Disclaimer: Not never have been, never will be


"I'm not letting you near me with those meat hooks." Gabriel growled at Sam.

"Gabriel, let me see." the younger Winchester entreated, speaking as if the archangel was some timid animal that might run if startled.

"It's nothing," and Gabriel was so denying he ever sounded this petulant. Observant damn human, he mental cursed. It wasn't anything permanent, it just hurt, and he'd been favouring his left wing since they'd left the rundown club a group of demons had been using as a base of sorts. One of the black eyed sons of bitches had been headed straight for Sam and Gabriel had barely made it in time to deflect the blade, catching it with his wing before burning the demonic bastard out. He wasn't even sure how the younger Winchester had known he was injured, not like his wings were out on display.

"It's not nothing, Gabriel, a blind mina could see something's wrong, even Dean noticed!"

"Drew the short straw then, did you," he huffed.

"No, I offered," Sam admitted, looking down almost bashfully

"Why do you care anyway Winchester? Not like there's much love lost."

"I just do."


"Come on Gabe, at least tell me what happened. If it's just a sprain or something simple I'll drop it, I swear."

Honey eyes, watched Sam closely, and he refused to acknowledge the little flip in his stomach when the younger Winchester called him Gabe. He wondered if Sam even realized he'd used the nickname, he never had before. With another, more weary, huff the angel sagged, "A lucky hit, alright, despite my superior talents I'm not impervious." Feeling naked under the boy's heavy stare after such a simple admission, he snapped, "Listen, if it'll make you feel better, I'll let Cas take a look."

Sam nodded slowly, not understanding why Gabriel wouldn't just let him check the injury.

Gabriel made a show of straightening his pained side and back and was about to snap away with a leer and a witty retort, avoiding more awkward conversation, when a large long fingered hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Gabriel," Sam whispered, "Let. Me. See." He punctuated his words with the simple act of raising his hand to the angel's face. It was bloodied, not much and not his, but it was there, undeniable. "You're bleeding. Let me see."

"Come on kiddo, 'm an angel, use that mammoth space in your skull, I'm not likely to be bleeding out here of all places, pfft, I'd at least go somewhere nice with cocktails with little umbrellas," he tried in a last ditch effort to sidestep Sam.

Sam stared the archangel down, he wasn't buying it, and he wasn't letting the angel leave until he knew Gabriel was alright.

Gabriel would've given anything for that fire in Sam's eyes to be a passion of a different nature. The archangel closed his eyes in defeat. He really hadn't wanted Sam to see him like this, especially not his wing. "Sam, it'll heal," he breathed softly, all pretense gone.

"Yeah, but I'll worry. Let me see it Gabe, please."

Eyes still closed, Gabriel sighed and let loose a small shiver as if shaking the dust off an old coat before slipping it on when he'd finished his shirt was gone and the room was filled with soft greys and clear refracting crystals as his wings came into view. The left one pulled in on itself in an unnatural state and covered in trails of some unknown ichor dripping rivulets of red. "It looks worse than it is," he tried to assure Sam, but the mortal was having none of it.

Without a word Sam moved to the injured wing, gently running his hand along its edge trying his best not to flinch when a shocked hiss escaped his less than willing patient.
"It's deep, needs to be cleaned," he whispered, awe and some other emotion keeping his voice low and tight.

"Sam," Gabriel's eyes were still closed and his face turned down, but he no longer radiated defeat, there was a calm almost desirous thrum in the air around him. "Don't."

Ignoring the angel, Sam went to the bathroom filling the ice bucket with warm water and claiming two towels. The younger Winchester knelt beside the ancient being, gently dappling at the blood and ichor.
Sam's ministrations were expert and gentle; his movements were soft and sure, the years of experience at tending wounds showing through.

Gabriel bit his lip, battling himself for silence; the young hunter's touch driving him to the most pleasurable forms of insanity.

Sam continued cleaning, seemingly unaware of the angel's fight for control. The first layers of blood wiped smoothly away, but the lower layers were caked and hard between the lines of the angel's feathers. Sam dipped his long fingers in the dark tinged water, manually working the warm wetness into the stiff feathers, combing gently through their lengths.

A soft sound escaped Gabriel's teeth bruised lips as Sam worked his way further and deeper into his wing.

Sam winced, thinking he'd caused the angel further pain. "Sorry. Almost done," he breathed, hoping Gabriel would allow him to finish with the wound. Beneath his hands he could feel the archangel shake, feel his breathing grow rapid and short as he worked the last of the blood from his angel's feathers. With a final pat of cloth Sam looked at the wound, a red irritated gash just over a foot long across the juncture of wing and back. His hand slid gently over the already healing flesh, the touch no more than a lingering whisper. Gabriel's skin was the soft colour of cream candy and he couldn't help but wonder if it tasted the same.

"Sam, stop," Gabriel's breath was still coming in pants.

Dark hazel eyes stared up at the angel, fear tinging them, wondering if the angel had heard his thoughts.

Gabriel smiled softly, his voice full of a honeyed warmth that matched the angel's sweet tooth as he purred, "Thank you."

Sam swallowed, his hand still playing along the wound, not wanting to lose the touch.

"Sam?" the angel breathed.

"You took that blade for me," he whispered.

Gabriel's mouth twitched in a combination of curiosity and pride. He wanted to ask how Sam knew, the entire exchange lasted for mere milliseconds, but what came out was, "And I'll take the next."