#human!gabriel

Lucifer runs himself ragged all week getting the party set up (and despite the fact that he’s done this for Jack every time he needs it since he came back into Michael’s life, it still leaves Michael surprised and wondering what happened to the boy who only knew how to bite the hand that fed when Michael abandoned him, when did he learn to be gentle and reliable, why did Michael waste all this time not seeing him?) to the point that he looks like he might fall asleep in front of the birthday cake before Raphael nudges him with their elbow, and he wakes up to sing.

They sing quietly—loud noises hurt Jack’s ears, one of many little oddities, but they rearrange their lives around his needs: no vacuuming unless he’s out of the house and no yelling from room to room—while Jack looks like he’s about to jump right out of his seat with how much he wants to blow out the candles. Gabriel scoops him up in one arm after, lets Jack’s tiny hand curl around the handle of the (dull!) cake knife while his lays over it to guide him, and helps him to cut pieces for them all himself.

Bean There Done That

“Bean There, Done That?” she inquired, walking up to the counter with a smile, “Coffee with Hazelnut and Coconut? I don’t know about that, Cas…” Her hair was down today. She never wore it down. Gabriel whipped around, turning his back to the register as he composed himself. This was unexpected. She was right, maybe coconut and hazelnut weren’t a good mix, what was he thinking? It sounded like a good idea at the time. He really needed to start trying things before offering them up, but last night was Monday, which meant he had to mentally prepare for another week of… this. He busied himself making her drink, not even noticing she had yet to order it. Their small talk went unnoticed by him as he measured out her sugar, not one grain too many, his heart hammering in his chest. He was going to have to turn and look at her in a second, get it together! Nope, he couldn’t do it. Keeping his eyes averted, he turned and slid the porcelain mug across the counter to her, her chiming laugh seeping into his head like a symphony. “Oh! I didn’t even order yet…” she mused and he could feel her eyes on him. Mentally kicking himself, he stammered his response, “This is for… um… me? I just, I’m putting it here, for… for later.” “Oh! Well, looks like we drink something pretty similar then.” “Ha, I’ll… what can we get you?” He’d managed eight months going under the radar, why did this have to happen today? Damn Cas and his babbling, throwing a wrench in the very strict routine. Did he not know there was a time and rhythm with this? No, he didn’t actually, but still. He shouldn’t be deviating from the course. If he thought his heart was hammering before, it was nothing compared to now. In the effort of good customer service, his gaze lifted from the counter and met with her own. He’d never seen her this up close, he’d been more of a marvel from afar kind of guy, very afar, as afar as he could get. “Just my usual,” she sang, putting exact change on the counter and sliding it over to Cas, her eyes however staying locked on Gabriel. “Uh, a coffee, three sugars and cream,” Cas rattled off, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. Yeah, he knew. Hey Mocha-Rena! It’d been three days since the unfortunate making-of-the-drink-before-the-order-was-placed incident, and he still hadn’t fully recovered. In fact, he didn’t even partially recover. Thankfully, today was Saturday, which meant he’d have two days of freedom to really compose himself and be ready for the next onslaught. “Oh… well I’ll give you credit, that one is pretty witty,” she complimented, reading over the chalkboard with the daily special on it, “Usual please, Cas.” He was waiting for the day that Cas threw him under the bus and told her that he had no part in making these ridiculous drinks, it was all Gabriel. His routine was making himself into wallpaper as soon as she walked in, hers was teasing the daily special. All in a day’s work. She liked today's, though, first time she’d ever even seemingly appreciated it. He’d have to try even harder on Tuesday. At least he had a few days to prepare. Café Au La-La Medium Roast was her favorite. He’d deduced this by months of testing just which blend he made her drink with. She never specified, but he knew that this particular bean was the one. She always took one sip from the mug before turning to walk to her spot, and after calculating tests, trial and error, medium roast made her eyes linger closed for just a second longer than others. She hated dark roast, too bitter, her jaw had twitched when he’d used that one, so he scratched it off immediately. Light roast was okay, but not lingering eyes closed good. Then, there were the more flavored blends—he’d tried them all, but plain, old medium roast was the one. Beyond that, he’d experimented with cream temperature (ice cold, right from the fridge. He always made sure he didn’t leave it lingering on the counter from the 7-8 AM rush), made it drinkable right away, and as much as she claimed she wanted three sugars, she really wanted two and a half. He considered for