Cas looked utterly terrified as he studied your face. "Please, understand... Heaven will stop at nothing to find me, to punish me. And that means you aren't safe either. I've lost too many people. I can't lose you too," he said. His deep voice was pleading. "You must stay hidden. Please. I couldn't bear it if—if something happened to you because of me."
You wanted to fight alongside him, but how could you refuse him this request? You'd never seen him so worried, so pale. Finally, you nodded. "Okay. But you have to promise me that you'll come back. Promise me."
It was the only time Cas had ever felt brave enough to reach for your hand. He enclosed it so gently between his and looked into your eyes with his cobalt ones. "I promise. I have everything to fight for."
Prompt: "I've lost too many people. I can't lose you too."
A new hire has turned up at the Crow's Nest Bookshop, and he looks utterly terrified to be here. A new customer has turned up at the Crow's Nest Bookshop, and she's profoundly distracting. A new Barrel boss has turned up at the Crow's Nest Bookshop, and he's about to raze it all to the ground.
Words: 3.4k
When Kaz entered the bookshop to see an entirely unfamiliar face peering back at him from behind the counter, he knew today was going to be a long one.
Save for the yellowy glow of the hanging lamp over the register, the building was still dark. Weak morning sunlight spilled inside through the little glass panes in the door behind him, fighting its way through the smoggy clouds that always settled themselves over Ketterdam this time of year. Whoever watched Kaz approach from the other end of the shop was certainly dressed for the weather; he wore a thick jumper in coppery autumnal oranges, his hands half-hidden in its sleeves.
“Morning,” said the mystery boy, giving a halfhearted wave. He attempted (rather poorly) to play it off like he was scratching at the back of his head of golden curls when Kaz didn’t return the gesture, only kept stalking his way toward the coat hooks that were tucked behind the fiction shelves.
The thunk of Kaz’s cane along the warped old wood seemingly alerted Per Haskell to his presence (never mind that Kaz arrived at precisely nine and a half bells each morning — on the days Haskell actually bothered to turn up around opening, he tended to be far too busy with his morning glass of whiskey to notice the goings-on out on the floor). The old man emerged from the back office with a little wooden dowel in his right hand, and he clapped his left against this new boy’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.
“Ah,” said Haskell, gesturing toward Kaz with what must have been the mast of his newest model ship. (The thing took up a frankly embarrassing amount of space in the already-too-small back office; Kaz dreamed of the day he could bash his cane into its half-finished hull.) He sounded about as thrilled to see Kaz as he did any day when he got bored enough to set foot on the floor. “Here he is. The lad himself.”
Kaz arched a brow at him. “It seems I’m not the only lad on the premises this morning.”
“Indeed you’re not,” Haskell agreed. “This” — he gave the boy’s shoulder a little jostle — “is Wylan. He’ll be taking up a part-time position here as of fifteen minutes ago.”
Those fifteen minutes had clearly taken their toll; this kid looked like a newborn deer on an open field, and he eyed each bookshelf like their contents were going to try and eat him. “Hi,” he said, doing his very best to covertly wiggle out of Haskell’s grasp. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Kaz didn’t bother to acknowledge him. He bit down on the comment he longed to make about a new hire being made without so much as consulting him and swallowed it hard. “Has he had any training?”
Haskell let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s your job, Brekker, not mine.”
“Of course, sir.” So much for alphabetizing poetry before opening.
“Sir,” Haskell repeated with an inelegant chuckle. He relinquished his grip on the boy and gave the register in front of him a smack. “Look at you, putting on a show for the new hire. You should take after Brekker’s theatrics, son,” he added to Wylan. “It just might get you a raise.”
Kaz knew for a fact that it wouldn’t. Wylan, though, clearly eager to please, nodded and gave a small-but-determined “Yes, sir.”
“A quick learner, eh?” A proper, hearty laugh boomed across the shop; the type Haskell reserved for new business partners and people he wanted to impress. The shine would wear off soon enough, but Kaz made a mental note to keep up the honorifics for the next couple of days.
“A valuable skill,” Kaz said flatly. “One among many, I hope.”
There seemed to be something particularly interesting taking place on the ground between Wylan’s shoes, if the kid’s unblinking stare toward the floor was anything to go by.
“I suppose I’ll leave you boys to it,” said Haskell. (Kaz fought not to bristle — twenty-two, surely, was old enough for him to have graduated from boy.) “Got some important paperwork to get squared away.”
That one nearly received an eye roll. Kaz had been doing this shop’s bookkeeping for just over four years now; any paperwork Haskell planned to work on likely involved a single signature at the bottom of a document Kaz had prepared and printed, or a glance over a spreadsheet Kaz had drafted up that would sit idle on the office’s computer monitor while the old man took a nap in his desk chair.
“Show him the ropes, Brekker,” Haskell said as he ambled off. “Quick crash course, then get him out on the floor.”
Right, of course, because he could absolutely teach this kid all there was to know about the register and the system and the shelving and everything else in — he checked the clock that hung over the creaky green front door — twenty-three minutes.
