care. Then, beneath it, he added: You look like the kind of person who reads in thunderstorms.

Sam took the cup with both hands, eyes flicking to the sleeve. A small smile tugged at his lips, barely there, but enough to make Gabriel's stomach flip.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, murmured a quiet “thanks,” and retreated to the corner table by the window.

Gabriel watched him go, heart thudding like a drum solo. Sam pulled out his laptop, adjusted his glasses, and sipped his latte with the kind of focus usually reserved for ancient texts.

Gabriel turned back to the espresso machine, grinning like an idiot.

It was love at first sight. Or maybe just the beginning of something warm, slow, and steeped in possibility.

Chapter Text

Sam didn’t like mornings. They were loud, rushed, and full of people who seemed to know exactly what they were doing. He preferred evenings, soft light, quiet streets, and the comfort of solitude. But deadlines didn’t care about preferences, and today he needed caffeine.

The Honey Bean Café was warm, almost too warm, with the scent of cinnamon and espresso clinging to the air like a hug. Sam hesitated at the door, scanning the menu even though he already knew what he wanted. He hated holding up lines. Hated being noticed.

Then the barista spoke.

“Welcome to The Honey Bean. Home of caffeine, questionable playlists, and baristas who flirt shamelessly.”

Sam blinked. The guy behind the counter was smiling like he’d just won something. Short, messy curls, and a confidence that made Eli’s stomach twist.

“What can I get for you, handsome?”

Sam's brain short-circuited. “I, um. Just a latte. Oat milk. Extra hot.”

The barista, Gabriel, according to the name tag, nodded and reached for a cup. “Coming right up. And your name, so I can write something poetic on the sleeve?”

“Sam.”

Gabriel wrote it slowly, then added something beneath it. Sam didn’t look until he was seated, tucked into the corner table where the light was soft and the world felt far away.

You look like the kind of person who reads in thunderstorms.

Sam stared at the words. His lips twitched. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a frown. Just… something.

He didn’t know what to make of Gabriel. Loud. Flirty. Bright. Everything Sam wasn’t. But there was something gentle in the way he smiled. Something careful in the way he handed over the cup, like he was offering more than coffee.

Sam sipped slowly, letting the warmth settle in his chest. He didn’t look back at the counter. But he felt Gabriel's gaze, like sunlight through glass, soft, steady, and impossible to ignore.

Chapter Text

Gabriel had owned The Honey Bean Café for five years. It wasn’t just a café, it was his sanctuary, his stage, his heartbeat. He knew every creaky floorboard, every regular’s order, and every song on the playlist. But lately, he’d found himself watching the door more than the espresso machine.

Sam had become a fixture.

Always at 8:17 a.m, always with his laptop and a stack of legal briefs that looked like they weighed more than his soul. Gabriel had learned, through casual observation and a few well-placed questions, that Sam was a corporate lawyer. Quiet, meticulous, and probably allergic to small talk.

Gabriel, of course, was the opposite. He flirted like it was his second language, playful, harmless, and usually met with eye rolls or giggles. But Sam was different. He didn’t flirt back. He didn’t blush. He just smiled, small, crooked, and devastating.

This morning, Gabriel was already behind the counter when Sam walked in, rain dripping from his coat. Gabriel leaned forward, elbows on the counter.

“Back again, Counselor?” he teased. “Should I start charging you rent for that corner table?”

Sam blinked, then gave a soft smile. “I pay in caffeine.”

Gabriel grinned. “Oat milk latte, extra hot?”

Sam nodded. “You remember.”

Gabriel winked. “I remember everything about you.”

Sam looked down, adjusting his bag strap. “You say that to all your customers?”

Gabriel paused. “Only the ones who make me nervous.”

Sam’s eyes flicked up, surprised. Gabriel handed him the cup, fingers brushing briefly. Sam didn’t pull away but he didn’t linger either. He took his seat, opened his laptop, and disappeared into his work.

Gabriel watched him for a moment, then turned back to the counter, heart thudding like a drum.

Sam’s quiet presence had become the best part of his morning.

Chapter Text

The rain had stopped the next day, but the air still smelled like wet pavement and possibility.

Gabriel was restocking biscotti when Sam walked in, no umbrella, just damp curls and a distracted frown. Gabriel didn’t greet him with a flirt this time. He just smiled, soft and genuine.

“Rough morning?” he asked, already reaching for a cup.

Sam sighed. “Client meeting in twenty minutes. I need something strong and comforting.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “So… me?”

Sam blinked, then gave a quiet laugh. “Coffee. But thanks.”

Gabriel chuckled, scribbling on the sleeve: You look like the kind of person who wins arguments with metaphors.

Sam read it as he stirred his drink, lips twitching. “You know I’m a lawyer, right? We don’t do poetry.”

Gabriel leaned on the counter. “You do. You just hide it in clauses and footnotes.”

Sam didn’t respond, but his smile lingered longer than usual.

He took his seat, opened his laptop, and Gabriel watched him for a moment before turning back to the counter. Something was shifting. The flirtation was still there, but now it had layers, curiosity, comfort, maybe even care.

Later, as Sam packed up to leave, he paused by the counter.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quiet. “For remembering. For… this.”

Gabriel nodded, heart thudding. “Anytime, Counselor.”

Sam hesitated, then added, “You make mornings less awful.”

And just like that, Gabriel was ruined for anyone else.

Chapter Text

Sam had arrived earlier than usual. The café was still waking up, lights soft, music mellow, the scent of cinnamon and espresso curling through the air like a blanket and yet, it was nearly filled to the brim with people. He took his usual seat in the corner, laptop unopened, coffee untouched.

He was watching Gabriel.

The barista moved like he belonged to the space. Like the café was an extension of him, his laughter in the clink of mugs, his warmth in the steam rising from the espresso machine. He greeted every customer with something different: a nickname, a joke, a compliment that felt too specific to be rehearsed.

