PAGE SEVENTY-THREE

As they kiss again, Castiel’s hands wander. His left slides up over Dean’s chest; his right lifts to Dean’s cheek, thumb resting under his chin. Dean smiles into the kiss, his own hands toying with Castiel’s rumpled collar.

When Castiel’s fingers join his, Dean pauses.

Dean: This okay?

Castiel: Yeah.

Together, they make fast work of the buttons, and Dean’s lips ghost over his cheek as Castiel slips free of his shirt, and only stops when Castiel pushes him back toward the couch.

Dean lands on the cushions with a soft thump, the motion making his t-shirt ride up over his stomach. He’s dazed and desperate. Smiling, he stares up at Castiel, shirtless, his toned chest and flushed skin exposed and close. Not close enough.

Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave his eyes.

Dean: Get down here, gorgeous.

Castiel does.

PAGE SEVENTY-FOUR

Castiel crawls over him, straddling his hips, and for a moment they just look at one another. It’s intense this close, Dean’s hands gliding over Castiel’s collarbone, and Castiel ducks down to kiss him again.

It starts out light and teasing, but it doesn’t last. Dean kisses him deeper, and Castiel’s fingers press into the back of Dean’s neck, and in their desperation to get closer, closer, the kiss grows frantic. Dean pushes, twisting his body until they’ve traded places.

Castiel doesn’t complain; the new position gives him free reign to slide his hand down Dean’s back and over his hips, guiding him to rock into the space between his legs.

PAGE SEVENTY-FIVE

With Dean pressed against him, Castiel slides his hand back up, catching the hem of Dean’s t-shirt to slowly pull it free. His fingers skim over the exposed skin of Dean’s hips, his back, his waist, and Dean’s breath stutters at the sensation.

Dean: Fuck.

Castiel smirks against his lips, unable to hide how thrilled he is to have reduced Dean to breathless expletives when they’ve barely even started. He grips the back of Dean’s neck and squeezes, pulling Dean’s lip between his own, before pulling his t-shirt off completely.

PAGE SEVENTY

Without wasting another second, Castiel pulls Dean to face him, and kisses him. Hard. The jacket drops to the floor.

PAGE SEVENTY-ONE

The force of his kiss sends Dean staggering backward, and he hits the wall with a thump as Castiel’s hands wander over his sides. Dean pulls him closer, raising one hand to cup his jaw. Castiel presses him to the wall.

PAGE SEVENTY-TWO

When they finally separate, Dean’s eyes stay closed, his lips parted in anticipation of more. It makes Castiel bold.

Castiel: I’m all out of coffee.

At his words, Dean’s cheeks flush pink. He opens his eyes, and Castiel’s gaze drops to his lips when he speaks.

PAGE SIXTY-SEVEN

Castiel becomes aware of his accidental double entendre almost immediately, and ducks his head.

If there was any chance that Dean wasn’t already thoroughly enamoured of him, it’s gone now. He’s smitten. Utterly. He smiles at Castiel’s near-permanent blush.

Dean: God, that’s cute.

As he touches his thumb to Castiel’s lower lip, palm cupping his flushed jaw, Castiel lifts his own hand to press over Dean’s chest, now clad only in a dark t-shirt. Behind them, a side table holds a couple of wilting plants.

Castiel: I don’t do this much.

PAGE SIXTY-EIGHT

Still smiling, Dean slides his fingers down to Castiel’s chin. He tilts his head back up, trying to catch his gaze.

Dean: Yeah, you said. You don’t “proposition strangers in bars”.

Dean’s thumb is still running softly over Castiel’s lip when he replies.

Castiel: Generally, I don’t proposition anyone.

Concerned that he’s misread the situation, that he’s inadvertently been pushing for more than Castiel is willing to give, Dean pulls his hand away. He steps back, putting a little space between them. A crease forms between his eyebrows.

Dean: Cas, if you’re not into this--

Castiel is quick to disavow him of the thought.

Castiel: It’s not that.

