Author's Note: Okay, so a story I based on something I saw on tumblr (ehehe, likely one of the worse in the people who took the prompt), and I hope that you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: As much as I love the boys, I don't own them. All credits to Kripke and Co. (If I did, Destiel would be canon. The best I can do as of now is fantasize and write...)
Coffee at Christmas
You always get the good days, and the bad days, and all those days in between. Just like there are the best days, there are the worst days. And Dean Winchester was having a Worst Day. His girlfriend had announced she was pregnant with another man's child, Sam had just told him that after Jess's death, he turned to bat for the other side, and his friends had all ditched him for their football reunion. They'd forgotten to invite him, for God's sake!
"Lisa. You are with child with another man's- a hooker! You have the kid of a hook- Lisa? Lisa. Gah!" He's really pissed. Sitting in Starbucks on Christmas Day alone was not fun. Not fun at all. Being Dean Winchester, he really wanted to go to a bar, but thinking about Lisa, he didn't want to do that to another woman. He just sat in the coffeeshop, head in his hands. Then a coffee in a mug slid across to him, and it has a dollop of cream on it.
Okay. He has a coffee he didn't order. Looking up, his eyes meet another pair, and he can't help but feel like he was looking into that little creek he grew up next to. It's the exact same shade as the little stream next to their house in Kansas. The stream that he and Sammy would sit by for hours, making up stories about pirates and raids; about everything and anything in between. The creek full of memories that were long gone, but always helped keep him company in those truly lonely nights.
"On the house," the man mumbles, almost inaudibly, and Dean has to strain to hear what he said. The man rushes away too quickly for Dean to say anything else, and all the Winchester can do is sit there and stare at the fast retreating figure. Dean never even got his name, and barely knew anything about him. He watches as a trench coat hurries out the staff exit, and sips his coffee. It's half chocolate, and he can taste some alcohol in it, and he knows that the trench-coated-blue-eyed man knew what he was going through. He finished the drink leisurely, knowing he had nowhere else to be, and left the shop soon after.
On the other side of the room, a man with half gold eyes watches the man leave. Odd. Since when did Castiel ever give out free drinks? Hell, when did Castiel ever talk to his customers? And when, pray tell, was his brother ever that shy? Castiel had always been socially awkward, but never too shy to even say hello. Gabriel's eyebrows furrowed, and he too left the shop, coat collar turned up against the wind and snow.