I just got finished reading @xev3n 's fic "Petal To The Metal" it was excellent! Possessive Dom!cas and Mechanic Dean with a big ol' crush. It was so fun!
I also got to do a lil art for it if you wanna go check it out!
When Dean Winchester is roped into posing for the town's charity calendar, he figures it's the perfect chance to flirt, flex, and maybe score a date. What he doesn't expect is to find someone who's apparently immune to his usual charms.
Between scheduling mishaps, community gossip, and deadpan banter, Dean's starting to wonder if it's time to put the pedal to the metal and crank up his efforts, because this year, May might just be the hottest month yet..
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester
Additional Tags: Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester, Florist Castiel (Supernatural), Tattooed Dean Winchester, Drawing
Series: Part 10 of Tumblr Fic
Summary:
“Can I draw your plants?”
“Can you...” Castiel drags his eyes away from the myriad of intersecting geometric patterns etched across the man’s arms. “What?”
The man holds up his notebook. “Can I draw your plants? I won’t get in the way.” He offers his free hand with an irresistible grin. “I’m Dean.”
And that’s how it starts.
I love the art that comes with this fic! Would have been amazing to see all the flowers Dean drew on Cas, but this is just as amazing! I wish I was as brave as Castiel is in this fic... Enjoy 🖤
Florist!Castiel/Baker!Dean Winchester
Words: 1.3k
Warnings: nope
A/N: Here's the final 'part'! I hope it's good!! I am planning on making an epilogue, so we'll see how that goes...
Summary: The three days without new flowers were quite possibly three of the longest and most agonizing days of Dean's life. He paced. He worked. He sat and overthought. He did everything he could to unknowingly amp up his anxiety. But when an unexpected surprise shows up soon after, he figures that everything might just be alright after all.
PART I PART II PART III
Though he knew it was irrational, Dean would have sworn that his heart was going to beat out of his chest as fast and hard as it was racing right then. He could recall only a few times it had ever thumped so vigorously, like the handful of moments his father physically - rather than vocally - confronted him after a late night at the bar, or a year ago when his little brother left him for his first year of Stanford.
It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time as he stood at the already locked door of the flower shop. His heart sped up even faster as he knocked. The three seconds it took for the man on the other side to turn around felt like they were playing out in slow-motion.
Dean's grip on the box in his hand tightened as he locked eyes with the blue-eyed florist through the clear glass door. He watched as the man walked the few it took to reach the door. He watched as his large hand reached for the door knob, pulling open the only thing separating them thus far. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself in the split second he had and -
The three days without new flowers were quite possibly three of the longest and most agonizing days of Dean's life. He paced. He worked. He sat and overthought. He did everything he could to unknowingly amp up his anxiety.
By the second day, he had come to the conclusion that the cupcakes were a mistake. It was too much, or not enough, or just a bad idea, period. He mulled over how it went wrong for so long, and lost so much sleep over it, that it nearly made him sick. If the flowers stopped when I started, does that mean it really was him? Dean couldn't make up his mind, but it was driving him insane.
By the third day, Dean decided to close the shop just until the next day. He had hardly gotten three hours of sleep between the last two nights and was about ready to crash. There was no way he was going to let himself ice a birthday cake half-asleep and half delirious. Instead, he folded out his sofa bed - which was only ever used unless Sam spent the night, which was often. Dean was surprised that his brother hadn't moved in with him. The idea had been thrown around as soon as Dean bought his own place away from their exhausting father. It was only a night or two of the week they weren't together anyway.
Dean nestled into a pile of blankets, deciding to keep the TV off and the noise to a minimum. He fell asleep after laying in comforting silence for a while, only disturbed when Pudding the cat jumped up and nestled into his side. He napped off and on until the next morning, where all of his troubles were thrown out the window.
Never in his life had Dean been more happy to see an Aloe Vera plant. In fact, he was pretty sure he had never seen one in real life before that moment. But the relief and excitement that tiny plant sitting in the bakery's windowsill brought was incomparable to the miniscule detail.
The baker gently picked up the plant, turning it over in his hands as he opened the note attached. He grinned widely when he saw the words inside.
Aloe you very much.
Dean unlocked slowly, too busy genuinely smiling for the first time in days. Could it really be him? It has to be.
The next seven or so hours were unnerving but in a different way than they had been for the earlier part of the week. He was still eager to close, but only so that he could take the honey pie he spent nearly two hours on across the street. The smile he wore was so bright, he even had his brother asking what was wrong. It was pretty refreshing.