“Morning, Queen of Croissants,” he said to a redhead woman.

“Back for more heartbreak in a cup?” he teased a man in a suit.

“Don’t think I forgot your muffin betrayal yesterday,” he mock scolded a teenager who grinned and blushed.

Gabriel was radiant. Effortlessly magnetic. Sam watched him toss his curls, lean on the counter, scribble something poetic on a cup sleeve. He was flirting, yes, but it wasn’t hollow. It was generous. Like he was giving people a reason to smile before their day began.

Sam sipped his latte, eyes lingering.

He didn’t understand people like Gabriel. People who could be so open, so bright, without fear of being misunderstood. Sam had spent years learning how to be invisible. Gabriel seemed allergic to it.

And yet… Gabriel remembered his order. His name. His quirks. He wrote things on Sam’s cup that made his chest ache in ways he didn’t have words for.

Sam looked down at today’s sleeve.

You look like the kind of person who saves receipts just in case.

He smiled.

Gabriel was still laughing with a customer, but for a moment, his eyes flicked to Sam’s corner. Their gazes met. Gabriel winked.

Sam looked away, heart thudding.

He didn’t know what this was. But it was starting to feel like the beginning of something dangerous.

Chapter Text

Gabriel was bouncing.

Not literally, though his leg was doing a convincing impression of a jackhammer, but emotionally, he was ricocheting between anxiety and dread like a pinball in a machine.

He flopped onto the armrest of the couch, phone in hand, screen blank. He was staring at it as if it held the answer to the universe.

Castiel, his younger brother, was curled up on the sofa, reading The Secret History like it was the only thing keeping civilization intact. He was calm, composed, and entirely unbothered by Gabriel’s emotional implosion.

“He’s not going to text,” Gabriel groaned.

Castiel turned a page. “He doesn’t have your number.”

Gabriel buried his face in a throw pillow. “Exactly. Which means I have to give it to him. Which means I have to be brave. Which means I have to stop panicking like a Victorian debutante waiting for a letter.”

Castiel blinked. “You’re exhausting.”

Gabriel sat up, wild-eyed. “What if he doesn’t want it? What if he thinks I’m crossing a line? What if he’s just being polite and I’m reading into every smile like it’s a love confession?”

Castiel closed his book. “Gabriel. You wrote poetry on his coffee sleeves.”

Gabriel pointed dramatically. “That’s branding.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You wrote ‘You look like the kind of person who reads in thunderstorms.’ That’s not branding. That’s emotional exposure.”

Gabriel groaned again. “I’m going to combust.”

Castiel stood, stretched, and walked to the kitchen. “Or you could just give him your number tomorrow. Like a normal person.”

Gabriel followed him, still clutching his phone like it might spontaneously generate Sam's number in there. “But how? Do I say it casually? Do I write it on the sleeve? Do I slip it into his muffin?”

Castiel opened the fridge. “Please don’t slip anything into his muffin.”

Gabriel leaned against the counter. “I just… I really like him. And I don’t know how to be chill about it.”

Castiel handed him a soda. “Then don’t be chill. Be you. And if he does not want you then he's an AssButt.”

Gabriel cracked the can open with a frown. “You think he’ll text me?”

Castiel pattted Gabriel's shoulder. “I think he’ll want to.”

Gabriel looked down at his phone again, bracing himself.

Tomorrow, he’d give Sam his number.

Tonight, he’d survive the silence.

Chapter Text

Gabriel's resolution only lasted twenty minutes. He was currently lying face-down on the living room rug.

“I can’t do it,” he moaned into the carpet. “I’m going to die alone surrounded by espresso machines and regret.”

Castiel, now perched on the arm of the couch with a mug of tea and his book half-open in his lap, didn’t look up. “You’re being dramatic.”

Gabriel rolled over, clutching a blank cup sleeve like it was a lifeline. “I need to give him my number. But it has to be perfect. Not too flirty. Not too desperate. Not too poetic. But still me.”

Castiel sipped his tea. “So... Flirty, desperate, and poetic.”

Gabriel sat up. “Help me. You’re a teacher. You know words.”

Castiel sighed, set his book aside, and took a sleeve. “Okay. Let’s start with tone. You want it to sound casual, but intentional.”

Gabriel nodded. “Like, ‘Hey, if you ever want to talk, here’s my number.’ But cooler.”

Castiel grabbed a pen. “How about: If you ever want coffee without a crowd…”

Gabriel gasped. “That’s good. That’s mysterious. That’s sexy.”

Castiel kept writing. …or just someone to talk to who knows way too much about latte foam.

Gabriel clapped. “Yes! That’s me! That’s tragically me!”

Castiel added the number, then handed it back. “There. Flirty, vulnerable, and only mildly unhinged.”

Gabriel stared at it like it was a sacred artifact. “You’re a genius.”

Castiel picked up his book again. “I know.”

Gabriel stood, sleeve in hand, heart thudding. “Tomorrow. I give this to him. And then I wait.”

Castiel didn’t look up. “Try not to combust.”

Gabriel grinned. “No promises.”

Chapter Text

Gabriel had rehearsed it three times already.

Once while steaming milk. Once while wiping down the counter. And once in the mirror of the staff bathroom, where he’d stared at himself and whispered, “Just give him your number, you coward.”

Now Sam was here. Corner table. Laptop open. Glasses slipping down his nose like they were tired of being helpful. Gabriel’s heart did something dramatic, like a cartwheel followed by a fainting spell.

He made the latte with extra care. Perfect foam. A little heart on top. Then he grabbed the cup sleeve that was hidden in his breast pocket.

He hesitated. Castiel had duplicated Gabriel's handwriting to a T.

He stared at it for a full ten seconds .