“Thank you, Mr. Haskell,” Wylan called after him, fiddling with a loose thread at the sleeve of his jumper. He didn’t turn his back on the office door until the old man pulled it closed.
Kaz heaved a sigh and limped around the books that separated the coat hooks from the rest of the shop. He shook his coat from his shoulders, granting himself precisely five seconds to hang it up and scrub a hand through his hair before making his way behind the counter, where Wylan waited quietly with an air of anxiety hanging over him like fog on the harbor.
From a single glance, it’d been clear that this new hire was almost sickeningly polite. Kaz had begun bracing himself for a handshake the moment he laid eyes on the kid; it was more than clear he’d be the sort to introduce himself formally, most likely out of some learned sense of obligation. There was a certain reluctance about him — a need to make a good impression. His wide blue eyes darted repeatedly from Kaz to the office door and back again, and his reddish brows had a permanent, apologetic crease between them, almost as though he were asking forgiveness for occupying space in the shop. Whatever stone he’d been hewn from, it wasn’t the same sort that cobbled the Barrel’s streets.
“Hi,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Wylan.”
Kaz shook it shortly, grasp and release. “So I’ve heard.” He elected to ignore the way Wylan’s attention lingered for just a moment too long on his glove.
“And… sorry, what was your name?”
“Kaz Brekker.” Wylan would know that if he’d ever once set foot in this establishment before; Kaz’s name was scattered all about the place on the little shelf talkers that recommended certain books. (Haskell had been terribly opposed to them, but he stopped complaining once titles that had lived on the shelves long enough for their pages to go yellow were suddenly getting restocked weekly.)
“You’re the manager, then?” Wylan asked.
According to Per Haskell? No. He was a bookseller at best and a nuisance at worst. According to the bills, the payroll, the deliveries, the decor, and the time last winter when Kaz had come into the shop at four bells in the morning to call in an emergency repair for a burst heating pipe? Yes. Very much so. For Wylan’s sake, Kaz elected to abbreviate. “More or less.”
“Cool,” Wylan said, and with that, he seemed to have expended his bank of small talk. Kaz would’ve been happy with the silence, but he figured he should at least try to make conversation. Jesper was always on his hide about how curt Kaz was with the customers.
“So,” he said, propping his cane against its corner beside the register as he booted up the dusty old computer, “Haskell’s been hiring?”
“I guess.” The thread on Wylan’s cuff was growing ever longer; he’d have the whole sleeve unraveled by lunch if he kept this up. “He said you’d been talking about bringing someone new on board for a while now.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah, something about… new blood, I think he said? Being good for morale?”
Kaz leaned down to turn on the receipt printer, chewing that over. “Per Haskell,” he said, “hasn’t listened to a word of advice I’ve given him since the day he took me on. I’ve been one bad customer away from putting out my own damn help wanted listing for the better part of two years. And yet” — Kaz peered over his shoulder — “he took your application in a heartbeat.”
“Sounds like I got lucky.” Wylan’s poker face was in desperate need of work, but Kaz wouldn’t put him through the wringer just yet. He turned back toward the monitor.
“Do you have a preferred genre?” he asked, straightening up. “Any particular wheelhouse?” Kaz had dropped a hundred hints about taking on someone more versed in the science and maths section for months, but to no avail. Maybe, for once in his life, the old man had taken note.
“Oh, ehm. I like… I like fiction?”
Naturally. “Fiction,” Kaz repeated.
“Yep.”
Everyone and their mothers liked fiction. That wasn’t much to go on. “Adult? Children’s? Literary? Historical?”
“I sort of read all over.”
Kaz actually had to take a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Why in Ghezen’s name had Haskell hired this kid? The way he paled at each question made Kaz wonder if he even read at all. Kaz put his back to the computer as it finished sputtering to life, and the moment Wylan realized Kaz’s eyes were on him again, he snapped to attention.
“But if you need someone to, um, cover a certain section, or something,” he said in a rush, “I can be wherever you need me.”
It was difficult to place exactly what energy Wylan was giving off. Anxious, maybe, but not just about starting a new job. Eager to please, but that seemed more innate than conditional. Reading people was a skill Kaz had carefully honed over the years; no matter how closely he scrutinized Wylan’s tone and expression and posture, though, he just couldn’t parse out why this boy looked as though he’d walked into an ambush unarmed.
“Noted,” Kaz said. He retrieved his cane and stepped out onto the floor; as expected, Wylan followed close behind. “Get those switches flipped on,” he said, nodding toward the six wooden pillars wrapped in string lights that stood sentry around the center of the shop. “I’ll get the door.”
It admittedly wasn’t unpleasant to have someone around to assist with the more menial morning duties. Jesper rarely turned up to open — he wasn’t the most punctual of employees, and mornings were never terribly busy, anyway — but with Wylan around, all Kaz really needed to worry about was turning the open sign and unlocking the door. By the time he was done, Wylan had finished with the lights and had taken to standing entirely still with a lost sort of look on his face. Kaz just brushed past him, heading toward the back half of the shop to get that section squared away, too.