7:00 came after what felt like hours longer than it should have. Dean locked up as quickly as he could, hustling across the street as he desperately tried to make it before the florist went upstairs to his home. He sighed as he saw the man turn away from the door already, speeding up to make it before it was too late.
That's how Dean got where he was then, panting and out of breath with a box of pie on the doorstep of a flower shop.
The florist's brilliant blue eyes went wide as Dean smiled shyly at him. It was the first time he had seen his shocking eyes, and he would have sworn he fell just a little bit deeper into whatever they had going when he heard the man's gravelly voice.
"Um...Hello."
"Hi..." Dean answered awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. They stared intently at one another for a moment, each taking the other in. Dean noticed that they were about the saw height. The florist's hair was far darker than his, sticking up messily like he forgot to brush it. He had a sharp jawline and was wearing a nice blue sweater, which was just a touch too big and that made his eyes pop, and jeans. "I - uh - I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."
Cas reached to take the hand Dean had outstretched to shake, "Castiel Novak. Cas, if you'd like."
"I brought you this." Dean stuttered as Cas let go of his hand. He was surprised he could say that much.
He watched the man - no, Cas - take it, opening it to find the pie inside. Dean thought he saw his eyes widen some more, and his lips parted in what appeared to be either awe or shock.
"It - you - I don't know what to say." Cas said bewilderedly.
"Oh, well...I - God, this seems so stupid now," Dean said partially to himself as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He had mistaken Cas' surprise for something that meant it wasn't him. "You weren't the one who brought the flowers, were you?"
Cas' face turned bright red, and he swiped a hand over his face nervously. It took a moment for him to compose himself. "So you know about that, huh?"
"It was you?" Dean asked. Now it was his turn to be bewildered.
"Yes. I thought it was a long shot..." Cas muttered. "If it made you uncomfortable or anything, I understand. You can leave and we never have to talk to each other again and -"
"Cas." Dean interjected. "I brought the cupcakes."
Cas' cheeks became redder at Dean's outburst, and he set the pie on the counter out of fear of dropping it with his increasingly unsteady hands.
Dean grinned.
"Well, would you like to come in and talk? It's not much but we can make it work." Cas asked as he gestured.
"Yeah, I'd like that a lot."
The pair ended up side by side on the fire escape, each with a slice of Dean's pie on their laps. They introduced themselves to one another, gave the other their story. It was one of the sweetest moments either had ever had.
"Hey, Cas?"
"Yeah?
"So, did you mean it?" Dean asked.
"Mean what?" Cas responded, wringing his hands.
"That last one...with the Aloe? Did you mean it?" Dean clarified, heart beginning to race again.
"Um...yeah." Cas said nervously, looking out at the bakery that was considerably smaller from their view.
"Hey, Cas?"
"Yeah?"
"Me too."
Dean gently laid a warm hand on Cas' cheek, watching as he turned his head. Cas placed a hand on Dean's side. It was like they moved as one after that, both leaning in.
That first kiss was better than either ever imagined. It didn't set off fireworks, nor did sparks fly. There wasn't a world-changing epiphany or anything like that.
What there was was the feeling of contentment that neither had had in a long time.
Yeah, Dean thought as his lips moved against Cas'. This is home.
Summary: Running the Campbell Historic Home in Lawrence has proved a more satisfying career than Dean ever would have imagined. Now, if only he could get local florist Castiel to see him as more than an opportunity to market his bouquets to affianced couples...
Comments: 10/10 this is so fluffy and adorable. Dean runs a historic home that hosts weddings, Cas is a local florist, and Dean has a crush on Cas. SPOILERS: Cas has been sending cute little cards to Dean with his weekly display flowers all this time, though Dean has never opened them, at least until today.
Castiel Novak; Florist, business owner, concerned neighbor.
Dean Winchester; Homeless, musician, Deaf.
Sliding a key into the knob, he unlocked the shop door. A light green plaque, that read “Bee-utiful Blooms”, clanked as he pushed the door open. A plume of sweet smelling fragrance hit his nose and he smiled. The space was filled with potted plants, cut flowers, and little seedlings trying to sprout. He greeted all of the plants, lightly grazing his fingertips against leaves and petals in a hello. He unbuttoned his pea coat and pulled off his pub cap, rustling his already messy black hair.