He pauses, looking down as he considers his next words. Skirting around the issue has only made them both uncertain, left them both a little off kilter. When he speak again, he speaks plainly.

Castiel: I’m very into this. It’s just... Casual sex is rare for me.

Looking up, he meets Dean’s eyes, and smiles through his nerves.

Castiel: I just wanted to be transparent so you’ll take pity on me if I fumble my way through the night and make a fool of myself.

PAGE SIXTY-NINE

Dean’s surprise at Castiel’s blunt admission flashes over his face, but he gathers himself quickly.

Dean: Well, in the interest of transparency...

He speaks slowly, drawing Castiel back in.

Dean: It’s gonna take a hell of a big fumble to distract me from how bad I wanna touch you.

Castiel’s eyes widen, and Dean goes on, just as sincere as Castiel was a moment ago.

Dean: But seriously? If you just wanna have coffee and then kick me out, I’m cool with that.

PAGE SIXTY-FIVE

The drive is over before they know it, and Castiel trails behind Dean as they make their way into the quiet house. 

As Dean walks ahead to inspect the pictures on the wall--one of Gabriel’s Jack Russell Terrier, Porkchop, and the other is a poster print of Gabriel on a magazine cover, onto which a cheesy moustache has been photoshopped--his eyes alight on the curve of Dean’s neck. His mouth ticks up a little as his gaze trails over the soft tousle of Dean’s hair where his own fingers had been curled not long ago.

Dean gestures at the poster, snapping Castiel out of his stupor--

Dean: What’s with Chef Pornstache?

--and giving him an excuse to get a bit closer. He leans against Dean’s shoulder as he looks at the poster as though he hasn’t seen it a million times.

Castiel: Honestly? Gabriel defies explanation.

Dean: The plot thickens...

As they talk, Castiel’s hand slides up and down Dean’s arm, tugging lightly at his jacket in an attempt to help Dean out of it.

Castiel: He's my brother. We just moved here together, and he--

PAGE SIXTY-SIX

As Castiel finally manages to slip the jacket from Dean’s shoulders, Dean glances back at him with a raised brow and the hint of a playful smirk on his lips.

Dean: Wait, as in—here? Should I lower the volume?

Dragging his focus away from the magnet pull of Dean’s eyes, Castiel shakes his head and, for the first time all night, manages to say something smooth enough to make Dean blush. Naturally, it’s entirely inadvertant.

Castiel: He’s finalizing his divorce back in Chicago. You can be as loud as you’d like.

PAGE SIXTY-TWO

Despite the bright lights of the closing club, Dean and Castiel still stand close enough to kiss.

Dean: Look--

The tension between them is thick, and Dean pulls back a little to speak.

Dean: I should mention--I’m not really looking to get involved with anyone--

Castiel: Perfect, neither am I.

Nearby, Charlie watches their exchange with a knowing grin.

PAGE SIXTY-THREE

Outside the club, it’s starting to drizzle. Their breath fogs in the cold air, and it stands out against the dark brick of the building as Dean leads Castiel down the sidewalk. A set of car keys swing from his fingers.

Castiel: So, what else is there to do in this town?

Dean: After midnight?

Dean pauses to think.

Dean: Well, there’s... uh... Literally nothing.

He rubs the back of his neck, and Castiel weaves around him as they get closer to their destination.

Castiel: In that case, coffee? My place isn’t far...

Dean’s smile is answer enough as they arrive at their destination: the Impala, parked on the roadside. She’s a thing of beauty, shining in the rain.

Dean: That’s my baby.

Castiel: Wow, I can see why you wanted to drive.

The compliment on the car isn’t a line, but it works anyway. Before they climb inside, Dean takes Castiel’s hand in his own and squeezes.

PAGE SIXTY-FOUR

PAGE FIFTY-NINE

In the dark of the club, their kiss grows deeper. Dean throws his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, and Castiel hauls him closer. Closer. The night wears on without their notice, and they’re pressed together, pink-cheeked and oblivious to their surroundings until--

PAGE SIXTY

--the house lights flood the dance floor.

