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Dean stomped through the back entrance of the coffee shop in a huff, tying his apron on as he went. He was ten minutes late for his shift because his stupid Econ class kept running over. He couldn’t remember who else was on the schedule with him.
Hopefully it wasn’t Boss Lady Meg. She’d be pissed, even if he had a good excuse.
Besides, it’s not like anyone ever came in on a Tuesday afternoon. Tuesdays were the worst, in Dean’s humble opinion. Sure, Mondays kind of sucked because they were the ends of the weekend, but they were also the start of the week. They marked a clean slate. A kind of do-over of the week before. Wednesdays were alright because by then, half the week was already over.
But Tuesdays. Tuesdays were stuck right in the middle. The 24 hour purgatory between ‘Fresh Start’ and ‘Halfway to the Weekend’ and Dean hated them. Plus, business was always remarkably, horribly, painstakingly slow. He’d be lucky if he saw anyone at all until his shift ended, and Dean already felt like climbing the walls.
Fucking Tuesdays.
He didn’t even have to glance at the schedule tacked to the wall in the back room to figure out whom he was working with as the dulcet tones of Ruby’s cackling laughter assaulted his ears.
He groaned aloud as he pushed through the doors to the main room. If Ruby’s friends were there, he might have to mess with the valves on the espresso machine till the pressure build up blew them all to kingdom come. He could see it now—they’d label him a martyr and have him Sainted for ganking the Demons of Lawrence singlehandedly. Dean: Patron Saint of Shitty Tuesdays.
He trudged up to the register next to Ruby’s to clock in and saw that it wasn’t, in fact, one of Ruby’s bottom-feeding friends, but a vaguely familiar kid looking for all intents and purposes like he wanted the ground to just open up and swallow him right then and there.
Ruby giggled as the kid’s blue eyes flickered to Dean and away again, the blush in his cheeks turning a deeper red.
Ruby was apparently having a great time making fun of the poor guy. “You gonna order or what, Stuttering Stanly?”
“Ruby!” Granted, Dean wasn’t the most polite barista there ever was. In fact, many of his friends were surprised that he could hold down a job in the customer service industry at all, but he wasn’t just gonna sit there and let Ruby attack this kid unprovoked. Especially if he had a speech impediment.
“N-n-n-no it’s f-f-fine.” The kid ran his hand through his already disheveled brown hair and turned to leave.
Dean shot Ruby a blistering glare that had her fleeing to the back under the pretense of restocking the (already full) cup dispenser.
“Hey wait!” Dean hopped the counter and grabbed the sleeve of the kid’s red hoodie before he could make it through the door. “Don’t worry about Ruby, man. She’s a bitch to everybody.”
“It’s r-r-r-really-y f-f-fine I’m u-used to it b-by n-n-n-n-n…” Dean could tell how hard the guy was trying to just push the word out, but it stuck and stayed. The kid clamped his mouth shut, the muscles in his jaw bunching under his skin.
“Hey,” Dean began softly, “It’s ok. Really. There’s no one else here. Ruby is probably gonna be in the back texting the rest of her shift. You can take all the time you need.”
Dean knew why the guy looked familiar then. He had caught glimpses of him when he brought Sam to speech therapy on Wednesdays and Fridays after school.
The guy seemed to recognize Dean as well. He tilted his head slightly and squinted his eyes like if he looked hard enough the answer would write itself across Dean’s forehead.
“C’mon back to the counter and order. The name’s Dean, by the way. I think I’ve seen you at Dr. Barnes’ office right?” He nodded and Dean steered him by the elbow back to the registers and shimmied back over the counter, wiping it with a rag after the kid eyed where Dean’s butt slid across the fake wood.
“So what’ll it be…”
“C-Castiel.”
“So what’ll it be Cas?” Dean flashed him a toned-down version of his best salacious smile and the flush that was just starting to drain from the kid’s—Castiel’s cheeks returned with a vengeance.
“I’d l-l-like a van-n-nilla m-m-m-m-m…” His gravelly voice tripped over the ‘m’ and he let out a rough breath through his teeth, frustration clouding his features.
Dean laid his hand over Castiel’s and squeezed gently, encouraging him to continue even though he had a pretty good idea what he wanted. He knew how upset Sam got when he was cut off as soon as anyone had the gist of what he meant.
Cas took a deep breath and tried again.
“M-macchiato.” The very corners of his mouth turned up and Dean’s answering smile felt like it split his face in half.
“No wonder you had a hard time getting that out. I can’t even say the macci-whatever, but I assure you I make a good one. Take a seat and I’ll bring it over in a minute.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand once more and let go.
Dean made the drink to perfection, even taking a second to draw a crude cat face in the foam. He walked all the way to the opening in the counter so he wouldn’t spill Castiel’s drink and grabbed two blueberry muffins as he went.