“Jesper mans middle readers’,” Kaz said as he walked, “but you’re welcome to assist in that department. He’s got a habit of stacking enough recommendations into customers’ arms to tip them over. It gets a bit overwhelming.”
“Jesper?” Wylan repeated. “Not Jesper Fahey?”
Kaz paused in the act of pulling the chain on a hanging lantern. “You know him?”
“Not really,” said Wylan. He was prodding at a handful of children’s fantasy books, trying to make them all sit evenly in a row. “I just — we have class together. Or had class together, I suppose. At the university? I haven’t seen him in a month or two.”
“Interesting.” Kaz would file that away for later.
“Speaking of the university,” Wylan said, tugging on a paperback to line up its spine with the edge of the shelf, “do you go? I would’ve thought I’d’ve seen you around.”
I’m too old for school, came an unwanted echo from the back of Kaz’s head. Too smart, too. Maybe little pigeon Kaz had taken that to heart. “No,” he said, and he set back off for the register.
“Mr. Haskell mentioned training,” Wylan said, still dogging Kaz’s every step. At least he knew when to drop a topic of conversation.
“That he did.” Kaz nodded toward the computer screen. “Have you ever worked a point-of-sale system?”
“No.”
Kaz considered him. “Ever worked at all?”
“Um. Also no.”
It took a concerted effort for Kaz to refrain from pinching the bridge of his nose. Though he longed for the simplicity of a morning spent doing anything other than training some doe-eyed university boy, it seemed fate wouldn’t be granting him that luxury today. “Alright,” he said. “Then we’ll start from square one.”
The following hours were blessedly quiet — they usually were this early in the day, but Kaz had learned to take small victories where he could find them. He gave Wylan a short tour of the shop, which Wylan spent scratching away at a small notepad, diligently scribbling down… something. He held it too close to his chest for Kaz to see, even when he didn’t think Kaz was looking. (Kaz would have to find a time to pickpocket it off him some time soon.)
Wylan was a quick enough learner; he could count back change in his head, which Kaz respected more than he’d ever admit aloud, and he picked up processing returns without trouble. His seemingly subconscious seeking of approval meant that he was dedicated and determined; by all counts, he was shaping up to be a pretty decent employee.
Issues began to arise, however, when Kaz showed him the inventory and the distributor sites. Wylan grew flustered when Kaz suggested he search up a book he was familiar with in order to learn how the system categorized the sections, and more flustered still when Kaz proffered a specific title for him to type in. What little tension had seeped from his body over the past handful of hours returned to it tenfold as his hands hovered motionless over the keyboard.
“Sorry,” Wylan kept saying, “sorry, sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”
Kaz saw no point in causing the new hire psychological distress on his first day, and frankly, it was too early in the day to try and puzzle out why the kid was wound so tight. He cut his losses and dug a duster out of the back room, then extended it to Wylan handle side out. He’d been trying to get Jesper to clean up the lower shelves for longer than he cared to quantify; maybe having an extra set of hands on deck, no matter how suspicious their arrival had been, wasn’t the worst thing.
As it turned out, Wylan was incredibly diligent. He kept to himself as Kaz did his usual paperwork and order-placing, only drifting back toward the counter when the odd customer showed up to watch Kaz make sales over his shoulder. Wylan was somewhere in the far back of the shop when Jesper finally took it upon himself to waltz inside, wearing absurdly patterned trousers and an even more absurd jacket to guard against the early autumn chill.
“Morning!” he called out far louder than he needed to.
“It’s half past twelve bells,” Kaz noted.
“And I just rolled out of bed. Hence: morning.” Jesper sauntered up to the counter and dropped a brown paper bag atop it. Kaz lifted a brow.
“What’s this?”
“Breakfast,” Jesper replied, reaching inside and digging out a croissant frosted with chocolate. “You know. That thing people eat in the morning. I got you some, too. Chocolate-free, just for you, Dirtyhands.”
Kaz made no move to reach for the bag. “If you make a mess of a single book cover —”
“I won’t!” Jesper insisted. A drop of chocolate chose that moment to land on his knuckle. “I solemnly swear to thoroughly wash my hands,” he said, crossing his heart with his croissant-free index finger.
“Ghezen help you if you don’t,” said Kaz.
There was a creak from behind him as Wylan passed through the little swinging door between the children’s section and the counter, presenting Kaz with what looked like a recently deceased rabbit. “Are there more of these dust-y things?” Wylan asked, sliding the once-yellow (now gray) disposable cover from the duster’s handle.
“Supply closet.” Kaz had busied himself with cracking open a new roll of coins, but he could feel Wylan’s questioning eyes on him from where he stood. “The door tucked between the coat hooks. The handle has a habit of sticking.”
Wylan nodded. He nearly made it four steps away from the counter before Jesper intercepted him, arms folded, chin up, seeming intrigued by the way Wylan froze on the spot like a small animal caught digging through the bin.
“Morning,” Jesper said again, his gray eyes glittering with interest. “Who might you be, O stranger behind the register?”