Dean: Uh, looks like they’re closing.

Cas: Already?

Pulling back slightly, they look around. Dean smirks.

Dean: Price we pay for small town charm.

Cas: Mm.

PAGE SIXTY-ONE

Their hands are still clasped tightly between them, and Dean seeks out Castiel’s eyes when he speaks again, his words heavy with meaning.

Dean: Kinda wish it wasn’t the end of the night, though.

PAGE FIFTY-FIVE

They start out dancing fast, swinging in a wide arc around in the middle of the dance floor, but before the song is over they're moving close and slow. Dean’s fingers curl under Castiel’s chin for a moment before the next song begins--

PAGE FIFTY-SIX

--then his hand drops away as Castiel pulls him closer, arms draped around his shoulders. One dance turns into two. Three. More.

The night wears on, music and people drifting around them, and as they dance chest-to-chest, cheek-to-cheek, their eyes meet in the dark. The air between them is charged. Castiel smiles to himself, and for once, he doesn’t look nervous.

PAGE FIFTY-SEVEN

The music shifts again, and with the faster tempo Dean spins Castiel around, holding him around the waist. Castiel laughs, surprised, and Dean smiles back at him before skimming his lips over the back of Castiel’s neck in an almost-kiss that Castiel leans into before turning back to face him. He grips him, tight, and pulls him closer than before. Dean’s shirt gets rucked up in the process, but neither correct it. They just cling to one another, faces pressed to shoulders.

Neither knows it, but this is the closest the other has felt to anyone in a long time. It’s electric. Magnetic.

PAGE FIFTY-EIGHT

PAGE FORTY-NINE

Still close together, Dean and Castiel sip their drinks, the club fading behind them as they get lost in each other’s company. Dean watches Castiel, growing more smitten by the second. Castiel just feels self-conscious.

Castiel [thinking]: Stop blushing, stop blushing.

He’s still blushing when Dean reaches out to touch his forearm.

Dean: Nice ink, by the way.

Castiel: Thank you.

Emboldened by Castiel’s response, Dean skims his fingers over the tattoo, down to his wrist.

Dean: I’d show you mine, but well—

PAGE FIFTY

He winks.

Dean: Maybe later.

Castiel rubs at the back of his neck.

Dean: So… any particular reason you have a forest on your arm?

Castiel: It might sound pretentious…

Dean: Try me.

Castiel: I’ve always loved spending time time in the woods, but I’ve lived in downtown Chicago for the past few years.

Fiddling with his glass, Castiel explains, and Dean listens intently, hooked on every word.

Castiel: This was a way to keep a little bit of nature with me when I couldn’t find the time to get out of the city.

Dean: That’s not pretentious.

PAGE FIFTY-ONE

Castiel ducks his head.

Castiel: Also, it’s the closest I can get to having a garden of my own. Despite my best efforts, I’m utterly incapable of keeping plants alive for more than a few days.

Dean: Well, I can’t say I relate to that one.

Around them, the music in the club switches tracks, and Dean whips his head around when he recognizes the new song. He grins. Castiel notices.

Dean: Oh, finally. I thought we’d be stuck listening to electro-crap all night.

PAGE FIFTY-TWO

Shifting around, Castiel urges Dean to his feet. Dean follows without a thought.

Castiel: You like this song?

Dean: Hell yeah, I like this song. It’s always a good time for Bowie.

PAGE FIFTY-THREE

Castiel: Do you want to dance?

Dean: Oh, man. I’m not a good dancer.

Castiel: Neither am I.

PAGE FIFTY-FOUR

PAGE FORTY-FIVE

The bartender--frustratingly absent while Castiel was wedging his foot into his mouth--arrives to take their order as if on cue.

Bartender: What can I get you, fellas?

Castiel: Two beers, please.

Sitting a few feet apart, they clink their glasses together, both visibly relieved to have the excuse of sipping as they recover from the embarrassment of their first interaction.

PAGE FORTY-SIX

Turning to face Castiel properly, Dean offers his hand. His index finger extends down toward Castiel’s wrist, lightly touching, and the result is a handshake far less casual than most.