Castiel owned a quaint little flower shop in downtown. It wasn’t very busy besides when major events came up, such as Valentine’s Day or Prom. He enjoyed it though, he loved setting up bouquets and preening his plants. Castiel got to live in his own little bit of paradise, just him and his flora. Not that it didn’t get lonely at times, but he couldn’t complain. Plus, he had the convenience of living right above in a loft.
After watering and checking up on all of his potted plants, making sure all the lights were aimed correctly, he peered out the window. It had started to snow while he was working, lightly dusting the street and parked cars, the first snowfall of the season. Castiel’s lips twitched downwards. Just like his plants, he didn’t thrive very well in the winter. Everything was freezing and wet, his nose would turn red, and the worst was when he would get a clump of snow down the back of his shoe. During this season he mostly stayed inside surrounded by his plants and a few heating lamps. Indulging in books and a warm cup of coffee.
Scanning the street he saw a man sitting on a milk crate, guitar in hand. His head tilted downwards as he strummed the instrument. The man had the collar of his leather coat popped up to try and block the wind and snow. There was a tin sitting next to his boots, and a few people dropped some change in as they passed.
He had seen the guy a few times, playing on the street or in the bars, wagering at pool. Which he seemed to win every time. From what Castiel could tell, he was a handsome guy. He had a rugged look about him, plaid flannels and boots mostly. Legs that bowed out as he would stride down the street. Hair that was tuft up at the front that Castiel wanted to run his hand through. Maybe he had checked out the mystery guy a few times from afar.
The interesting part was that Castiel was pretty sure the guy was homeless. There was a black Chevy that drove into town about a month ago and often it hung around downtown. Wherever the car was the man wasn’t far out of sight. Often times it would be parked near the flower shop overnight, and he knew that the guy wasn’t living in any of the lofts around there. Also, there weren’t any motels nearby.
The rest of the day was spent setting up arrangements for a few pick ups, balancing his books, and doing some winter cleaning. Bobby came in to pick up some flowers for his wife Ellen for her birthday. They owned the Roadhouse a few miles away, the local bar and restaurant that everyone drank at. He made small talk with Castiel before he turned around to look at the Impala parked outside.
“That boy out there causin’ you any problems?” Bobby leaned against the counter, his voice gruff.
Castiel hummed in question before he looked up to see the musician he was talking about. “Oh no, he’s just been sitting out there playing for a few hours now. He hasn’t provoked anything.”
Bobby grunted. “He’s got a mouth on him sometimes when he comes into the Roadhouse. Gets all the drunks riled up. ‘Spose that may not all be on him though.”
“Do you know anything about him?” He noted the snow was now accumulating on the sidewalks.
“Not a damn thing.”
“I think he’s homeless, Bobby. I’m almost positive he sleeps in his car.”
“That’d make a helluva lot of sense. Well, you let me know if he brings any trouble to you. Ellen and I will be down here with shotguns.” Bobby arranged the cap on his head again.
Castiel laughed and thanked him, handing him his flowers and watched him bundle up before he walked out of the store.
After Castiel had locked up the store for the day and settled himself upstairs in his apartment, he nestled on his couch. He had a cup of coffee on the table in front of him and an oversized comforter wrapped around him like a cocoon. The TV was casting coloured, flickering lights across the room and he was starting to doze off after a few episodes.
He moved his mass of bedding and began to shuffle to his bedroom. Passing by one of the windows, he peered out, seeing that same car where it was before. The black sheen of paint was covered in snow. If it was cold in his home, he couldn’t imagine what it felt like outside.
Castiel tapped on the frosted over window, the cup of coffee the only thing keeping his hands warm. He hadn’t thought to grab gloves as he rushed out the door, trying not to overthink what he was doing. He heard a rustle from inside, the car bouncing slightly from the shifting weight. The back door popped open slightly.
“Can I help you?” The man ran a hand over his face, looking a bit exhausted and confused. He was bundled up with a hat and scarf.
“I just...I’ve seen…” Cas swallowed hard, trying to push down his nervousness. “It’s cold as frozen over hell out here and I’d figured you could use something warm.” He quickly spit out the words while jutting forward the coffee cup.
The guy blinked a few times at the man’s hand before his brows furrowed together in confusion. He looked up at Cas before slowly reaching out for the cup.
“Thanks?” He didn’t take a drink, he just looked up at Castiel, his eyes squinted. They stared at each other for a moment in awkward silence. “Anything else I can help you with, man?”
Castiel’s cheeks were tinted red from the cold, along with the embarrassment that he didn’t plan this out terribly well. His voice got choked up in his throat once again, he cleared it before blurting out.
