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“This is a bad idea,” Sam had said, eyes worried and focused at the large sign over the business doors.
Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe,” he replied, arms folded tightly, “but it’s mine. So suck it up.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine. But I’m not going to say I told you so when nobody wants to buy flowers from a demon.”
Sometimes Dean wanted to hang that quote on his wall. Nobody wants to buy flowers from a demon. Sam had said those words the day before Dean’s grand opening for his flower shop, an old business that had been long forgotten after the deaths of Dean’s mother, Mary Winchester, and aunt, Karen Singer. But Dean had never forgotten their dream, even after his eyes turned black when he was fifteen and everyone started treating him differently.
That’s what happened to everyone when they transitioned. Everyone started out as humans, but with time, they would eventually become who they were on the inside. A demon, a human, or an angel.
Dean was a demon. He wasn’t always sure why, but he had his guesses. Sammy, on the other hand, was still a human, despite an incident as a child that infected him with demon blood. The doctors said Sam should have transitioned to an angel when he hit puberty. If it weren’t for the demon blood, Sam probably would have had those strange glowing eyes and hint of a halo. He could have flown anywhere he wanted.
But instead he was human. If Sam had any qualms with it or held any resentments, he never mentioned it or showed it. He didn’t need those kind of talents or abilities anyway. He was a talented lawyer and genius, all by himself.
“Isn’t being alive enough?” Sam had told him once, when they were both drunk and Dean couldn’t help asking if Sam cared what he was.
Dean wasn’t sure how to answer that. But he left it alone. They never discussed it again.
And then there was Dean. He came from an entirely human family, never an angel or demon to come out of the Winchester line, and then there was him. A demon.
He remembered walking into school, fifteen years old, blinking rapidly to try and hide his flickering black eyes and hoping no one would notice. But of course, everyone noticed. He lost his friends. His father didn’t look at him the same. His teachers treated him differently.
Every semester he used to hear, “Dean’s a talented boy. He can go anywhere he wants.” After his transition, he heard a steady mantra of, “He’s going to fail.”
Well, Dean showed them. He showed everyone, even Sam, who couldn’t believe Dean would ever want to open a flower shop. It didn’t help that Dean was a demon.
Most demons went into business, sure. But they were always ladder climbers, CEO’s, negotiators, dealers, or international entrepreneurs. They never became flower shop owners. In fact, Dean didn’t know any demons who liked anything deemed ‘pretty’ or ‘simple.’
But Dean did. And he thrived in it.
He named the shop Mary and Karen’s, after his mother and aunt who first started the dream. He partnered with his friends, two crafty humans named Jo and Ash, and an angel named Charlie who had an unbelievable talent for marketing and social networking. Without them, Dean was sure his shop wouldn’t have succeeded.
People didn’t like the idea of a demon owning a flower shop. So he didn’t mind during the first few years when everyone thought Charlie owned the business. It was only when they had a steady and loyal stream of customers did Dean and Charlie start correcting them.
“Actually, this is Dean Winchester’s business.”
The looks were priceless. But they didn’t lose any customers. If anything, the shop was busier than ever.
It was that thought on the store’s third year anniversary that Dean thought about putting up a sign. Nobody wants to buy flowers from a demon. Sam would get a kick out of that, now that they were down the road and saw how well it had turned out.
Dean sat in the empty store after closing hours. Jo and Ash had gone home long ago, as well as the student volunteers who’d been working there for the past year and a half. Charlie worked from home most days now, only participating in Dean’s store events as they came along. She’d moved on to better things, especially after marrying Gilda, another angel.
Dean was happy for her. But it was times like these that he missed her infectious smiles and hammering righteousness. She would know if he was being too arrogant with his sign idea. But he almost couldn’t help himself.
He pulled out his phone and opened his messages. He had three from Sam, all about his upcoming wedding and flower arrangements. He had one from his dad, just an update that he and Bobby would be out of town for the weekend.
He was about to send a message to Charlie to complain, either about his crazy family or his sign dilemma, when he heard a sharp knock on the front doors.
Dean groaned and rolled his head back, checking the clock. It was eight at night. The sign on the front door read in bold letters that they closed at seven. Dean had even put the letters in bright red, just to emphasize his point. Whoever this person was, it’d better be a damn good emergency.
