Chapter 1.
Flashback.
True to schedule and habit, the bell over the coffee shop door rings as she walks in the very next morning. It's a new day and another morning, yesterday had been a good day; she's happy. The sun was out and birds have been singing, one of her plants had showed its bright green head and body today. The weather was nice, getting warmer, though she still came in wrapped in her warm coat.
It was Brandi behind the counter today. A dark-skinned barista with beautiful black, bushy hair, who made the best mocha cappuccino. Unfortunately Brandi is the least of her concerns as her eyes light upon her seat. Filled again with Jean and plaid and leather...and the handsome stranger from yesterday.
She sighs as she walks up to the counter and orders her cappuccino and a bagel. What was he doing back? Besides who even gets up this early and comes to a coffee shop to sit? (Besides her.) Brandi smiles at her sympathetically as she hands over the bagel in the brown paper bakery bag and her coffee cup.
She stands for merely a second contemplating what to do but it's enough time for the handsome stranger to look up at her, smirking just as smugly as before. She grits her teeth and any chance at forgiveness he had before is gone. Now she just feels pissed; he's provoking her on purpose. He looks away as quickly as he looked and she's not even sure the interaction happened.
She wants her seat back and she's going to have to talk to him to get it back. So she decides to just bite the bullet. He doesn't really look like he wants company, she decides to give him some. In fact, he looks more like he's brooding over there than anything, she smirks, thinking the bagel and coffee must not have been enough amending for 'Sammy'.
She walks over, daintily balanced on another pair of beloved high heels and sighs deeply as she settles in the comfy chair right beside his. She drops her bag on the floor at her feet and sets her coffee on the side table beside the chair...not the same one that his sits on. She begins to unwrap her bagel before he turns to look at her.
"Can I help you?" He asks, eyebrow raised on one side sardonically.
She smiles, "You're in my seat." She says simply.
He stares for a moment. "I didn't see a sign," he says gruffly.
She snorts a laugh, "No, there's not one, but you're currently sitting in the best seat in the house, so forgive me if I just come and sit in the second best."
He looks at her carefully for a moment, trying to decide if she's serious or not, and then purses his lips when he sees that she is and intends on staying. "Whatever," he sighs, sitting back and staring out the window moodily.
Oh yeah, he was totally here brooding.
She tears a small piece off her bagel and pops it in her mouth washing it down with a sip of her cappuccino and looks out the window too. After all this was her seat, she had patented the looking out the window and watching the street come to life thing. After a minute or two he turns back around to look at her and she meets is eyes straight in. She would have smirked at the way his bright green eyes sparkled with annoyance if she wasn't trying to keep her poker face.
"Really?" He questions, sounding sarcastic, and a Kansas twang definitely seeping through with his annoyance.
"Really what?" She asks. Getting annoyed herself that this man had come in here and stollen her seat two mornings in a row, and then gets pissy with her when she just wants to sit in the seat beside him.
"You know what?" He huffs, gathering his phone and wallet, "I was just leaving anyways." He stands, pocketing his stuff and grabbing his coffee.
"Oh, well, okay." She says, trying her best to look remorseful. As soon as his back is turned she rises and brushes out his seat, or her seat, whatever, and sits down, placing her purse in the chair she just vacated and placing her coffee on her rightful side table. She crosses her legs and sighs contentedly. She can feel the stranger staring at her. She looks up at him, across the room, trying desperately to keep her own smug look off her face.
However, as he's walking out the door looking at her with a thunderous frown on his brow, she can't stop herself from waving goodbye to him. He was much better looking happy and content yesterday morning, and frankly, with his brooding she's glad she got rid of him.
As she settles in her chair she smiles, thinking all is back to normal. Maybe he won't come back anymore, still for the sake of argument she'll start coming to the coffee shop earlier, just to ensure she gets her seat.
Fate is on her side for once, she doesn't see the handsome, gruff stranger again...for awhile at least.
...
Moving into the bunker in Lebanon is possibly the best thing that has ever happened to Dean Winchester in all his life. Not only does it give him the security of having a home, but it gives him a sense of belonging he never had before. For once he was sticking around one place and familiarizing himself with the locals, hunting down the best restaurants and bars.
He'd discovered the gem of a coffee shop one late night roaming the down town streets of Lebanon during the time when Sam had alienated him. He'd made a habit of wandering into the corner coffee shop on late night and enjoy the quiet and low lighting. (He'd never admit he enjoyed the coffee shop blend radio that played in the back ground.)
After Sam pumped him full of purified blood and Dean had tried to off his brother, things calmed down enough to give Dean some alone time again. Granted, Sam hovered...a lot. Dean barely got away. He started slipping away early in the morning before Sam showed himself. He remembered his peaceful times in the corner coffee shop down town and found himself going there.