a moment this was a little weird, creepy perhaps, but baristas were supposed to know their customers, right? Of course, he didn’t know anyone else this well. Sure, Joe got a double shot and Rebecca got any special involving hazelnut, but he couldn’t have rattled off their favorite blends. Okay… maybe it was a little weird… “Cold out there today, gentlemen! Make it extra hot for me,” she shivered, rubbing her hands together as the wind blew in behind her, “Café Au La-La… hmm.” Okay, so that one was a bust. Extra hot? The cream was chilled, how was he supposed to make it extra hot? He couldn’t put it in the microwave, it’d burn off some of the flavor. Open a new one! Nope, those were all in the fridge in the back. Well, he could stall a bit and just turn the temp on the urn, it would take maybe… ten minutes? “Ten minutes,” Gabriel mumbled to Castiel, praying to God he heard him. “What?” Cas questioned, face contorted in confusion. “It’s gonna be ten minutes!” Well that came out all wrong. All bad. The words were too fast, the tone too harsh. He didn’t even want to look at her, and he wouldn’t. Nope. This coffee urn needed his complete, undivided attention, possibly forever. Kiss Me Under the Mistle-Joe Christmas time brought a whole new rush. All the shoppers stopping into the café really put a dent in routine. A routine Gabriel was very much set in, for at least five days a week. Why did people shop at 8:30 AM? It made no sense. This was coming from the person who had… one person to buy for. His brother, who was standing five feet away, talking to her, who was here right on time. Except now, she had to wait in a long line, which kept her in his vicinity for longer than he could handle. Was she staring at him? He swore he could feel eyes in the back of his head, but that could be anyone. “Gabriel! Hey!” Paula announced as she strode in. Bad timing. Really, really bad timing, “Always nice to see you. Happy Holidays!” “Hey,” he greeted curtly, flicking his eyes over quickly, “yeah, merry merry.” “Kiss Me Under the Mistle-Joe huh? That’s a good one!” Oh no. She was gonna know it was him. His cover was blown. Maybe she was too caught up in her conversation with Cas and didn’t hear it. No way. He had to brave it, he had to turn and look. Slowly, stirring the frothing pitcher for… Hannah’s cappuccino, he spun on his heels, peeking at her expression through his brow. Her eyes were focused on her phone, okay… potentially crisis averted. “You okay? You seem a little down,” Paula continued, no fault of hers, he was typically lively and upbeat, “busy?” “Yeah,” he replied, spinning back to normal Y/N-in-the-building position, “Holiday rush.” “Aw, well if you need help, my offer still stands.” Go away, Paula. It was not the time. ‘Coffee, three sugars and cream.’ He’d kept a small pitcher in the fridge, knowing in the busier weeks he’d forget to put the bottle back to keep it that perfect temperature. Medium roast was going, two and half scoops of sugar. Yes. Perfect. With the shop as busy as it was, however, there was a small snag. He had to call her name out. Typically he’d force the task on Cas, but he was busy. Of course. A gaggle of teenagers had come in and oh the charming, handsome coffee shop man mentality had hit them, making them babble and giggle. It was tiresome. He cleared his throat, hoping he’d have enough volume to be heard over the bustle, “uh… Y/N…” he stammered. No way she heard it. God, he was gonna have to do it again. Pausing, his gaze ticked over to where she stood, but she wasn’t there. “Thanks,” he heard her chime, his eyes darting up in shock. Her eyebrows lifted in a particularly charming way as she smiled at him, her lips a perfect shade of bright red as she smiled against the white of the mug. Lipstick today. That was new. His heart caught in his throat; she was perfect. Cocoa Chanel Christmas was over, everything was back to normal. She was currently nestled into her corner of the café, her fingers splayed across a very worn copy of ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’. He hadn’t taken her for a Hunter S. Thompson girl, but clearly that book had some mileage on it. He couldn’t help but stare. He’d mustered the courage to turn around and look at her, so he might as well get his bravery’s worth. She had a tattoo on her forearm, he could see it peeking out from the lace detailing on her top. It was something intricately lined,  and he wanted to trace every one with his fingertips… It was like she could feel his eyes. Her head lifted from the tattered pages and turned towards him, no doubt finding him gawking from a distance. His body went rigid for a moment before dropping to the floor, like a bomb was about to go off in a foxhole, hands covering his head and all as his chest pressed into the hardwood. “What… are you doing?” Castiel asked, not willing to entertain his brother’s nonsense. “I… dropped a spoon,” Gabriel lied, reaching his hand up onto the counter to grab one in a poor attempt to save face. Castiel, of course, saw it, and rolled his eyes, “Just… talk to her. She’s nice.