Chapter One

Castiel killed the engine. He sat for a moment in the driver's seat as cold air began to seep passively into the car, grasping at the wheel as though he was a teenager afraid to make his first turn. To be fair, he'd never had much occasion to drive in the past; he could count the number of times he'd done so on both hands. His ribs still felt lodged in his throat from the excitement of it all.

His fingers unconsciously found the overhead mirror, and he positioned it so he could see his own face better. His hair was wild and untamed, a far cry from the neat and tidy style he'd worn since… well, growing hair. A small smile tugged at his lips at the sight, and he couldn't resist running a hand through it once, just to test how far it would go. He squeezed his own cheeks the way his mother once had, scraping smooth fingers against stubbly skin, and shivered. From the cold, not the memory. Really.

Kicking open the car door, Castiel wrapped his arms around himself as he waded through the thick snow to the trunk and popped it open. Luckily, there was a coat rolled up in the far reaches of the storage compartment. He slipped his arms through it, biting his lip as he realized how thin the material was. Oh, well – better than nothing if he was going to sleep in the car. Maybe he could leave the engine running… Hadn't he'd read something about carbon monoxide when he'd gotten his license a good ten years ago? The thought nagged him as he tried to remember, unzipping his suitcase to grab his wallet.

He pushed open the door of the coffee shop, sighing as warm air consumed him. By instinct, his feet carried him towards the short line of people behind the counter, which displayed several beautifully crafted pastries. He tapped his shoe against the floor as he waited behind a tall, handsomely dressed man whose nose was buried in some kind of folder. Castiel averted his eyes out of respect, but the man seemed to sense his presence and turned a well-mannered smile onto him.

"New around here?" he asked, pushing a pair of round glasses further up his nose with the tip of a finger before using that hand to brush his long hair out of his face. Instead of responding, Castiel stared back at him, already forgetting his politeness. The man didn't seem offended, though, electing to laugh lightheartedly at his antics. "Don't worry, you're not obvious or anything. It's just a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and I don't know you."

"Oh, uh… yes." Castiel responded, eyes wandering away to take in the shop. It was a tiny bakery, wide but with a claustrophobically low ceiling that made Castiel loosen his tie to bring more air into his lungs. He coughed into his arm.

"It's a little place," the man continued, recognizing Castiel's discomfort but not at all put off by it. That was new. "The owner is a friend of mine. He tried to get a bigger place, but this was all he could afford right out of college, and he hasn't been able to expand quite yet. You know how it is."

"Mmm," Castiel replied non-committedly in that way he'd grown accustomed to.

The man shrugged, apparently giving up on engaging in conversation, and stepped up to the counter. "Hey there," he greeted the barista, fist-bumping him like boys do. "I'll have the usual and whatever flavour of pie you've got today. How've ya been?"

"Better now that you're here," the barista joked, pushing an already filled bag and steaming cup towards him. "Tell that brother of yours that I hope he enjoys the pie."

"He should come get it himself," the man grumbled, handing him a twenty-dollar bill. The barista reached for change, and the man just raised an eyebrow in a pointed look as if to say really? – it looked like some sort of regular exchange, comfortable and friendly in the way only a small-town conversation could be. Castiel frowned, growing more confused by the minute.

"Not if that means you don't show up every day, Samuel," he joked, putting the change back in the register.

The man – Samuel – laughed happily as he waved goodbye, leaving Castiel feeling unreasonably exposed. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you behind, Gabriel," Samuel bid his farewells before elbowing the door open, the silky bell chimes punctuating his departure.

Castiel stood frozen in his place as he was left face-to-face with the barista, with Gabriel. So it was true, then. He was in the right place, if he could still call it that, if he had the right. He'd never been here, after all, not in all this time.

"Next!" called out Gabriel. Nails digging into his palms, Castiel strode towards the counter, head held high but feeling like it was about to fall off his neck, unsupported. He swallowed around the thick knot in his throat, relaxing his fists and instead picking at the buttons of his shirt cuffs. Gabriel cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "Can I help you?"

"Y-Yes, I…" Castiel's mouth ran dry suddenly and sharply as he eyed the man's soft-looking face. How long had it been? Fifteen, sixteen years, maybe more. Of course he didn't recognize him; Castiel had barely been a teenager the last they'd seen one another. "Um, I'll have a coffee."

"Coming right up."

Castiel wandered over to the collecting side, observing that Samuel hadn't had to wait for his order. They must be closer than he'd initially pegged them to be from the man's description of him. Gabriel appeared after a few minutes, sliding the cup towards him. Quietly, Castiel muttered, "Thank you."

Gabriel nodded, knocking on the table with his knuckles. "You don't have to look so nervous," he advised, giving Castiel a toothy grin. "Never a mean face around here if you don't give one first. Best remember that if you're planning on stickin' around."

"Right. Thanks," he replied intelligently, the overwhelming feeling returning in his chest and swelling like an allergic reaction. This time, he didn't blame the ceiling for his inability to breathe.

Then, Gabriel frowned. "You alright, man?"

He nodded. "I always am." He lifted his drink awkwardly into the air in a sort of one-sided toast. "I have not had my coffee yet. You could say that I am a writer, so I suppose it is a bit of a stereotype that I cannot function properly without some sort of neurological stimulant. Perhaps I should be thankful that mine is coffee instead of a more mind-altering substance."

