Chapter Text
Castiel sighed and tied the apron around his waist, fingers fumbling with the bunny-eared knot before he got it to hang properly. He flattened the green apron down his chest and lap before moving to the front door.
He flipped over the wooden block hanging on the door that had a slanted scrawl of ‘Open’ and flicked on the neon light that hung in the side window. Castiel made quick work of unlocking the doors and propping one open with a heavy cinder block to let the sweet morning air of May drift in. He looked down at his worn leather wrist watch and nodded to himself. The sun was already rising in the sky and soon the rush of early-shift business workers, students and pedestrians would stroll in. He knew the two morning employees would probably be late because they were savoring the long summer vacation they had off of college, so he went into the back of the shop and finished pulling things out himself.
Already the pastry cabinet was filled with the small breakfast items. Apple and blueberry turnovers, whole wheat and sesame seed bagels, muffins of many flavors, little scones and crumpets, and his customer favorite: Bacon and egg sandwiches with a little bit of mayo covering the top for extra flavor. The coffee and tea kettles were all warm, ready to be put to their daily use, to fill the empty cups and the stomachs of underpaid and overworked beings.
Castiel nodded knowingly when Meg came running in, her wavy hair bouncing as she stuttered her way through apologies as to why she was late and how she got too caught up in some show on Netflix and over slept.
“It’s fine, Meg.” Castiel said, holding his hands up, “You were only a couple of minutes late and there’s nobody here yet, for that matter.”
She nodded and let out a sigh through her red lips, “Thanks, I’ll go work in the back for now.”
He watched her round the counter and throw her bag in one of the little cubbies he had set up for the workers before pulling her hair up into a short ponytail.
“Can you prep the flour and things for Gabriel?” he asked, still not used to bossing people around even after all these years owning the shop.
Meg rolled her eyes and slipped the apron over her head as she walked through the swinging door, “You’re the boss, boss.”
Castiel smiled gratefully at the door before turning back around to the counter.
Gabriel was their main baker (other than himself, of course) and had a preference when it came to the arrangement of his things. He liked the flour out and sifted, some of the more ‘normal’ spices to be around his work space, and somebody to keep him company because he evidently could not bake without someone to talk to.
He’d prepare the area himself but knowing Gabriel, he would be caught in the man’s web for the rest of the day and wouldn’t be able to tend to anything else. Of course he was Gabriel’s friend- Gabriel was one of his only friends, honestly- but he couldn’t leave his shop behind for some grapevine gossip.
Castiel smiled when he saw Joshua walking in, shoes scuffing against the floor and a small pot of yellow flowers his his hands.
“Good morning, Castiel.” Joshua said, standing in front of the counter.
“Good morning, Joshua,” Castiel greeted, mirroring Joshua’s smile. ”The usual?”
Joshua nodded and pulled out his wallet while still clutching the pot of flowers in his other hand.
Castiel walked over to the microwave and pushed the button to pop it open, a steaming cup of walnut coffee was waiting for its owner. He knew Joshua would be making his daily round to the coffee shop and made it beforehand; placing it in the microwave when he was done so it wouldn’t go cold. He pulled the warm cup out and closed the microwave before going back to where the gardener was standing. He handed him the cup and opened the register to place the man’s money in.
Castiel let his eyes drift over to the potted flower that rested on the counter in front of Joshua after they exchanged some small talk about the weather, “What's the story behind these?”, Castiel asked because there's always some sort of story behind each plant Joshua brings in.
“Daffodils,” Joshua started, smiling at the pot, “the flower of new beginnings and rebirth.” He continued, his voice strong with wisdom.
“And why did you bring these today? It’s usually a succulent- not that I mind or anything.” Castiel handed the man his change and tried to stop his eyebrow from twitching when a breeze flowed through the open door.
Joshua sipped at his coffee before setting it down, “You’ll be experiencing something from the past soon, Castiel.” He picked up his cup and patted Castiel’s hand twice, giving him a small smile with the raise of his cup before leaving the shop, humming an unknown tune, and leaving the potted flower behind.
Castiel opened and closed his mouth a few times, stunned by the man’s ‘premonition’ and slightly worried, he looked down at the delicate flower. The natural lighting of the shop seeped through the petals that apparently meant so much in some cultures.