What if Sam thought it was weird? What if he never texted? What if he showed it to his lawyer friends and they laughed and said, “Look at this desperate barista trying to date a professional adult”?

Gabriel took a deep breath, slapped the sleeve onto the cup, and walked it over like it was just another Tuesday.

“Extra hot,” he said, placing it gently in front of Sam. “And extra poetic.”

Sam looked up, eyes curious. “What’s the poem today?”

Gabriel gave a crooked smile. “Something new. Thought I’d try vulnerability instead of metaphors.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and turned the cup. His eyes scanned the sleeve. Paused. Blinked.

Gabriel waited. Smiling on the outside. Screaming on the inside.

Sam looked up. “You gave me your number.”

Gabriel nodded, trying to look casual. “You know. In case you ever want coffee without me flirting in front of a line of customers.”

Sam stared at him. “You flirt when there’s no line too.”

Gabriel laughed, nervous. “True. But I figured… maybe you’d want to talk. Or text. Or ignore me completely. All valid options.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll text you.”

Gabriel blinked. “You will?”

Sam nodded, lips twitching into that quiet, crooked smile that ruined Gabriel every time. “I’ve been thinking about it anyway.”

Gabriel walked back to the counter, heart thudding, hands shaking, and brain short-circuiting.

He’d done it.

Now all he had to do was wait.

And maybe scream into a pillow later.

Chapter Text

The sun was low, casting long shadows across the courthouse steps as Sam stepped outside. His shoulders were tight, his jaw locked, and the weight of the day pressed against him.

Dean’s car was parked at the curb, engine humming low, windows cracked just enough to let in the fading warmth of the day. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, one hand draped over the wheel, eyes scanning the courthouse doors until he spotted Sam.

Sam opened the passenger door and slid in, setting his briefcase down between his feet. He didn’t say much, just a quiet “thanks” as he buckled in, eyes fixed straight ahead like the day hadn’t quite let go of him yet.

Dean glanced over as they hit a red light, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’ve been off today,” he said, not accusing, just noticing. “Quiet. Not the usual kind.”

Sam didn’t answer. He just stared out the window, jaw still tight, fingers tapping lightly against his leg.

Sam pulled out his phone, thumb hesitating over the screen. Gabriel’s number stared back at him.

He opened a new message and began typing, slow and deliberate, like each word had to pass through a dozen filters before it landed.

He read the message once more, then tapped send. The screen blinked, the text disappeared, and the silence in the car seemed to grow around it. Dean turned the radio down, not looking over.

Dean kept his eyes on the road. “You good?” he asked, voice low, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

Sam nodded. “Just tired.”

The phone buzzed in his hand. Sam glanced down, heart skipping once. The message lit up the screen.

Gabriel: You texted. I was starting to think I hallucinated giving you my number.

Sam’s lips curled into a small smile, barely there, but unmistakable. He didn’t say anything, just stared at the screen a moment longer. Dean glanced over, caught the shift, didn’t comment. He just kept driving, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Chapter Text

Gabriel flipped the café’s sign to 'closed' the moment Sam walked out the door. No lingering, no cleanup. Just a quick lock of the register and a muttered excuse to the one remaining customer. He needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere he could think.

At home, he dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and collapsed onto the couch like gravity had doubled. His phone was already in his hand. He checked it. Nothing. Locked it. Checked again. Still nothing.

He felt ridiculous. Like a teenager waiting for a text after a first date. But it wasn’t a date. It was barely a conversation. Just a number passed across the counter and a look that lingered a little too long.

Hours passed. Gabriel tried to distract himself with a sad indie movie he’d seen a dozen times. He didn’t even like it that much, it just matched the mood. He ate half a pint of ice cream before realizing he’d never taken the lid off properly. The spoon was bent. His dignity was too.

That’s how Castiel found him: curled up under a blanket, surrounded by empty containers, eyes glassy from the screen glow, and a phone clutched like it might whisper secrets if held tight enough.

Castiel didn’t say anything at first. Just stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised, trench coat still on. Then, “Did someone die, or are you just emotionally compromised?”

Gabriel groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

Castiel stepped into the room, trench coat still trailing behind him like he’d just walked out of a noir film. He surveyed the scene: the blanket cocoon, the bent spoon, the half melted ice cream, and the sad movie still playing in the background.

“You look like a rejected rom-com subplot,” he said dryly, toeing an empty container with his boot.

Gabriel peeked out from under the blanket. “He hasn't texted me yet.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he had work.”

Gabriel groaned. “You’re supposed to say something comforting. Like ‘he’s probably writing a heartfelt message and agonizing over every word’ kinda thing”

Castiel shrugged. “That too.”

Gabriel flopped back dramatically, blanket over his face again. “I’m going to die here. Alone. Surrounded by dairy.”

Then his phone buzzed.

He froze. Castiel noticed. “Is that?”

Gabriel sat up so fast the blanket fell off his shoulders. He grabbed the phone, thumb fumbling over the screen. There it was.

Sam: Hey. I was going to text earlier but got pulled into a meeting.

Gabriel stared at it. Then he smiled widely.

Castiel gave a small nod. “See? Not dead. Just dramatic.”

Chapter Text

Sam hadn't expected to use the number. However, he did not know when it became normal. Gabriel's texts.

At the moment, his head throbbed from hours of legal briefs and back-to-back meetings. The office lights were too bright, the silence too sharp. He rubbed his temple and glanced at his phone, just as it buzzed.

Gabriel: Hello, Counselor. I hope your coffee is strong and your clients are weak.

He typed back without thinking.

Sam: Coffee is strong. Clients are… persistent.

He stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if that was too dry. But Gabriel didn’t seem to mind. A reply came seconds later.

Gabe: Persistent is just lawyer-speak for “annoying but rich.” Also, I miss your face. Just saying.

