toperditionandback said: How about 5 for destiel with Dean as the barista? <3
(Oooh, sorry for the wait. Here’s your coffee shop AU, destiel-style. I hope it’s okay.)
Eight-thirty on a Wednesday morning meant that the small university coffee shop was bustling with activity, the air filled with the strong scent of dark brews and breakfast muffins. A line ten people deep snaked through the shop as other students yawned their way to class outside the glass-panelled storefront. Already, all of the tables had been claimed by laptop-toting twenty-year-olds sporting the bleary-eyed signs of another night spent studying for the impending exams.
Dean Winchester watched the slowly-moving line with alert eyes, having been up since five himself to open up the shop. He was busy loading a new tray of blueberry muffins into the counter-top display case when the small brass bell above the door rang and he glanced up to see a new customer moving into line. He recognized him instantly from a few of his lectures, and his heart began to beat faster at the sight of him. Even with hair still ruffled from sleep and head ducked as he dug his hands into the pockets of his blue hoodie, Dean would know Cas Novak’s face anywhere.
Of course, Cas didn’t know that. He was popular; his blue eyes would draw in every person for miles around. Dean was the boy at the back of the class, getting by with a scholarship that everyone teased him about. Cas had never even looked at him, as far as Dean knew.
Dean narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired head as Cas shuffled up the line, rubbing the sleep from his crystalline eyes. No, today was the day that that would change. He could practically hear his roommate Sam’s voice in his head, remnants of the conversation they’d had the night before. “New house rules, Dean: you can’t talk about Cas Novak until you introduce yourself to him.”
Dean didn’t really have many people he could talk to about his crush, so obviously, he’d known he’d have to do something. But now that there was an opportunity so close at hand, he took it as a sign. He was going to talk to Cas Novak today.
He finished arranging the rest of the muffins just in time for Cas to reach the head of the line. Just as he was about to step up to the counter, Dean shouldered aside Eric, the cashier, and took his place at the register. Eric let out a few curses under his breath before stalking off to refill the ice box. Dean sucked in a quick breath before smiling at Cas, who had watched the wordless exchange with a confused air.
"Hi, I’m Dean," the self-appointed cashier said, heart pounding in his chest.
"Um, hi," Cas replied, looking a bit lost at the introduction. "I’m Cas."
"I know." The words just slipped out, and Cas’ blue eyes widened. Before he could say anything, Dean barreled onwards. "Sorry, I just mean, you’re in some of my lectures, and you’re pretty popular, and I just thought, I mean, of course you wouldn’t recognize me, but that’s fine, that’s totally fine, but I just had to say, well, you know, never mind."
Dean wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, but all Cas did was lean forward and allow a small smile to dance across his lips. “Why wouldn’t I recognize you? You’re acing most of our classes. You always have the right answer. You hand in your papers three days early. I doubt there’s a single person in our lectures that doesn’t know the name Dean Winchester.”
Dean’s jaw dropped momentarily, before he snapped his mouth shut again and licked his lips. “Really?”
Cas chuckled at the astonished expression on the cashier’s face. “You stand out, Dean, whether you want to or not.”
He didn’t allow the flabbergasted man to scrounge up a reply - though Dean doubted he would have been able to, even if he’d had all the time in the world. “I’ll have a large iced coffee, black. And a chocolate chip cookie.”
Dean nodded mutely and took the cash from Cas’ hand, not trusting himself to speak after the flustered train wreck his last attempt had been. He handed over the cookie in a small paper bag. Cas gave him a grin, then turned and walked off to wait in line for his drink.
For a long moment, Dean stood rooted to the spot. Then he launched into motion, vacating his position at the register to the displeasure of the following customer. Eric elbowed Dean sharply in the ribs as he went to recover his post, but Dean paid him no heed as he filled out the order himself, if just to have another chance to speak with Cas. His hurried motions disrupted a few of his other coworkers, interrupting their preparations to pour coffee and crush ice.
In less than a minute’s time, Dean slid over to the serving counter, slightly out of breath, and called out, “Large iced black coffee for Cas.”
The man in question walked up to the counter, a smile still tugging at his mouth. Dean had fantasized about that mouth more than he cared to tell. Cas set his half-eaten cookie on the counter and picked up his coffee.
He glanced down at the spelling of his name - two s’s - and shook his head. “You know, that’s how most people spell it on their first try. It’s one ‘s’, though.”
"Oh," Dean said quietly, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks. "I’m sorry."
Cas’ lips did an odd twitch, like he was trying not to laugh. “I’ll tell you what it’s short for if you promise not to tell.”
Dean nodded, holding his breath. No one knew Cas Novak’s full name. No one.
Seeing that Dean would probably do anything to hear his answer, Cas beckoned him forward and leaned over to whisper against his ear, “My real name is Castiel.”
Dean was frozen in place, just about ready to go into shock; Cas Novak’s lips were pressed against his cheek, the scent of his aftershave faint against the coffee in his hand.
Cas didn’t wait for Dean to answer, despite the fact that Dean wanted to tell him that it was a beautiful name, one of the most beautiful names he’d ever heard. No; Cas liked having the last word. Dean knew that. So when he walked off, Dean was perfectly ready to allow that to happen.
Then he set his hands back on the counter and felt brown paper crumple under his hands. His eyes lowered to the half-eaten cookie to see that someone had drawn an arrow in black sharpie telling Dean to flip over the bag. On the other side, written in neat, all-caps letters, there read: If lost, please return to Cas Novak. Eisenhower Hall, room 322. (And you should hurry; we’ve got a lecture at ten.)
Dean’s mouth popped open for the second time in as many minutes, and he looked up over all the heads milling about the coffee shop. Outside the windows, Cas was standing on the sidewalk, casually sipping his iced coffee.
Then, with a single backwards glance at Dean, he grinned and walked off.