The barista stared at him in astonishment for a moment before cracking. "That explains it," Gabriel laughed, a familiar yet entirely foreign sound that made Castiel's heart tighten painfully. Gabriel began to wipe down the counter as his gaze travelled back to the front counter where the line was empty at the moment. He turned back to Castiel. "Looks like the breakfast rush has died down. You looking for someone to show you around town? I could close up shop for a bit." It was a strange offer for a stranger who hadn't even confirmed that he was staying in town, was it not?

"I was just going to seat myself at one of these tables and attempt productivity," Castiel explained anxiously, picking harder at his sleeves, "if that is acceptable in this establishment, of course."

Gabriel seemed surprised again. "No, go on ahead, man. We don't get a lot of people who want to sit inside – kind of claustrophobic and all, even though my muffins are worth it, and my baked goods too." He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that was more humorous than suggestive, mercifully. His smile turned sincere. "Really, go for it. Pick any table."

So he did, picking a two-person table by the windows to combat the airlessness. If he could see open space, he could imagine open space – a tactic he'd used more than once in his childhood for more than one thing. Setting his laptop down and cracking it open, Castiel frowned at the low battery signal. Had he even remembered to grab his charger in his rush to leave? He would never have left his laptop behind, but even his strait-laced brain had been in enough of a frenzy to forget things.

He sighed. He would do whatever he could now and hope that he didn't lose it all whenever his laptop inevitably died. All things die, after all, even when you remember to bring your charging cable. Maybe he could include that entirely irrelevant metaphor in his novel. Castiel began typing, fingers hitting the backspace button more than any other letter, and an hour later he was still staring at a blank page and clutching a paper cup half-filled with cold coffee.

A throat-clearing sound made him remove his tightly clenched fingers from his tatty hair. Looking up, he saw Gabriel with a ceramic mug and coffee pot. "Some people forget their drinks when they're working," Gabriel observed matter-of-factly, pouring him a cup when he nodded. "My mom was like that. I'd make her a cup of tea, and she'd ask for a new one every hour on the dot, like clockwork."

Noticing the still rather empty shop, Castiel gestured for Gabriel to join him. The barista, while caught off guard, seemed to reel in his wide eyes much faster this time, as though he was already getting used to the strange man who'd come to his coffee shop and parked himself at a table. He slid into the opposite seat.

"Are you two close?" Castiel asked. He knew the answer, of course, but that didn't stop him from asking like the cowardly person he was.

Gabriel shook his head, seeming unbothered. "Not at all. We kind of hated each other, to be honest."

Castiel took a sip. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

"I am not close with my mother either," Castiel offered. "I suppose I was, up until a few weeks ago."

Gabriel straightened his back, interest piqued. "Can I ask what happened?"

Castiel didn't answer, turning his gaze back to the blank screen of nothingness. Perhaps it was rude, but he wasn't much bothered, and it seemed that neither was Gabriel. They were alike in that way, and different in so many more.

A moment later, Castiel looked back up. "Who was the man you served before me? The one called Samuel?"

"Huh?" Gabriel asked, confused.

Castiel wondered why he would be confused when the two seemed to know each other so well. "The tall man wearing a suit. He looked like he was from the city, not here."

"Oh!" Gabriel laughed again, this time louder, more boisterous. "That was Sam. He lives in town with his brother. They're really quite secretive, but we've gotten to know one another pretty well. On the surface, at least."

Interesting. Castiel picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee despite there being no additives. "You should be careful with whom you share information," he mentioned absentmindedly. "I could be a stalker."

A hard look crossed Gabriel's face. "You're not, are you?"

"No," Castiel replied. "No, I am merely curious."

The barista leaned back in his chair and fixed a perplexed look onto him. "You're strange."

"I've been called worse."

"Why are you here?" Gabriel asked, cutting to the chase. "We never get new people."

"I never said I was staying,"

"But you are."

"Yes." Castiel shrugged. "Or no. I haven't decided."

"You don't seem like the impulsive type," Gabriel observed.

"That would be a correct assessment," he confirmed. "I am neither impulsive nor spontaneous, and yet here I am."

"There's gotta be a juicy story there."

Castiel winced and turned his laptop, displaying its blank screen. "No 'juicy story,' believe me."

Gabriel grimaced. "Writer's block is a bitch."

"I thought maybe coming here would make it…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Nothing has worked."

"It'll come to you," he reassured, shrugging absently. "Happens to me sometimes with recipes. More often that not, though, it's harder getting them to taste good than coming up with ideas."

"I cannot say the same," Castiel sighed. "I've been informed that my technical skills are remarkable. The ideas are my Achilles heel. The first one, especially. After that it makes some semblance of sense."

Gabriel stood, wiping down the clean table. "Do you have a first idea?"

"A seed," he groaned. "I could use a flower."

"Can I ask what the seed looks like?" Gabriel inquired courteously, but the glint in his eye betrayed his humor.

Castiel wavered under the unrelenting gaze. "It's about…" he trailed off, mind racing as he tried to put it into words that would do an abstract thought justice. "Well, it's about monsters."

The door opened then, chiming of bells so light and airy in the heavy atmosphere, and Gabriel turned to rush back to counter without another word. So quickly, in fact, that Castiel almost entirely missed the way his eyes darted back towards him with apprehension.