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coffeeandcas · 7 years

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To continue this? Or? It's gonna be super angsty, like Dean-Winchester-has-an-awful-past angsty. WDYT? Destiel AU, obviously.

“Six dollars? For coffee? Is that a joke?”

The girl, pigtailed and snub-nosed, stares at Dean in utter indignation as he holds out her decaf, sugar-free, no-foam monstrosity. It’s got so much fake caramel syrup in it that it barely even qualifies as coffee at this point and it definitely isn't worth six dollars but hey, he doesn't make the rules. Bored, Dean wiggles the paper cup at her.

“Yuh. Don't like it? There's a Starbucks across the road, go get diabetes there, instead.”

Affronted, the girl huffs and puffs at him while she digs in her purse and Dean dumps the coins in the cash register with an extremely fake, ‘Have a great day!’ before leaning back against the sink and rubbing the back of his neck. Outside the sun is shining but it's chilly and autumnal and red-brown leaves skitter and swirl along the sidewalk, carried by a gentle breeze and stopped in their journey by people’s boots and sneakers. It's warm in the coffee shop and he tugs restlessly at the deep V of his black t-shirt, leaving a smear of wet coffee grains on his collarbone. It's a rare moment when the shop is quiet, and he takes in their few customers listlessly. Two girls sit huddled together on their iPhones, giggling at something, wrapped up in scarves and mittens despite the indoor warmth. An Asian kid, Kevin he thinks his name is, is dozing off in front of his laptop and a pile of textbooks in the corner. A couple sit in silence, both staring out of the window with empty cups in front of them, tension pulling into faint lines at their mouths. And a cute guy with short, military-cut hair and pouty lips talks on his phone loudly, laughing as he talks about some woman named Anna. Dean rolls his eyes. One of his many, many pet peeves is hearing someone yack loudly on their cell phones in public. He turns away, washing his hands under too-hot water and wiping down the bar. He had averted his eyes from the father and son sitting near the door, the kid colouring in a picture energetically and the father ruffling his hair with a fond smile. The boy only looked about eight years old. He swallows bitterly and grits his teeth, muttering to himself. Only two hours left of his shift then Ruby will be here to take over from him and he can head home to catch up on Dr Sexy and maybe hit the gym.

The bell at the door signals someone’s arrival and Dean plasters on his usual fake smile, feeling it melt into a small, more natural one as he sees his customers. He even manages to ignore the flurry of leaves that have blown in with them. These two are regulars, coming in together most days, sometimes twice a day if it's cold and blustery like today. They're both blue-eyed and painfully handsome, and today wearing matching blue scarves; one of them is in a slightly ill-fitting tan trench and the other in a long wool thigh-skimming coat with a black beanie covering a shock of dark hair. They're twins, and the most identical twins Dean has ever seen. They're talking intensely about something as they approach the bar, one of them shaking his head and laughing, and their faces split into identical smiles as they see their barista.

“Dean! Hi!”

“Hello, Dean.”

And Dean’s lips incline just a tiny bit, the closest to a genuine smile he ever manages when it comes to customers. Or to most people, really. He doesn't exactly like these two; they just annoy him less than most people. They're… he has no other word for it. They're both sexy. Nice to look at. Some might say intimidating. They seem to walk with the kind of purpose that evades most people, like they're constantly on some sort of heaven-sent mission, and he's forever watching other customers follow them with their eyes whenever they leave with their coffee cups clutched in their hands.

“Hi.” He wipes his hands and tosses the towel. “The usual?”

“For me, yes. Please.” Tan trench-coat smiles at him, pulling a black leather wallet from his pocket. Black beanie is tapping his teeth wth a manicured fingernail and looking up at the board behind Dean’s head.

“You've got plenty of new drinks. Pumpkin spice season is always my favourite. Is there anything you recommend?”

“No. Are these to go?”

“I'm so glad I asked, thank you for your expertise.” Black beanie grins at him, displaying a row of flashing white teeth, and trench-coat elbows him.

“Jimmy, be nice. And choose your own drink. Yes please, Dean, both to go.”

He knows they're called Cas and Jimmy, and he knows they own Novak & Novak, an art gallery a block away, but he can never work out which twin is which. Normally he has to wait for one to say the other’s name, because firstly it feels rude to ask but secondly, he doesn't really care. They're Cas and Jimmy. Why should it matter to him which one is which?

“Fine, I'll have… a vanilla brûlée latte with foam and extra whip please, Dean-o. And a slice of carrot cake, or whatever that is.”