Somebody better be dying, he thought to himself bitterly as he shoved his phone in his pocket. He made his way out from the back rooms to the front area, where the knocking was only growing in intensity. Yep, Dean thought. Dead or dying. Nothing else is acceptable.
He stopped cold when he saw what was on the other side of the door.
An angel. A tall, white male, angel. He had sharp blue eyes that glowed in the darkness outside, and even from across the store, Dean could see the slight glow behind the man’s head that revealed his halo, something only other angels and demons could see. Humans didn’t have that kind of sight ability.
The angel looked harried, his eyes wild and hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it all night.
There was nothing more alarming than a disheveled angel. Dean had learned that from personal experience. Angels were never to be messed with. Ever. Charlie was one of the few exceptions Dean had met in the past. But even she had warned him about the danger of frustrated angels.
They were everything demons were, only deadlier and unafraid of making a mess to get what they wanted. They weren’t to be double crossed, and Dean stared as the angel outside glared at him angrily, banging the door one more time.
“What do you want?” Dean ordered, not moving toward the door for anything. The store was protected by timing sigils. Anything after sunset couldn’t enter the store unless someone let them in. Or, unless they had a key. This man was a stranger, and an angel.
Dean knew he was safe inside. For now.
“It’s an emergency,” the angel nearly growled, setting Dean’s teeth on edge. “Let me in.”
“Like hell,” Dean rolled his eyes. “We open at ten and close at seven. Read the damn sign.”
The angel’s eyes flamed. Dean couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Please,” the angel pushed, flattening his palms against the glass. Dean had half a mind to cut those hands off for leaving smudges on his glass. “I need one of your bouquets. It can only come from here. I need them.”
Dean raised an eyebrow at that, skeptical.
“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Since when do angels buy flowers? From demons?”
“It’s an emergency,” the angel snapped again. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
Dean sighed and crossed his arms, unyielding in the face of the angel’s fury. “What’s it for?”
The angel seemed surprised, as though he’d expected Dean to tell him to shove off. He sputtered for only a moment, but then continued, almost quietly, “My sister’s in the hospital. She won’t… be here. Tomorrow.” The angel’s fingers tightened into a ball and his face drew back in pain. “Her last request is your flowers. I need them. Please.”
Dean hesitated. He stared at the angel’s eyes, watched the way they shone with emotion and pinched at the corners with worry.
The angel was… genuine. Dean bit the inside of his cheek and stepped closer to the door, turning his eyes black so he could stare directly into the angel’s grace. It was fluctuating and wild, more chaotic than anything Dean had ever seen before. It burned with passion, and Dean could tell that it would tear the entire store down if it had to.
Dean sighed and glanced up at the angel, who looked offended that Dean had to use his secondary eyes to get the truth. Either that, or he was just offended Dean was a demon in general. Dean didn’t really care.
“What’s your sister’s name?” Dean asked calmly.
The angel took a measured breath.
“Anna,” he replied. “Her name is Anna Milton. Please.”
Dean sighed again and ran a hand over his face, glaring at the angel through his fingers.
“Fine,” he grumbled, eyes flicking back to green. “But no funny business, angel.”
The angel looked ready to melt as Dean turned the lock and opened the door. He motioned the angel inside, eyes wary as he stepped through and looked around curiously.
“What’s your name?” Dean asked, closing the door and locking it behind them.
“Castiel Novak,” the angel replied, shoving his hands in his trench coat pockets.
Alarm bells instantly warred in Dean’s mind.
“Novak?” He asked slowly, reaching towards the knife settled in the back of his pants. “What happened to Milton?”
Castiel, the angel, glanced back at him. “She’s married.”
Dean’s grip loosened on the handle, but he didn’t let go. “Then why are you here? Where’s her husband?”
The angel’s lips hardened into a thin line. “Her wife died three hours ago.” At Dean’s startled look, he quickly explained, “Anna and Ruby were in a car accident this afternoon. Ruby died on impact, and Anna likely won’t survive through the night. She… wanted your flowers. This place was always Ruby’s favorite.”
Dean’s grip loosened on his knife completely as recognition filled his mind. Ruby, a black haired demon. He remembered her coming into his shop often, always sneering and hiding her kindness for her spouse through snark and belittling comments about the meaninglessness of flowers. But Dean had always seen right through her, a talent he’d gained over the years. Whoever Ruby was, she loved her spouse, and she was always particular about the kind of flowers she bought. Always.
