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Abel woke with a sharp inhale, the sound catching in his throat before it could become a cry. For one horrible, disorienting moment, he didn’t know where he was.
Darkness pressed softly against the edges of his room, silvered only by the pale wash of moonlight through the window. The blankets were twisted around his legs, his hair damp at the temples and his pulse hammered so hard it made his chest ache.
He stayed perfectly still. The dream clung to him in fragments first, like water slipping through his fingers.
There was a battlefield, white light turned violent and wings burning. A voice calling his name before being cut off. Adam reaching for him, or maybe Abel was the one reaching, and no matter how hard he ran, or how loud he screamed, he couldn’t get there in time.
That awful, helpless certainty that he was about to lose him. Abel pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
He knew that.
The room was quiet and safe. No smoke, blood on gold armor, or the chilling echo of laughter turning into pain. But his body hadn’t caught up yet.
His breathing came too fast, shallow and uneven. Abel curled in on himself, drawing his knees up as if making himself smaller would somehow help. Usually, he could handle it. If he waited long enough, the panic would subside and leave him embarrassed but functional.
Tonight, though, the feeling wouldn’t let go.
His gaze drifted toward the door. The young man could go to Adam. The thought came instinctively, almost humiliatingly fast. It made Abel grimace into the dark.
He wasn’t some frightened child who needed to crawl into his father’s lap because of a bad dream. He imagined opening the door to Adam’s room and finding him deeply asleep for once. Then imagined waking him and the sheepish explanation after.
I had a bad dream.
It sounded younger out loud than it did in his head. Abel scrubbed at his face and let out a shaky breath. Maybe he should just get some water. Walk a little. Sit by the window until the feeling passes.
He threw the blankets aside and carefully slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent against the floor. The hall beyond his room was dim and hushed, washed in soft strips of moonlight.
Everything in Heaven seemed gentler at night, quieter in a way daylight rarely allowed.
Abel stepped into the corridor, still hugging one arm across his middle. Adam’s room was farther down. He didn’t mean to look, not at first. He only glanced that way because the thought was already there, still half debating whether or not to go.
And then he stopped.
There was light under the door. A faint, warm strip cutting across the floor. Abel blinked.
For a second he thought maybe his father left a lamp on by accident. Then he heard it, a soft rustle, the creak of a mattress and a quiet muttered curse that sounded distinctly like Adam stepping on or knocking into something. Abel stared at the door.
He’s awake.
The realization loosened something tight inside his chest. It didn’t magically solve everything, but it made the choice easier. Before he could overthink it, Abel crossed the hall and lifted his hand. He hesitated only a heartbeat before giving the door a small, tentative knock.
There was a pause.
Then, from inside, a wary voice: “...Abe?”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
The response was immediate. “Come in.”
Adam was sitting up on the edge of his bed, hair thoroughly wrecked from sleep, mask absent and tossed carelessly on the bedside table. The room was dim except for a small lamp casting a warm amber glow.
One wing was half-spread behind him in obvious agitation, feathers ruffled and uneven. There was a cup sitting untouched nearby like he’d either just gotten water or meant to.
He looked startled to see Abel there, but not particularly displeased.
“Yo,” Adam said, softer now. “What do you want?”
Abel tried to answer immediately. Tried for something easy that would keep the whole thing from becoming more serious than he wanted. Instead, what came out was, “I had a nightmare.”
Adam furrowed his eye brows, all the sleep-mussed confusion left his face, replaced by something gentler and achingly attentive. “Yeah?” It was just one word but Abel felt it like a hand on his shoulder.
His father shifted a little, straightening. “C’mere.”
That was all it took.
The last bit of Abel’s carefully assembled composure gave way and he obeyed without argument. He crossed the room, and Adam reached out immediately, dragging him in between his knees and wrapping both arms around him.
His son folded into the embrace with a shaky exhale.
Adam was warm. Comfortingly solid. Real in the way the dream hadn’t been. Abel rested his forehead against his shoulder. One hand moved slowly up and down his back and the young man shut his eyes.
For a while, neither of them said anything. Just the quiet drag of Adam’s fingers through his hair when the nightmare left his son trembling again. Eventually, Abel pulled back just enough to glance up at him.
“You’re awake too,” he said quietly.
Adam huffed, “good eye.”
Abel studied him more carefully now. The restless wing and shadows beneath his eyes. “Did you have a bad dream too?”
He looked away for half a second, which was answer enough. “...Sort of,” he admitted.
The honesty of it settled strangely between them. Adam wasn’t always bad at honesty, exactly, but sometimes he stepped around it, kicked at it, made it wear a ridiculous hat and pretended it was a different conversation entirely. This, though, was simple and unguarded.
