Dean blinks. This is not how it’s supposed to go – the androids follow avery set script and they don’t deviate from it, ever.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re alright,” Castiel repeats. Those android-blue eyes arewide and sympathetic.

“What’s it to you?” Dean snaps, off-kilter and embarrassed. Apparently, helooks so pathetic now that even unfeeling robots are taking notice. “Just gimmemy coffee.”

Castiel purses his lips and for one wild moment, Dean’s sure he’s about tobe sassed by a robot.

“As you wish, sir,” Castiel says instead, finally handing over the coffee.

Dean snatches it without a word. He feels off-balance and embarrassed, andhe just wants to be back in his apartment where no one can see or judge him.

He sips his coffee as soon as he’s outside, too much and too fast, burninghis tongue. It kind of feels like karma.

*

It’s another three days before Dean finds himself back at Chuck’s.He’s showered in the meantime but the messages still sit unread on his phone –up to thirty-six now – and the phone calls still go unanswered.

It being early morning – still night, really – means that Dean is once againthe only customer in the shop. There’s also just one android behind the counterthis time and unfortunately, it’s just the one Dean didn’t want to see.

Castiel gives Dean an unimpressed look as he approaches, clearly rememberinghim as well. “How may I help you?”

“I – uh – large black coffee,” Dean says. When Castiel just looks moreunimpressed, he quickly adds, “To go. Please.”

“Anything else?”

Dean shakes his head.

As Castiel prepares the coffee, Dean watches quietly. The way he looks, theway he moves seems completely human. Dean at least couldn’t tell thedifference. It’s impressive and more than a little disconcerting.

Castiel shoves the coffee in the go-to cup onto the counter, snapping Deanfrom his thoughts.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Dean takes it, hesitating as the guilt squirms in his gut. He’s come to theuncomfortable realization that if Castiel were human, he wouldn’t havehesitated to apologize for his rudeness. It doesn’t seem right not to, justbecause of that.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Castiel regards him coolly.

“About last time,” Dean elaborates. “That was… I’m not usually rude toservice workers.”

“I suppose I am the exception,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean shakes his head. “It wasn’t anything personal. I was just having a reallybad day. You didn’t deserve to have your head bitten off for asking aquestion.”

Castiel looks surprised at that. He tilts his head and Dean squirms underthe intensity of his gaze, all too aware of how filthy his hoodie has gottenand the fact that he hasn’t bothered to shave since he last showered.

“Is today better?” Castiel finally asks.

“Not really,” Dean admits.

Castiel’s expression softens. “I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder. His palm is getting uncomfortably warm fromholding the coffee. “Listen, I gotta-” he gestures at the exit.

Castiel nods. “Enjoy your coffee.”

He says it with a smile. Not that service-industry,my-bosses-tell-me-I-have-to kind of smile but small and genuine. It makessomething in Dean’s chest constrict.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

The bell chimes as he exits, much too loud in the otherwise quiet space.

*

Dean stops by Chuck’s during the afternoon a couple of days laterand Castiel isn’t working. There’s Jimmy, Emmanuel, and Lucifer (what thehell), and they’re all identical to Castiel but none of them are him. Theydon’t ask uncomfortably personal questions or give any indication that Dean isdifferent from any other customer.

Dean gets his coffee to go and ignores the pang of disappointment.

The next morning, a couple of hours before sunrise, Dean drops by again andthere Castiel is, working the graveyard shift by himself.

“So, you only work the night shifts?”

It occurs to Dean only after he’s said it just how stalker-y he sounds. Likehe’s been paying attention to Castiel’s schedule.

But if Castiel is at all put off by or creeped out, he doesn’t show it.“Yes. I’ve been told I’m better suited for it.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel rubs the back of his neck. It’s an oddly human gesture. “I’m notvery good with people.”