“So this is your last gift to your sister,” Dean said slowly. “Something she loved.”
Castiel nodded slowly. “Uh, I think I remember what kind of bouquet she always had in her windowsill.” He started pulling out scraps of paper from his pockets, but Dean raised a hand.
“It’s fine,” he promised. “I remember Ruby’s order. I’ll make it up in the back.”
“Thank you,” Castiel said in relief. “I can… wait here. If you need me to.”
Dean shook his head and waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll only take a minute if you want to watch.”
The angel nodded and followed him into the back.
The entire room was filled with coolers. Dean often used them for storing bouquets for events, like weddings or funerals. Jo was the best at organizing, keeping each event’s storage section in different areas so they’d always be able to find it without a hassle. Dean was best ordering around the front, but with Jo, the back room was always immaculate.
Castiel sat on one of the benches by the doors leading to the front, eyes bright and curious as he took in the surroundings. Dean only cast him a small glance as he wandered the main storage locker, filled with the main leftover flowers from that morning’s deliveries. If he remembered correctly, he had everything he needed to make the bouquet.
He pulled out three separate flower carriers and turned around, ready to bring them to the main table, when he stopped short and stared.
Castiel had taken off his trench coat and was busy pulling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. But it wasn’t the state of undress the angel was taking that made him stare, no matter how unusual it already was, but the sleeve of tattoos on each arm. On the left Dean could see swirls of Enochian lettering, something he’d learned to associate with angels long ago, and on the angel’s right were bright and beautiful designs Dean had never seen before. They looked strange, inviting curiosity.
Castiel looked up and their eyes locked for a moment, an unseen energy travelling between the two. Dean could only feel intrigued by the strangeness of it all; an angel who wasn’t afraid to take off his jacket around a demon, as well as carrying arm length tattoos on each side. Castiel seemed to stare at Dean with a hint of something else, something curious and dwelling.
“I own a tattoo parlor a few blocks from here,” was Castiel’s only explanation. “Enochian Parlor.”
Dean could only stare. He knew that place. He’d seen it nearly every day on his way to work for the past three years. He thought it was some rebellious hangout where teenage angels with bones to pick with society would go to escape for a while. He hadn’t realized it was a tattoo parlor. And he certainly hadn’t known it was owned by someone like Castiel.
Castiel, with his glowing blue eyes, wild, unkempt hair, and the spitting image of everything an angel didn’t stand for.
Dean licked his lips unconsciously and turned away sharply.
“Oh,” he replied, dumbly.
He sat down at the main table and got to work, mindful that he was being stared at by the angel just a few feet away.
Castiel said nothing as Dean pulled the flowers together, carefully weaving the stems together in an elaborate design that only Ruby would ever order. Dean thought of her as he avoided the thorns on one stem. She was gone now. He’d never see her in his shop again. He’d never see the way she bit her lip as she scrutinized his work, pointing out every flaw until it was absolutely perfect. Perfect for Anna, Castiel’s sister, who was lying in a hospital somewhere dying.
He swallowed hard as he put the bouquet in white wrapping, tying it neatly in the green bow Ruby had always demanded in the past.
It was beautiful, but Dean didn’t feel the usual frustration and pride he had whenever he handed it over the counter. Now he just felt… cold.
“Do you want anything else to go with it?” Dean asked, finally turning to look at the angel across from him.
Castiel’s eyes were fixed pointedly on the bouquet, eyes dark and sad. It made Dean’s heart burn.
“We’ve got… cards?” Dean continued to offer, waiting for the painful silence to end.
Castiel shook his head. “No,” he replied and stood, reaching out to touch the petals. “This is perfect.” His blue eyes shone brighter for a moment before he turned to stare at Dean, something akin to gratefulness and kindness etched in his gaze. “How much do I owe you for this? It’s beautiful.”
Dean swallowed and shook his head, raising a hand. “You don’t owe me anything, man,” he replied. “This was an emergency call. I don’t mind.”
Castiel’s hands reached down and took up the bouquet, pulling them close to his chest so he could smell them closely.
Dean took the moment to get a better look at the angel’s tattoos. On closer inspection, the Enochian had similar lettering styles, almost like a poetic structure. On his other arm, he could see the designs more clearly. They looked like a combined piece of wings, light, and fire. Dean wanted to ask about their meaning, or if Castiel did the tattoos himself. But he held his tongue and let Castiel examine the flowers, smiling when Castiel looked pleased.