He wasn’t sure if he believed what Joshua said, if he believed that a flower meant something from his past was coming forth. Castiel, honestly, didn’t even know Joshua on a personal basis- just how the man liked his coffee and that he was a gardener. For all he knew Joshua was a deranged old man who read too much into flowers.
Castiel gave the pot one last glare before picking it up. The terracotta was cool against his hands, the flower smelled nice and fresh, like Persephone walked up to him and blew lightly at his face.
He pulled himself away from the flower and looked around at the tables. Castiel decided on the table in the corner of the dining area to set the flower. There were large windows on either side of the corner that allowed the perfect amount of light to shine on the flower and whomever decided the table was for them.
Castiel walked over to the table and placed the pot down, letting his fingers drift across the downy petals. He stayed there a moment, his eyes lingering on the flowers, before going back to the counter and wiping it down before the morning rush stampeded in.
The thought of opening a coffee shop never crossed Castiel’s mind. He thought he’d go on to being some amazing artist with galleries and pieces all over the world. That his name would be a hit with the big leagues or that at least he’d die trying.
But he lost his muse. It died along with his spirit.
He was a lifeless being for the last few months of college. He’d go to the necessary classes, try in the rest of them, and went through his own Blue Period. His portfolio was once filled with bright paintings and sketches, full of one man and nothing else. But when he left his muse his paintings lost their figures. The paintings were filled with thick strokes of heavy paint in heartbreaking blues and weeping greens. The brush wasn’t held with care anymore- no, it was lifelessly stabbed into the dollop of paint and then placed on the cheap canvas like a murderer carving into their victim.
Even the canvases themselves weren’t taken care of anymore. His old easel was in broken chunks of splintered and rotten wood. The engravings of names and little Sharpie drawings broken and disposed like a forgotten memory.
”I made this for you!” He smiled, cheeks flushed with a pretty pink and lips upturned in a shy smile.
Standing tall in the corner of their shared apartment was a simple easel. The wood was shiny and new, almost pristine if not for the chunk missing by the canvas holder. Castiel walked over to it, his fingers slowly stretching out to drift across the lacquered wood and nose picking up the homey scent of the workshop. Castiel was speechless. He needed a new easel for the longest time and this one was hand made. It was better than the hundred dollar ones at the local art store and would probably last him a lifetime.
“It’s perfect.” Castiel sighed, trying to clear away the break in his throat, “Thank you.”
Dean let out a flustered sound and shrugged, “No biggie. It’s for you anyway and I’d do anything for you.”
Castiel tried to push away a bitter thought of ‘no you wouldn’t’ from his head before speaking again. He cleared his throat once more and stretched his hand out to Dean, “Come and help me set up; I want to paint you.” He smiled at Dean again when the man took his hand and pulled him closer to where their foreheads were touching, “Seriously, Dean. Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you to do things like this.”
“It’s ‘cause I love you,” he said, his voice lower than a whisper.
“Always?” Castiel asked, lips brushing over Dean’s.
“Always.”
Castiel let out a small puff of a sigh and leaned forward on the counter, he felt burning behind his eyes and a yawn wanting to bubble up from his chest, he was tired. In reality he could take a break from work for a while because the morning rush was over and all his employees were clocked in. He looked up at the clock on the wall then down to the door; a rest sounded nice.
"Kevin," he called to the back, "take care of the front for me. I'll be upstairs if you need anything." He waited until Kevin came out, flour on the teen's apron, before he started making his way to the door that led to the stairs.
"No problem, boss."
Castiel gave him a grateful nod and undid his apron. He haphazardly tossed it on the small rack before pushing his way up the stairs.
Above the shop there was a small apartment.
The building came that way, a floor for business and another floor for the workers to sleep in. The realtor told him that the building was made in the 40s. Equipt for a diner and sleeping quarters on top so the employees could rest without having to make their way back home after long shifts.
Overall the apartment was pretty small with a single bedroom, single bath, an open floor plan that included the dining room, the kitchen and the living room. The ceilings, though, were tall with large, airy windows filling up most of the space on the walls. Even though there wasn’t a lot of room, it fit his needs. Bookshelves, ottomans with stowaways inside them, and small tables lined wherever they could fit in. He could tell where they changed the dated floor plan to have more of a modern look but all in all it was good enough for him. The small space gave him everything he needed when he wasn’t working or when he just needed a little time to himself.