The seat he always loved to sit in was vacant so he ordered himself a coffee, plain black, and sat down there, staring out the window, watching the sun start the day with its rising. The second customer was a woman, who just barely escaped looking like a girl because of her soulful eyes, deep soft voice, and dark, long, loose curls.
Dean thought she looked like someone who had been through more than she deserved, looked like she had fought hard to be the vision of calm perfection she was this morning. She sends a peeved look his way but says nothing when she takes another seat. Thoughts take over his conscience, he doesn't pay her any mind until she rises a half hour later and stands waiting for a to-go coffee. The barista seems to know her, she gives him a quiet smile. Dean decides he likes her.
Who wouldn't? She was pretty, more like a quiet, animating beauty haloed around her. She didn't have the most killer body he'd ever seen either. She wasn't particularly tall, her shapely foot tapped on the floor in her classy looking high heel. Her legs were slender, disappearing into the tasteful skirt, heels making the most of her calves. She was wrapped up in a dark coat, but from what Dean could make out she was dressed modestly and classy for business. In other words she was way out of his league.
He watches her go, soothing Sam on the other end of the phone, who was nearly frantic from having woken up to find him gone. She leaves him behind with a sense of awe and peace he's not used to having. He wonders how she managed to make such an impression out of herself when she hardly spoke more than ten words the whole time she was there AND was dressed respectively. All in all she wasn't the type of woman Dean was used to associating with.
She's gone when he turns around from ordering Sam's coffee and bagel. He doesn't think about her again.
Until the next morning.
Once again he was the first customer in the coffee shop. He sits brooding over his coffee, yesterday not having been the best. Sam had been understandably worried, but Dean thought it a little unreasonable for it to result in the rest of the day being miserable. He had to get away from Sam's hovering. Mother-henning was one hing, but a pissed off mother hen, that was a million times worse. So Dean escaped again, before Sam woke up and sat moodily in the coffee shop, looking out the window.
That's when she walks in again. Calmness and serenity following her, filling the room as she orders her morning coffee and pastry. Dean feels her heated glare rest on him, and what the hell, why was he pissing everybody off? Why was everybody being pissy with him? He hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't his fault he turned into a demon...well, okay...hadn't been he's immediate choice.
And he's sorry if chick doesn't like him in the coffee shop, but he's got just as much right to be there as she does. And honestly, he'd hoped a little bit to see her again, she made a fascinating study to try and work out. So he watches her out of the corner of his eye until he catches her looking at him, and then sends her a millisecond smirk. He can feel the change that comes over her, calm serenity replaced with some kind of righteous anger vibe that made the air snap with energy.
Before he knows it she sits in the seat beside him, places her bag by her feet and crosses those legs quaintly. She sits her coffee on the table beside her and then calmly opens her bakery bag and begins to eat her breakfast.
Dean's a nice guy, but frankly he's feeling a little pissed this morning and definitely not like company. And if he told the truth he was a little intimidated by her. With her quiet, confident ways, she was everything he wasn't. He was insecure, and made up for it by being loud and sarcastic. He turned to her, and regarded her serene profile shrewdly.
He lifts an eyebrow, "Can I help you?" He asks, knowing he sounds a little rude.
"You're in my seat," she returns just as calmly as she looks up at him with smiling but underneath, accusing eyes.
"I didn't see a sign," he shoots back sharply.
She huffs a laugh, and Dean decides he like the way the laugh kind of sings out of her white throat and makes her eyes sparkle. He also recognizes her as a fellow cryptic when his rude tone obviously makes her left eyebrow bend upwards, but she doesn't allow herself to be offended by something so trivial, instead she laughs at him.
Dean likes her even more.
"No, there's not one, but you're currently sitting in the best seat in the house, so forgive me if I just come and sit in the second best." The sarcastic politeness underlying her light tone is biting. He leans back in his seat, staring out the window.
How did he manage to piss off one of the most extraordinary women he's ever met, and how in hell was he sitting here without a witty reply? Of all the women to come and sit beside him, it had to be her. All quiet confidence and everything he wasn't, everything he knew nothing about, and didn't understand. Everything about her screamed at him what he should be, he found the mark on his arm on a low burn, he was angry.
He turns to look at her and studies her face for a moment and it just confirms what he thinks. She's entirely unperturbed, after all it had been her bright idea to come over here and provoke him. If the mark wasn't burning with his anger Dean thinks he'd probably be flirting with her right now. Instead all he can come up with is, "Really?"
Why did she have to do it? Provoke him, aggravate him, tickle the itch, awaken the burn. Any other time Dean would have found it amusing, even like she was coming on a little strong. Now he was pissed off, and burning and restless with the way the mark took advantage of his annoyance.
