Summary: Dean and Charlie have been best friends for a while, and decided to open up a tattoo parlor on a busy street corner in New York. It's been almost a year after its opening, and yet Dean has yet to meet the owner of the shop down the street... who just so happens to have a very witty personality and the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen. In a complicated story full of late nights, loud music, a baking Moose, and Star Wars marathons, a lively, clamorous body and a clever, allegorical man somehow find themselves barging into each other's lives.
"Yes, just two quarts of the Roycroft…wait, hold on just a second please— DEAN PLEASE CUT THE MUSIC. NOW."
Charlie was getting sick and tired of the loud noise echoing through the walls of what was supposed to be "sound-proof" glass surrounding her office.
"Can't. Workin' on job," a husky voice replied, significantly calmer than Charlie's outburst, yet somehow still understandable over the beating bass.
Turning back to the phone, Charlie rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Chuck, I'll need to put you on hold for a moment. Yeah, Roycroft Green, just wait a minute, yeah?" She put the device back down on the receiver and headed towards her door, Thundersturck's final end chords strumming through the useless glass wall panes.
Quickly rushing to the radio system before the CD played another track, she slammed her palm down on the power switch and turned toward her boss.
"Dean, as much as I love that track, I really need to get all these calls finished. I mean, look around, we need new paint, a new carpet… people need to actually be able to hear me on the phone! Just turn down the music, alright?" Charlie sighed, hoping he'd actually comply for once.
When Dean mentioned to Charlie a year back about wanting to run a tattoo parlor, she thought things would run pretty smoothly, and they had, for the most part. They had been best friends since high school, surely it wouldn't be any trouble? They had never argued, unless you counted the debates on who shot first, Han or Greddo, or who's "the supreme master" of using a lightsaber.
But no, Charlie later found out that, although they probably had the greatest friendship the world had ever known, Dean was absolutely the worst at managing a business. Sure, he knew how to put the business together and start it off, but he had no capability of maintaining it and paying attention to the small details. Which is exactly why Charlie handled that part of the business.
She kept all the supplies in stock, managed the bills, answered calls, planned for repairs, all the behind the scenes, more professional work. That's how she and Dean decided they'd make the parlor a success – Dean would be the main tattooist and handle the decorations and music; he'd give the shop a personality. Charlie, being more practical, would deal with the more business-side of the parlor.
It just so happened, however, that Dean was very unwilling to compromise when it came to Charlie's need for silence. The speakers were kept at a constant volume that could be heard a block away, and Charlie had absolutely no clue how anyone could maintain focus under the intense bass.
"Sorry, Char, no can do. Benny here laid in a special request for this specific tape. Just so happened that we both think it's heard best at the loudest volume possible." And with a wink and a heedless shrug, Dean turned back to his customer, clicking play on the radio remote.
When it was evident that he wouldn't change his mind anytime soon, Charlie sighed and returned to her glass office space. She wasn't mad; they both got into moods every once in a while. Somedays Dean would annoy Charlie, and vice versa. Sure, they'd bicker like the old married couple their friendship somehow transformed them into, but by the end of the day they would be all right, enjoying one another's reassuring company before they closed up shop and headed off in their separate directions to return home for the night.
Charlie still needed to get back to Chuck, the manager of the Sherwin Williams down the street, to order new paint for the parlor, as well as find a carpeter and a few other retail companies for supplies for the business. Settling back down in her lackadaisical office, she took in a deep sigh, overhearing to the beginning of Fire Your Guns, and got back to her conversation with Chuck, talking somewhat louder as to accommodate the persistent background noise.
Was it only 11 AM?
This was going to be a long day.
A/N: I hope you like this fic so far! I was orignally planning on expanding the first chapter to more than just a view into the tattoo parlor, but that didn't happen. I do have intentions on making this a Destiel tattooist!Dean, some-other-line-of-work!Cas, but I just didn't get to Cas's background in this part. Pretty sure Cas will be a flower shop owner or something, and I also have plans on including Sam and Mary at some point along the way as well… hopefully you guys will stick with me as I figure out how this fic will unravel. ^_^
Also, may I just say that I have full on intentions of making this into an M rated fic. Might be a slow-build, but it will happen.
Until the next update (which you can expect to be within a few days; most likely Wednesday night, when I'm not stressed about school), thank you for reading and have a great day!
Any questions about the future of this fic, or any errors that you've noticed in the text, plase do let me know so I can try to fix them.
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