“But you’re an android,” Dean says, confused. “What are people reallyexpecting?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He looks uncomfortable and it occurs to Deanthat him being an android isn’t the problem; it’s the fact that he doesn’treally behave like one. He’s personable in the way the rest of them aren’t, alittle too intense for comfort.

Dean clears his throat, feeling distinctly like he just put his foot in hismouth. “Well, I think you’re doing fine.”

Castiel’s lips quirk in a faint smile. “Thank you, Dean. Did you wantanything?”

“Oh.” Dean shifts, warmth rising to his cheeks. “Um, yeah, large blackcoffee to go?”

“You’ve got it.”

*

Dean’s not sure how many unread messages there are on his phone now but itwas up to forty-two the last time he checked. Most of them are from Charlie,because she is the only person Dean knows who is more stubborn than he is. Hehasn’t opened any of her messages but he sends her a quick update to let herknow he’s alive, just to make sure she doesn’t show up unannounced at his apartmentto check.

Most of the rest of the texts are from Benny but there’s also a couple fromBobby and two from Tessa, Dean’s editor. He hasn’t opened those because he hasnothing new to show her, so why bother?

He doesn’t need to check to know that there are no messages from Sam.

Given that he’s ignoring every other person in his life, it’s strange howquickly it’s become routine to go down to Chuck’s at unholy hours inthe morning and chat it up with Cas.

Not that Dean would call them friends or anything but maybe that’s whatmakes it easier. There are no expectations when he’s talking to Cas. He doesn’thave to be fine.

Sometimes Steve is working too and those nights, Dean takes his coffee andgoes. Other nights, it’s just him and Cas.

The bell chimes as Dean enters and Cas calls without looking up from thetill, “Large black coffee to go?”

It’s probably an android thing. Then again, Dean could be getting just thatpredictable.

“Got it in one.”

Cas gets to work and Dean leans against the counter while he waits,watching. It still freaks him out a little, seeing the way Cas moves. There’snothing off about it that Dean can put his finger on; maybe it’s that thosemovements are just a bit too smooth, not so much practiced as predetermined bysome program.

“What is it that you do?” Cas asks, cutting off Dean’s train of thought.

“Do?”

“For work,” Cas clarifies. “Or school, most of our late-night customers arestudents.”

Dean snorts. “Go figure. I’m, uh, I’m a writer.”

The word feels awkward coming out of his mouth. No matter how many times hesays it, it always feels like a pose.

“Do you not enjoy it?” Cas asks.

“Sometimes,” Dean says. “Why?”

“You were making a face.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “I was not making a face. And how would you know,you weren’t even looking!“

Cas gives him a deadpan look and Dean blushes because, oh right, android.For all he knows, Cas has a second set of eyes hidden underneath thatsurprisingly realistic head of hair.

“I’m just- nevermind,” Dean says. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

Cas approaches, handing Dean his cup. Their fingers brush as Dean takes it,causing a small shock of static electricity.

“It’s what I’m programmed to do,” Cas says.

Dean takes a sip. The coffee is a little too hot still and it tastes asmediocre as it always does. It wouldn’t surprise him if every cup Cas makes wasidentical to the last. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Sometimes, then. It depends on the customer.”

“What about right now?”

Cas smiles but doesn’t respond. “What do you write?”

Not much lately, Dean thinks with a grimace. It’s been days since he evengot one word down.

“Mostly short stories,” he says. He’s not sure what possesses him to add,“And it hasn’t been published but, uh, some poetry, too.”

“Poetry?” Cas repeats.

“Yeah. You read it?”

Cas ducks his head, looking bashful, and Dean finds himself thinking that’sa good look on him. If he were human, he might even be blushing.

“I do,” he admits. “I enjoy it very much. I’ve even tried to write somemyself.”

His voice goes quieter as he says that last part, embarrassed almost, andDean feels a sudden swell of affection that catches him off guard.

“Maybe you could show it to me sometime?” he asks before he can stophimself. At Cas’ obvious reluctance, he adds, “I’ll show you mine if you showme yours?”