“Would you like to grab something to eat? It’s freezing out here and it can’t be terribly warm in your car. I’ll pay for you if that’s an issue. I’ve just seen you on the sidewalk and I just wanted to help. Of course, if I’m over stepping…” Castiel’s words came out quickly and he tried not to stumble over his own tongue.
“Slow down there. You’ve got a streetlight right behind you, so I can’t read your lips that well. That all just came out as a jumbled mess to me.” He shifted to stand up out of the car. Awkwardly, he shrugged on a leather coat before standing next to the other man.
Castiel brows furrowed together as he tilted his head. Reading his lips? Why would he have to that? And what was that accent?
“Alright, so what were you asking?” He took a drink of the coffee, and it noticeably had a calming effect as he relaxed his shoulders.
“Why do you have to read lips?” He blurted out, his curiosity taking over.
A slight laugh escaped the guy, it was a mixture of amusement and bitterness. “I’m Deaf, buddy. Those sounds coming out of your mouth, they ain’t reachin’ me.” He waited for a response, his arms now crossed along his chest.
“Oh.” Slipped past Castiel lips. He had a swarm of questions bumbling in his head. Instead of releasing all of them at once, he pointed to the guy, then himself, and pinched his five fingers together and tapped out his mouth. A sign he thought he remembered that meant ‘food’.
The guy raised an eyebrow and full out laughed. “You asking me on a date here? But I don’t even know your name.”
Castiel fumbled to remember what little sign language he had learned in his community college, he had mostly taken it just for the credit and was now regretting not furthering his education. He curled his hand to make a ‘C’ and then spelled out the rest of his name agonizingly slowly.
The guy just watched as Castiel struggled, but made no move to help him out.
“I appreciate the effort, but you can just talk. I can read your lips just fine, “Cesnial”. Which, I'm gonna say isn't your name and you need to brush up on your alphabet.” He bit his lip as he tried not to laugh.
Castiel dropped his head briefly before lifting it to look at the man. He noticed how the street light shined over his face. Showing the freckled band across his cheeks.
“Castiel.”
“Castiel.” He repeated, “That's still a pretty strange name. Here, this is how you'd spell it.” He showed how he had misplaced his thumb while signing.
Castiel mimicked the spelling slowly and then grunted an ‘okay’.
“I'm Dean.” He spelled his name out since they seemed to be having an impromptu ASL class on the sidewalk. “So, what were you saying about food?”
Dean had agreed to go to a diner nearby with Castiel, a little confused why a stranger would invite him out. But Castiel assured him that he just wanted to get to know him and had seen him around town.
They sat over plates of burgers and made idle talk with a few awkward silences filling the gaps.
“How do you play guitar if you can't hear it?” Castiel took a bite of his food.
“I used to play when I was younger, when I could hear.” He paused as if he was caught up in nostalgia. “I can feel the vibrations, I remember the chords. It all still speaks to me in its own way.”
“You weren't always deaf?”
“No.” Dean left it at that and Castiel didn't pry.
“You're the one that owns that floral shop, right? The one with the cheesy name.” Dean looked up across the table.
“Yes, and it's not cheesy, it's “puny”.” Castiel said defensively, putting air quotes around the last word.
Dean laughed. “Whatever you say. I can see you being at home there.”
“What do you mean?” Castiel tilted his head.
“Just an observation. I'm Deaf remember? I pick up on these things, it's like a superpower.” What Dean didn't add in was that he noticed how graceful Castiel moved. How when he picked up a french fry it even seemed elegant. He maintained eye contact, but it wasn't a harsh stare. It was soft, despite the sharpness of glaciers in his eyes. How Dean could see him blending in naturally with the smooth petals, and maybe wanted to see if his skin felt the same.
In which Castiel likes his flowers better than human interaction. And then he doesn't.
[AO3] [ART]
Cas liked flowers. Flowers couldn't let you down. They’d let you nurture them to life. They made him happy and he made them happy in return. It was simple.
The bell over the door jolted, announcing a customer. Castiel looked up from his cosmos, peaceful, annoyed at the interruption. As soon as his eyes landed on him, his heart skipped a beat. There, in the quiet of his shop, against soft violet hues and the afternoon sun outside, was none other than Dean, carefully eyeing his sunflowers.
Dean must have felt him watching, or maybe he had been just feigning interest for freaking sunflowers of all things, dedicated love, Kansas, because soon he was looking back, and coming closer to the counter.
“Hey, Cas.”
“Hello, Dean. How can I help you?”
