Work Text:
Hedges of prayer
'Cause you believe, doesn't mean that it's there, it's so rare
Gabriel appeared quietly behind Sam, a familiar flicker in the air like static caught in moonlight. He didn’t speak. Just stood there—watching. His gaze was heavy, and Sam felt it long before he heard anything. The archangel’s presence was unmistakable, like pressure against his ribs, like the hum of something ancient just behind his shoulder.
Sam didn’t turn around.
Five minutes passed in silence, broken only by the soft creak of old floorboards and the distant whistle of wind through the bunker vents. The silence dug into Sam’s nerves like splinters. He breathed in slowly, jaw tense, and finally said, “You planning to stand there all night?”
Gabriel startled, pushing off the wall, his voice rough from disuse. “Didn’t know you knew I was here.”
“You’re not exactly subtle,” Sam said, but his tone wasn’t harsh. It was quieter, almost fond. He still hadn’t turned around.
Gabriel stepped into view, cautious. “You mad?”
Sam sighed and finally looked at him. “No. Not really.”
Gabriel drifted closer, pausing beside the small table where a single forget-me-not sat in a vase. His eyes lingered there before dropping to his hands in his lap as he sat. “Figured you needed space,” he muttered.
Two weeks. That’s how long Gabriel had been gone. No explanation, just gone. Sam had almost convinced himself he didn’t care.
“I didn’t ask for space,” Sam said after a moment. “It’s just...”
He trailed off. The words didn’t form.
Gabriel studied him from the corner of his eye. Sam could feel it—could feel the tension rolling off him like steam.
“Just what?” Gabriel asked, reaching out to gently poke Sam’s cheek.
Sam blinked, surprised by the touch. His hand moved instinctively to the spot, fingers curling there, as if to hold something ephemeral. He gave a small, uncertain smile. “I’m just... confused.”
Gabriel nodded slowly, lips twitching into something like understanding. “Yeah. Me too.”
Sam chuckled, quiet. He ran a hand through his hair. “Figures.”
“That’s the truth,” Gabriel murmured. He chewed on his lip again—he always did that when he was nervous, and now it looked raw, bitten. “I’ve spent millennia on Earth, Sam. I’ve never—” He paused. “Never met anyone like you.”
Sam’s heart gave a strange flutter. His breath caught.
He swallowed. “What’s so different about me?”
“You remember what I told you?” Gabriel asked, voice soft.
“You said my soul was beautiful,” Sam murmured, already blushing at the memory.
Gabriel’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not just beautiful. Brightest one I’ve ever seen. Heaven or Earth. And that’s with the demon blood.”
Sam blinked hard. “You really believe that?”
“It’s not belief,” Gabriel said, and now his voice was steady, sure. “Belief’s opinion. Your soul is beautiful—that’s opinion. Your soul is the brightest? That’s fact.”
Sam didn’t know what to say. The words landed like a stone in a still lake, ripples of something indescribable washing through him.
Gabriel exhaled. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No,” Sam said quickly, too quickly. “No, you’re not.”
Gabriel rose, slow, measured. He stepped closer until Sam had to look up at him, until his chest was level with Sam’s eyes. Then he cupped Sam’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing along the curve of his jaw.
“And if I do this?” he whispered, breath ghosting across Sam’s lips.
Sam froze. Every muscle in his body lit up. The heat. The closeness. The weight of Gabriel’s eyes on him.
“N-no,” he stammered.
Gabriel leaned in, lips barely brushing Sam’s. “And this?”
It was barely a kiss. A whisper of one. Featherlight, so gentle it could’ve been imagined.
But it wasn’t.
Sam’s lips parted with a shaky breath, his fingers twitching before they found Gabriel’s waist. The archangel kissed him again, soft, reverent, his hands still framing Sam’s face like something sacred.
Then he deepened it—slow, cautious, tasting. Sam made a soft sound in his throat, his hands slipping into Gabriel’s hair. Their lips moved like they were relearning each other, like time had been a lie.
Gabriel straddled Sam’s lap, never breaking contact. The shift made Sam gasp softly, his body rising to meet the weight, the heat. One of Gabriel’s hands moved to the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him closer, as if proximity could ward off the inevitable.
The kiss turned desperate—not in speed, but in meaning. Like they both knew it couldn’t last.
Sam broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to Gabriel’s collarbone, his lips brushing skin in reverent touches. He kissed along the arch of Gabriel’s throat, the line of his jaw. Gabriel gasped, eyes fluttering closed, hands tangled in Sam’s hair like he might never let go.
And then—
Everything shimmered.
Like static on glass.
Like the moment just before waking.
Sam jolted upright in bed, breath sharp in his chest.
Silence.
No warmth. No weight on his lap. No scent of ozone and sugar. The room was dim, moonlight pooling on the cold sheets beside him.
Empty.
Just the rustle of the forget-me-not on the nightstand, swaying in a breeze that wasn’t there.
Gabriel had been dead for years.
And yet—Sam could still feel the echo of lips on his, the ghost of fingers in his hair, the press of a voice whispering: Brightest soul I’ve ever seen.
He buried his face in his hands.
He didn’t cry.
Not tonight.
But he didn’t sleep again either.
It's so rare that somebody'd look out for you (look out for you, look out for you)
Thoughts and prayers was all they'd do