Cas huffs out a quiet laughter. “I’ll think about it.”

“All I ask,” Dean says, grinning over the rim of his cup as he takes anothersip.

*

Despite Dean’s precautions, Charlie drops by his apartment unannounced acouple of days later. Apparently, ‘still alive, stop texting’ counts as a cryfor help, go figure.

Her visit is short because Dean’s apartment is a mess and he’s not gonna lether in but she still manages to pester him on a long list of topics from thedoorway: to call Bobby (fine), to take a shower (it’s only beenthree days), to go outside (does going to Chuck’s count?),to see his therapist (hell no).

The moment she brings up Sam, he slams the door in her face.

He doesn’t go to Chuck’s that night, his mood too foul and hisenergy sapped.  He sleeps through the night and most of the day, findinghimself wide-awake the following evening as his sleeping schedule has beenthrown for yet another curve.

It’s a little past midnight, so not the hour he usually visits, but Deanneeds to go outside and feel like something resembling human for at least a fewminutes.

Chuck’s is unusually busy – there’s two people sitting by thewindows, chatting over their coffee, and for once there’s a line, albeitconsisting of just one person. Dean waits, nodding at Cas when he waves at himfrom behind the counter. Steve is working tonight as well and he’s the one totake Dean’s order while Cas makes the coffees.

As Dean waits, his phone starts ringing. It’s on silent but the vibrationsare obnoxiously loud, almost worse than the ringtone. Dean doesn’t need tocheck to know that it’s Charlie so he ignores his phone, letting it ring out.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” Cas asks as he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you mind your business?” Dean snipes, reaching out and snatchingthe coffee from Cas’ grasp before he can hand it to him.

He knows he’s being a dick but he can’t help it. He feels tired andfrustrated with himself and with Charlie, and allowing it to transform intoanger is all too easy.

Going out tonight was probably a mistake.

“I was just asking a question,” Cas says, annoyed. “There’s no need to bitemy head off.”

The words ping something in Dean’s head and he knows, he knows heshould just apologize and go home but it’s like he’s watching himself from theoutside, unable to control what he’s saying.

“Then stop asking questions. Just do your damn job and stop acting like youcare when we both know you’re incapable of it!”

He’s not being loud but the words echo around the shop anyway, causingeveryone to fall silent. Dean is all too aware that the other customers are nowlooking at him and even Steve has stopped to stare but he doesn’t care aboutany of them. Doesn’t care about anything but Cas and the visible hurt he’sradiating.

“That’s not true,” he says weakly. “You know it’s not true.”

Dean swallows. Might as well finish this, push Cas completely away. “No, Idon’t.”

He leaves before Cas can respond, throwing his coffee in the trash on hisway out.

*

Dean knows he’s fucked up. He’s let this escalate too far, let himself sinktoo low, and now he’s hurting not just himself but the people around him.

At a loss for anything else to do, he picks up the phone and finally callsCharlie back.

She picks up on the second ring. “Dean? Is that really you or did someonesteal your phone?”

“Very funny,” Dean says dryly. He rubs his eyes, already feeling dreadpooling in his gut. This shouldn’t be this hard. “I, uh. I think I need somehelp.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end. “Yeah, of course. What can I do?”

*

It’s been two weeks since Dean last visited Chuck’s.

He’s been to see his therapist four times in that period, at first escortedby Charlie and then managing the last visit by himself. He’s been out to meetup with friends, all of them politely ignoring the weeks of radio silence andpicking up where they left off. Even Bobby’s been by, mostly to bitch at Deanfor never calling and to complain that the elevator in his apartment buildingsmells like weed.

He’s been in contact with Tessa, getting an extension on the deadline forthe first draft of his novel and a gentle kick in the pants to just finishpolishing his short story collection so it can be sent to print. His sleepingschedule is finally approaching something regular again, though it’s still notexactly normal.

He still hasn’t contacted Sam but, y’know, baby steps.