Dean: I’m Dean, by the way.

Castiel: Castiel. It’s good to meet you, Dean.

Dean: Likewise, Cas.

Dropping Castiel’s hand, Dean smiles again, amused as he lifts his glass to his lips--

Dean: Especially now that I know you don’t actually want to kick me in the crotch.

--takes another sip--

Castiel: Of course I don’t. That would run entirely counter to my intentions.

--and abruptly chokes on it. His eyes go wide, and he clears his throat, staring at Castiel. Both of them grow redder in the face as what Castiel said sinks in.

PAGE FORTY-SEVEN

Castiel covers his face in utter shame. He’s on a roll tonight. If there’s someone else in this bar with less game than he has, he’d hate to see how much of a fool they are.

Castiel: That’s not what I--

Dean: No, no, I--

Dean laughs, eyes squeezing shut with the force of it, freckles standing out on his pink cheeks.

Dean: I can appreciate the direct approach. Good to know where I stand.

That may be true, but Castiel still wants to hide under the nearest rock. He drops his hand stares into the middle distance.

Castiel: I’ve had a stressful few weeks. I don’t usually proposition strangers in bars, or at all, really. I just--

Leaning closer to him, Dean gives him a reassuring smile.

Dean: Hey, I’m not judging.

Castiel: Still. I’m not normally so forward.

He avoids Dean’s gaze, but Dean doesn’t let him, leaning closer still until Castiel is forced to meet his eyes.

Dean: Cas?

Castiel: Yeah?

PAGE FORTY-EIGHT

They’re sitting close enough to touch, now, and though their faces are still rosy from laughter--or mortification, in Castiel’s case--there’s an air of softness around them now, a warmth that was not there before. 

Dean's smile is still there, somehow more gentle now that it’s reached his eyes, and Castiel meets it with one of his own.

PAGE FORTY-TWO

As Dean struggles to pinpoint exactly how his attempt at striking up a conversation with a hot stranger went so far south before it even started, he looks at Castiel with a sharply raised brow. Castiel stares back at him, abashed.

Dean: Uh... slim to none?

Castiel [thinking]: Oh my god, why did I--

Cutting his losses--and hoping to avoid actually being kicked in the crotch--Dean backs away. He jerks his thumb toward the dance floor.

Dean: I’ll just--

Castiel catches hold of his shoulder before he gets any further.

Castiel: Wait!

PAGE FORTY-THREE

Dean stops, glancing down at the place where Castiel is gripping him. 

Immediately, Castiel lets go. He lifts his palm in apology and repeats himself, stalling for time.

Castiel: Wait.

Dean’s expression is wary as Castiel searches for the right thing to say. When he finally settles on something, Dean doesn’t seem to find it particularly convincing.

Castiel: Sorry, I-- it was supposed to be a joke.

Dean: I guess I missed the set up.

Castiel shrinks in on himself a little as he carries on.

Castiel: It was an in-joke? Kick in the crotch is a drink here.

As he begins to realize exactly how flustered Castiel is--and that he truly hadn’t been threatening Dean’s junk just for saying hey--Dean’s wary expression gives way to a look that says oh shit, you’re adorable.

PAGE FORTY-FOUR

Finally on the same page, Dean relaxes his posture to lean against the bar. He shoots Castiel a wry smirk.

Dean: Dude, I don't think those work unless the other person is in on the joke, too. That's kinda the point.

Castiel: Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.

He rubs at the back of his neck.

Castiel: Perhaps... what if... to make it up to you, I could--

Dean lifts his brow again, but this time, it’s a softer look. Flirtatious.

Dean: You offering to buy me a beer?

Castiel: Attempting to. I’m a little out of practice with all this.

Castiel glances away as he speaks. Somehow, it’s almost more embarrassing now that he’s been understood. Dean’s only more endeared to him. He smiles, eyes warm as he finally catches Castiel’s gaze.

PAGE THIRTY-EIGHT

With only his beer for company, Castiel passes time at the bar until he hears a friendly voice calling out, and turns to reply.

