Work Text:
He stares at the screen of his laptop, squinting with the stark white of it all; and that’s when he notices—he’s chewing on the nail of his thumb again. Castiel pulls his hand away instantly, feeling his face redden as he glances around the small room to make sure no one saw. The eyes of the other people in the café are all on their phones, on their dishes—staring out the window to the world outside. They aren’t paying him or his bad habits any mind. Castiel frowns further … not sure why he was expecting anything different.
No one notices you.
He turns back to his screen and hovers his hands over the keyboard, hoping that somehow his fingers will just take over. But nothing happens and his work remains undone. With a sigh he takes a moment to sit back and look at his empty cup of coffee, finally deciding he should go refill it. Maybe he just needs an extra boost … a little nudge to wake up his mind so he can finally get this going.
You always act weird when you drink too much coffee.
Castiel stops just as he begins to lift himself from the seat. The cup is soon placed back down onto the dented wood of the table. Another sigh. It probably wouldn’t have helped him anyway.
“Hi.”
The smooth, low voice startles him as he snaps his head in the direction from which it came. He’s taken aback even more as the sight of freckles and green eyes seem to fill up the room.
“Oh … hello” Castiel finally rasps back, unsure of how much time has passed before he composed himself enough to respond. He supposes no one could blame him though—the man that is standing before him now is nothing short of beautiful. From his broad shoulders to his full lips, and the way his rolled up sleeves tighten around his arms as they bend and flex … no one could be immune to that.
You come off as weird when you stare at people.
Castiel flinches again and turns away, feeling his entire face burn with embarrassment.
“What’s your name?” the attractive man asks, stepping closer to the other side of the table and trying to catch Castiel’s eye again
He finally concedes and glances over. “I … I’m Castiel … you?” he returns sheepishly, wondering now what this man’s agenda is. Maybe he’s selling something? Or maybe he somehow knows about him from his column; although, Castiel can’t remember his picture ever being printed beside it in the paper, so he’s not sure how he could ever be recognized. His thoughts are broken when the man grins crookedly and speaks once more.
“I’m Dean. It’s nice to meet you.”
Castiel is broken over the shape of that smile, and the way the freckles on this man’s cheeks bunch inside his dimples.
People think you’re rude when you don’t answer them right away.
He clears his throat and nods quickly at the person in front of him—Dean. A sexy name to boot. Castiel represses the urge to close his eyes and shake his head to make sure he’s not just imagining all this.
Dean leans over and braces his hands on the back of the chair at the other side of the table. “May I sit?”
His jaw bobs on silent words but eventually, Castiel nods and lifts his hand to give a small gesture, ensuring Dean that he doesn’t mind.
The crooked grin appears again—wider now, causing wrinkles to form at the corners of Dean’s eyes. Castiel bites his tongue to keep from whimpering. The chair is soon pulled out and the man moves around it to sit down, quickly propping his elbows up on the table top and cupping his hands over each other. Dean smiles again, this time—mouth closed, making him look impossibly sweet. “So, can I ask what you’re working on?” he finally says, and Castiel jumps back to his earlier thought—maybe this man is interested in his work.
“Oh, well … I am trying to write the first draft for my column this week – uh, for The Daily Prophet; but I’m sad to say that nothing seems to be coming to me.”
“Oh, so you’re a writer for the paper?” Dean asks excitedly, his green eyes lighting up as he leans in over the table.
Castiel frowns slightly, surprised now that this man apparently isn’t here about his work … then, why is he talking to me? “Yes … I—I assumed you might have known that already.”
He watches as Dean’s face falls into a much sadder expression—a mix of confusion and maybe, embarrassment? “Oh no … I’m sorry. I don’t really read the paper all the much … except for the comics every now and then. Are you … are you a big name writer or something?” He doesn’t sound sarcastic or mocking … or any of the usual tones that Castiel is used to hearing when he talks about his work. Dean sounds … impressed.
The shock of it makes him laugh. “No … not at all. I just thought that maybe um … maybe that’s why you were interested in meeting me.” Castiel looks back down to his computer, feeling bad for assuming and for making this beautiful man confused. But—he’s still curious as to why he’s here at all if it’s not about that.
Dean stares at him a moment—cheeks twitching on the promise of another, blinding smile. Castiel holds in his breath and waits for it eagerly. “Well, I wish I did know about your column before I came over … it might have impressed you more. But really, I just saw you after I finished up my lunch and thought …” A slight pink tinge coats his freckles and Dean flicks his eyes towards the window, letting the light catch them and make the green shimmer. “I thought that I would really, really like to come talk to you.”
