1. Don't piss off the baristas (they hold power over your caffeine levels)

„Is there anything hot on the menu apart from you?" Sam heard and couldn't help rolling his eyes, giving Dean the look. The look saying I'm so done, you're not my brother and I'm gonna kill you one day without a single word.

Sam and Dean arrived to New York yesterday – following a case, naturally. There had already been three victims of presumed animal attacks, all of them having one significant feature according to the autopsy reports; a missing heart. They hadn't seen the bodies yet, but if the reports were true, they had a werewolf on their hands.

From what Sam read, New York's Hell's Kitchen was a place where lots of shitty things (as Dean would put it) were happening, the crime rate high even for such a large city as New York. Corruption. Kidnappings. Human trafficking. Murders. Bombings. None of these events pointed to anything supernatural though – 'monsters I get, people are crazy' (actually one of the rare wise lines that had ever left Dean's mouth). It would be a freaking paradise for demons who would enjoy the suffering of local people. Yet, it was the case of werewolves what had brought the brothers here.

Sure, there was another catch. The catch that was wearing a black tight outfit and a mask, was running around at night and supposedly was saving lives. Sam would be almost excited about the vigilante figure, only if he wouldn't have had the weirdest name – the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. He might laugh it off if it was few years earlier, but now, discovering angels were after his brother and one very deeply fallen angel was after him, it seemed like a stupid idea to willingly move closer to a creature that was being called the Devil.

They had done it anyway.

Sam had checked – he had read the reports, he had seen the pictures, he had watched the security footages. There was nothing indicating that the vigilante was anything but a very capable human. When he was shot, he bled. When he was punched, he held himself like he was hurt, at least after the fight was over. His moves were gracious, but his punches didn't seem to be supernaturally strong or fast. He was just a man. But then again, the greatest trick the devil had ever pulled was convincing the world he had noted exist. Sam didn't feel good about this.

Finding a motel in the area that seemed to targeted the most, staying up late (Sam to reread the police files, Dean to…whatever he was doing, hunting in a bar), Dean now demanded another morning coffee despite already having one. But Sam understood – if he had Vienna sausage with scrambled eggs and burger as a side dish for breakfast, he would need more caffeine too.

So they found a small café with a quite fitting name (My Daily Dose of Caffeine), several people standing in the line in front of them, providing them enough time to choose. There were three girls behind the counter, all shooting smiles, some honest, some fake. Sam liked it here though – the space was warm, homey, and the baristas tried if anything. The choice was wide enough and Sam chose caramel latté, well-aware he might need a lot of sugar that day.

Their server was a black-haired girl, taller than the others, with a smile that looked natural, honest, the kind that made people to return the gesture just because. Of course, his brother, who needed to flirt with everything that moved, tried out one of his favourite lines. Her cheeks blushed furiously, gaze lowering to the counter shyly and Sam groaned internally. Really, Dean? This one again?

The girl – Vera, as the nametag read – surprised them both when she looked up again, one corner of her lips raised. "I'm sorry, sir. I was taken away from the menu a while ago. I suggest you to choose something else. Would you like me to read it out loud for you? It's no trouble."

Sam grinned widely and eyed his brother who was totally taken aback by the lack of her response. That girl was Sam's new heroine. He was leaving her a huge tip, no matter Dean was paying.

Dean got it together and leaned onto the counter slightly, apparently encouraged by her boldness. She simply took a step back and turned to face Sam.

"Until your… friend makes up his mind, would you please tell me your choice?" she asked politely, the other corner of her lip twitching as Dean's smug smile faded.

"Uhm…"

"The lady will have caramel latté," Dean grumbled, standing up straight again, "and I'll have Americano."

Sam rolled his eyes, too amused by Dean's lack of success to be annoyed by the comment about his hair.

The girl smiled at him professionally, ignoring the comment as well. "Size? Here or to go?"