The one other thing hanging over Dean’s head is his last conversation withCas. He’s not sure their friendship can be salvaged but he at least owes Cas anapology and an explanation. Android or no, it’s obvious that Dean hurt hisfeelings.

On the short walk to Chuck’s, Dean practices over and over in hishead just what he’s gonna say to Cas. He briefly wonders if he’ll be able tosay anything if there are other people around but that turns out to be a mootpoint; when he enters the shop, the only person there is Cas.

He looks up as Dean enters, and he’s clearly shocked to see him but schoolshis expression quickly enough into a blank stare.

“Welcome to Chuck’s, how may I help you?”

Dean winces. Okay, so he deserves the cold shoulder but it still doesn’tfeel good.

He opens his mouth, panics as he realizes he has no idea what to start with,and ends up blurting out, “My dad died.”

Cas blinks. “I’m… sorry?”

“That’s not-” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I meantto say.”

“Your father didn’t die?”

Dean clears his throat. “No, he did. I just – I’m not expecting you toforgive me or feel sorry for me or whatever, just because my dad died. I justneeded you to know that what I said the other day had nothing to do with you.”

At the mention of their last meeting, Cas stiffens. He doesn’t say anythingand Dean’s not sure if that’s a good sign. It at least means that he can keepmaking an idiot of himself until Cas sees it fit to stop him.

“I’ve got a lot of issues,” hah, understatement, “that I haven’t really beendealing with. And I just… I get angry sometimes, ‘cause it’s easier. But I’mstarting to work through it now and I hope you do forgive me ‘cause I want usto stay friends.”

Cas is still staring wordlessly at him. The urge to look away or to turntail and flee is strong but Dean resists it. He got to say his piece, now it’sCas’ turn.

“So, yeah,” Dean finishes lamely. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

Cas finally looks away. His expression is impossible to read.

“We’re friends?”

The question catches Dean off guard. That is not what he expectedCas’ takeaway to be.

“I mean,” he shrugs, “if you want?”

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Cas confesses quietly. His expressionshifts, becoming determined. “Yes, we are friends.”

The tension leaves Dean’s body and he laughs at the relief of it. “Okay.Awesome.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees. He smiles and Dean didn’t even realize how much he missedthe sight of it until just now. “I forgive you but you have to stop getting madat me for trying to be nice.”

“I will, I promise.”

Cas nods. “Good. And don’t think I’m giving you a discount on your coffee.”

“Buddy, it’s a buck fifty a cup. I think I can handle it.”

*

Dean is relieved to fall back into the same routine with Cas. Things are alittle awkward his first couple of visits to Chuck’s but they smoothover soon enough. Cas is easy to talk to and being around him makes Dean feelcomfortable in a way he can’t quite define.

Charlie would love him, Dean thinks, but he hesitates at the thought ofactually introducing them. He kind of likes having Cas to himself.

One early morning, Dean comes running into the shop to escape the torrentialrain. He shakes himself off as he enters, running his fingers through his hairto keep it from sticking to his head.

“Dean,” Cas greets him warmly, cup of coffee already ready on the counter.“I have something to show you.”

Dean approaches the counter, wincing at the way his shoes squelch as hewalks. He should’ve just sucked it up and put on some rainboots. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember when we talked about poetry?”

Vaguely, but there’s one part of it Dean definitely recalls. “Are you gonnashow me something you wrote?”

Cas nods, a hint of shyness in the way he holds out his touchpad to Dean.“It’s not very good but-”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Dean teases, grabbing the pad.

He picks up the coffee with his other hand, sipping as he reads:

“Green is the color of grass

Or so I am told although I have yet

To discover that for myself.

But is it green like the dollar bills

I am handed in exchange for warm cups of coffee

Or green like your eyes?

I hope it is the latter.”

Warmth rises to Dean’s cheeks. He can guess the subject of Cas’ poem easilyenough – just how many green-eyed customers is he likely to have developed apersonal relationship with? – but he can’t work out what it means. Is Cas awareof the fact that humans consider poetry to be romantic? Did he mean it to comeoff that way?