“Why?” Castiel spits out the question and it reverberates back to his ears with so much cynicism that he visibly cringes at himself.
Dean turns back to look him over, his brow furrowed now as Castiel tries his best to spontaneously combust. “C’mon man …” Dean starts, huffing out a laugh and pulling one of his hands away to point across the table. “Look at you … you’re uh …” he stops suddenly, his face blanking. “Oh shit … you’re um … are you?” The man’s green eyes dart around the surface of the wood, as if his words are skittering across it. “I usually have a pretty good sense about these things … but, maybe my radar is off. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bug you.” He begins to pull himself out of the chair—still keeping his eyes low and avoiding any possible meeting of the blue ones hiding behind the laptop.
Castiel’s heart tightens as he quickly tries to decipher what Dean is getting at—nearly bursting apart when it all becomes clear a moment later. “No! I mean … yes! I am … I’m gay. Very much so!” he yelps, so loud it makes the other patrons of the shop turn and gawk at him.
Don’t blurt things out. You make a spectacle of yourself.
That spontaneous combustion thing still isn’t working, even though Castiel’s will to do so is a million times greater now.
But his focus on immediate death is disrupted by a full, hearty laugh from Dean—and Castiel looks up to watch him rumble—his head thrown back like a little kid as he clutches his stomach. “Oh man! That’s awesome!” he sputters between chuckles, finally wiping at his eyes and looking back over his shoulder to the rest of the café. “What? Just two gay dudes flirting over coffee. Nothing new, people!” he shouts, and Castiel watches in amazement as every set of eyes snap again to their respective places. Dean turns back to him, grinning wider and tossing him a wink.
“You’re … you’re flirting with me?” Castiel gulps, trying to get a handle on this. This gorgeous, tall, muscular, green eyed Adonis is apparently flirting with him. He can’t even fathom how that’s even possible.
You always think people are doing things that they’re not, Castiel.
He shakes his head to jostle free Thomas’s old words. He is wrong this time. Dean just said he was flirting. That’s not just Castiel’s hope or his imagination running off with him. Dean said it.
The chair is pulled out again and Dean quickly sits back down, his grin—bigger than ever. “Yeah, man … I’m flirting with you—if you’re interested, that is. If not … well, I can just grab a scone to go and be on my way.” His words sound as if they are meant to be a joke, but there’s a subtle tone to Dean’s voice that Castiel thinks might be very close to worry.
The tone tears at the fibers of his chest. “No … I mean … I’m” Castiel coughs and blushes harder. “I’m interested.”
Deans seems to relax, letting out a heavy breath just before closing his eyes and bouncing on another, soft laugh. “Thank God … I admit, man. I’d be a little heartbroken if you weren’t.”
He feels it—the moment his face twists in on itself—unable to stop with every second he becomes more perplexed. Soon, his head is cocked to the side—knowing full and well that it’s something that always bugged Thomas when he did it, but Casiel feels it’s better to show Dean all his bad qualities now before the man wastes anymore time mistakenly flirting with him. “I’m not sure … I’m not sure I understand why you would be heartbroken” Castiel finally admits, trying to appear serious and stern. “I … I am really not anything special.” Another wince shivers through him as he listens to how pitiful he sounds, but Thomas always chided him on being anything less than honest when it counts, and Castiel certainly feels like it counts now.
He braces himself for the nod, or the annoyed scoff at all this self-deprecation, or even the roll of the eyes; but he’s not expecting Dean’s entire face to soften, or for those eyes to widen like he’s in complete awe of Castiel. An even more unexpected small smile curls against Dean’s lips as he sighs “I don’t know if you just don’t own a mirror and can’t really see yourself, man … but, you’re kind of adorable.”
The confusion is quickly pushed away by a smile—one that Castiel isn’t expecting, nor that he knows what to do with now that it’s here; so he turns away to try and force it out the window.
“Wow …”
His head shoots back to find Dean even more in awe. “It’s even worse when you smile, man … you’re sorta killin’ me with your cuteness here.”
Castiel can barely stand it—pulling his hands up to cover his own face so he can deflect some of these underserved compliments. He peeks beneath his palms to look back at his keyboard and the predictable blank space of his screen. How did his day of work and deadlines turn into this? How was he to know that his random idea of working at this little cafe instead of his tiny home office could turn into a full blown fantasy? And how the hell is he supposed to act now? He knows it’s only a matter of time—minutes, maybe an hour before Dean realizes the mistake he’s making and tries to politely pull away; but he’s already wriggled his way in Castiel’s mind so thoroughly and he knows it will hurt when Dean does finally come to his senses. “I … really don’t think you want to—“ he begins to mumble into his hands, still hiding from those piercing green eyes, but he’s stopped short as fingers lightly pull at his own, making him slip back into the world.