"Really what?" She asks, looking a little annoyed now too, which makes him feel better.
"You know what?" He hastily sweeps up his stuff and stands, shoving them in his pocket, he grabs his coffee. "I was just leaving anyways."
He swears he sees her face light up. Instead she says, sounding majorly sarcastically sad, "Oh, well, okay."
He's not walked away from her more than five seconds before he turns around finds her brushing out the chair he'd vacated and sitting down in it smugly. She situates herself primly and then looks back up to him, he's not comforted by the way she seems to be a gracious winner. He realizes now that's what the entire episode had been about, getting her seat back. She looks for all the world sincerely happy.
He walks out the door looking over his shoulder to find her smirking at him and giving him a condescending wave. He leaves thinking she's the most infuriating woman he's ever met and perhaps the most beautiful.
It's months before he makes his way back.
...
Present Day.
Sam hadn't seen his brother in over twelve hours. They'd eaten a late lunch together at about three p.m. yesterday and then Dean had left at about five, Sam had sleepily heard him come in at some outrageous hour, his brother cracking his door open as if he was checking if he was still there before he headed off to bed. Dean closed his bedroom door behind him and Sam listened to his receding footsteps going off towards his bedroom, he hears the door shut and then he drifts off to sleep feeling much more relaxed now he knew Dean was safe home.
He wakes slowly, yawning as he rolls over to check the time on his phone. Eight o'clock, Dean wasn't awake yet. Probably wouldn't be for a couple of hours. They weren't working a case and both the boys had learned how to sleep in over the past few quieter months.
Sam can't believe that almost a year has passed since they defeated the darkness. And the less stressful months had been kind to them. When Sam stands, getting out of bed, he doesn't have any aches or pains. If anything he feels invigorated and ready for the day. He's also feeling like pancakes and bacon.
He lazily makes his way down the hall to peer in on Dean. In the dark of his room all he can make out is twisted sheets and blankets, in the midst of which is a lump.
"Dean, you awake?" He asks, voice still a little slurred with sleep. "I was thinking about making some pancakes, you wanna come help?" He gets no answer, so he just rubs his eyes and yawns again with a sigh, "Okay, whatever. See you in a bit."
He shuts the door behind him and pads down the hallway into the kitchen. He reaches to switch on the light but stops in his tracks blinking in the bright fluorescents already on. Dean stands awake and fully dressed stirring something in a bowl. Sam can smell the distinct smell of bacon and can hear it sizzling on the stovetop. If the heating skillet is anything to go by Dean got his vibe about pancakes too.
He stands looking confusedly between the door and Dean trying to figure out what he saw in Dean's bedroom if Dean hadn't been there at all.
"Good morning, Sammy!" He's greeted brightly. His older brother gives him a sharp look, "Everything okay?"
"I coulda sworn you..." Sam looks back down the hall towards Dean's bedroom.
Dean raises an eyebrow, "Coulda sworn what?"
Sam shakes his head and runs fingers through his hair, wandering deeper into the kitchen and looking over Dean's shoulder. "It's nothing, just thought you were still in bed, just had a whole conversation with you."
Dean shoots Sam a serious look, "Don't tell be that bed's started talking to you too."
Sam looks up worried, "What?" He asks sharply.
Dean laughs, "Just kidding Sammy, my bed doesn't talk to me, though sometimes it does call to me." He sighs, and Sam rolls his eyes and laughs.
"Okay Dean, but I'm pretty sure you two get enough alone time these days."
"You're telling me," Dean says, yawning and stretching with the spatula in hand, "I sleep so good these days."
"Same here," Sam agrees.
"Why don't you go get dressed while I finish this up?" Dean says motioning to the skillet where he's about to pour pancake batter.
Sam nods and walks out of the kitchen. He heads back to Dean's room though. He could have sworn he'd seen some movement amidst the covers. Maybe the bed really was possessed, and Dean just assumed he was dreaming the bed talked to him.
He opens up his brother's door, switches on the light...and freezes.
In the middle of Dean's bed lays a woman, curled up on her side, a hand tucked up under her cheek where it lays against the pillow. Face white and relaxed, she looks more like a girl sleeping there with long brown curls stretched out on the pillows behind her. One of Dean's soft flannel, plaid shirts is buttoned up around her, fitting loosely on her smaller frame. Thigh high knit socks is all she wears on her legs which are peeking out from under the blankets.
Sam is entirely blind-sided.
She frowns at the bright light and buries her face deeper in the pillows whimpering a little under her breath. She curls up tighter in on herself, drawing her legs back up into the safety and warmth of the blankets. Sam has to say, for a second before the reality of the situation comes upon him fully, he is enchanted by her.
He turns the light back off and shuts the door behind him quietly. Dean Winchester has an awful lot of explaining to do.
tbc...
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