Sam blinked. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Gabriel flirted like it was breathing, effortless, constant, and probably not personal.

Sam: You say that to all your customers?

Gabe: As I've said before, only the ones who make me nervous. And the ones with devastating long hair.

Sam rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. He didn’t think Gabriel was serious. But he saved the message anyway. Just in case.

Later that night, Sam found himself scrolling. Not for any reason, really. Just habit.

He was curled up on the couch, laptop closed, the quiet pressing in around him. His thumb hovered over Gabriel’s name, then tapped. The thread was longer than he remembered: memes, coffee jokes, sleeve poetry turned digital.

He reread the one about devastating long hair and rolled his eyes again. But he didn’t delete it. He didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

Sam’s apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that made him feel like he was disappearing into it. He’d been staring at the same paragraph for half an hour, the legal jargon blurring into nonsense. His coffee had gone cold. Again.

Then came the knock.

Three loud thuds. No rhythm. No warning.

Sam sighed. “Dean.”

He opened the door to find his brother standing there with a six-pack of root beer and a bag of takeout that smelled like it had been deep-fried in defiance of health codes.

Dean grinned. “Dinner. And a wellness check. You look like a haunted spreadsheet.”

Sam stepped aside. “I’m fine.”

Dean dropped onto the couch like it owed him rent. “You always say that. It’s your favorite lie.”

Sam sat across from him, arms crossed. “What do you want?”

Dean started unpacking food. “To make sure you’re not spiraling. And maybe ask why you’ve been acting weird lately.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been distracted. Smiling at your phone. You even forgot to complain about your boss yesterday. That’s suspicious.”

Sam hesitated. “It’s nothing.”

Dean popped open a root beer. “Is it someone?”

Sam blinked. “What?”

Dean leaned forward. “You’ve got that look. The ‘I’m thinking about someone but pretending I’m not’ look.”

Sam looked away. “There’s this guy. At a café...”

Dean froze mid-sip. “Café guy?”

“Gabriel. He is a barista there.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Is he nice?”

Sam shrugged. “He’s… loud. Flirty. Writes things on my coffee sleeves.”

Dean snorted. “Sounds like a walking red flag.”

Sam frowned. “He’s not. He’s just… warm. And he remembers things. My order. My name. He makes me feel like I’m not invisible.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You like him?”

Sam didn’t answer.

Dean leaned back. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’m not gonna give you a lecture. But I am gonna meet this guy.”

Sam blinked. “Why?”

Dean grinned. “Because I’m your brother. And if someone’s making you go googoo eyes, I want to know if it’s real, or if I need to key his car.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

Dean raised his root beer. “Bitch.”

Chapter Text

It was a slow day.

Gabriel was busy daydreaming about Sam, his quiet smile, the way he stirred his latte, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long. Gabriel was halfway through imagining something spicy when the bell above the door chimed.

He looked up, expecting Sam.

Instead, it was someone else.

Tall (not taller than Sam though). Broad. Fluffy hair. Leather jacket. The kind of guy that mothers would want their daughters about.

He scanned the café like it was a battlefield, then strode up to the counter.

“You Gabriel?” the guy asked, voice rough but not unfriendly.

Gabriel blinked. “Depends. Are you here to rob me or flirt with me?”

The guy snorted. “Neither. I’m Dean. Sam’s brother.”

Gabriel straightened. “Oh.”

Dean leaned on the counter, eyeing the espresso machine like it owed him money. “He talks about you. Not a lot. But enough.”

Gabriel’s heart did something stupid. “Good things?”

Dean shrugged. “Mostly complaints. Says you flirt too much. Says you write weird stuff on his coffee sleeves.”

Gabriel grinned. “Guilty.”

Dean tilted his head. “You into him?”

Gabriel hesitated. “Yeah. I am.”

Dean nodded slowly, then pointed at the pastry case. “Cool. I’ll take a cinnamon roll. And don’t write anything poetic on the bag. I’m allergic to feelings.”

Gabriel laughed, handing it over. “Noted. One emotionally sterile cinnamon roll, coming up.”

Dean took it, then paused. “Just so you know… Sam’s not great at this stuff. Feelings. People. He’s been through a lot.”

Gabriel softened. “I know. I’m not trying to rush him.”

Dean gave a short nod. “Good. Because if you hurt him, I’ll key your car and make it look like an accident.”

Gabriel blinked. “You’re charming.”

Dean grinned. “I know.”

He turned and left, the bell chiming behind him.

Gabriel stood there for a moment, heart thudding, then looked down at the counter where Dean had left a crumpled napkin.

On it, in messy handwriting: He likes you. He’s just scared. Don’t give up.

Gabriel smiled.

Challenge accepted.

Chapter Text

Samuel Winchester was born into silence.

His mother, Mary, passed away just days after his birth. The hospital had discharged her too soon. Complications overlooked, her body too frail to recover.

She died quietly at home, and Sam never knew her. But her absence was everywhere: in the quiet dinners, the unspoken grief, the way his father stopped smiling.

John, Sam’s father, was a mechanic. He was a man of grease and grit.

He didn’t know how to grieve, so he threw himself into his work, fixing engines, tuning machines, drowning in the noise of tools and metal.

He raised his sons like soldiers, not children. Discipline replaced affection. Emotions were weaknesses. Hugs were rare. Orders were constant.

Dean was four when Mary died. Too young to understand, but old enough to feel the shift. He grew up fast, tough, sarcastic, and emotionally bulletproof. He didn’t cry. He didn’t talk about feelings. But he took care of Sam in his own way: making sure he ate, walking him to school, punching anyone who made fun of his quiet nature.

Dean was goofy, in a rough edged kind of way. He cracked jokes at funerals, called Sam 'bitch' instead of 'brother', and never said 'I love you', but he showed it. In every packed lunch, every late night drive, every time he stood between Sam and their father’s anger.