Stranger: Hey!

Castiel: Hello--

But the man is talking to the bartender, Donnie, who has just returned to Castiel’s quiet end of the bar.

Stranger: Hey, Donnie!

Donnie: Hey, man! What can I get you?

Castiel’s cheeks tinge slightly pink as he realizes his mistake.

Castiel [thinking]: Oh my god, why am I like this?

The two men slap their palms together in a well-practiced kind of handshake, and Castiel refocuses on his drink, trying to disappear into the background--

Castiel [thinking]: That was embarrassing.

--but he can’t help but overhear when the stranger replies to Donnie.

Stranger: Three “kicks in the crotch”.

Castiel smirks into his glass.

Castiel [thinking]: Though not as embarrassing as that order.

PAGE THIRTY-NINE

With nobody to talk to at the bar, Castiel swivels in his seat to look out at the dance floor. It’s still crowded, but among the people is Dean. Castiel’s eyes are drawn to him immediately.

Castiel [thinking]: Wow.

Dean looks good, and as he turns on the spot, still looking for Charlie, Castiel checks him out like there’s no tomorrow.

Castiel [thinking]: Why does he look familiar?

He focuses in on Dean’s eyes, his hands, his lips and freckled cheeks. Briefly, his gaze settles on Dean’s ass. It’s right there, after all. Castiel can hardly be judged for taking a peek.

PAGE FORTY

Castiel is still checking him out when Dean turns again and catches Castiel staring. His lips quirk up at one side as he stares right back.

Castiel [thinking]: FUCK.

Whatever embarrassment Castiel felt at responding to a greeting not intended for him is blown out of the water now. His face is positively burning red.

Desperate to pretend it never happened, he snaps around in his seat to face the bar and lifts his beer to his mouth in an effort to hide his face.

Castiel [thinking]: Great. Now I’ve made an ass of myself twice in five minutes.

He takes a deep pull of his beer, just in time to get the distinct feeling that his quick save has not worked. He’s completely resigned to it.

Castiel [thinking]: He’s coming here, isn’t he.

The thought has barely finished floating through his mind when he hears a low voice beside him.

Dean: Hey.

Déjà vu. Castiel turns to face him head on, and responds with a wry smile. He thinks he’s being witty.

Castiel: What are the odds you’re just here for a kick in the crotch?

PAGE FORTY-ONE

He smiles at Dean, certain that this joke is going to go over like a treat, but Dean, who is now leaning on the bar beside Castiel, just looks baffled. It only takes a split second for Castiel’s smile to vanish, and he closes his eyes, mortified.

Castiel [thinking]: Oh, for god’s sake.

PAGE THIRTY-FOUR

Avalon is packed with people, dancing and drinking and laughing in the bright, flashing lights of Bayfield’s only real club. Castiel, his jacket in one hand and the sleeves of his white button-down rolled to the elbow, stands among them.

Holding on to his shoulder, Charlie looks around with intent.

Charlie: Damn, he’s not here yet.

Castiel: Who?

Charlie: Friend of mine. Said he might come.

She’s far too focused on tracking down her friend to notice the young woman who’s giving her eyes from the dance floor. A real shame, too—she’s gorgeous, with long, dark curls and a sweet smile.

Castiel turns back to Charlie and frowns.

Castiel: Which friend?

With the shifty expression of a busybody who’s trying to get away with something, Charlie brushes him off.

Charlie: Just a friend. You’ll like him, he’s cute.

Castiel: I already saw one cute guy today, Charlie. I don’t need to see another.

Charlie: I’m gonna need details on that. Let’s get a drink.

PAGE THIRTY-FIVE

Side-by-side, Castiel and Charlie make their way to the bar as the crowd dances on. Charlie’s admirer can’t stop staring.

Charlie: Two purple nurples, please.

Castiel: What exactly is a nurple?

Charlie: If you don’t already know, I’m not going to tell you.

Charlie leans toward Cas, grilling him for information. He doesn’t give an inch.