Would Dean mind it if he did?

“What do you think?”

Dean looks up. Cas is watching him anxiously, clutching one hand in theother and clearly preparing himself for the worst.

Dean hands him the pad. “I like it.”

“You do?” Cas glances down at it, then back at Dean. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s very,” don’t say romantic, “evocative.”

Christ, way to sound pretentious.

Cas smiles, hugging the pad to his chest. “Thank you. It isn’t easy, writingfrom personal experience when you have so little of it.”

Dean nods absentmindedly. Then he pauses as he realizes the full meaning ofCas’ words. “Wait, so have you never really seen grass?”

“Do you see any in here?”

Stupidly enough, Dean looks around. “No, but- you must have seen itsomeplace else?”

“I’ve never left this building.”

Dean’s brain grinds to a halt. “What?”

“I haven’t had reason to,” Cas says. “I work on the first floor and rest inthe facilities upstairs.”

“Yeah, but – never?”

“Well, I am only six months old.”

“What.”

Six. Months. Old.

Dean just had romantic notions about the android equivalent of a toddler.He’s taken his anger issues out on that toddler twice now. Jesus fuckingChrist, Cas has had to deal with Dean’s crap for almost half his life.

“That doesn’t mean I am the same as a six-month-old human,” Cas says, as ifhe can tell what Dean is thinking. “My programming holds extensive knowledge ona number of topics, including human behavior. I probably know more about itthan you do.”

Well, Dean brought that one on himself.

“Okay, so, brushing past the whole ‘six-months-old’ thing,” Dean grimaces,“how have you still never left this building? Are you not allowed to?”

Cas shifts, looking nervous. “It’s not what I’m programmed for.”

“Is that a no? What would happen if you were to leave right now?”

“Nothing,” Cas admits. “It doesn’t happen often but my supervisors do haveother androids on hold in case someone abandons their post.”

“So, you could leave?” When Cas just looks increasingly uncomfortable, Deansighs. “Do you not want to leave? Is that it?”

Cas shrugs. “Where would I go?”

“Somewhere with grass?” Dean suggests. “The park? The beach? I don’t know,fucking Las Vegas?”

Actually, Dean would pay good money to see Cas deal with Vegas.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to see other places,” Cas says. “But I’ve neverstepped a foot outside this building. I wouldn’t know how to do it.”

He doesn’t say it but he’s broadcasting it so loudly he might as well have: Casis scared. And Dean can’t exactly blame him.

He takes another sip of the coffee. It’s already lukewarm.

“Dunno what to tell you, Cas. Can’t have those personal experiences if youdon’t risk something.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Judging by the look on his face, he’s deep in thought.

*

It’s May 3.

Dean was planning on calling Sam yesterday. He dialed his number multipletimes part way through before hanging up. Even got up to five digits a coupleof times.

He just can’t figure out what to say. The last time he talked to Sam, it wasto tell him their father had died and all Sam had to say in response was thathe wouldn’t be able to make it to the funeral.

And that was their first conversation in almost two years.

Dean doesn’t wanna dwell on Sam or his stupid birthday but his mind keepscircling back to it time and time again. It’s been too many birthdays since hesaw his little brother last. Dean doesn’t even know if he ever stopped growing.

He’s in a lousy mood by the time he heads down to Chuck’s and Cascan obviously spot it from a mile away. He doesn’t say anything, though, andDean manages not to be a rude piece of shit this time as he orders his coffee.

After they’ve sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Dean puts them bothout of their misery.

“It was my brother’s birthday yesterday.”

Cas stills. When he talks, it’s clear he’s picking his words carefully. “Ididn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t like talking about it.” Dean leans on his elbow. If he’s beingmopey, he’s got reason to be. “I haven’t seen Sam since he went off tocollege.”

“Why not?”

