Chapter Text
Castiel appears in a small, quaint coffee shop. It’s quiet, and full of collage students with laptops and coffee addicts getting their next fix. It’s the type of coffee shop that he would have liked to go to before work and on his days off if he didn’t live in a big city that only has Starbucks. He turns to go find a place to sit down when he bumps into a man taller and broader than him and gets coffee spilled all over his trench coat.
He winces at the feel of the scorching beverage soaking into his jacket and suit and looks up to apologize. The words die on his tongue, though, when he comes face to face with bright green eyes and short cropped blonde hair. Castiel stands there with his mouth open like a fish as he gazes upon the man.
“Son of a bitch!” the Dean look alike yells, coffee spilling onto his leather jacket and flannel shirts, “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to knock into you.”
Castiel stares up at him in shock, but quickly snaps his mouth closed and responds, “You have no need to apologize. It was my fault for not watching my surroundings like I should have been. My apologies for your wasted coffee.”
“Here, let me at least help you clean up or something. Your coat’s gonna stain if I don’t,” he’s already off getting napkins and ordering new coffee (two new coffees, actually) before Castiel can respond.
He’s very confused, but decides to go find a table to wait at. He walks towards an open, catching a glimpse at someone’s open newspaper and sees that the date is March 16, 1963. Castiel isn’t all that surprised that he’s still not back in his own year, but wishes that he was. He has a meeting with Dean (his Dean, not this Coffee Shop one) on Tuesday he has to be at.
This Dean comes back to their table and helps him out of his coat and begins to mop it clean for him. He blushes red, but takes the coffee that is offered to him.
Dean eventually sits down, having done the best he can to fix the trench coat and takes a long sip of his coffee (black, no sugar).
“I’m Dean, by the way,” Dean offers, obviously unnerved by Castiel’s constant staring.
Castiel nods at him, “Castiel. Sorry for, uh, bumping into you.”
“For the last time, it isn’t your fault,” Dean huffs, rolling his eyes at him. Castiel tilts his head, trying to comprehend his mannerisms. He’s so similar to his Dean and Dean Wesson it’s startling, but different at the same time.
The sit there for some time, chatting about random things, like the weather and which sports team is winning (something he knows nothing about, sadly; it ends up with Dean having the explain everything to him). It’s nice, but not as comfortable as talking to his Dean or Wesson—after he got to know him, at least.
Time goes by quickly, and soon Dean is looking at his watch and telling him that he has to get to class or he’ll be late.
Castiel nods at him, and they exchange goodbyes.
He ends up staying at the coffee shop for the rest of the day, enjoying the warm atmosphere and delicious coffee. The sky is a dark inky blue before he gets up to leave and find a motel to stay at for the night.
He walks out the little shop and vanishes.