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re hopeless.” May the Froth Be With You New year, new outlook. This was his time, he could feel it. It was freshly January, resolution in place. Talk to her. Now, he made sure to not put too high of an expectation on himself. Even if talking was simply a hello that didn’t make him want to run to the restroom and vomit, he’d check the box. “You guys should’ve saved that one for May 4th! Wasted opportunity,” she joked, slapping a hand down on the counter, “Cas, my man, as much as I told myself this year was for venturing out of my comfort zone, I won’t be starting today.” “So the usual then?” Cas chuckled, taking her exact change from her. “The usual. But, you know what, give me a croissant too. Not quite an adventure, but something new.” Gabriel’s stomach dropped. Change, he didn’t like it. Plus, what if it wasn’t up to her standards? He hadn’t put the right amount of care into making them this morning, they wouldn’t be up to par. He’d been up late, concocting yet another failed attempt at gaining a positive comment about his coffee names. There was no way around this, she could see them in the glass case to the left. He watched as Cas put the buttery, little roll in the warmer, his brain scrambling over just how to react when she complained how utterly awful it was. She’d taken her seat up before her food was ready and like some kind of evil clockwork, someone walked in and began ordering coffee for their entire platoon right as the toaster dinged. Which left Gabriel to deliver his terrible baked concoction to her. Awesome. Was garnishing it with a few fresh strawberries too far? It was probably too far. In the same thought, she’d never ordered one before, so would she even know it was an extra embellishment? Probably, she was here for half an hour every day and half the patrons ordered a damn croissant. The girl seemed like someone who would notice only hers had strawberries on the plate. Then he’d have to answer to it… not worth it. Letting out a shaky breath, he grabbed the plate, a small cup of butter placed on the side, and took off for the corner. Her attention was very much still on her book, she’d since moved on to ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’… a stark difference to her previous novel. He hoped he’d be able to slide it in beside her, bid a brief and fond farewell and then slink back off to his corner until that bus drove away at 8:56, but the universe had other plans. As his footsteps grew closer, her gaze lifted, falling to him, her mouth ticking up into a little smile. Why’d she have to smile so softly? It was a thing of dreams. He’d know, he’d dreamed about it. It sparkled up into her eyes, no one looked at him like this ever… it was all in his head, it had to be. This was a friendly smile that nice people gave to other people who were doing them a service. She was polite, she was kind… she was now covered in butter and crumbs as his feet tripped up, sending him stumbling and the plate he was carrying straight into her lap. “Oh god!” he gasped, eyes growing wide in fear, “I’m so sorry, oh my god…” His cheeks were burning, he felt a sweat breaking out in his underarms as his stomach knotted so tight he thought for sure he’d never be able to eat again. Why would he want to? This was mortifying, he was going to go hole up in a closet and never come out. “It’s fine,” she laughed, “it’s what I get for straying.” “I’ll… I’m gonna make you another one. And refund this one. And… your coffee, and, you can have coffee all week, on me…” “It’s fine, really! See?” With a few brushes of her hands, she looked as good as new, minus the oil stain from the glob butter. She’d even put the pastry and cup right back onto the plate, as if she’d still be eating this one. “It fell in my lap, I’m not above eating things that fall on me. I wash my clothes fairly regularly.” There was that smile again, and the lower lip bite. So much for new year, new outlook. This was going to be the worst. French Press My Buttons “What? No!” Gabriel cried into the phone, “What do you mean stuck?! It’s Tuesday!” “Yes… and there’s two feet of snow covering the roads.” Castiel had called at 4 AM that morning, stuck. He’d taken two days (conveniently a Sunday and Monday. Maybe not so convenient, maybe forced) and was now snowed in. He wouldn’t be able to drive home until at least that afternoon. It was Tuesday. Tuesday, and now Gabriel was going to be at that counter, alone. “It’s Tuesday,” Gabriel pointed out again, his voice exasperated as he did nothing to even attempt to hide his anxiety. “Yes. I am aware. I’ll be home tonight and ready to work tomorrow, which is Wednesday.” Groaning, Gabriel hung up his phone, running his hand through his hair. Ten months, it’d been ten months and he’d avoided this. First, croissant in the lap, now this. He was going to end up in the hospital by February. It was 8:16 AM, and she was almost late. The bell on the door jingled, alerting him to her arrival. He didn’t need to look up, he knew who it was. His head hung down to his chest, what was the fastest way to get his over with? Run, maybe? Go start over in a new city, he didn’t have any ties here, it’d be fine… Maybe Monte Carlo, they always needed new… talent.