“Oh, um, hi. We’ve actually — Hi. I’m Wylan.” His arm jerked slightly, like he had been planning to shake hands but decided against it once he noticed that Jesper was holding what must have been the world’s messiest croissant.
“Wylan?” said Jesper. “Wylan who?”
“Van Eck,” Kaz said without looking up.
“Wh — I never told you that.” Wylan whipped his head around to face him; there was a mildly distressed expression on his face (which Kaz, of course, didn’t see).
Kaz shrugged, shaking the coins into the till. “Didn’t need to.”
“Van Eck?” said Jesper. “As in high-and-mighty merch Van Eck?”
“Yep,” Wylan said to his shoes.
“The Van Eck whose smarmy face is plastered all around Ketterdam? The one who’s gunning for a spot at the head of the Merchant Council?”
“That’d be the one.” The tips of Wylan’s ears had gone noticeably pink.
“Huh.” Jesper ripped a hunk off his croissant and took a thoughtful bite. “What’s a merchling like you doing in retail?”
“Working,” Wylan said shortly.
Jesper snorted. “Well, paint me red and call me Mister Crimson,” he said, nudging Wylan in the side with his elbow. “Welcome to the world of the working man.”
“Thank you.” Wylan cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. “I’m, um. I’m going to go get that duster.” He vanished behind the fiction shelves without another word.
“Bit twitchy, that one, isn’t he?” Jesper said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I’d love to know how he landed here.”
“So would I,” said Kaz, sliding the drawer shut with a clatter.
Jesper spun around to face him, legs crossed, pointedly ignoring the way Kaz glared at him for putting his shoes up on the counter. “What, did you not hire him yourself?”
“No. Haskell sprung him on me first thing this morning.”
“A classic Haskell move,” Jesper said sagely. “D’you think he’ll be a good fit, at least?”
“That’s to be determined.”
“Whatever you say.” Jesper crammed the rest of his croissant into his mouth and dropped back down to the floor, nudging the pastry bag back in Kaz’s direction. “Give this to the newbie if you’re just gonna let it go stale.”
Kaz snatched up the bag and set it behind the counter. “Wash your hands, Jesper.”
He was met with a wink and a dazzling smile as Jesper saluted him with a chocolate-frosted hand. “Will do.”
Next chapter
Read it on wattpad and ao3
A/N:
uh oh! it's the beginning of my lowercase titles era. i very much lifted this title (and the names of all the chapters) from the new fall out boy album. please be supportive of my brave and groundbreaking choice.
this fic has been spinning in circles at the back of my brain since i read pyrrhlc's "latte art," and it's already like 14k words long as of when i'm posting the first chapter. i'm going a little bit crazy. i work in a bookstore and i love bookstores and i also love kaz brekker, so of course i'm going to make him work in one, too. of course i am. welcome to retail, motherfucker.
man, it sure is weird that wylan van eck is working at a bookshop. what's all that about?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Words: 5851
Summary:
If you looked at him just on his own, you’d be forgiven for thinking Jet Star was the run of the mill Killjoy. Cowboy boots, mud-stained four wheel drive and all. You’d think he was born and raised in neon garbage, which he may have earned through his years running the Zones; but we all come from somewhere. Jet was no outlier.
Even if he’d rather be from nowhere. Witch knows it’d be easier for him to reckon with.
In so many words, a story about how when the going gets tough, the tough keep on going.
In another world, Dean and Cas deal with the consequences of letting Gadreel possess Sam. Things aren’t left unsaid.
Could You Really Love Castiel?
Character Meta
Stay~
Dean and Sam miraculously bring Cas back to you.
Tall Tales and Angel Moans $ Dean/Cas and Narrator
A fellow hunter finds Dean and Cas hashing it out in a bunker hallway and tells you all about it.
Tall Tales and Bowed Legs $ Cas!UnnamedFemaleHunter/Dean Winchester
Castiel explains just how your best friend got Enochian tattoos down her throat.
Emptied
She once had such power and passion, but without that and without Cas, what is she?
Series:
Through the Year: Reincarnation AU
Souls have a way of meeting in every lifetime. Sometimes they are friends, family, lovers, enemies or rivals. Follow the journey of the relationships with Sam and Dean over many lifetimes. Told by our favorite Angel as a bedtime story.
Castiel is going through it. He’s been dumped by his husband and demoted at work. A walk in the woods to clear his head makes it all horrifically worse. Luckily, he is saved by a bearded stranger. Through his recovery Castiel searches for the man in the woods. When he finds Dean, an unlikely friendship grows. As Cas comes to terms with the way his life is changing, Dean opens up a whole new world to him
Warnings : Just a bit of confusion due to not remembering a previous life.
A/N : The prompt that inspired this came from the always amazing @sorenmarie87. Here’s what I did with that Immortal Artist Soulmate idea you sent.
SPN AU Bingo Round Two Masterlist.