“I… Uh… I’m, I mean, how have you been?”
“Fine.” Cas didn't know what was more distressing, Dean being here after everything or his nervous behavior. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Cas.” Dean pleaded. He just kept silent, refusing to say more than he absolutely had to. “Fuck. okay, you know what, fine. Yes, I want some peonies or whatever their name is.”
Bashfulness. How appropriate. Cas wondered if Dean knew. Probably not, It’s not like Dean still cared about plants, not like he had someone to tell him about them. Right? Selfishly, Castiel hoped not.
“Here you go. It’s $5.73. Anything else?”
“Can we talk?”
“We have this mulch, helps neutralize the soil’s pH, to make sure your peonies adapt, are you interested?”
“Fine.” Dean handed him a ten. “Keep the change.” He said, walking towards the door with his new peony in hand.
With a sigh, Cas went back to his workstation. He shelved his cosmos and went to take care of his heather flowers.
Solitude.
*
What he didn’t expect were Dean’s visits to become regular. He had hoped, but it was easier to fall back into his routine and his plants and his shop than it was to muse about seeing Dean again.
Every time Dean visited, he took a new plant home with him. And every exchange started to establish a fragile but sure amicability between them. Not friendship, it’d be stupid of him to let his guard down so soon. Besides, Castiel could be a stubborn son of a bitch when he wanted to.
The bell rang and he looked up to see Dean come in his direction, after a short stop to once again check the sunflowers.
“Hello, Dean. What is it going to be today?”
“Pinks. Wild ones.”
“Ah, yes, dianthus plumarius.” For hope.
“Yes, whatever, that.” He said blushing.
“These are easy,” Cas said with a soft smile on his face, lightly brushing the leaves and pink flowers. “They are low maintenance, they just need a lot of sun and a decent amount of water to be happy.”
When he looked up, Dean was watching him with a thoughtful expression, his eyes a little sad.
“How much will it be?” Dean averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in the plants behind Cas.
“$3.59, please.”
Dean’s fingers brushed his as he was receiving the five dollar bill and he was quick to retrieve it, blushing furiously.
Castiel didn’t look up to give Dean the change nor to watch him walk away with a quiet ‘thank you’.
As he watered the birds of paradise, exciting anticipation, he thought he could still feel Dean’s fingers on his.
*
After that, the air between them felt charged whenever Dean would visit. Cas felt stupid and childish, ‘fool me once’ and all that jazz. But the sight of Dean wandering through his flower shop, eyes as green as the plants around him, with his soft smiles and softer blushes, made Cas forget about all the bad.
He missed warm afternoons sitting on his armchair, too small for two grown adults, talking about the newest plant he had acquired. How Dean looked at him like he looked at his flowers, like nothing made him happier than seeing Cas happy. How easy it had been for a while, to have someone else’s company instead of hiding among his plants for comfort.
Cas didn’t hear the bell this time, distracted as he was, so it came as a surprise when suddenly Dean was once again leaning over his counter, watching him.
“Hello, Dean, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You seemed awfully cozy with that flower over there. Should I come back later, leave you two alone?” Dean asked with a smirk.
“Yes, very funny Dean.”
“Should I be jealous?” As soon as he’d started, Dean, stoped laughing, realizing what he’d said.
“You never said what all these flowers are for.” Cas pointed out, deciding it would be better to change the subject.
“Yeah well…” Dean hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “They’re, uh, they’re for someone.”
“Oh.” He felt his stomach fall, but it wasn’t the time for that. “So what will it be today?” He asked, looking around for something, anything to keep his hands busy.
“Uh, yellow tulips?”
Castiel wanted to cry. It all made sense now, and the flowers had been telling him all along. Peony, sweet pea, hydrangea, alstroemeria, pink, gardenia, red tulips and now yellow tulips? Bashfulness, shyness, gratitude, friendship, hope, joy, declaration of love, hopelessly in love. And that just from the top of his head. Dean was in love with someone, buying them flower after flower and playing some cruel joke on Cas in the meantime. And there had been Cas, entertaining the thought of trying again, with Dean, with them. He’d been stupid after all. All over again.
Castiel all but threw the vase at Dean, refusing to look at him.
“Cas? Are you-”
“Fine. I’m fine. Keep them.” Hopelessly in love, it was fitting. “I have to close shop early today, please go.”
Dean looked worried, but he didn’t protest, walking away with a ‘see you, Cas’.
