"I'm always armed, just waiting for some water damage or your whites to turn pink or something equally tragic."
Sam was kidding, of course. Not about the gun in his waistband, but everything else. He wouldn't hurt Gabriel, not anymore anyway, and he would fight anyone who tried. He was pretty sure that it was mutual now. Enemies to friends to lovers, Sam never thought he would be a trope, but he liked it.
He knew he was right about Gabriel's unwillingness to let him do it for him, not that he blamed him, but he was glad that in some small way he had been helpful. The archangel was completely successful and the smile Sam offered him was bright and sincere. He jumped back up on the counter and picked up his book, in case Gabriel wanted to sit next to him or in one of the chairs the room had to offer.
"You washed clothes in a river? Like, beat them on a rock? What is that, like a Viking thing?" he paused for a second. "Were you female?"