You glided through the museum rooms, eyes scanning over paintings and sculptures as you moved past and around them. People mulled around you, some with headphones on, taking a virtual tour, some in groups with an actual tour guide, and others still, just standing and taking in the art.
You had always enjoyed the quiet hum of a museum. Drawn to it as far back as you could remember. It gave you a sense of calm, and belonging and you were never able to figure out why. Even in a foreign place, a city you’d never visited, in a museum you had never even heard of until you arrived, you felt like you were home among all the paintings.
You walked into a room filled with Renaissance paintings and smiled softly as you went. But one gave you pause. You stood there, staring at what looked far too much like yourself. A reflection, almost, looking back at you with a longing. You looked around you, glancing at other patrons, other paintings, and across the room, you saw another.
It had to be a coincidence that it looked like you, right? This was, what? 15th century art you were walking towards? Had to be a coincidence. This one was similar in style as the other, perhaps same artist and model? Tearing your eyes away, you opted to move on from these and put them from your mind.
You were looking at an 18th century painting when it happened again. You felt like you were looking at a painting of yourself in a garden with a man, a lover. It was an intimate painting and again, you quickly tore your eyes away. Your eyes went to the signature in the corner. ‘Castiel’. The name was familiar to you, an image at the back of your mind that you couldn’t quite pull forth.
Returning back to the Renaissance room, you searched that first painting again, and found what looked to be the same name. Then you crossed the room to search the other, and once again saw the name ‘Castiel’, but how was that possible?
Looking up at the painting once more, you studied the figure of the woman who looked just like you. In this painting, she was half nude, breasts exposed, and you had to stop yourself from bringing your hands to your own breasts as if to cover, or maybe compare them.
“What do you think of this one?”
You glanced at the man who’d walked up next to you and startled you out of your thoughts, then looked back at the painting. “It’s eerie.”
“Eerie, how?” he was watching you.
“It looks so much like me. Doesn’t it?”
“That’s not uncommon.” He shrugged and turned to the painting in question. “Isn’t that a thing on the internet? People taking pictures with paintings that look like them?”
“I suppose..” He was right, of course. You’d seen someone doing that very thing in one of the other rooms, but you couldn’t shake that feeling.
“Other than that, though. What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” You looked over, and he wore a soft smile and a look of longing, like he knew her and missed her with all his heart.
“Probably why he used her for a model.” your voice was low as you watched him, watched the smile widen on his face.
“No. I think he used her because he loved her.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Look at her. Look at the expression on her face, how she looks at him as he paints her. But also look at how he portrays her, she is the centre of everything, his whole world. He presents her in such an intimate way. He loved her.”
You furrowed your brow at him. “Who are you?”
He turned to you, looking at you in much the same way he’d looked at the woman in the painting, as if you were both one in the same. “My name is Castiel.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “You’re-”
“I am. And I have missed you, so much. You are still as beautiful as the first time we met. I just wish one day you could remember it.”
*If you like this, please consider supporting my work*
Note: This is my first published work since October of 2016. Long story short, I’ve gone through a lot of shit in the last year but I’m finally at a place in life that I can start writing again. Consider this my first offering. There will be more to come. Please enjoy!
Summary: It was just a misunderstanding. They wrote his name wrong. No big deal. Except now the hot guy serving his coffee thinks his name is fucking "Dave" and Dean can't bring himself to correct him. Except he'll have to. Eventually. Right? Especially if he wants to ask him out on a date... right?
Dean was not the type to be a ‘regular.’ Anywhere. He didn’t frequent the same shops and stores, and he certainly never stayed in the same place for long. Granted, that was due to a lifetime of moving across state lines as often as the average girl revamped her wardrobe. At least, Dean could only assume as much. All he knew for certain is that he was not a regular. Anywhere.
Times were changing, however, and after moving to California to be closer to his brother after John died… well, maybe this would change too. That didn’t mean Dean had to like it.
The coffee shop was small and cozy. Dean never liked the popular places like Starbucks. They were too… busy. Too loud. Also, too friendly. He wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to get his morning dose of caffeine and move on. ASAP. Besides, he only had to do this a few more times till he could afford a damn coffee machine of his own. Then all these shops could go straight to hell.
Dean scoffed as he waited in line, staring up at the freakishly large menu above the counter as he tried to imagine how many ways a person could fuck up a simple cup of coffee. Apparently, that answer was a lot.
It didn’t matter in the end. When he reached the counter and a beaming blond with a lollipop in his mouth asked him for his order, Dean growled, “Get me whatever has the most caffeine in the largest cup you got.”
“You got it big boy,” the man behind the counter winked. “Got a name to go with that?”
Dean grunted his response and took his number and waited. The wait wasn’t long enough to inspire murder, so Dean accepted his order quietly and quickly rushed out of the store, bouncing the burning hot cup between his hands as the chilly autumn breeze swept around him. Well, as chilly as it could get for California.
Dean grumbled as he tentatively sipped at his drink, then paused. It wasn’t… bad. Something close to the opposite, in fact. He smirked and took a longer swallow before finally glancing down at his cup. His smirk faded and a scowl took it’s place.
