The bunker was loud in that familiar, chaotic way—beer bottles clinking, Dean’s laughter bouncing off the concrete walls, Sam pretending he wasn’t invested while absolutely being invested. Cas stood off to the side, watching with mild confusion as the night’s goal became painfully clear.

“Come on, man,” Dean said, pointing at Gabriel, who was sprawled comfortably in a chair, boots up on the table like he owned the place. “You flirt with everything that breathes. There’s no way you don’t blush.”

Gabriel smirked, golden eyes gleaming. “Please. I invented blushing. Got bored of it around the Renaissance.”

Sam scoffed. “You’re deflecting.”

“Correct,” Gabriel said cheerfully, taking a sip of his drink. “And succeeding.”

No matter what they threw at him—innuendos, embarrassing stories, Dean threatening to dig up something from Heaven—Gabriel didn’t crack. Not even a flicker. He just kept grinning, perfectly smug, perfectly unbothered.

You stayed quiet, leaning against the table, watching him over the rim of your glass.

You knew that grin. Knew the bravado, the way he hid behind humor and arrogance like armor. And you also knew exactly where the cracks were.

Dean groaned. “Unbelievable. The trickster is immune.”

“That’s because you’re amateurs,” Gabriel shot back. “If you’ll excuse me—”

You pushed off the table and crossed the room.

Gabriel noticed immediately. He always did.

You stopped in front of him, close enough that his smirk faltered just a fraction. Dean’s voice cut off mid-sentence. Sam raised an eyebrow. The room went quiet in anticipation.

You said nothing at first.

Instead, you reached out and gently hooked one finger under Gabriel’s chin.

He froze.

Slowly, deliberately, you tilted his face up until his eyes met yours. The joking glint vanished, replaced by something startled—something soft. You leaned in just enough that your breath brushed his lips, close but not quite touching.

Then, in a low, warm tone meant only for him, you said, “My good boy.”

It was like watching a system crash.

Gabriel’s mouth parted soundlessly. His wings—usually invisible—flickered with a faint shimmer of gold. Color bloomed across his cheeks, unmistakable and fast, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t move.

Dean stared. “Holy—”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

Cas tilted his head. “Fascinating.”

Gabriel finally swallowed, eyes wide, brain clearly nowhere to be found. “I—” He stopped, tried again. “You—” Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You smiled, letting your finger fall away as you straightened. “What?” you asked sweetly. “Cat got your tongue?”

He stared at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of the universe.

Dean burst out laughing. “Oh my God, he’s gone. He’s completely gone.”

Gabriel groaned and covered his face with both hands, still blushing hard. “I hate all of you,” he muttered, muffled. Then, softer, almost reverent, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Worth it.”

From behind you, Dean raised his bottle. “Winner.”

Gabriel peeked through his fingers, eyes locking onto yours, still dazed—and very much undone.