“Here you go! One Vanilla Mocha-choca-latta-yaya.” At Castiel’s confused head tilt, Dean tried to explain. “Moulin Rouge? No? Well d’ya mind if I sit here?”
Castiel shook his head and Dean sat, pulling up another chair to prop his feet on. He handed over one of the muffins and Castiel gave another tiny smile at the lopsided foam cat before taking a sip. He closed his eyes and made a quiet, appreciative noise that had Dean preening before he spoke again.
“This is d-delicious. H-how much d-d-do I o-owe you?” Castiel asked, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket.
“It’s on the house. The muffin too.” Castiel started to protest but Dean continued, “Seriously, after the way Ruby acted she’s lucky you’re not filling out a complaint card. I mean, not that you can’t if you want to… She totally deserves it.” Dean could feel his face heat up. He always tried his hardest to exude confidence, but talking to guys—especially cute guys with stubble and messy hair and ridiculous blue eyes—tended to turn him into a blabbering idiot. He was genuinely surprised he hadn’t stuck his foot in his mouth yet.
“It usual-l-ly d-doesn’t b-bother me this m-much. I just-t had a r-r-really bad day.” Castiel sighed, toying with one of the blueberries from the muffin.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Castiel just stared at him for a minute, studying his face intently, and it made Dean feel like he should apologize for something. “You don’t have to... I’m just being nosy. I’ll just… leave you to it.” But this time it was Castiel reaching out and stopping him from fleeing.
“No, p-please stay. I didn’t m-mean to m-make you unc-comfortable. It’s j-just…” Castiel seemed to deliberate for a moment before continuing. “Y-you said you s-saw me at Dr. B-Barnes’ office?”
“I, uh, take my little brother to his appointments. Maybe you're in one of his groups? Sam Winchester?”
Understanding flooded Castiel’s face. “Y-you’re Dean W-winch-chester?” His face broke into a knowing sort of grin and Dean prayed to whoever was listening that Sam hadn’t completely thrown him under the bus.
“The one and only.” He tried a cocky grin, but it must have fallen short because Castiel grabbed the hand that wasn’t crushing a poor, defenseless muffin into a pile of sticky crumbs and gave it a mirror of Dean’s earlier reassuring squeeze.
“D-don’t worry, that k-kid thinks the sun sh-shines out of your a-ass.” And then Castiel was smiling at him, and Dean forgot to be nervous.
“And how do you know it doesn’t?”
“Good p-point. I did-dn’t get a very g-good l-look at it but it did seem p-pretty sp-p-pectacular.”
“Just wait till you see it when I don’t have so many clothes on.” Dean cringed internally, wondering if he took it too far, too fast, but Castiel just threw his head back and laughed, and damn it if that didn’t make Dean want to do a dorky little happy dance.
Castiel calmed down and drank some more of his coffee. Dean realized that they were still kind of holding hands and he blushed, but didn’t pull his back.
“S-so you still wa-want to hear about m-my shitty day?”
I’d listen to you read the back of a cereal box. “Sure. If you want to tell me, that is.”
Castiel kind of shrugged and chewed a bite of his muffin before he started. “It’s st-tupid r-really. I get m-made fun of all the t-time and it n-ne-never bothers me…” Dean’s heart clenched in his chest. No one made fun of Sammy around him, but he wasn’t there all the time. He wondered just how much he got picked on when he wasn’t around.
“But…”
Castiel shot him an exaggerated put-upon look before dragging patterns through the remaining foam of his drink with the tip of his finger. “But th-there w-was this guy, th-this stupidly at-tractive guy,” Castiel glanced up at Dean and then down again, “a-and he said some th-things. N-n-nothing I haven-n’t heard b-before, b-but it st-till hurt.”
Dean twisted his wrist so he could hold Castiel’s hand properly. “Well whoever he is, he’s a fucking moron.” Dean gave Castiel’s hand a little squeeze. “So, just for clarification purposes, you are into guys, right?”
Dean’s stab at lightening the mood worked, and Cas let out a rumbling chuckle. “Yes, Dean, I am ‘in to’ guys. I d-don’t desc-criminate b-based on gender, th-though u-usually I’m n-not attracted to assholes.”
“That must be nice. I almost exclusively date assholes.” Before that thought could bring Dean down, Castiel surprised him.
There was a determined, almost hungry glint to his eyes when he asked when Dean’s shift was over.
“We close at 9. Why? You gonna try to break my ‘dating assholes’ streak Cas?” Dean couldn’t keep the note of hopefulness out of his voice no matter how hard he tried. Maybe Cas would agree to meet him at the Roadhouse. Ellen made the best apple pie on Tuesdays.
“W-well for all y-you know I could be the b-biggest asshole you ever m-met.” Castiel’s nose scrunched up. He smiled with all his teeth and a fair amount of gums. Dean’s heart fluttered in his chest.
“I think I’ll take my chances.”