Shortly after Dean left, Cas went to shut the front door, flipping the sign so people would know it was closed. From the front window, he spotted Dean handing the tulips to a red head. He couldn’t see her face, but Dean didn’t look very well. Cas turned away, deciding not to think much about it, it didn’t matter anyway.
After making sure all the plants were taken care of for the night, he exited through the back door and made his way to the small apartment above the shop.
He went straight to his balcony, not bothering with the dirt, watching the forget-me-nots in the afternoon sun. Dean had given him those just before telling Castiel about his mother. He remembers Dean carefully watching him potting the flowers as he talked about his childhood, and apple pies and the fire that took his mother’s life. He remembers sharing a blanket with him until it was too cold to be outside, both of them quiet, just enjoying each other’s company.
Cas watched the flowers gently swaying with the wind, wishing he could just forget, wishing Dean hadn’t. He watched them until he couldn’t anymore and he went to bed, deciding a good night of sleep would do him good.
*
The next day saw Cas trying his best not to think about Dean.
So, of course Dean had to show up again.
Cas didn’t need the bell this time. As he was trimming some of his plants he heard a commotion outside. He half-heartedly looked outside the front window, only to see the redhead from the previous day all but pushing Dean, who was holding a huge bouquet of flowers, inside his store.
Cas busied himself with his plants. He didn’t really want to sign up for more heartbreak.
“Heya Cas, you okay? You seemed a little off yesterday.”
Cas looked up, angry at this human being in front of him who insisted in hurting him over and over and over again.
“That’s not any of your business. What do you want Dean? Did your girlfriend not like your fucking flowers?”
“My girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I saw her outside just now. What, she wanted more? Was that not enough?” He should probably put the shears down before he hurt himself. “Was hopeless love not enough Dean?” Cas really should put the shears down, his vision blurred by angry tears. “Hey Dean, how about some forget-me-nots? That should be perfect, right?” He threw the shears away, looking at the miserable plant in front of him, unable to face Dean, the fight drained from his body, leaving him feeling empty.
“Just go away Dean, please.”
“Can I just have a sunflower? Not potted, a loose one.”
“Sure, sure, take it. Whatever you want, just take it and go.”
He turned away, pretending to do something, waiting for the bell to signal Dean’s leaving. He heard some flowers rustling and then silence.
“I want you.”
Castiel froze, wondering if he had heard right.
“I want you Cas. I was an idiot. Before, I mean. And maybe now too. I didn’t think it would hurt you, this plan. I’m sorry Cas.”
“What plan? I’m not a game Dean.”
“It was Charlie’s idea. That was her outside, by the way. Super cool kid, super into vagina.”
“Ok?” Cas was just confused now.
“I told her how you knew about the flowers. Their language. She thought it was a good idea to try to win you back.” Dean looked away, crushing slightly the bouquet in his tight grip. “So yeah, these are for you. How could they even be for someone else? You ruined everyone else for me Cas.” Dean’s eyes were pleading as he handed him the bouquet.
“I do like sunflowers.” He smiled, brushing his fingers through the soft petals. It was a hideous bouquet, to be honest, this many flowers should never belong in the same arrangement.
“I do love you Cas. I know I’ve done nothing to deserve you and I’m totally okay with just being frie-”
“Dean, shut up and come here.”
“What? Really?”
Cas didn’t bother to respond. And he didn’t wait for Dean, he could be a little slow sometimes. So he just leaned over the counter, probably giving a merciful death to the shredded plant from before, and pressed his lips against Dean.
It wasn’t a great kiss, both quite not believing the got to do this again.
“I’m never letting you help with the shop. That was a terrible bouquet, Dean.” Cas said, lips never wandering too far away from Dean’s.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Dean asked with a smile, grabbing his apron and bringing them closer.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Fifty bucks for twelve frigging roses? They’re not even red.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow.
“That’s highway robbery. Some of us work for a living, man. Help me out here.”
It was not how Castiel had envisioned their first real conversation would go, but then he’d never thought he’d trade a thriving legal career in Chicago for a job in his brother’s flower shop in Kansas, either.
The man looked at him imploringly across the counter, hands folded around a battered leather wallet. Monday afternoons, at approximately five-fifteen, this man purchased a bouquet of discounted flowers—whatever was left after Castiel restocked. He never spent more than ten dollars and had a preference for roses, but had twice left with daisies tucked under his arm. He didn’t speak beyond “thanks,” though he once muttered “yup” when Castiel asked if it was still raining.
This silent courtship, as Gabriel called it, had gone on for seven months.