In a messy scrawl on the side read the name, “DAVE” with a heart beside it.
God damn it.
…
He didn’t go back on purpose. It was for the sake of time, and the shop was fast, and Dean was in a hurry. He’d gotten a job for an old friend of his father’s. Ellen Harvelle. She’s heard about his passing, and through a few more sources, learned that Dean was sneaking into town to be closer to his brother. Sam already had his own life set up, but Dean was still building. She offered him a spot in her bar to get started. He’d taken it.
Now, he was running late and was several notches too low on caffeine to make it through his shift, so naturally it was an emergency. It was only chance that it was on his route to work.
When he stepped inside it was quieter than it was before. He took in the low rumble of activity and thanked God there was barely a line. He sighed in relief when he also noticed the blond from last time was nowhere to be seen.
Instead of the blond, a dark haired man around Dean’s age stood at the front counter. His stance was very different from the blond’s, where the other had been buoyant and carefree, this man seemed much more reserved. Dean appreciated it. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing winks or hearts on his cup that Jo would laugh at.
He made it to the front of the line, but before he could speak, the employee’s eyes widened and he held up a hand of silence.
“Same order?” The man asked. His voice sounded like a goddamn wreck. Did the dude eat rocks for breakfast? Daily?
“Uh, yeah,” Dean replied, unsure if he was more surprised to be remembered or the fact that the dude’s voice was the equivalent of a rocky landslide.
The other man didn’t speak again, only taking Dean’s card to pay, and then rushing away to fill the order. The wait was shorter this time. Dean smiled and nodded his thanks, then rushed out the door. He still had his shift to get to.
It was only after he walked through the doors of the Roadhouse that Jo pointed and snickered, “Who’s Dave?”
Dean cursed.
…
It started to become a routine. It was far from intentional. But it was on his route to work, and they were faster than most joints Dean had ever been too, so he just kept… going. He wondered if this was how it happened to everyone else. Becoming a regular. Because of god forsaken convenience. He hated it. Sort of.
Dean saw the blond a couple more times, but never at the front counter. If he was ever seen, he was usually hidden away in the back or helping serve up orders on the busy days. The dark haired one was nearly always in front, and he always remembered Dean. Or in his eyes, Dave. Dean still hadn’t corrected them yet.
How exactly was he supposed to fix that? Was he just supposed to say, “Oh by the way, my name’s Dean and you’ve been writing my name wrong for weeks.” He couldn’t just say that, could he? Should he? Damn it.
It was only made worse by the fact that Dean was coming in almost every day before shift, and he was starting to actually… notice things. Like how the shop always smelled more like baked treats and candy than coffee. Or how there were so many windows Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the indoor lights on.
He also couldn’t help but notice other things, too. Like the way the blond one was always glancing between him and the dark haired employee. Or how whenever the dark haired one turned to make Dean’s order, the blond one would wink and nudge the other playfully. The dark haired one always came back with the order, his cheeks a little more flushed than when he’d first turned away.
The dark haired one had startling blue eyes, too. He’d never really paid attention before. There was never any reason to. He wasn’t sure when he noticed either, only that once he did, it was all he really thought about. He’d catch himself looking at the sky and thinking it wasn’t nearly as blue as the ones looking back at him in that stupid shop.
It was starting to get ridiculous. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. The guy didn’t even know his name. How the fuck did that even happen?
“Dean, you’re zoning again,” Sam called, snatching Dean out of his thoughts.
Dean grumbled and looked at his brother. They were in Sam’s apartment, playing some new game Sam had been raving about for weeks. Meanwhile, Jess was out with friends and wasn’t due back for a few more hours. It was quality brotherly bonding time. Something Dean had sorely missed, and he couldn’t even stay focused on that.
“Sorry,” Dean muttered, shooting at an enemy soldier in the nick of time.
Sam was silent for several moments until the battle ended. Instead of starting up the next one, he nudged Dean with his elbow.
“Something goin’ on?” Sam asked.
Dean shook his head and stretched out his legs, groaning as blood started rushing back to the feet he’d been sitting on for the past hour.
“Nah,” Dean replied. “Just tired. Pulled a double shift last night cause of some event at the Roadhouse. It paid good though.”
“Sure,” Sam nodded, humming. “Is that why you’ve been zoning out for the past two weeks?”
“What?” Dean snapped his gaze to meet his brother’s. “I haven’t been--”
“Uh, you have, Dean. Something’s bugging you. What gives?”
Dean sighed and glanced at the TV, their record kills glowing back at them.
“I don’t know,” he dodged. “Stupid stuff. Little stuff. It’s not a big deal.”
“Big enough for you to let me win? Like, all night?”
“I didn’t let you win.”
“So you admit I’m better than you?” Sam grinned. Dean scowled.
“Fine,” Dean grumbled, picking up his controller again. “There’s this dude at this dumb coffee shop--”
“The one that keeps getting your name wrong?”
“How’d you know?”
