Sometimes he walks in, a concentrated look plastered onto his rugged face. No one looks up, but that's because he's just another costumer to them and he really doesn't seem to care much for attention anyway. No one ever notices the weariness in his step, though, or the way his shoulders slouch forward a bit, as if he's folding into himself, about to collapse due to the enormous amount of pressure pushing down on him by an invisible force. No one ever sees the tiny bits of gray starting to dot his dark brown hair, or the age behind his captivatingly green eyes despite the fact that he would still be considered a young man. It seems like he's been to Hell and back.
He always pokes around a bit, flipping through a couple of magazines before scanning the candy shelf by the register as if he is having a hard time choosing. Ultimately, he always picks a pack of peanut M&M's, though, and takes it to the counter. He's always greeted by the person manning the register and is asked whether he would like anything to drink – this is a coffee shop, after all, and one cannot simply buy candy and leave.
Every time, he orders the same thing. "I'll have a coffee, black." His voice is low, but clear.
Within less than a minute, the employee will have his change and drink ready – a piping hot cup of coffee that started brewing the moment he walked in, set in a way so that it would definitely finish right as the employee would walk over to pour it; he didn't like to keep the man waiting.
Every time, the man thanks him and leaves, but not before shooting a quick glance at the employee's face.
A few times a week, this happens. Then suddenly, he doesn't show up for a couple of months, but the employee always keeps an empty cup and some of the man's favorite coffee beans at the ready, just in case he happens to walk in that day.
And one day, he does.
He goes through his usual routine: flipping through magazines (he takes longer this time because he's been gone for a while and has missed a few issues), checks out the candy shelf and grabs a bag of peanut M&M's (and he hesitates a moment here before snatching up some Skittles, too), and makes his way to the counter.
"Welcome, sir, what can I get for you?" asks the employee, who can't say that his heart just got a bit lighter and his day just got a bit brighter and the practiced smile that had been on his face just became a little more real.
"I'll have a coffee, black," the man pauses. "And a hazelnut with crème."
The employee can't help but look up. His head tilts slightly to the side in a confused manner. "Ah, all right," he manages to say after a moment. "Then your total comes to four dollars and thirty-seven cents."
He gets the order ready – the usual coffee is already brewed but he idles about the machine as the additional cup is made – and when he brings the two cups over, the man is already waiting at the pick-up spot. He's leaning against the counter, popping M&M's into his mouth, and this further confuses the employee because the man never opens the yellow bag in the shop. Ever.
"The name's Dean," the man suddenly says. He's not looking at the employee, and is instead rather focused on his chocolate.
"Castiel," says the employee, his gruff voice hints at uncertainty.
Finally, the man – Dean – looks up. "Uh, hope you like Skittles," he puts in awkwardly, sliding the red bag over. "And hazelnut. And crème."
Castiel raises an eyebrow. This is weird, after all, as nothing like this has happened to him before. No one really starts a conversation, and especially not this guy, but it's okay because there are no other costumers around and it's been a pretty slow day anyway.
Dean clears his throat. "Well, they're for you, you know."
By now, Castiel is so confused and worried and wondering just what in the world is transpiring that would make this guy, this Dean guy, who never says anything but his order, never gets anything else, never bothers with anything really – just what the hell could have happened to cause such a sudden change.
"Thank you," he mutters, rather awkwardly at that. "But, why?"
And at this moment, Dean stands up a little taller and his eyes get just a bit younger and brighter and he seems like a completely different person. "Because you started to look too much like I did," he says, his voice clearer than it was ever remembered to be. "And Hell isn't big enough for both of us."