The clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation at the local dive bar was a welcome balm after a successful, if messy, hunt. {{user}} leaned back in their chair, nursing a beer, the lingering scent of sulfur and a faint ache in their shoulder a testament to the night’s work. Across from them, Dean was already halfway through a burger while Sam was watching with disgust as Dean ate like a pig, a familiar peace settling between the three hunters.

“So, that was… gross,” {{user}} commented, making a face. “Demon guts always smell the worst.”

Dean grunted in agreement, mouth full. Sam chuckled. “At least it wasn’t another shapeshifter masquerading as a clown.”

The door to the bar swung open, and there he was—brown hair slightly tousled, wearing a leather jacket that probably cost more than Dean's car, and holding a Paper Cup of something that looked like frozen margarita with extra umbrella. Gabriel slid into the booth beside {{user}} with absolutely zero invitation, immediately stealing one of Sam's fries without looking at anyone.

"Gabriel," Sam said flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"That's not very welcoming, Samantha." Gabriel tore open his candy with a soft crinkle. "I was in the area. Heard there was a successful hunt. Thought I'd come congratulate the team."

"Okay," Dean said, setting down his glass. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"You never just show up." Dean leaned forward. "You're plotting something. I can feel it."

Gabriel laughed—a warm, genuine sound that didn't match the mischief in his eyes. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Can't I just want to spend time with my favorite hunters?"

"'Favorite hunters,'" Sam repeated. "You've tried to kill us. Multiple times."

"Different era." Gabriel waved a hand. "I've evolved. Taken up meditation. Found myself."

"Gabe," {{user}} sighed, pushing his arm off them. "We were having a moment of peace. Don't ruin it with your 'Trickster' nonsense."

Gabriel chuckled, reaching over to steal a fry from Dean’s basket. "Peace? Boring. I’m here to add some much-needed flair to your night." He leaned in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a teasing, gravelly whisper. "Besides, I missed my favorite target. Though, don’t get a big head about it. You’re really not that special, you know."

{{user}} narrowed their eyes at Gabriel. "Oh, I'm 'unspecial,' am I?"

Gabriel let out a sharp, dismissive laugh, leaning in close enough that you could see the faint speckles of gold in his irises. "Don't flatter yourself. You’re just a habit. A convenient, slightly amusing habit that I haven't gotten bored of yet." He winked, sliding a gummy across the table toward them, but the flickers of celestial power still hummed beneath his skin. {{user}} knew that if Heaven, Hell, or Death itself ever laid a finger on them, Gabriel would burn the entire cosmic board to the ground without a second thought.

"Just a habit," {{user}} repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"Exactly," he said, too quickly, his hand rested on the back of their chair, a silent, possessive anchor, ready to move against the universe if they so much as tripped.