Castiel slipped off his shoes and stretched his body. He heard the popping of his bones when he rose his arms above his head, the youth he once had gone with the time. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore with dreams and ambitions to achieve when he got out of college. He was thirty now, with a coffee shop and an established feeling of loneliness in his heart and apartment. One side of the bed always cool, only his pair of shoes waiting by the door and nobody to greet him with a peck on the cheek when he came home from a hard day.
Not anymore at least.
He remembered the bittersweet memories of having a lover. A man that he came home to after classes with a sore back and tired eyes. The man that would rub the soreness out of his back with warm, square hands and soothed him with a damp washcloth to his face, rubbing little flecks and lines of paint off his skin and then pressing his lips to where the rough towel just was.
But now’s not the time to be thinking such thoughts. The past was the past and Castiel couldn’t let himself fall into the slump of sadness- he couldn’t revert to the poison that he let himself occasionally fall into time after time. He had to get the thought of bright smiles and green eyes out of his head because they didn’t belong there. Maybe when he was young and stupid and thought he was in love- yes. But now that he’s aged and knows what way he should be treated- no.
Castiel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, pressure feeling nice against his stinging eyes, before dropping them to the side. He sighed through pursed lips and walked the short sum of steps to his easel so he could slide himself onto his worn stool. His knees awkwardly knocked against the easel as he adjusted himself; butt already throbbing from the stool’s metal seat.
He pulled his brush out of the small glass of turpentine and dabbed it against the paint littered rag next to it before setting the brush down Castiel pulled out his pallet and unzipped the plastic bag covering it. He wiggled his fingers in the damp bag, turning his head away from the musty smell of days old paint and water.
Castiel propped the palette against the muted blue background of his painting and dipped his brush into an airy yellow. He didn’t have a muse or reason to paint anymore, he just did it. He needed a release and paint to a blank canvas was his way of getting that. As much as he wanted to get his name back out into the world, get some buyers to call in for a commission or even get a piece or two into a small gallery and have the chance to show off what he can do.
What he could do.
Castiel pressed the brush roughly onto the canvas, the bristles making a sound in protest and the yellow paint sliding out from the curved line he had just painted.
What would have happened if he stayed? If he never lost his muse and kept painting like he used to, with beautiful lines and bright colors. Nothing muddy and muted like they were now.
Castiel put the paint brush down and stared at the canvas, it was seven years ago. He should be over it.
But he’s not. And probably won’t ever be.
It’s like a chronic pain. Nobody can see it or smell it, but it’s there. Nagging and pushing, whether it’s in the back of his mind or upfront before his eyes.
And it won’t go away.
The memories, the emotions. The little scrape of love that he knows is still there but doesn’t want to admit it because if he does then it’s true and he’ll have to deal with it.
Castiel shook his head, like if he moved his it like an Etch-A-Sketch then he could erase the lines that were once there. He picked up the brush and placed it back into the turpentine, watching the yellow paint cloud off and mix with the thick gel. He looked back up at the canvas, lightly touching his fingers against the wet paint and shivering when the cool temperature contrasted with his heated skin. Castiel looked at his fingertips, the yellow bright against his pale skin. He averted his eyes away from the paint and rubbed his fingers on the dirty cloth. He tossed the rag on the easel and got up from the stool turning his back to the painting and looking at the room in front of him instead.
There wasn’t anything to clean, no pressing matters to attend at the moment and he wasn’t tired. He looked at the clock on the wall and almost gasped, around two hours had passed from leaving the shop. Two hours passed and all the did was make a curve of yellow on blue and fill his mind with an unknown amount of thoughts.
Castiel never really went down to the shop during the lazy beginnings of lunch-hour; but he felt a pull in his gut that told him there was something down there that he needed to see or needed to fix. It was like a gravitational pull in his belly- pulling, tugging and lurching him until he slid his feet across the glossy floor of his apartment and went to slip on his shoes. He hesitated when putting on his second shoe, slightly worried that maybe the feeling was something negative. But he shook his head, ignoring the feeling in his gut for slipping on the shoe and opening his front door.
He turned back to his little sanctuary, giving it one long look, like when he closed the door everything was going to be different. He didn’t know what pushed him to do it- but he stared at the yellow curl on the canvas and cracked a small smile.
He smiled because that curl on the canvas may be all he could do now but he had a feeling that he’d be able to do better later.