“Hey … I’m pretty sure I do want to, so don’t try to sway me. I can be pretty stubborn. My brother says it’s my worst quality, but … I think in this case, it might be my best.” Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand as his ears pull back with another, bright toothy grin.
“But … I …”
Don’t be so pushy. It’s not attractive.
Castiel clears his throat before blushing and finally taking a deep breath in order to let Dean have his wish. He’s a grown man after all … if he wants to wait around and find out for himself that he wasted his Wednesday afternoon, well … Castiel can’t really tell him to do otherwise. “You … you have a brother?” he asks with a nod, hoping that the subject change will be smooth enough that Dean won’t have time to dwell on the nervous twitch forming above Castiel’s eye.
“Yeah—a younger brother. He can be a little bitch every now and then, but he’s a good guy. He’s smart … he’s going to Stanford.”
“Stanford? Wow—impressive. What is he studying?” Castiel looks over Dean, marveling in the pride that seems to be billowing off of the man’s soft skin.
“Law. I guess he wants to be some monkey in a fancy suit when grows up.” He laughs louder now, “Not that he really needs to grow up. The kid is already too damn tall … trying to make me feel inadequate or something.”
“You’re very tall too” Castiel offers, hating the thought of Dean feeling less for anything.
An adorable smirk snips across his face. “Nah … not like Sammy. He’s maybe a few inches short of climbing buildings and swatting at planes.”
It’s Castiel’s turn to bark out a laugh, quieting quickly as their table receives more curious glances; but he can’t really care now—he’s sitting across from not only a beautiful man, but a funny one. He’s not sure when he entered the lottery, but he knows for a fact he just won it.
Dean beams at him—a whole new pride about his countenance seemingly because he was able to make Castiel crack. “So—what about you?” He asks after another beat. “You got any siblings?”
“Oh yes … my family is religious, therefore—they felt it was their duty to repopulate the earth” Castiel says dryly, thinking about all his siblings and how he rarely ever saw his mother not pregnant.
Dean’s humor yanks him out of his head once more and Castiel is thankful for it. He’d much rather see those eyes squint on happiness then think about his own stressful childhood anyway. But soon, Castiel stops—gawking at Dean as the man settles back down. He’s laughing. He is laughing at a joke—Castiel’s joke. That can’t be right … he must have thought of something else that was funny.
Don’t try to make people laugh, Castiel. You just end up embarrassing yourself.
“Oh man!” Dean chortles some more. “So how many we talkin? Ten—twenty? Do you guys have a reality show yet?”
Castiel pinches his brows together and cocks his head again—this time, absent mindedly, only noticing himself a moment later when he sees Dean sigh once more with the look. “Oh … um, no. Why—why would we have a reality show?” Castiel asks, very confused by everything about this man, but somehow, the uncertainty isn’t bothering him the way it usually does.
Dean grins. “You’ve never seen those?”
Castiel gives a small shrug and shakes his head, embarrassed by his own ignorance.
Dean softens again. “Well, honestly … you’re probably better off. That crap will melt your brain right out of your ears. But basically—they got all these reality shows on a bunch of different stuff. Rich housewives, rednecks—and big families. There’s one that has like twenty kids or something insane like that. I honestly don’t know how the mom is still able to walk.”
Castiel chuckles again and nods as he imagines being part of a family that large—and is suddenly relieved that he’s not. “Oh … well, thankfully my parents did not go to such an extreme. But I do have eight siblings. They are all very … unique.”
“Well, I’d imagine they would be if you’re anything to go by.”
Castiel heard the words and knew they weren’t harsh or demeaning, but they seemed to morph and twist in his ears, making him glance down in shame.
You are just as weird as the rest of your family.
“Hey … hey, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”
Castiel peers back up to see Dean fumbling over his words— quickly reaching out again and placing his hand on Castiel’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Really … all I meant was that you’re very interesting to me, and I would have no doubt the rest of your family is interesting too. But … I … I like interesting. “
The shock is too much to allow him to speak, so Castiel just sits and stares some more, feeling guilty as it makes Dean continue to fumble.