Charlie: So... Who’s this mystery man you met?

Castiel: I didn’t say I met anyone. It was nothing. I don’t even know why I mentioned it.

Unimpressed with Castiel’s response, she plants her free hand on her hip.

Charlie: Okay, you have two options here, Cas: deets, or dance.

PAGE THIRTY-SIX

Castiel chooses to dance. Awkwardly.

Castiel [thinking]: I’m not remotely drunk enough for this.

Getting into the music, Charlie swings her hips, losing her blazer along the way and closing her eyes as she dances. Castiel, armed with another drink—beer, this time—moves his arms mechanically.

Charlie: C’mon, Cas. Loosen up!

She dances around him, bumping their hips together in an effort to make him move more like a person, and less like a rhythmically challenged sprinkler system. It’s not successful. Behind them, the same woman who’s been checking Charlie out since they arrived is still fixated on her, and Castiel decides to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

He catches hold of Charlie’s waist and spins her around.

Castiel: I think she might be a better dancing partner.

The woman smiles as she tucks a curl behind her ear, her dark eyes fixed on Charlie, who leans a little closer to Castiel to speak to him.

Charlie: You’re an extremely poor dancer, Cas, but you’re one hell of a wingman.

Castiel: You’re welcome.

Charlie smiles at her admirer, who smirks right back.

Alicia: Hey, I’m Alicia.

PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN

Free from Charlie’s clutches now that she’s dancing with Alicia, Castiel sits at the bar alone, nursing a drink. Behind him, dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, and sporting a leather jacket, Dean makes his way into the club.

His hands are in his pockets as he glances around.

PAGE THIRTY-ONE

That night, Castiel stands before a mirror in his bedroom, dressed in dark jeans and nothing else as he tries to settle on which shirt to wear. Visible on his side is the very edge of a tattoo we haven’t seen before.

As he holds up two shirts–one dark gray, the other white–he hums to himself as he contemplates the merits and pitfalls of each with a frown.

Castiel: Mmmm…

Behind him, a copy of Stephen King’s Kujo, his wallet, and his cell phone clutter the sheets of his bed. The cell phone buzzes. It’s a text from Gabriel.

When Castiel picks up the phone, their recent conversation thread appears:

Gabriel: No luck yet. Kali is still holding Porkchop hostage :(

Castiel: Just let her have the art. Between that and the dog, you know which one I’ll let in the house.

Gabriel: Stop being the voice of reason when I’m trying to complain, Cassie

In the reply field, he types in Never :)

PAGE THIRTY-TWO

He’s still half-dressed a moment later when the doorbell rings, echoing through the house, and he hastily pulls on the white shirt–

Castiel: Coming!

–before hurrying to the door.

PAGE THIRTY-THREE

Outside on the front porch, Charlie is dressed for a party in a dark sequinned blazer, a tank-top, jeans, and heels. Her ever-present Deathly Hallows necklace hangs around her neck. Behind her, the sky is dotted with stars.

She strikes a pose.

Charlie: Tah-dah! Thoughts?

Leaning in his doorway with crossed arms, his shirt properly buttoned with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Castiel is utterly oblivious to his own good looks as he gives Charlie a small but encouraging smile.

PAGE TWENTY-NINE

Some time later, Castiel sits at the table in Elevenses, trying to work. He’s taken off his coat, now wearing his gray sweater with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and is considering the laptop before him with some consternation. His chin rests in his hand.

To his left, his ever-present notebook is spread open to a page of half-planned ideas. The words scrawled inside are indecipherable. On his right, the coffee mug Charlie brought him has been topped up countless times, but despite the amount of caffeine he’s consumed, he still appears tired.

Behind him, a curtained doorway leads into the games area of the coffee shop. A sign to the side announces Now Entering Moondoor!

Taking advantage of a quiet moment, Charlie makes her way over with the coffee pot and a mug of her own. Castiel shuffles in his seat, resting his arms on the table before him.

Charlie: So, what are you working on?

Castiel frowns at his laptop a little harder before he glances up at her.