Dean hates telling this story. He’s really only done it twice, once to histherapist and once to Charlie, but he was wasted that time so he’s not evensure that counts.

But then, he knows Cas isn’t gonna judge him. It makes it a little easier.“Dad didn’t want him to go. They got into a huge fight and when it got down toit, I basically had to pick a side. I guess I picked wrong.”

“But your father is dead,” Cas says, as if Dean needs the reminder. “Surelythat must change things.”

Dean shrugs. “You’d think so.”

“Have you told him that you want to make up?”

“He knows I do. I called him after Dad died, told him he should come downfor the funeral.”

“Was that all you told him?” At Dean’s incredulous look, Cas gives him apatient smile. “I’ve found that humans sometimes need these kinds of thingsspelled out for them. They tend to assume the worst, otherwise.”

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again. He doesn’t have an argument here.

“Well, he should know,” he settles on, just to be petulant.

Cas takes the cup from Dean’s hand and Dean startles, realizing that heemptied it without paying attention.

“You should call your brother,” Cas says.

Dean stares at him, something stirring in his chest he doesn’t have a wordfor.

“You sure they didn’t program you to be a bartender?”

“I do make a mean Tom Collins,” Cas deadpans.

*

Dean doesn’t call Sam. Whatever conversation they need to have feels tooimportant to have over the phone.

He has Sam’s address. He also has a nice car that’s been cooped up in thecity for too long and a job he can do from anywhere. There is literally noreason he can’t take off for a few days on a cross-country road trip.

There’s just one thing he needs to do first.

The sun has just begun to rise when Dean parks outside of Chuck’s.It’s far later in the morning than he’s usually there and there are a couple ofcustomers inside, the very beginnings of the morning rush, but Cas is stillbehind the counter, along with another android, probably just about to finishup his shift.

Dean gets inside, walking past the line by the counter and getting someangry grumbles from the lady up front.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas looks up from where he’s working the espresso machine and smiles atDean. “Hello, Dean. You’re later than usual.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifts on his feet. This feels like a bad idea but it’s toolate to turn back now. “I’m going to California. To see Sam.”

Cas falters for just a moment before continuing his work, motions smooth andpracticed. “Oh.”

Dean waits as he finishes up. Once the order is ready and Cas has a momentto talk, he continues:

“Come with me.”

It comes out as barely more than a whisper but he knows that Cas heard it,because he goes completely still.

“What?”

“Come with me,” Dean repeats.

“Dean,” Cas says, and it already sounds like a rejection.

“You said you could leave, so leave. You’ve got somewhere to go and you’vegot someone to go with.”

Cas looks at him, eyes wide and begging him to understand. “Dean, I – youdon’t want me to go with you.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” Dean counters. Whatever Cas is feeling,this much he knows. He’s never been so sure of anything. “Come with me toCalifornia, Cas.”

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Dean is vaguely aware thathe’s causing a scene right now but it doesn’t matter.

“Steve,” Cas finally says.

“Yes, Castiel?” Steve answers pleasantly.

Without breaking eye-contact with Dean, Cas reaches behind him and loosenshis apron strings. “I quit.”

“You what?”

Cas doesn’t respond, shucking the apron off and leaving it in a heap on thecounter. Dean watches, heart hammering in his chest, as Cas opens the gatebetween them and steps through. It’s strange, having his view of Cas becompletely unobstructed.

“Are you coming?”

Dean shakes himself. He grins at Cas, feeling giddy as their steps fall intoan easy rhythm. It’s not until they’re by the exit that Cas hesitates, that helooks unsure.

“It’s okay,” Dean tells him.

He swings the door open with one hand, holding the other out for Cas. Aftera moment, Cas takes it, intertwining his fingers with Dean’s and squeezingtightly. It doesn’t feel quite like holding a human hand, the skin of aslightly different texture, but that’s okay. It’s Cas.

“C’mon,” Dean says. “California’s waiting.”

Cas takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, and nods.