The coffee house starts to pick up around seven thirty—as much as a coffee house like this can, with a DDs around the corner—as people head to their jobs, putting their fair trade coffee straight into the re-usable travel cups. Dean used to pity them and their early hours, now he envies them. Especially when he knows he might be seeing some of them this evening.
The guy who works last shift needs someone to cover and Dean is just masochistic enough to volunteer. When Jo comes in to relieve him at eleven, her smile tells him everything he needs to know about her plans to come behind the counter. Even as he shakes his head vehemently and repeats 'no' with religious fervor, Jo's smile widens because they both know what that really means.
And so it is that the day goes by in a blur of frappuccinos and espressos, only to be interrupted by Sam showing up in between his classes with a friend of the female persuasion in tow.
("Her name's Jess and we're just friends, Dean." "Yeah, sure, but you want to be more." Dean wiggles his eyebrows in the exaggerated way he learned expressly for moments like this. Same doesn't deny it, so Dean gives his brother his girly soy decaf latte and his 'friend's' Brazilian roast on the house.)
When the two leave to study—biology; there is no way there will not be teasing later—Dean's extra-long shift continues onward. When six comes around, the shop is almost blessedly empty and Dean only has another half hour of the shift from hell left.
He's already envisioning himself falling into bed with abandon when the chime at the door jangles. Just as Dean's about to mentally disparage the person coming in for coffee, he sees it's Castiel, looking more exhausted from his day than he has ever looked in the mornings. As Dean's eyes widen at the familiar messy bedhead and too big tan coat, Castiel seems just as surprised to see his morning barista here in the evening.
"I did not expect to see you here at this hour," is Castiel's greeting when he gets to the counter.
"That makes two of us. What the hell do you do that makes you look that beat—wrestle bears?" Dean asks; "If you don't mind me asking," he belatedly tacks on. He's never been one for tact.
Castiel smiles ruefully, "nothing that exciting. I'm an administrator at Saint Claire's Mercy Hospital."
Dean whistles appreciatively, St. Claire's is one of the biggest hospitals in the region, with a well renowned team of specialty doctors and nurses.
"Any hot nurses?" Dean wiggles his eyebrow. Castiel gives him an odd, uncomprehending look and Dean immediately feels the fool. And what's more annoying is, he had no idea why; it isn't a particularly raunchy statement (as far as Dean goes), it isn't too inappropriate. The only thing that's making it weird is Castiel, and Dean starts to bristle, get flustered and defensive.
"I wouldn't know," Castiel cuts in before Dean can get himself worked up, (which is for the best, he's already feeling embarrassed over his reaction, he's just lucky Castiel didn't seem to notice), "the nurses have far worse schedules than I," a hint of reverence works its way into his voice, "and work in a different part of the hospital. I've never had the need to seek them out."
Dean nods, still feeling oddly afflicted by emotions that don't correlate, so he does what Dean does when things he doesn't want to deal with come up—he changes the subject: "Pick your poison." He makes an elaborate gesture towards the coffee beans, artfully displayed in burlap sacks to add a bit of 'exotic flare'.
"House, black." Castiel answers without hesitation.
Dean nods, and is about to go through the familiar motions, if only for something to do, when something stops him.
"Where are you going after this?" Dean asks, effectively dragging Castiel away from the world of his thoughts that he slips into while Dean works.
"Home," his answer is startled right out of him, as if the concept of small talk is still something new. That's something Dean has only vaguely noticed before, but it's becoming more apparent. Maybe because this is the longest conversation they've ever had before.
"To sleep?" Dean knows how weird it sounds, but when Castiel just nods, eyes wide and curious instead of narrowing in suspicion over Dean's not so socially acceptable questions, Dean just smiles.
"I'm gonna make you something a little different so you can actually get to sleep tonight, okay?" Dean knows he's taking liberties here that are not his to take, but he plows on regardless. Getting to sleep right after a strong cup of coffee (like Cas likes his) is hard, if someone's affected by caffeine or not. Dean just wants to make sure Castiel is awake enough tomorrow to come for his coffee in the morning.
Castiel just blinks those baby blues and tilts his head to the side, but he offers no protest, so Dean nods for the both of them and sets out to make the best coffee Castiel will ever taste.
When he's done, there's a cup of cold water and an espresso glass on the counter with hot, dark brown coffee inside, topped with a hint of foam. The strong woody smell swells through the air between them. Dean smiles. This is a fine cup of coffee.
Castiel eyes it suspiciously for a moment, glancing back and forth between the cup and Dean. Dean, for his part, let his satisfied smile widen. It doesn't seem to calm Castiel down any, but he still tentatively reaches for the cup, slowly bringing it to his lips. He blows on it softly; something that Dean is sure is for his benefit alone.
"Leave about a sip left at the end," Dean advises, "the dregs are not fun."
Castiel nods obediently and takes his first sip. Dean watches with interest and belatedly hopes he hadn't messed this up (what this is, is still up for debate). Castiel's eyes got marginally wider as he allows the taste to sit on his tongue.
After swallowing, Castiel looks at the small cup as though it is akin to magic, while Dean does his best not to laugh. Castiel finally looks at Dean, and there must be a shit eating grin on his face, because color rises to Castiel's cheeks, painting the light skin a delicate pink.
"Sweet," Cas mumbles the reprimand before grabbing the water off the counter and turning to find a seat, closer to the counter than ever before. Dean counts the Greek coffee a win.