Sam grew up in the margins, between the roar of engines and the quiet strength of Dean’s care. He learned to be precise, to be quiet, to survive. Law became his refuge. It was structured, logical, fair. In court, he could speak without being interrupted.

He could fight without raising his voice.

But outside the courtroom, he was still that quiet boy with too many walls.

But then came The Honey Bean Café.

And Gabriel.

Loud. Flirty. Unapologetically warm.

Sam didn’t know what to make of him. At first, he thought Gabriel was just another person who mistook charm for connection. But slowly, he realized Gabriel wasn’t trying to fix him. He was just trying to see him.

And that terrified Sam more than any courtroom ever could.

Chapter Text

The folder hit Sam’s desk with a thud that echoed louder than it should have. He didn’t look up. He already knew what it was.

“Guess who’s trying to eat our client alive,” Ruby purred, sliding into the chair across from him like she belonged there. Her heels clicked against the floor, her lipstick was too red for a Monday, and her smile was all teeth.

Charlie followed behind, clutching her tablet like a shield. “It’s Lucifer,” she said, voice soft but urgent. “The acquisition terms are brutal. Like, corporate pillaging levels of brutal.”

Sam finally looked up. “The devil himself.”

Ruby smirked. “I hear his real name is 'Samael', but I think Lucifer suits him better. All charm and fire and no soul.”

Sam rubbed his temples. The fluorescent lights above buzzed like gnats, and his coffee had gone cold hours ago. He hadn’t slept properly in days, and the weight of this deal was already pressing into his spine.

“Let me guess,” he said. “He wants everything.”

“IP, patents, personnel, branding,” Charlie rattled off, swiping through documents. “Even the founders’ equity. It’s a full-scale takeover.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Lucifer’s reputation preceded him, ninety-nine percent win rate, a Rolodex of billion dollar clients, and a legal mind that sliced through opposition like silk.

Sam had admired him once. Now he just wanted to beat him.

Ruby crossed her legs, watching Sam with a feline sort of interest. “You know, he’s not unbeatable. He just plays dirty. We could play dirtier.”

Charlie frowned. “Or smarter.”

Sam didn’t respond. He was already flipping through the folder, scanning clauses, annotations, footnotes. Lucifer's fingerprints were everywhere, precise, merciless, elegant. It was like reading a symphony composed in legalese.

“We need a counterstrategy,” he said finally. “Something airtight. Something he won’t see coming.”

Charlie nodded, already pulling up precedent cases. “I’ll start mapping out the vulnerabilities in his proposal.”

Ruby leaned forward, her voice low. “And I’ll reach out to my contacts. See what Lucifer's firm has been whispering behind closed doors.”

Sam paused. Ruby was good. Too good. She had a way of getting information no one else could. But she also had a way of making him uneasy, like she was always playing a game he hadn’t been invited to.

He pushed the thought aside.

“Let’s get to work,” he said.

As the girls moved into action, Sam stared at the folder one last time. Somewhere out there, Lucifer was already three moves ahead.

But Sam was determined.

---

Gabriel wiped down the counter for the third time in ten minutes. It was spotless. Had been spotless. But Sam hadn’t shown up in three days, and Gabriel was starting to spiral.

Not that he’d admit it.

Dean had been coming in instead, grumbling about caffeine dependency and corporate hellscapes, grabbing Sam’s usual triple-shot oak milk latte, no foam, extra hot and leaving with a grunt that passed for a 'thank you'.

Gabriel missed the quiet tension. The way Sam’s eyes flicked away when Gabriel leaned in too close. The way he pretended not to smile at Gabriel’s terrible puns.

Dean was great, but he didn’t blush. He didn’t wear ties. He didn’t make Gabriel’s heart do that stupid little flip.

“You’re brooding,” Castiel said, appearing beside him like a trench-coated ghost.

“I’m not brooding,” Gabriel muttered. “I’m... creatively sulking.”

“You’re wiping a clean counter and sighing like a soap opera widow.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Sam’s busy. Lawyer stuff. Probably buried in paperwork and existential dread.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Or avoiding you.”

“Dean said he’s just swamped,” Gabriel said. “Also, Dean threatened to throw me into traffic if I made one more joke about his flannel.”

“You did call him a grease-stained lumberjack.”

“He laughed.”

“He said ‘I hate you.’”

Gabriel grinned. “Same thing.”

Just then, the bell above the door chimed. Gabriel looked up, hope flaring, only to find a petite redhead with a tablet tucked under her arm and a Star Wars pin on her jacket.

“Hi!” she chirped. “Is this where the famous Gabriel works?”

Gabriel blinked. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Charlie. I work with Sam. He talks about you. A lot.”

Castiel made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Gabriel straightened, suddenly very interested. “Does he now?”

Charlie grinned. “Mostly complaints. You’re ‘too charming,’ ‘too distracting,’ and ‘make the worst latte puns.’”

Gabriel beamed. “He thinks about me.”

“Constantly,” Charlie said, then leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s also been a total grump since he stopped coming here.”

Gabriel’s heart did that stupid flip again.

“I’ll have the same thing Sam usually has,” Charlie said, sliding onto a stool. “Triple-shot oat milk latte, no foam, extra hot.”

Gabriel made it with practiced ease, handing it over with a flourish. He’d made it so many times he could do it blindfolded.

He slid the cup across the counter to Charlie, who took it with a grin and a dramatic sniff.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “This is the stuff. No wonder he’s hooked.”

Gabriel leaned on the counter, watching her. “So... he’s really been grumpy?”

Charlie nodded. “Snappy. Broody. He snapped at Ruby yesterday for breathing too loud.”

Castiel, still perched nearby, didn’t look up. “Sounds like a man in denial.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up. “You should come to the office.”

Gabriel blinked. “What, like... show up? With coffee?”