“Thank you,” Castiel sighed. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Then don’t,” Dean replied, but then bit his lip and grinned slowly. “But… maybe someday you could tell me about those tattoos. You know, after everything… calms down?”
Castiel smiled softly and nodded. “Maybe.” He reached down and grabbed his trenchcoat, throwing it over his shoulder before he turned back to Dean. “I’m indebted to you,” he said, extending his hand. “Thank you for letting me in. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…”
He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Dean understood. He shook the angel’s hand and smiled.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I was here when you needed me.”
“Likewise,” Castiel nodded. “I hope to see you again…”
“Dean,” he replied. “You can call me Dean.”
“Thank you, again,” Castiel said, pulling his hand back. Dean missed the lack of warmth from his touch, but forced a smile to his face regardless. He watched Castiel tuck the flowers close to his chest and sadly watched him put on his trenchcoat, covering the array of tattoos from Dean’s sight. “I hope to see you again someday, Dean.”
“You too,” Dean replied. “I’ll show you out.”
Dean watched him go a few minutes later, trenchcoat flapping in the wind. He wondered if he’d ever see the angel again. He also found himself hoping that his family would be alright. Loss was never easy. Dean knew that first hand.
But, he found himself hoping for another meeting. He wondered if it should concern him that he was attracted to an angel.
Maybe a question for a later time.
He pulled out his phone and texted Charlie.
“You won’t believe the order I just filled.”
…
It was two and a half months before Dean saw the angel again. He’d lost track of the times he’d wanted to stop into Enochian Parlor, maybe get an appointment, but he lost the nerve every time and kept driving.
Castiel was probably taking time off to mourn. Even if it had been nearly three months, Dean felt himself oddly hoping that the angel would step foot in his shop again. He’d even mentioned it to Sam, which had to say something about his desperation.
“Seriously, an angel?” Sam had exclaimed over the phone a month earlier. “I thought you hated angels?”
“This guy… he’s different, I swear,” Dean sighed. “I don’t know, Sammy. I’ve never met an angel like him. He’s… damn.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Sam groaned. “Let me guess, he looks like God carved his face too. Just text me if you see him again. And Dean, try to keep the details to a minimum. I don’t need to know if you hook up or anything.”
Dean had hung up tiredly and buried his face in his pillow, cursing his life.
Since when did he get hung up on strangers? Or angels, for that matter? His thoughts often drifted to Anna and Ruby. He read about the accident the next morning in the news. Anna had passed away after all. Dean knew it was only natural that Castiel would disappear for awhile, maybe to be with his family through the loss. It was his sister after all. But Dean couldn’t help but be selfish, wanting to see the angel again.
So he was surprised when nearly three months later, to the day, he saw those familiar sharp blue eyes pass through his doors. He was so stunned he nearly dropped his flowers, caught just in time by Jo in passing.
“What’s gotten into you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
But Dean’s eyes were focused only on the angel. The angel, who had his trenchcoat over his arm, his sleeves rolled up, and tattoos visible on his arms and just over the edge of his shirt collar. He looked like heaven with hell accessories. Dean licked his lips.
“Cas,” Dean grinned.
“Hello Dean,” Castiel replied with a smile. “I was hoping to catch you here.”
Dean smirked and bit the inside of his cheek, vaguely aware as Jo scurred away, making a small excuse about helping an elderly lady.
“Consider myself caught,” he replied. “Can I get you anything?”
Castiel shrugged, eyes gleaming and curious. “I was thinking about getting some more flowers, for Anna and Ruby. But then I was hoping… if perhaps you had any favorites?”
Dean’s heart fluttered, almost hopeful. “I can’t imagine why?” He replied slowly.
Castiel smiled. Dean almost thought the angel looked shy. But angels were never shy, were they?
“I know our last meeting was… stressful. But I was hoping to maybe get to know my saviour a little bit better. If you don’t mind.”
Dean beamed, silently pleased when the angel blushed.
“I think I’d like that,” he replied. “But only on one condition.”
Castiel’s eyes widened and he stepped closer. “Of course.”
Dean bit his lip. “You have to tell me about all your tattoos.”
The angel laughed. It was the best sound Dean had ever heard.
“Then it’s a date,” Castiel said.
Dean couldn’t have said it better himself.