Jimmy smiles at him again and Dean’s teeth ache from the amount of sugar in the drink the man is requesting. Around Jimmy’s neck is slung a camera, a white and tan Olympus with matching strap, which he has to push aside to find his wallet in his pocket. Cas elbows him before he can pull it out.

“My treat. Your turn tomorrow. And what about you, Dean?” Cas’ smile is more reserved, almost shy, but his blue eyes twinkle as he turns back to the bar. Nonplussed, Dean just stares at him.

“What about me?”

“Can I buy you something? You look like you've had a long day.”

“Oh, gee, thanks pal.” Dean rings up their order, irritably. He hates being told he looks like shit. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself. And no. I don't want a coffee. I get them for free anyway.”

“Oh. Right. I…” Cas has gone pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Jimmy is staring at the floor, a lock of dark hair curling onto his forehead, and he looks like he's got his lips clamped tightly together to suppress a laugh. Or a giggle. Jimmy Novak looks like the type to giggle. “I apologise, Dean. I didn't mean to offend you-”

“Whatever.” He hands Cas his change and turns away. “Your drinks will be ready soon, gimme five.”

“Alright.” One of the twins responds, then Dean is sure he can hear whispering over his shoulder. Or hissing, more like. One twin berating the other about something. Their voices sound so alike he can't tell who's speaking, and he doesn't really give a shit anyway. He's used to being talked about. People have been talking behind his back ever since his thirteenth birthday, he's grown a thick enough skin that it doesn't bother him any more. He doesn't care what they're saying.

He slides Cas’ extra-shot latte across the bar to him, frowning when the other man offers a shy smile. Cas is possibly, maybe, potentially the more attractive of the two, at least in Dean’s eyes. He's got to know the twins a little since they moved to Vancouver last year, after Jimmy almost fell into the coffee shop with an exaggerated gasp about his need for caffeine, and in that time he's noticed a few subtle nuances about the men that make them different. They're so subtle, however, that most of the time he still can't tell them apart at a first glance. Jimmy is the more talkative of the two, and seems the more energetic. Cas is shyer and more studious, and has a few more fine lines at the corners of his eyes than his brother, lines which Dean notices now as he looks at him and immediately feels irritated with himself. Why has he even noticed? Stupid of him. Cas must be at least a decade older than him. Eight years, maybe.

He finishes Jimmy’s drink and hands it over, turning away abruptly before either of them can attempt a conversation with him. He isn't interested. He's tired, crankier than usual, and just wants to be left alone. Honestly, he feels like Shrek half the time, wanting to be left in peace in his own solitary life. But, annoyingly, people do keep insisting on talking to him.

“Well, bye Dean-o.” The nickname grates on him. Jimmy sips his drink thoughtfully then nods, apparently satisfied. “See you tomorrow, I'm sure!”

“I'm already looking forward to it!” Dean matches Jimmy’s cheerful tone with unconcealed sarcasm and both twins bark out identical laughs. Jimmy gives him a two-fingered wave and saunters off, fussing with his camera, while Cas lingers.

“Did you forget something?” Dean asks, blunt as ever, and Cas turns his blue eyes on him, eyes as clear as the ocean and for a split-second Dean is captivated. Then he coughs and looks away awkwardly.

“No. I just wondered… I just thought…”

Cas is tracing a swirl in the rustic oak bar top with a finger and Dean follows its path. Cas has nice hands, objectively. If he were interested in peoples hands, or in Cas, he would say they were nice. Strong. Artistic, if the dents in his knuckles are anything to go by. They look like they would be nice to hold, his fingertips smooth and his palms soft, nails short and well-kept but not groomed like Jimmy’s. Dean would think those things if, you know, he was interested in Cas at all. Which he isn't.

“If maybe you, uh,” Cas falters and stops and Dean has to resist drumming his fingers on the bar. The bell at the door rings again and a small gaggle of teenage girls come in, jostling each other out of their way as they approach, all clutching their phones and with a little too much make-up on for Dean’s tastes. Cas, oddly, goes beet red and seems to think better of whatever he was about to say.

“See you, Dean.”

“Uh, OK, bye…” He scowls, watching Cas walk away to join his brother by the door then they both leave in another flurry of leaves. The hell was that about? “Weirdo,” He mutters under his death then turns to the teenagers with his fake-happy smile plastered on his face.

“What can I get for you guys?”

#Destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfiction

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