“Dean, every time I see you with a to-go cup it says DAVE on the side of it. All caps. Pretty sure that’s not your name, and you keep getting the same cup with the same name on it, so it’s definitely your order and you haven’t corrected them yet. How come?”
“God damn it,” Dean muttered. “Cause the guy remembers me every time I walk through the door and always has my order ready within a minute. And he’s super hot so it doesn’t make it easy to just--”
“Dude, he’s cute?”
“Uh, not just cute. Hot. Like burn-me-at-the-stake-and-I’d-be-okay-with-it kind of hot.”
“Nice,” Sam nodded, then furrowed his brow. “So you want to ask him out but he thinks your name is…” He snickered, “Dave?”
“Fuck me.”
“If you ask him nicely, maybe,” Sam replied. “But give him your actual name first.”
“Fuck off, Sammy,” Dean growled. “Now start the next round. I need to kill something.”
“Sure thing. As long as you promise to actually talk to this guy?”
“Fine. Fine. Start the game, damn it.”
…
This was stupid. God. Damn. Stupid.
Dean clenched his fist at his side and stared up at the coffee shop sign. Angel’s Touch. What the fuck kind of name was that? That should be the name of a strip club, not a goddamn coffee shop.
He took a deep breath and shoved his fists in his pockets. It was time to do this. He could do this. God damn it.
Another steeled breath, and he pushed through the doors. It was low in activity, as it often was at that hour. The blond was nowhere in sight, and only a few other patrons sat at tables around the shop.
Dean wandered up to the counter, thankful that the dark haired on was distracted with something near the back and hadn’t noticed him yet. Once he turned, however, Dean felt his resolve weaken at the other man’s intense blue gaze.
“Oh, hello,” the man smiled. It was small, but genuine. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a full-fledged smile from the guy. He kind of wanted to change that.
One thing at a time, Dean cursed to himself. He offered a thin smile back and braced his hands on the counter. Just be calm, man. Be calm.
“The usual?” The man offered.
“Uh, something different today, actually,” Dean replied. His palms were sweating. Fuck.
The other man’s smile grew slightly and a quizzical look crossed his features.
“Oh?” He asked. “What can I get for you?”
Dean licked his lips. He could feel his heart beating in his ears.
“I…” He started, paused. Fuck!
Finally, “Dean,” he wheezed.
“I’m sorry?” The man’s nose scrunched up in confusion. God fucking fuck. No. It’s not cute. Shut up, brain. Fuck.
“Dean,” he said again, louder this time. “Dean, not Dave. My name is Dean.”
The other man’s head tilted briefly, absorbing, then he froze. His eyes widened ever so slightly and his posture straightened.
“Oh.” He murmured. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Dean stated, dumbly. “Uh, yeah.”
“I apologize,” the other man continued, placing his hands against the counter as well. “I just… I saw Gabriel write your name down that day… I just thought… Oh fuck,” the man cursed and placed a hand over his eyes. “Of course. Of course Gabriel would write the wrong name. He does it for fun. Constantly. It’s why he’s not supposed to be up front, fuck--”
Dean’s face split into a grin. God damn it he could get used to hearing that voice say fuck. But then, reality sank back in and he quickly stammered, “Uh, no, no. It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to let you know, cause… you know.”
“What?” The other man lowered his palm, staring at him with that old head tilt.
“I,” Dean swallowed. Moment of truth. “I thought you should know. In case you said yes.”
The man’s eyes widened once more. Pink dusted his cheeks and he glanced around the room before looking back at Dean.
“A date.”
Dean nodded.
“You want me to go on a date.”
Another nod.
“With you.”
“You can say no,” Dean stammered out. The other man stared at him for several long moments. Dean shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let it get to him.
The man was damn near unreadable. Until, a tick of movement crossed his face, then a smile. It grew slowly, then burst wide all at once and Dean was blinded.
“Castiel.”
“What?” Dean managed.
“Or Cas. But my name is Castiel. I thought you should know. You did ask me on a date.”
“Castiel,” Dean said, grinning madly. “Nice. When do you get off work?”
Cas grinned back at him. “At eight.”
“Can I swing by and pick you up?”
Cas smirked and grabbed a cup and a sharpie. Dean watched with rapt attention until Cas handed it over.
In bold, black letters, in all caps, read the word, “DEAN.” Below it was a string of numbers. With a heart at the end.
Before Dean could speak, Cas stated, “Text me. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m off for the night.”
Dean beamed. “I will. Count on it.”
Cas grinned back, the pink settling to a rosy hue. Dean doubted he looked any different.
“See you tonight,” Cas replied.
Dean didn’t even make it to his car before he sent off the text. He didn’t have to wait a minute before the reply text came.
“I owe Gabriel ten bucks. He said you’d make the first move.”
“What did you bet?” Dean texted back.
“That you wouldn’t at all.”
“I’ll pitch in five bucks.”
“Don’t encourage him.”
Dean laughed and climbed into his car.
“You know, I never thought I’d be a regular at a coffee shop.”
“I’m glad you are.”
“Me too.”
He never did buy that damn coffee machine. But he did keep the cup.