“Oh! No Cas today, huh?” she bubbled, and he could hear her smile. His mouth was dry, his chest was constricting and pounding all at the same time, “Good… good morning. What can I do for you- get for you today?” “Is this why you don’t work the counter?” She was giggling, he loved that laugh, he’d listen to it forever if he could. His eyes snapped shut in embarrassment, this was going to just as well as he’d planned, which was dismal. At least he hadn’t mentioned how perfectly her eyes glowed in the Edison lighting they had above the counter, he’d never experienced it before… “I’m just… better with the foam…” he improvised, he could hear his voice shaking, no chance she didn’t as well. “Uh huh. French Press My Buttons? Who comes up with these?” she teased, clicking her tongue. Another fail. “I uh… I do.” Why’d he admit that? He could have blamed… no one. He was literally the only one here, and it was common knowledge he and Cas owned this joint with no other help or corporations. He supposed he could have still blamed his brother, why didn’t he? Her eyes widened in regret, her bottom lip dragging between her teeth, but this one wasn’t like the other times. This one looked… nervous? “Oh,” she whispered, eyes falling away. “It’s okay, I know they’re lame…” he agreed, he didn’t like that look on her face. “No no, it’s cute…” An awkward silence settled between them. Great. So far this year he’d spilled butter and a croissant in her lap, and now upset her with his terrible attempt at puns and they were only two weeks in. He didn’t know what else to say. Consoling people was never his forte, and consoling someone that his brain couldn’t even function around was just an impossible task. “Tell you what, I’ll take your special,” she settled, looking back up with a little of her sparkle back. “You never get the-“ he began, cutting himself off. Now didn’t seem the time to divulge he was well aware of her ordering habits, and that he’d tweaked them to make her perfect cup of coffee. He’d already done enough damage. Silently, he rang her out, thanking his lucky stars she’d picked French Press day to order the special. He could still use the appropriate tweaks to make this one just as good as her usual. Of course, today with the change in order, her typical perfect change had turned to a twenty. Without peeling his eyes from the cash drawer, he handed her back sixteen dollars and seventy five cents. He was positive, he counted it three times. No way she didn’t think he was an idiot now. Stumbling over words, counting money multiple times, next time he looked at her he was half expecting her face to be covered in pity. French pressed, cream, two and half sugars. Half the battle was over, now it was just hand it over and wait until 8:56. He was so close. Cas would be back tomorrow and he’d return to his wallflower status. Forget that resolution, it was never going to happen. He was cursed to forever be stuck here, the awkward barista at the convenient coffee shop. He’d scare her away in another couple of months, no doubt. “Thanks, Gabriel,” she cooed, his name falling from her lips like poetry, her fingers gently grazing over his as she pulled the mug from his outstretched hand. His breath caught in his throat, audibly. It sounded like he was having an asthma attack, his throat closing in on itself as the mini shockwaves from her soft fingertips receded. “You okay?” she inquired, her voice hinted with concern. Not really, not at all, no. Damn you, Cas, and your stupid weekend trip. “Oh yeah,” he boasted, the confidence in his voice shocking him, his lips pursed out in forced bravery. When her lips parted along the clear, glass mug, he felt his body tense. Was she going to hate it? Probably. Her eyebrows lifted, and he couldn’t decipher if it was a good lift or a bad one. The corners of her mouth lifted as well and she tipped the mug back again. “This is good,” she complimented, “might have to try whatever you come up with tomorrow.” Tomorrow? Oh no, what he had planned for tomorrow wasn’t going to cut it. Not anymore. Suit and Chai Affair “You’re back!” she exclaimed as she spotted Cas back behind the counter. No doubt she was happy. No more terrible, awkward Gabriel to have to talk to just to get a coffee. “Relieving poor Gabriel of counter duty,” she continued, again making his insides flip-flop and cheek burns red as she spoke his name, “What’d you come up with for me today?” Was she talking to him? Cas stayed silent, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d never tell his brother there certainly had not been two feet of snow on the roads yesterday, but that he was well aware of what— or should he say who— Tuesdays brought along. Gabriel turned, his guilt from yesterday still very prevalent. He couldn’t possibly keep her waiting on a response as he mustered the courage to speak; he just had to do it. “Uh… Suit and Chai Affair,” he began, “chai spices, in our… medium roast…” “Mhmm, I’ll take one,” she smirked, eyes squinting as her fingers fidgeted on the counter. Thankfully, he’d prepared for this. The spices were freshly set aside, coffee hot, and milk cold. Meticulously, he prepared it, probably taking too long, but better safe than sorry. She’d been ordering the same boring coffee for almost a year, so if she was venturing out he would be sure she enjoyed the journey. When he passed it over, he tried to suppress the hope that her fingers would brush against him again, but they didn’t. So now the challenge was keeping his face from falling in