“I mean … not that I think your family would be perfect or anything. I know that every family has its quirks. But they’re probably way more normal than mine. I mean—every Christmas my brother and I have to watch ‘A Christmas Story’ and then somehow we always get in a fight over who would be a better shot with a BB gun, even though we don’t even have one. That doesn’t stop us from wrestling on the floor for an hour and damn near giving each other black eyes” he breathes a moment and looks hopefully back up at Castiel, who’s still only capable of staring in bemusement. “Basically, man … I am really not trying to rag on you or your family. I stick my foot in my mouth a lot. I’m sorry—and you can really shut me up anytime now and tell me to piss off. I … I would understand.” The man pauses another moment and looks around, sucking in some air as he gears up for another rant.
Castiel finally manages to unlock his jaw and form words with the realization that Dean is blaming himself for something when there is no blame to be had. “Dean” Castiel blurts out, hoping it didn’t ring too harshly.
Dean snaps his mouth closed and pulls his hands into his lap—looking shy and scolded, an act that’s far too endearing for anyone’s good.
“I’m not offended … not even slightly. I’m just …” Castiel shifts awkwardly as he reaches out to play with the handle of his coffee mug. “I’m just not used to anyone finding me interesting. It—it surprised me is all.” The ease that washes over the man across the table is so noticeable it makes Castiel sigh.
“How could anyone not find you interesting?” Dean asks immediately and Castiel searches his face for sarcasm, but only finds genuine concern.
“My … my ex, Thomas. He uh … he never wanted to hear about my life—he said that it could be too strange at times and it was embarrassing. I suppose, I just assumed that he was the only one willing to tell me the truth about myself.”
“Well that’s bullshit” Dean growls, looking angry now but it seems to be focused on the world around them. “I’m sorry but that guy sounds like a dick. Strange or not … you’re you and if he cared, he would want to hear about all the little, weird, crazy things that make you who you are. Guys like that piss me off so bad … I’d love to sit him down and have a nice, long chat … see how interested he is in some of the things I have to tell him!”
Castiel’s mouth hangs open before he stops the man from going any further. “That is … very kind of you, Dean but you don’t have to say that. I wasn’t trying to make you defend me or anything. I just wanted to explain why—“
His hand is collected into Dean’s once more and soon, soft thumbs are gliding over his knuckles. “I don’t need an explanation, man. All I need is for you to know that any of the crap that guy said about you is just that—crap.”
“You … you don’t even know me.” It sounds incredulous, but Castiel can’t help it.
Dean just smiles and squeezes his hand tighter. “Yeah, true … but I know that I want to know you. And I’m a pretty good judge of character, man. There’s a reason that guy’s an ex, and there’s a reason why I would be heartbroken if you didn’t want me sitting here right now … I don’t know any of those reasons yet but, I really can’t wait until I do.”
Castiel looks down at their clasped hands and then back up into Dean’s eyes, finally realizing that his search for doubt is futile. “You really want to get to know me?”
“Yeah … as long as you don’t mind me sharing my own embarrassing stories and doing my best to make a complete ass out of myself” Dean says shyly, trying to joke but his cheeks turn rosy all the same.
Castiel uses his free hand to move his laptop to the side, allowing him to slide his fingers over those already tangled with this lovely stranger’s; this man who apparently doesn’t want to be a stranger at all. “I don’t mind in the least.”
***
The next two hours were spent talking—drinking more coffee and chuckling at how the extra caffeine made Castiel’s hand shake against Dean’s. He learned how the man’s parents had died young and how he designed cars for an up and coming auto company. Castiel found himself enjoying telling Dean all his childhood stories, like the one time his brother Gabriel hid so much candy in their shared room that they woke up covered in ants. He didn’t let one moment of Dean’s laughter pass him by, finding it easier and easier to believe that this man actually found him funny. And when he told him that he enjoyed the Beatles, he didn’t repress the warmth that filled him up as Dean shared every single one of his favorite songs. And as they walked out of the café, still holding hands—Castiel couldn’t help but feel brave enough to pull Dean in for a kiss—reveling in the smile that shaped those freckle-lined lips when he finally backed away. But his adoration was short lived when Dean pulled him in once more, kissing him harder and showing him just how much he did actually enjoy getting to know him ... every part of him. Castiel melted into those arms as they wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly; tight enough to make him think that maybe everything he’s believed for the past eight months has been wrong. In fact, with the sweet taste of coffee still on Dean’s tongue, and the green that he knows is awaiting him when he opens his eyes—Castiel thinks that it might finally be time forget everything from his past.
It just might be time to watch it begin again.