Reader struggles with Dean being in Hell, until she gets a surprise.
You Need To Take The Plastic Off
Dean tries to cook a Thanksgiving Turkey on his own. It doesnt turn out well.
Cooking Class
Reader teaches Cas and Dean how to make spaghetti
Hands
Dean needs some severe hugs
A Thousand Reasons
Dean and reader have an argument that result in reader leaving. 3 months later reader invites Dean to a concert where she sings a song from their past.
Renegade Meets the Bugle Boy
You and Dean both secretly plan a theme party for your anniversary and pull Sam in the middle of it, then Sam decides to turn it around on both of you.
Just A Touch
Y/N wakes up to Dean having a nightmare, there’s only one way to cure his nightmares.
Santa Hat
Reader and Dean met on Christmas one year ago, now she happily makes Christmas cookies while Dean plans a devious present.
New Years and New Beginnings
Sam plans a special New Years surprise for you.
Mistletoe Surprise
Dean plans a little surprise for you to show you how he really feels about you.
F**king Perfect
You spend the afternoon with your goofball and awesome bestie, filming a video to try and make people smile and remind everyone they are perfect.
Fantasies and Fanfics
You got bored waiting for Dean to come home, once he does he finds you on some site called Tumblr
Good Out Of Bad
Dean is late and misses your birthday, when your cake also gets messed up you choose to see the brighter side of things and show Dean that mistakes can be fixed.
Cinderella
Jensen has spent his daughter’s life dancing with her. When it comes time for her to dance with someone else he has a hard time letting go.
I’m Yours
It’s your first Christmas with Dean and he can’t make it home, but in preparation, Dean left you a present
Remember To Forget Me
You love Dean with all your heart, but when he puts himself between you and danger time after time you begin to realize things need to change.
The Scream
Dean has heard many screams before… But this one is new.
Without You
When you and Dean have to sleep alone after losing one another, you both discover how much you miss something as simple as sharing a bed.
In His Arms
When Dean wakes up to you having another nightmare he finds all he can do is hold you close, blaming himself for the pain you were in.
A Funny Mood
You and Dean are decorating the house for Christmas when you decide you want a little more from him than help decorating.
Last Words
You and Jensen are ready and excited for your anniversary, but what happens in the end leaves a missing piece and a broken soul left behind.
SERIES-
When In Rome
Dean notices changes in Y/N after she’s brought back to life, slowly realizing she isn’t the same woman he fell in love with and that she’s gone bad. Will he be able to save her? Or is she lost to him?
You’re Not Alone
Readers life has been about getting her to the Winchesters. Lets see how things go when she finally meets them.
To Live A Life (100 Drabbles - Drabble series)
When you discover you have cancer you are determined to keep the secret from your husband, pulling your best friend into the mix of deception.
Something Called Perfect
Melissa is a reserved young woman who moves to Vancouver in hopes of starting a successful bakery when she gets a job at a catering business who caters for a local television show. She has no idea what’s in store for her when she comes face to face with Jensen Ackles. Her newfound friendship with Jared Padalecki makes it difficult for the shy girl to stay away from the man she doesn’t believe she deserves.
Your eyes were wide, terrified, and your breathing was ragged. You couldn't believe what—who you were staring at. "You're—you're dead. I saw you die. You were dead," you stuttered. "What the hell is this?"
Cas took a step toward you, his cobalt eyes soft and concerned, his hands in front of him in a show of good will. "I was. But now—I'm not."
You stepped back as he stepped forward. Your heart was screaming for you to believe him, but your head was yelling that it was impossible. "No—no, you were dead!"
"Y/N—it's me. Somehow, I was resurrected. I don't know how myself. I was gone. But now I'm back..."
You felt as if your knees were about to buckle. Tears stung in your eyes. Your heart was starting to beat out your head... "Is it—it can't really be—"
He took another cautious step forward. More than anything, he wanted to feel you in his arms again, press you against him, but you were still stunned staring at him with wide eyes.
"If it's really you, tell me something—tell me something only you would know," you said suddenly.
Cas nearly smiled. This would be easy. He knew everything little thing about you. He never forgot a single thing you told him or that he noticed, consider it an angelic super power. "You never liked Sesame Street as a child. You thought it was too loud. Your favorite tea is Wild Sweet Orange. You always sleep in socks, even in hot weather. Your first pet was a floppy-eared black bunny named Midnight. And—" another step toward you, "—the first time I kissed you was on that case in Kentucky, underneath the wisteria, and when I pulled back completely terrified, you grabbed me and kissed me again. And ever since then, I've never wanted to be parted from you for a single moment."
A tear broke out and ran down over your cheek. Your lips parted and though your eyes were still wide, they were less fearful. "I thought I was never going to see you again."
"I know," Cas said, nodding. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. But, somehow, I'm here now and—"
He didn't need to say anymore, couldn't in fact, because you were kissing him. And it was almost as if no time had passed. You fell into each other the way two kindred souls do.
Prompt: "You're dead. I saw you die. You were dead!"