disappointment. “Did you trim your beard?” she asked, grinning, all teeth and sparkle. “I um… yes?” he choked. He truly didn’t think she was going to notice, he’d neatened it up in some weird, poor attempt to look better for her. “Looks good. I mean, it didn’t look bad before either.” “Your hair looks nice today.” The words fell from his mouth like rocks down a mountain, awkward and too fast to stop. Mentally, he slapped himself, what an idiotic thing to say. Even though it was true. He expected her face to twist into disgust, but instead, a skeptical snicker. That was better than a slap in the face… “Thank you. I haven’t washed it in three days and honestly I don’t even think I brushed it this morning, so I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I’ll take it.” There was no way he’d survive looking up at her now, so he kept his eyes on the counter. If he looked directly at that goofy little grin he could see through his lashes, he might combust, and when her bottom lip dragged through her teeth, it took all of his willpower to stay on his feet. There was no way he’d pulled that reaction from her. Not a chance. Green Tea and Ham It was Sunday. While he normally enjoyed his day of freedom from crippling infatuation, today he was missing the butterflies more than normal. All the Sunday regulars were in house, most stopping by after church, and while Gabriel tried to keep his lighthearted nature intact, it was difficult. “Bobby, you sly dog! Didn’t you just come from church?” he jested, watching as one of his favorite customers poured a little whiskey from a flask into his mug. “You know me, Gabe! The Lord wouldn’ta made whiskey if he didn’t want me to drink it on his day!” the old man yelled back, his boisterous laugh filling the small space. “Wow… never seen you so happy,” a familiar voice rang out from behind him and he froze, “didn’t think you had it in ya.” It was Sunday. She never came in on Sundays. The butterflies directed themselves right into hurricane formation and began swirling in his stomach. She was right. She’d never seen him this happy because he always seemed like he hated his life whenever she was around. “Have I… done something to you?” she questioned and his heart dropped, the sadness in her voice was apparent, even if she was trying to mask it, “Because if I have, I promise it was completely inadvertent…” “No!” he exclaimed, turning to face her, “no… you’ve never done anything.” How could she think that? That was preposterous. It was his own fault, and now she was blaming herself. This mess was only growing. “Okay, sorry then,” she sighed, turning back to the doors to leave. It was now or never. If she walked out that door he was certain she’d never come back, and that would be on him. He didn’t know where he found it, but courage surged through him for the first time in his life. “Wait!” he yelled after her, “Wait! Y/N!” His feet stumbled as he ran around the counter, hoping to catch her before she made it out the door. When she heard him calling for her she stopped, keeping her hand on the knob. Why was she here? She looked completely different, her hair curled and down, her clothes nicer than the usual ones she wore. This must be weekend her. “Look, I’m sorry,” he spluttered, “you just… you make me really nervous.” Well that was easier than he’d expected it to be. Granted it was only the beginning, but, at least it was a start. He rocked from heel to toe, waiting for her response. “Nervous?” she chortled, her laugh breathing through her nose, “Why’s that?” “You’re gorgeous.” If he’d ever once wished to have the ability to grab words and shove them back down his throat, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now. His eyes widened in horror as she turned to face him. “I’m sorry… that’s not appropriate,” he apologized, shaking his head. “No… it’s … it’s fine,” she stumbled, her own eyes nervously darting around the room “I mean, between you and me, you’re kinda nice to look at too.” His breath came out in a shaking whoosh. Was this real life? This couldn’t be real, he was still asleep. That was the only way any of this made sense. It was why she was even here on a Sunday. “You don’t have to… flatter me,” he chided. No way she thought he was in any way, shape or form attractive. “Why do you think I keep coming here? I mean, your coffee is great, but, it’s a little out of my way…” she trailed off. “But you catch the bus…” “Yeah… it’s three stops away from the closest one to me… that’s why I never get off here.” Now that she’d mentioned it, he never did see her get off the bus here, and damn if he didn’t try. He’d always just thought he missed her, or that she didn’t make it back before they closed. It was his turn to smile, turning his head up to look at her. Her lips were pursed in a nervous little pout. He’d never seen anything so endearing, her hands were in her jacket pockets, and she was rocking from heel to toe, just as he had been moments before. “Is it… cliché for me to ask you to have coffee sometime?” she proposed, looking at him hopefully. “I like cliché,” he shrugged. “Okay… well, I’m… I’m free tomorrow. If that’s not too eager.” “As long as you’re okay with… nervous rambling…” “Thanks for the warning. 8:14? I’ll take my usual, medium roast with cold cream and two and a half sugars.” He smiled. So she did know. “I’ll have it ready.”

A/N I do have a part two thought out, let me know if you liked this one and I’ll write it up soon! Beta requested a board of all the coffee names, so here it is XD.