"The biggest one, trust me. To go cups, but here? There is a lovely view," he tilted his head, striking again and the girl's eyes flickered to the window before she understood what he meant. She bit the inside of her cheek.

"Sure thing. It's six fifty… Thank you, coming right up." If she was thrown off balance, Sam didn't really notice.

She spun on her heels and started preparing their order. Sam poked Dean to move left to make a space for next customers. His brother was too busy watching the girl's butt with too much interest (Sam checked shortly and he felt him, alright, but it was like really rude). When she turned around to face them again, cups in her hands, she saw it. She took a deep breath. She seemed to be slightly irritated now.

„Any names?" she demanded, still with an admirable calm, talking rather to Sam then his ass brother though.

„Sure. Americano for David Mason and latté for his baby sister Nicki," Dean exclaimed and Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling, pleading God to give him strength to deal with this creation calling himself his brother.

The girl nodded several times as she wrote the names and hesitated before placing the cups on the counter. She took one of them and added a note – Sam couldn't believe it. She did give up to Dean's obvious flirting in the end. His sympathies slowly faded away as she smiled at Dean, handing him his coffee. Sam had to take his own by himself. Dean grinned smugly again and winked at her. Her smile widened.

"Thank you for choosing MDDC and enjoy your coffee. Have a nice day!"

They headed to one of the tables not far from the counter, Sam sighing. "I can't believe you. And she seemed to resist! Dammit!"

His brother just shrugged innocently, sitting at the table, putting his coffee down. "You know the drill, Sammy. Some people are just meant to get laid…"

Sam, sitting down as well, noticed there was no phone number on Dean's cup. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back, his gaze flickering to the counter once more. The girl was watching them contentedly, giving Sam a small wave, as another girl, with bright orange hair, poked her ribs beckoning their direction.

"Oh god," he let out between his laugh, trying to calm down his panting.

Dean looked confused. "What? What?!" he demanded, examining the cup as well. His face fell. He snapped up his head to the girl's direction as well, but she was already serving another customer. "Son of a— you gotta be kidding me."

She hadn't written her phone number. No. The cup read David Get-over-yourself Mason.

…

They agreed on hitting the precinct together first, then the morgue and witnesses, perhaps separated, depending on the amount of them – as far as Sam read, there were none. There was no one who would tell them what they had seen, but they might luck out, overhearing something when at the police station.

They were finishing their coffee, the café almost empty now, when Sam realized his brother was staring, not really listening to him as he was summing up the basic info about the victims. Annoyed, he turned the direction Dean was looking. He was observing the girl behind the counter, the one who had turned him down, talking to another customer. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I mean, can you believe her?" he exclaimed, outraged.

Sam looked closer, examining, and realized that the girl's body language was screaming one single thing – attraction. He couldn't see much of the man she was talking to apart from his height – about Dean's, perhaps a little shorter –, relatively strong built, slacks that probably belonged to a business suit, its upper part hidden under a coat. He thought he glimpsed a white cane with red stripe in his hands – if he was right, the man was blind. Which was a shame, because the girl was smiling softly, cute, slightly leaning in, eyes lowering at something he said.

"Seriously? A blind dude?! She turned me down because she has a crush on a blind dude?" Dean continued, face somewhere between offended and baffled.

Sam felt bad for watching the poor pair so closely, but he enjoyed his brother's ego hurting. He needed it. Funnily enough, as if 'the blind dude' could hear them, he leaned onto the counter, whispering something to her ear.

"It doesn't look like she has a crush on him, he seems to be quite on board too," Sam noted just in time to see the girl giggle and let the man kiss her. On her mouth. Quite enthusiastically. Sam looked away, not wanting to intrude. "If you're asking me. I wouldn't kiss anyone like that in case I wasn't."

Dean's expression was gold and he hid his grumpy grimace behind his empty cup, the note on it sticking out. Sam couldn't help grinning again.

"Shut up, bitch."

"Just saying. Jerk."