A/N: More Pub!verse (if you don't know what that is, see the link on my profile). I seriously cannot get enough of writing for this AU, so expect a lot more of it soon. Uh, no warnings, other than one curse word, implied Sabriel and Destiel and a few references to Good Omens... Which probably don't need warning for, but hey. Enjoy!

"So. What about them, huh?" The words are slightly muffled, spoken through a mouthful of ice cream, but Sam looks up anyway.

He's tempted to say, are you ever just going to leave me alone to do my research?, but he's actually enjoying Gabriel's company, so he just sighs. "Who?" he asks, closing a tab on his computer – he'd only gone to the cafe for internet access, hadn't banked on an archangel turning up and trying to force him to eat sundae.

Gabriel's been here for half an hour now, distracting Sam with every possible topic of conversation – their last hunt, the repairs the Impala needs, this one guy Gabriel met once, a pastry shop he found in Bordeaux, hey Sammy, if you stand up I bet you could see down that waitress's top. Sam had eventually eaten a scoop of the sundae just to shut him up. It worked for about five minutes and then, unsurprisingly, the archangel's mouth was running again.

"Dean and Castiel, of course!" says Gabriel, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, swallowing his mouthful of ice cream. "Let's place bets. I'm saying... oh, another two weeks max before Dean-o snaps and divests my baby bro of his pants."

Sam chokes slightly at that, eyes widening as he winces. "Seriously?" he asks. "You really want to have this conversation in..." He gestures at the busy cafe around them.
"Yup." Gabriel grins, popping another spoonful of sundae into his mouth.

Closing the laptop and pushing it to one side – there's no chance he's getting anything more done, not with Gabriel here – Sam grabs his spoon and scoops up a lump of banana covered with toffee sauce from the tall glass. If they're going to talk about this, he'll need some kind of sugary moral support to keep from hitting his head repeatedly against the table.

"Won't happen," he counters, licking a drop of sauce off the bottom of the spoon before chewing meditatively on the fruit. "At least, not like that, anyways."
"Of course it will. Come on, kiddo, you can't have missed the way they look at each other – the longing stares, the personal space invading, the blatent eyefucking... Seriously. Those two need to get a room already." Gabriel grins.

"Nuh uh." Sam shakes his head, and then swallows quickly, leaving his mouth free to explain. "If Dean was going to do that, he'd have done it already. A long time ago. 'f he wants to sleep with someone, he doesn't exactly hang around. He only does the whole dancing-around-each-other, puppy-eyes if he's in it for the long haul."

"You're saying they're... in love?" Gabriel makes a face, wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out as if the entire notion is vaguely repulsive to him. "Yeuch." He shakes his head, taking another large mouthful of ice cream.

"Dunno if it's exactly... yeah, probably are," admits Sam with a sigh. There's been a tension between the two of them since they first met, something that started out as angry and distrustful. But recently, after they got Cas back from the hospital, he's watched his brother around the angel and noticed how careful he is. How- almost tender. It's not a word Sam ever though he'd use to describe his brother, but he's not sure how else to put it.

"Dean-o and Cassie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," sings Gabriel gleefully, and Sam rolls his eyes at the archangel's childishness. "They're almost as bad as those two idiots from across the Pond."

Sam makes a quiet noise of agreement at that – he doesn't know the whole story of Crowley's past, but there's something there. Something Cas's hinted at, and Gabriel, but have refused to elaborate on, because it's not their story to tell. Despite his long-seated distrust, borderline hatred, of the demon, sometimes he has such an achingly lonely expression on his face that Sam can't bear to see it.

"Dean and Castiel, in love. Who'd've thought. And there I was thinking you were the hopeless romantic of our little team, Sammy boy." Gabriel smirks, raising an eyebrow at the hunter.
"What?" Sam blinks, both surprised and confused. "I am?"

"Well, it's not me. And it's not Dean, either – apparent prolonged attraction to a certain angel notwithstanding. And I don't think Cas would know what romance is if it took him out to a candlelit dinner and then led him by his tie to the bed." Sam winces, because that is one mental image he really didn't need. "So, process of elimination, it's you," concludes Gabriel. He thinks for a moment, and then adds, "And the hair doesn't help, either. Makes you look all damsel-y."

Sam sticks his tongue out – yes, he's well aware it makes him no more mature than Gabriel, but he's really past caring – and steals a final scoop of sundae. He makes sure to choose a good bit, vanilla and chocolate chip ice cream covered with thick chocolate sauce. Gabriel scowls at the loss of such a prime piece of sugar-filled goodness, and Sam just smirks back, savouring the taste.

That is, until he feels Gabriel's thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth. "Got a bit of sauce there, Sammy," says the archangel with a grin, and if he sees the infinitesimal widening of Sam's eyes, he doesn't say anything. He pulls the thumb away, licking it clean and waggling his eyebrows as he makes the motion entirely more suggestive than necessary.

Sam flushes slightly. It's entirely the fault of the eyebrows, he tells himself, and not at all the way Gabriel's tongue looks curled around the tip of his thumb, the half-lidded look of pleasure at the taste of the sauce. Of course not.

Chuckling softly, Gabriel pushes the mostly-empty glass of ice cream towards Sam. "You have the rest," he says. "I think I've had enough for now. Be seeing you, kiddo." And with a final smirk, he vanishes.

It's just Gabriel, Sam keeps telling himself firmly. Gabriel. Gabriel, who flirts with everyone and everything and means absolutely nothing by it, who uses his eyebrows far more than necessary, who can make a dirty joke out of just about anything – and frequently does, with large amounts of glee. It's nothing personal. He'd be stupid to even waste time thinking about it.

He sits there and watches the sundae glass until the rest of the ice cream melts, and comes to the sinking realisation that his brother might not be the only one falling for an angel.