Castiel: I’m still figuring that out.

PAGE THIRTY

Putting the coffee pot and mug down on the table, Charlie pulls a chair out with her foot.

Charlie: Maybe take the rest of the day off?

She sits down opposite him.

Charlie: There’s a party tonight at Avalon… might help to blow off some steam.

Castiel: You might have a point.

With the laptop screen now visible, it’s clear that Castiel’s work has not been going well. The page before him is mostly blank. When he told her he was still figuring it out, he really wasn’t kidding. Charlie gives him a subtle but encouraging smile across the table.

Charlie: So… you’re in?

Castiel slouches in his seat, resting his chin in his hand again.

Castiel: I suppose.

Mirroring his position, Charlie looks at him as he stares miserably at the open document. At the top of the page, a title–THE BELLTOWER OUTLINE–is still the only thing he’s actually written. He’s made no discernible progress since the night he moved to Bayfield.

Charlie purses her lips.

PAGE TWENTY-FIVE

Finally at the end of his sleepy walk through Bayfield, Castiel arrives at his destination–Elevenses. The coffee shop’s name is written across the window and the door in a curling, almost Elvish script, and a couple of posters decorate the glass. One reads; HOT CHOCO IS LIKE ROLLING AN EASY 20, and is decorated with a single die. The other reads; Dungeons & Dragons Every Wednesday at 8pm - ALL WELCOME!

On the pavement beside the door is a water bowl, labeled Let your dog drink here! A single tree grows nearby.

As Castiel opens the door, we get our first peek inside at the bookshelves that fill the coffee shop.

At the counter, Charlie Bradbury, wearing an apron over her Super Mario t-shirt and Deathly Hallows pendant, serves coffee and pastries to a customer. Behind her, a menu decorated with a drawing of the Vulcan salute offers an assortment of themed tea and coffee. 

It reads:

WE <3 CARRIE FISHER (iced tea, green apple) WINTER IS COMING (iced caramel macchiato, cinnamon)

FANDOM FAVORITES

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE (blueberry-lavender tea, honey) MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (pumpkin spice latte) HOGWARTS!AU (butterbeer, alcohol free or not) CHRISTMAS FIC (cinnamon spiced latte, honey) MUTUAL PINING - FOR FIRST DATES! (2 mugs of Americano for the $ of 1) NSFW (spicy hot chocolate, chili peppers)

Beside the menu, two posters are pinned to the wall. One is handwritten, and advertises FANFIC NIGHT! On Fridays; the other is a licensed poster for one of Castiel’s books, A Length of Rope.

The counter itself is set on top of a bookshelf, packed with sci-fi and fantasy novels, and a small flower in a pot marked with a crown acts as a book-end.

Opposite, an empty pastry stand is labeled with a handwritten note; PIES ARE SOLD OUT (thanks Dean :P) followed by another encouraging Elevenses patrons to adopt a cactus at Winchester Flowers and Plants. 

The tip jar is labeled HAIL THE HYPNOTOAD.

PAGE TWENTY-SIX

The bell over the door jingles as Castiel walks the rest of the way inside, and the other customer leaves. Charlie, now tidying up, glances up at the sound. She smiles, delighted, when she sees who it is.

Charlie: Cas!

Castiel: Hello, Charlie.

Charlie hurries over to tackle him in a tight hug, and Castiel returns it warmly.

Charlie: I’m so glad you’re finally here! I missed you.

Castiel: I arrived three days ago.

Charlie: And you’ve been a hermit since. Doesn’t count.

PAGE TWENTY-SEVEN

As they catch up, Charlie grips Castiel by the shoulders. He smiles down at her, happy to see his old friend after a long separation.

Charlie: Has it really been five years since I saw you in person?

Castiel: Six, I think.

Charlie: Now I feel old.

Castiel: I suspect an aged pension is just around the corner.

She shoots him an exasperated look.

Charlie: Don’t make me regret convincing you to move here.

Castiel smirks at her. As Charlie heads over to the counter, he moves toward a table to sit.