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “He’s buried in this really bad case and hasn’t left the building in days. He’s caffeine-deprived, emotionally constipated, and pretending he doesn’t miss you.”

Gabriel considered it. He’d never seen Sam in his element, behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. The idea made his heart do that stupid flip again.

Castiel finally looked up. “You want to ambush a corporate lawyer in his natural habitat?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’ve done worse.”

Charlie leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Bring coffee. Bring chaos. Shake him up.”

Gabriel grabbed a fresh cup and started prepping another triple-shot. “Alright. Time to make a house call.”

Castiel sighed. “This will end badly.”

Charlie grinned. “Or perfectly.”

Gabriel winked. “Either way, it’ll be fun.”

Chapter Text

Three days. That’s how long Sam had been buried in the Samael case, dissecting contracts, cross-referencing clauses, and chasing down every possible loophole, only to find none.

Lucifer's legal team had built a fortress, airtight and infuriatingly elegant. Sam respected it, in the way a tired soldier respects the enemy’s strategy. But admiration didn’t make the exhaustion any easier.

His eyes burned from too many hours staring at his screen, and his shoulders ached from tension he hadn’t had time to stretch out.

His desk was a battlefield of legal pads, annotated contracts, and half-drunk coffee cups. The Lucifer file sat in the center like a smug monument to his sleepless nights.

Every time he thought he’d found a thread to pull, it unraveled into nothing. His team had offered help, but Sam was the lead. This was his case, his responsibility, and his reputation on the line.He hadn’t left the office before midnight in three days, and even then, he’d taken the work home with him. His apartment was just a quieter place to lose sleep.

The sharp click of the front door shutting broke Sam’s train of thought like a snapped thread.He blinked, momentarily disoriented, as the noise echoed through the quiet hum of the office.

When he looked up, his brain took a second to register what he was seeing. Gabriel strolled in like he owned the place, tray of coffees balanced in one hand, Charlie trailing behind with a grin and a clipboard.

Gabriel’s leather jacket was unzipped, his curls slightly tousled, and his smile, God, that smile, was aimed directly at Sam.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite suit,” Gabriel said, voice warm and teasing.

“I brought caffeine and charm. One’s in the cup, the other’s free of charge.” His grin was unapologetic, eyes locked on Sam with the kind of intensity that made it impossible to pretend this was just a coffee delivery.

Charlie gave a mock salute to the Sam and wandered off, leaving Gabriel standing in the middle of the office looking wildly out of place among the suits and spreadsheets.

Sam’s brain short-circuited. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, like a fish out of water.

Gabriel’s presence was too loud, too warm, too real in a space that thrived on restraint. Sam could feel the heat crawling up his neck, settling in his cheeks. He hated how easily Gabriel got under his skin, how one sentence could unravel three days of professional detachment.

He cleared his throat, trying to summon his lawyer voice. “You, uh, you didn’t have to come all the way up here.”

Gabriel stepped closer, balancing the tray with one hand and resting the other casually in his pocket. “I figured you could use a break from glaring at legal documents like they personally offended you,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Besides, I missed your face. It’s been, what, seventy-two hours? Tragic.” His voice was low and smooth, the kind that curled around Sam’s nerves and tugged. He placed the coffee on Sam’s desk with a flourish, like it was a gift rather than a delivery. “Extra shot, just how you like it. And a little note, in case you forget how charming I am.”

Sam stared at the cup, but his eyes weren’t reading the words. His mind was too busy recalibrating, trying to make sense of Gabriel’s sudden appearance in his world of deadlines and decorum. The office noise faded into a soft hum, like someone had turned down the volume on reality.

Gabriel was too close, too casual, too vivid against the grayscale of Sam’s day. And that note, cheeky, ridiculous, exactly what he didn’t need, made his pulse stutter. He could feel the weight of curious glances from nearby desks, but he couldn’t look away.

Before Gabriel could deliver another line of flirtation, the soft click of heels echoed down the hallway. Ruby entered like she was gliding, all tailored silk and calculated grace. Her presence didn’t demand attention, it invited it.

She paused just inside the room, eyes sweeping over the scene with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Sam,” she said, her voice smooth as velvet, “I hope that coffee’s strong. You look like you’ve been wrestling dragons.” Her gaze lingered on him, subtle and knowing, the kind that made Sam feel seen in a way that was both flattering and vaguely unsettling.

Sam felt the shift immediately. Ruby’s presence was like perfume, subtle, lingering, impossible to ignore. She didn’t flirt like Gabriel did, all boldness and grins; she was quieter, more precise, like she knew exactly which thread to tug to unravel someone. And Sam, already off-balance from Gabriel’s surprise visit, suddenly felt like he was standing between two magnets pulling in opposite directions.

He hated how aware he was of both of them, Gabriel’s warmth still buzzing in his chest, Ruby’s gaze like a silk ribbon brushing against his skin. It was too much attention, too much ambiguity, and he didn’t trust himself to read any of it clearly.

Ruby stepped closer, her perfume subtle but unmistakable, and gently placed a folder on Sam’s desk. “I reviewed the latest draft,” she said, her tone all business now, though her eyes still held that quiet gleam. “There’s a clause in the Lucifer's contract I think we should revisit. Page thirty-two.” The name hit the air like a dropped glass. Sam barely registered the words before he saw it, Gabriel, suddenly stillness. His smile faltered, color draining from his face like someone had flipped a switch. He stared at Ruby, then at Sam, and for the first time since walking in, he looked… shaken.

Ruby continued, flipping open the folder with practiced ease. “There’s a subclause tied to the merger terms that could be leveraged, if we’re careful. I flagged it for review.” Her voice was calm, her fingers precise, and Sam leaned in instinctively, drawn back into the rhythm of the case. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel take a small step back. The barista’s posture had shifted, shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes no longer playful but distant.

