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Dean was not having a good day.
He’d overslept, there was no hot water, Sam bitched at him to take better care of himself, the washing machine ripped his clothes, he hasn’t seen Cas in weeks, he’d spilled coffee all over the floor, only to clean it up and then knock over the rest of it.
He takes a minute to calm himself before he leaves. Just stands there, one hand on the door handle, the other resting over his eyes. When he’s sure he won’t trip over his own goddamn feet, he locks up and leaves.
He almost hits Baby against the douche’s Prius from next door.
…
Meg’s coffee shop (aptly named The Hell Hut) is on the way to Bobby’s yard so he parks the car and heads inside. If he could shoot coffee into his veins, he reckons he’d prefer that.
When he’s not feeling like stabbing everything in existence, he would prefer coffee with cream and sugar and all things nice, but as it stands, he can’t have that. One, because he feels like stabbing everything in existence, and two, because that shit’s expensive.
He works two and a half jobs as it is (subbing in for Benny’s absent bouncers isn’t really a full-time job) but still can’t afford a decent cup of coffee. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he steps in line and scrolls through his messages until it’s his turn to order.
There’s a few from his brother, some from Cas, an occasional one from Bobby and one from Charlie, all capslock, reading LARPING THIS SUNDAY, YOU DOWN?
He’ll have to think about it.
Soon, it’s his turn to order. He prays that he doesn’t have to give his order to Meg and instead turns his body towards Casey – the hot brunette with big, blue eyes working the second till.
"Deano."
He holds back the urge to groan.
"Meg." He greets through grit teeth, glancing over at Casey wistfully before stepping up to the counter.
Meg’s wearing a smirk as usual, dark lipstick, and eyeliner. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"What can I get you?" She leers, looking him up and down, smirk turning sickly sweet.
Before he can speak, his order’s cut off by another voice.
"Dean?"
He looks to his left.
Talk about hot brunette’s with big, blue eyes.
"Cas?"
Castiel turns to Meg and rattles off an order. He’s pretty sure he hears some caramel hot drink and a slice of pie. She taps it into the machine as quickly as he speaks.
"You two know each other?" She asks, printing off an order number.
Castiel hasn’t stopped staring at him.
"I haven’t seen you in weeks." He remarks, more an accusation towards Dean than an answer to Meg’s question.
"Where have you been?" He asks, brows pinching. Meg’s disappeared to fulfil their order.
He gestures over to a table that only seats two except the chairs have been moved around so they’re placed next to each other instead of opposite each other like it’s supposed to be. Castiel doesn’t move them as he takes a seat.
Dean glances over to behind the till, nerves setting in, wondering how the hell he can escape. He sits down.
"Dean?"
"Hm…?" his half-assed reply doesn’t go unnoticed.
"What’s happening?"
"Nothing!" he replies far too quickly with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, gaze drawn back to the till again. It’ll be a miracle if he can magic some money into his wallet enough to pay for their order.
"How’ve you been?"
His laugh is just this side of mirthless and Castiel twitches. His leg’s juddering nervously, and he’s slumped in his seat, breathing too erratic for this early in the morning.
He looks up at Cas. His blue eyes are far too wide and far too understanding for what Dean deserves. How is supposed to tell his best friend that he can’t be here? That even though he works two and a half jobs, he still can’t afford a decent cup of coffee? That he struggles to put his brother through school and Sammy deserves a lot better than that? That he can’t remember the last time he had good night’s sleep? Or the last time someone willingly gave him a fucking hug?
"Good." He shrugs again, averting his eyes. "Same shit, different day."
He thinks he’s going to explode with embarrassment. He’s pretty sure his cheeks have gone red because breathing’s not any easier.
A warm weight settles over the thigh of his juddering leg, and his slows the bounce down to a complete stop, and risks a glance up.
He thinks Cas’ palm is the first, real, genuine, voluntary touch he’s had in weeks.
Castiel opens his mouth to say something but Meg interrupts them with their order. Dean’s already reaching into his pocket for a wallet that he knows isn’t full enough, before Cas’ hand shifts up to pat lightly against his hand clutching the wallet.
"No, no, it’s my treat."
Dean stares at him incredulously for a moment before he realises what Cas actually said. He watches him smile, lips pulling up into a curve, little crinkles around his eyes, gaze narrowing into little slits as his smile widens.
He’s slightly dumbstruck as he watches Meg take the payment, Castiel thanks her for her service and she leaves with a flirtatious wink.
"You were telling me how you’ve been?" Castiel picks up his mug to sip at his coffee. He blanches slightly at the heat, offers up a kind smile from behind it and nods towards the plate in front of Dean.
Dean glances down to see the apple pie, all sweet and hot, waiting to be consumed.
"It’s going to go cold if you just stare at it." Castiel remarks quietly. "And I know how you like them hot."
Yeah Dean thinks, looking up at his best friend, a huff of a laugh and an involuntary smile pulling at his lips.
I really do.