Abel frowned. “Why didn’t you come get me?”
That drew a small, surprised snort out of the other man. “What, because misery loves company?”
“No,” he said, with more seriousness than the response deserved. “Because I would’ve stayed with you.” For a moment he didn’t say anything, then Adam reached up and touched the back of Abel’s head, thumb brushing lightly through his hair.
Abel looked down, then back up again. “What was yours about?”
“That’s kind of a rude question at—” He glanced toward the window, “whatever cursed hour this is.” His son gave him a flat look. Adam sighed theatrically, “bits and pieces. Nothing fun. You know. Standard nighttime emotional sabotage.”
Abel’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Mine was about losing you,” he confessed after a moment, voice small again.
Adam went very still and the teasing vanished entirely. He drew him in a little closer, one hand coming up to cradle the back of the boy's head. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”
Three simple words.
But his father said it with such certainty that Abel felt them settle somewhere deep. “I know,” Abel whispered.
Adam slowly exhaled through his nose. “Okay. Listen to me.” His voice stayed low and calm, stripped of swagger, performance and all the usual flourishes.
“Bad dream’s a bad dream. It feels real because your brain’s a jerk, not because it means anything. You’re here, I’m here, nothing’s trying to kill us, and if something was, I’d obviously win because I’m fucking incredible.”
Abel let out a weak, unwilling laugh.
“There you go, kid.” he said, as if he’d been waiting for exactly that. “See? Better already.” Adam then shifted farther back on the bed and patted the space beside him. “C’mon. You can stay here if you want.”
Abel hesitated only briefly before climbing up beside him. Adam adjusted without complaint, arranging the blanket over both of them, then letting his son lean against his side. One wing came around partially too, feathered and protective, cocooning the small angel in extra warmth.
For a while they just sat there while Abel listened to the slow return of his own breathing, Adam’s steady heartbeat where his shoulder pressed against him and the occasional sleepy rustle of feathers.
After some time, Abel said, “You really should wake me up too, you know.”
Adam tilted his head. “What?”
“If you have nightmares,” he clarified, looking at the blanket instead of him. “You don’t have to just stay awake by yourself.” It was quiet long enough that he finally glanced up and found Adam already looking at him.
Something in his expression had gone soft and a little helpless around the edges, like he was offered something he hadn’t quite expected to receive.
Adam nudged his shoulder lightly. “If I wake you up and all you do is judgmentally stare at me until I calm down, I’m never coming back.”
Abel smiled faintly, his father did too. Small and tired, but real.
Then, after a beat, Adam reached over and turned off the lamp. The room sank back into darkness, silver-blue now with moonlight. Neither of them moved away. “Try to sleep,” he murmured.
Abel settled more comfortably against him, chest tightening with something warm that eased rather than hurt. “You too.”
And with Adam awake beside him, warm, solid, alive, the remnants of the nightmare finally began to loosen their grip.
Morning arrived with all the subtlety of a choir politely clearing its throat.
Light slipped into Adam’s quarters in warm, slanted ribbons, pooling across the floor and crawling up the side of the bed until it found two figures tangled in the blankets like evidence at a crime scene.
Abel woke first.
At least, he thought he woke first. For several peaceful seconds, he simply remained still, cheek pressed against Adam’s shoulder, one of his father’s wings loosely draped over him like an enormous feathered curtain.
The nightmare was gone now. Not forgotten, exactly, but it retreated into that strange inner distance bad dreams went when morning embarrassed them into leaving.
He felt warm, safe and—
Ridiculously pinned.
Abel blinked down and saw Adam’s arm was locked around him. The kind of hold that suggested his father, at some point during the night, decided the young man was a strategic object of immense emotional importance and therefore needed to be secured against all possible threats. Including gravity, cold air, and the unacceptable concept of personal movement.
Abel tried to shift and Adam made a low, disgruntled sound, tightening his grip.
A moment passed.
Then Adam, very much still half-asleep, “no.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Adam’s hair was an absolute disaster, flattened on one side and sticking up on the other. His halo hovered at an uneven tilt above him, flickering faintly like it had not received proper maintenance.
His face was relaxed in sleep-softened ways Abel rarely got to see and no smirk sharpened into armor of its own.
Just Adam.
Tired, warm, and apparently unwilling to release his son from feather jail.
“Dad,” Abel whispered. “I need to get up.”
But the larger angel’s yes remained closed. “No, you don’t.”
“I’m pretty sure I do. What if I want breakfast?”