Sam registered it, a flicker of concern threading through his thoughts, but Ruby’s voice pulled him back before he could ask. She was already pointing to a highlighted section, her tone laced with quiet urgency.

Gabriel cleared his throat, the sound oddly sharp in the quiet. “I should, uh... get back to the shop,” he said, voice thinner than before. He didn’t meet Sam’s eyes this time, just gave a quick nod and turned toward the door. Sam watched him go, a flicker of confusion rising in his chest. Gabriel had walked in like a storm and was leaving like a shadow. Something had shifted, and Sam felt it but before he could chase the thought, Ruby tapped the folder again, her voice low and deliberate. “Sam, this clause could change everything. Focus.”

As Ruby continued outlining her strategy, Sam’s eyes drifted to the coffee cup sitting quietly beside the folder. The sleeve was warm against his fingers, the ink slightly smudged from Gabriel’s touch. Written in bold, looping letters: “Legal briefs? I prefer coffee dates.” It was ridiculous. So very Gabriel. And yet, something about it tugged at Sam’s focus, pulling him out of the dense legal jargon and back to the moment Gabriel had walked in, grinning, confident, and then suddenly pale. The pun was a reminder of the man behind the charm, and Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that something had cracked beneath that smile.

Chapter Text

The apartment door clicked shut behind Gabriel, and he lingered there for a moment, forehead resting against the wood. The quiet of home wrapped around him, but it didn’t soothe the unease crawling up his spine.

From the kitchen, Castiel didn’t look up from his papers. “You saw him,” he said flatly, red pen scratching across a margin. “Sam.”

Gabriel exhaled, kicked off his shoes. “Yeah.”

Castiel circled something on the page, then paused. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Gabriel walked to the counter, dropped his keys, and leaned against it. “Ruby mentioned Samael.”

Castiel’s pen stopped mid-stroke. He didn’t look up. “Ah.”

That was all. No gasp, no concern. Just a syllable, clipped and clinical.

But Gabriel knew his brother well enough to catch the shift, the way Castiel’s shoulders stiffened, the way his eyes lingered on the page without reading it.

Castiel resumed grading, but slower now. The red pen moved with less certainty, like his thoughts had drifted somewhere else. Gabriel watched him, waiting for the inevitable analysis, the academic dissection of emotion Castiel always defaulted to when things got too close.

“You didn’t tell Sam,” Castiel said finally, not a question.

Gabriel shook his head. “Didn’t seem like the right moment.”

Castiel made a small mark in the margin. “There won’t be a right moment. Just increasingly worse ones.”

Gabriel didn’t respond. He opened the fridge, stared at the contents without seeing them, then closed it again. The apartment felt too quiet, too clean, like a museum of restraint.

Castiel cleared his throat. “You’re not obligated to tell him everything.”

Gabriel turned. “But?”

“But you’re not just flirting anymore,” Castiel said, still not looking up. “You’re investing. And that makes silence a liability.”

Gabriel leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You sound like Michael.”

Castiel’s pen paused. “Michael wouldn’t tell Sam anything. Not unless it polled well.”

Gabriel gave a dry laugh. “Right. He’d hold a press conference first.”

“And Raphael would turn it into a sermon,” Castiel added, resuming his grading.

Gabriel nodded. “And Samael would weaponize it.”

They sat with that for a moment. The names hung in the air like old photographs, familiar, faded, and painful to look at too long.

Gabriel felt the ache of it settle in his chest. Once, they’d been inseparable. Now, they were archetypes.

“I don’t know what to do,” Gabriel said, voice low.

Castiel didn’t answer immediately. He underlined a sentence, then set the pen down with deliberate care. “You’re not asking me for advice.”

Gabriel looked at him. “No.”

“Good,” Castiel said, pushing his glasses up. “I’m not qualified.”

Gabriel gave a tired smile. “You’re a professor.”

“Of linguistics,” Castiel replied. “Not emotional triage.”

The silence returned, but it wasn’t empty. Gabriel could feel the weight of it pressing against his ribs. He walked to the window, stared out at the city lights. “I keep thinking about when we were kids. Before everything got… twisted.”

"Do you blame me?" Castiel inquired, his voice soft.

Gabriel turned from the window, startled by the question, not because it was loud, but because it wasn’t. Castiel rarely asked things like that. He rarely asked anything at all.

“No,” Gabriel said, too quickly.

Castiel didn’t react. He just waited, the way he always did when he knew Gabriel was lying to himself.

Gabriel sighed. “I did. For a while.”

Castiel nodded, like he’d already known. “You weren’t subtle.”

“I was angry,” Gabriel admitted. “At Dad. At Mom. At everything. And then you showed up, and it was easier to aim it at you than at them.”

Castiel picked up his pen again, but didn’t write. “You were sixteen.”

“I was cruel.”

“You were scared,” Castiel said, finally looking up. “We all were.”

Gabriel leaned back against the counter, arms folded tight. “I tried to protect you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think I did a good job.”

Castiel tilted his head. “You did what you could. That’s more than most.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. The city lights outside blurred slightly, like they were underwater. “I just didn’t want you to become one of them.”

Castiel’s gaze didn’t waver. “I didn’t.”

Gabriel nodded, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease. “I don’t know what I’m doing with Sam.”

Castiel shrugged. “Then stop trying to do it perfectly.”

Gabriel blinked. “That’s… surprisingly human advice.”

“I read it on a mug,” Castiel said, reaching for his cereal. “It was misattributed to Nietzsche.”

Gabriel laughed, really laughed, for the first time that day.

Castiel didn’t smile. He simply picked up his pen and turned the page, the motion precise, practiced. “You should eat something,” he said, eyes already scanning the next paragraph. “You’re less dramatic with protein.”