Castiel: You’re right. I should leave that to Gabriel.

PAGE TWENTY-EIGHT

He doesn’t get far before he notices the books at the counter, and after leaving his laptop bag to hang over the back of a nearby chair, he goes back to look at them more closely.

Along the top, bookended by the potted flower, is a collection of Castiel’s work.

Faded Grace. Perdition. A Length of Rope. Darkside. The Big Empty. Ring of Fire. Profess Your Love.  

The back cover of The Big Empty is printed with a quote from the New York Times review–”Scary and sexy. Can’t get better than this.”

Amused and flattered–but mostly to be a pain–Castiel picks up A Length of Rope and smirks at Charlie.

Castiel: Then again, I doubt my biggest fan would ever really want me to leave.

Charlie feigns annoyance as she responds.

Charlie: Smartasses don’t get free coffee.

PAGE TWENTY

It’s a new day, and Castiel shuffles across the carpet in his bumblebee socks as he heads for the kitchen. His legs are bare. It may be late in the morning--already 9:24am--but it’s still too early for him to have bothered to dress. He’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a dark t-shirt. It’s almost as rumpled from sleep as his hair.

The kitchen is well equipped with a dishwasher and shelf space by the window, and the counter is well stocked with herbs and spices. A few wilting plants sit along the windowsill and on the counter beside Gabriel’s recipe books; Gabe’s Dessert Bible, Recipes for Poisoning Kali, Best Pies 2003-2004, All The Cake, and finally, Sausage Porn. This is one collection of books that Castiel has nothing to do with, and he doesn’t even glance at them before opening the fridge to peer blearily inside.

It contains a few ingredients, but not so much in the way of actual food.

Castiel: Ugh.

 PAGE TWENTY-ONE

Giving up on the contents of the fridge, Castiel slams it shut. Yawning, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, then notices a note taped to the door.

No coffee left, sorry bro :( See you in a few days, hopefully with Porkchop! - Gabe P.S. No parties while I’m away! I want in on that shit. P.P.S. Dude, you murdered the kitchen plants. Again.

Castiel rolls his eyes. He’s far too lacking in caffeine right now to deal with his brother--even in note form.

Castiel: Damn it, Gabe. Now I'll have to find pants.

PAGE TWENTY-TWO

Castiel checks his laptop bag, making sure he has his power cord and notebook before he leaves the house. He’s finally dressed--wearing a soft sweater and dark jeans, a pentacle pendant hanging around his neck on a leather cord.

It’s a bright, sunny day out, but it’s still chilly enough outside that he slips on his coat. He turns the collar up against the breeze.

The small town is quiet as he makes his way down the main street. He passes a store stocked with a little bit of everything, right beside the post office. Coffee and cheese and a gumball machine stand behind the window; sausages hang from the ceiling above. The glass door is marked Bess & Garth General Goods. A sandwich board advertises their wares--from dog toys to coffee and meat.

PAGE TWENTY-THREE

Eventually, he passes Bass Antique Books, but despite his usual interest in bookstores, he doesn’t even glance in the window.

His eyes are instead drawn to the man crouched in front of the next building, setting out a few small cacti in front of a chalkboard that reads ADOPT A CACTUS TODAY! Beneath the text, he’s drawn a cute little cactus with a smiling face.

This man is, of course, Dean Winchester. 

Castiel doesn’t know that yet, but he does know that whoever he is, he’s beautiful. Sandy hair and freckles, and a detailed tattoo that extends from his bicep and disappears under the short sleeve of his black t-shirt. Warm eyes.

Castiel can’t help but stare.

PAGE TWENTY-FOUR

As he passes by Winchester Flowers and Plants, Castiel shares a brief moment of eye contact with Dean. It’s charged. Exciting. 

His cheeks grow hot, and though he’s deeply embarrassed by this uncharacteristically strong reaction to a man he doesn’t even know, he’s gratified to see that he’s not the only one blushing. The pink of Dean’s cheeks makes his freckles stand out.

Crossing the street, Castiel allows himself a small, pleased smile.