Adam’s brow furrowed like Abel had presented a battlefield complication. After a moment, he said, “breakfast can come here.”
He gave him a look. “You’re going to summon food?”
“Don’t be ridiculous." Adam cracked one eye open. “I’m gonna yell until someone brings it.”
Abel laughed quietly, and the sound seemed to wake his father more effectively than the sunlight did. For a second, there was a sleepy pause between them as last night returned.
Not painfully, just a little awkward. Like a guest stepping into the room and realizing everyone was still in pajamas.
“You sleep okay?”
He nodded. “You?”
Adam inhaled, looked toward the ceiling, and made a noncommittal sound that was clearly meant to pass as an answer, then immediately pointed. “Don’t start that concerned lamb thing.”
Abel sat up as much as the other’s arm allowed, which was admittedly, not much. “What?”
The archangel finally released him, though with the dramatic reluctance of a king surrendering a conquered pillow. “Round face. Big eyes. Makes everybody feel guilty for crimes they haven’t committed yet.”
Abel rolled his eyes, “that’s not true.” But he was smiling now, and Adam looked quietly pleased with himself for having put it there.
The door opened.
Emily burst in carrying a tray of pastries so large it partially obscured her face. “Good morning!” She sang.
Abel startled so badly one wing shot straight out. Adam yanked the blanket up to his chest like he had been caught in a scandal. “Em! What the hell?”
She stopped and her eyes widened, entire face lighting up with unbearable delight. “Oh my gosh!” Emily lowered the tray just enough to reveal a grin with dangerous levels of sparkle. “You had a sleepover!”
Adam pointed at the door. “Out.”
“You had a father-son sleepover!”
Abel, cheeks flushed pink, tried to smooth his hair into something less incriminating. “It was just…we both couldn’t sleep.”
The little angel gasped, and somehow made the sound contain three different emotions and a tiny parade. “That’s even cuter!” Adam groaned into his hand as she stepped farther inside.
“Can I join next time?”
“No.”
“Can I bring matching sleep masks?”
“What did I just say?”
“Can I design matching sleep masks?”
Abel made the mistake of imagining it. He immediately coughed into his hand to hide a laugh. Adam turned on him with betrayal in his eyes. “You too, Baa-bel?”
The young man stared, before covering his face. “That was terrible.”
Then a flat voice came from the doorway. Lute stood there.
She had arrived with the silent precision of a blade sliding free from a sheath, helmet tucked beneath one arm, posture perfect. “You missed morning drills.”
“No good morning?” Her commander asked, a little offended.
“You also failed to answer three summons.”
Emily whispered loudly to Abel, “she’s pretending she doesn’t think this is sweet.” Lute’s jaw tightened by a fraction.
Adam grinned. “Aw, babe. You jealous?”
“No.”
“Because if you wanted in on the father-son nightmare recovery cuddle operation, you could’ve just asked.”
Abel made a small choking noise. Emily nearly dropped the pastries. Lute stared at him for one long, lethal second. “I’d rather be struck by lightning.”
Adam leaned back against the pillows, smug as a cat on a forbidden altar. “So you’ve thought about it.”
Abel decided intervention was required before someone lost a limb, a pastry, or dignity beyond repair. “Emily, are those for us?”
“Yes!” She recovered instantly, sweeping forward like joy with wings. “I brought comfort breakfast. Raph says warm food helps after rough sleep, and I said pastries count as a warm food if you emotionally believe in them.”
“That’s not medically sound,” Lute remarked.
Emily placed the tray on the bed. “But it is spiritually delicious.”
The lieutenant then moved toward the side table and poured water into a cup with military precision, handing it out to Adam. “Drink.”
Abel watched, there was something funny and tender about it all. The room still held traces of last night. But now the morning had filled the space with Emily’s pastries, Lute’s dry cruelty, his father's wounded theatrics, and the soft golden sense that life had resumed without demanding they explain themselves immediately.
That helped. More than Abel expected.
He picked up a pastry, then paused. “Dad?” Adam looked over, mouth already full. “Thank you. For last night.”
For a moment, Adam looked like he wanted to make a joke. Abel could see it arrive, perch on his tongue, and be dismissed. Instead, he reached over and ruffled his son’s hair with exaggerated carelessness.
“Anytime, kid.”
The door remained open behind them, letting morning light stretch across the floor. Somewhere beyond Adam’s quarters, Heaven continued with its schedules, structures, watchful halls, and polished expectations.
But inside the room, for a little while longer, there was only breakfast, bad jokes, and the quiet relief of waking up beside someone who had stayed.
Despite the nightmares and fear still lingering faintly at the edges of memory, Abel found himself laughing again.