Gabriel shook his head, still smiling faintly. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Professor,” Castiel corrected, red pen poised. “I don’t do healing.”

The grading renewed, the quiet returned, and Gabriel stood there for a moment longer, watching his brother work.

The apartment felt smaller now, but not in a bad way. Just… contained. Like something fragile had been acknowledged, then tucked back into its box.

He turned toward the fridge again, this time with intention.

Behind him, Castiel muttered, “This student thinks ‘semantics’ means ‘being annoying on purpose.’”

Gabriel chuckled. “They’re not wrong.”

Castiel didn’t reply, but Gabriel caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Chapter Text

Gabriel couldn’t sleep that night. The apartment was too quiet. He’d tried reading. Tried music. Tried staring at the ceiling until it blurred into shapes. None of it helped.

The silence wasn’t peaceful, it was surgical. It carved through him, precise and patient, exposing thoughts he’d tried to bury under charm and distraction.

He kept staring at his phone. Sam’s last message sat there, still marked as read. Gabriel hadn’t replied. He wasn’t sure he could.

The hours bled together. Castiel had gone to bed long ago, door closed, light off. Outside, the city dimmed and then began to stir again. Gabriel didn’t even notice when morning arrived, just that the light had changed, and the silence had taken on a different shape.

He sat up slowly, neck stiff, eyes dry. The phone was still there, screen dark. No new messages. No missed calls.

Just the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

He groggily got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. Castiel was already up.

He was seated at the table, hair damp from a shower, hoodie zipped halfway, glasses perched low on his nose. A mug of tea steamed beside him, untouched. He was reading something, an article, maybe, or a student’s paper but his eyes weren’t moving.

Gabriel paused in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sleep?”

Castiel didn’t look up. “Enough.”

Gabriel opened the fridge, stared at it again. Still nothing appealing. He grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter.

Castiel turned a page. “You didn’t answer Sam.”

Gabriel blinked. “You checked my phone?”

“No,” Castiel said, finally meeting his eyes. “You wear guilt like cologne.”

Gabriel snorted. “That bad?”

Castiel shrugged. “You’re not subtle.”

Gabriel took a long sip of water, then set the bottle down. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You still don’t,” Castiel said. “But you will. Eventually.”

Gabriel nodded, unsure if that was comfort or a warning.

Outside, the city was waking up, cars passing, voices rising, the world moving forward whether he was ready or not.

---

Sam hadn’t meant to notice the silence.

He told himself it was just a missed text. People got busy. Gabriel was unpredictable, charming one moment, unreadable the next. But this quiet felt different. Intentional. Like something had shifted.

They’d never met outside the café, but Gabriel had become a fixture in his life. Coffee, casual conversation, and the steady rhythm of texts that had quietly threaded themselves into Sam’s routine.

Sam had sent a message last night. Just a simple one. You okay?

No reply.

Sam didn’t know why he was so anxious for Gabriel’s reply. It hadn’t even been a full day, but he was already more worked up over one unread message than he was over the entire case involving Lucifer.

He opened the file again, the one marked Samael. The name still felt strange in his mouth, like something sharp wrapped in silk. Ruby had said it so casually, like she was tossing a match into a dry field.

Sam tried to focus. He skimmed the notes, cross-referenced dates, highlighted inconsistencies. He was good at this: at patterns, at logic, at peeling back layers until the truth showed itself. But his mind kept drifting.

To Gabriel at his office, lattes in hand, eyes too bright. To the way he’d frozen when Ruby walked in. To the way he’d fled without saying goodbye.

Sam rubbed his temple, frustrated. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted from Gabriel. But Gabriel had become a rhythm in his life, and now that rhythm was broken.

He glanced at his phone again. Still nothing.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That he had bigger things to worry about. That Gabriel was just a barista with a sharp tongue and a crooked smile.

But the lie didn’t sit well.

He was halfway through rereading the same paragraph for the third time when the knock came.

Not a polite tap. A rhythm. Confident. Familiar.

Sam looked up, already bracing himself.

Ruby stepped into the office without waiting for permission. She wore black again, sleek, sharp, like she’d been styled by a storm cloud. Her smile was casual, but her eyes were too alert.

“Morning,” she said, like they were old friends. “You look tired.”

Sam closed the file slowly. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Because of the case?” she asked, tilting her head.

She moved closer, fingers grazing the edge of his desk as if testing its shape. Her presence filled the room like perfume, subtle, deliberate, hard to ignore.

Sam didn’t answer. Ruby didn’t seem to mind.

She leaned against the desk, just close enough to blur the line between casual and calculated. “You work too hard,” she said softly. “Always trying to solve things. Always trying to stay ahead.”

Sam kept his expression neutral. “That’s the job.”

Ruby smiled, slow and knowing. “Is it?”

She reached out, picked up a pen, twirled it between her fingers. “You ever wonder what it would feel like to stop chasing answers? Just for a moment?”

Sam didn’t move.

Ruby’s gaze lingered, her fingers still resting lightly on the pen she’d picked up.

“You’re not as unreadable as you think,” she said. “There’s always a tell.”

Sam leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “And what’s mine?”

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “You flinch when someone gets too close.”

Her words hung in the air, not quite a threat, not quite a flirtation. Just truth, dressed in velvet.

Sam didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Ruby straightened, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. “You’re chasing something,” she said. “Answers, maybe. Control. Maybe even absolution.”

She walked toward the window, looking out at the city like it bored her. “But you’re not the only one chasing.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

Ruby turned back, her expression unreadable now. “Everything means something. You just have to know where to look.”

She stepped closer again, her voice dropping. “Be careful, Sam. Not every truth wants to be found.”

Then she was gone, no dramatic exit, no lingering glance. Just the soft click of the door and the echo of her words.

Sam sat still for a long moment, the silence pressing in again. He looked at his phone. Still no reply.