Chapter Text
“Hey— don’t knock it ‘til you try it, jerk! It's probably healthier than those pills you pop.” “Ok first, they’re not pills, they’re gummies, you bitch. And I’m not gonna waste my money on some hippie alt-medicine shit that might not work. I’ll stick to what I know works.” After more bickering with Sam’s slightly digitally degraded voice, Dean pulled into his parking spot, faintly indicated with a white paint that had worn away with years of weathering. The only concrete marker that denoted the space was, well, concrete — formed into a raised bump roughly the length of the area.
A small bell chimed as Dean pushed his way into the establishment, a worn brass that matched the doorknob and hinges. He strode past the empty booths and stools, into the back and the makeshift “break room.” In truth, it was just an area of storage cleared out and furnished with a small table, chairs, and a mini fridge with a Keurig standing solemnly atop. As Jo had put it, “If we’re gonna be using a coffee machine we might as well make the most of it.” Dean couldn’t care less as long as he got his dark roast.
He loaded a pod into the machine, placed a paper cup under the dispenser nozzle, and waited for the water to boil. Meanwhile, he decided to look into what his brother had recommended. That way, Dean wouldn’t be lying when he would eventually talk Sam into dropping the whole topic by telling him he looked it up.
Dean hadn’t been lying when he said he thought alternative medicine was a waste. Whenever someone mentioned it, he thought of smelly essential oils and keto diets and those anti-vaccine crunchy moms that would rather set a home alight than let their child eat a Cheeto or hear the word ‘aspirin.’ The first thing he searched up was ‘Does alt med work?’ and his phone lit up with search results. He clicked the first one — a Cleveland Clinic article about complementary medicine (which he technically didn’t ask for, but whatever). Just before he could start reading, the light on the Keurig began to glow solid. The water was ready. Dean pressed the large grey button on the top of the machine and listened to the sound of piping hot black coffee trickling into his cup as he skimmed the article. He sat in one of the worn chairs with his elbows planted on denim knees while he read, giving the coffee ample time to cool so he wouldn’t be stuck with the feeling of scalded tastebuds.
He grunted to the dry silence and slumped back. Damn it, turns out the stuff does work — or at least some of it. Another Google search told him that some things don’t work and could actually be harmful (why would people think drinking piss and steaming their vags would be a good thing? He wasn’t even gonna begin to get into all of that). One thing stood out to him as he continued his searches: herbalism. He’d heard of it before from Sam. “The chemicals in the plants help you sorta like western medicine does. It’s scientifically proven to be beneficial.” Back then, he had doubts but didn’t care to actually check. Now, he knew better.
Coffee sufficiently cooled, he sipped from the warm paper cup, bitter darkness coating his tongue. ‘Herbal shops near me’ was typed into the search bar next. The first business result was ‘Limpid Apothecary.’ It was a quaint little thing — brick with a wooden door stained something dark. Sandwiched between other small businesses, it featured large inviting windows framed with thyme colored curtains and plants of all sorts and sizes. Dean swiped across the images in the section, absorbing what little information was available. It was only two miles away and open every day. It’d be closed by the time his shift ended tonight, but he could check it out tomorrow.
He heard the jingling of the door bell and light footsteps. Jo strode into the break room and plopped her brown leather purse on the fridge beside the coffee machine, setting to make her own cup of Joe. Dean exhaled faint laughter. Ha, laughing at his own corny joke. The tiny clock on his screen read 5:30 pm. Only a half hour until opening. The rest of the staff would be here any moment. He’d best get started with his night.
-𐃯-
Last night had been nothing special. Dean set up the bar and took down all the stools from the counter and tables while Jo took stock of their supplies. Ellen had come in only a few minutes after they got started to help with opening and look at any paperwork there was in the office. Once they actually opened for the night, it was relatively peaceful. Loud like usual, but peaceful nonetheless. Steady stream of customers that were all able to pay without issue. No one had to be kicked out for trying to assault or harass some poor soul and no one vomited. Sure, a few patrons here and there got close to being cut off. Maybe it was the look in Dean’s eyes or their own sense, but every single one either switched to non-alcoholics or flat out left — all without being asked or told. It was practically perfect and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if it was a sign of fortune coming his way or something particularly bad instead. He shook himself away from the idea. Thinking like that is only the best way to get something bad to happen.
Instead, Dean chooses to focus on the day ahead. He has to pick up some supplies for the bar — mostly citrus, really — and a few groceries for his own little apartment. Then, he’d be heading over to the gym for a bit before work. He rolled away from the bright light broken by cheap blinds, toward his nightstand. His phone sat atop the less cheap wood veneer hooked up to his charger. With the tap of a thumb, the screen lit up and read nine a.m. A reminder he’d made last night also appeared: “Limpid apothecary,” nothing more, nothing less. Dean thought back to the night before. His conversation with Sam, his online ‘research,’ and finding that little shop. He sat up, rubbed his face, unplugged his phone, and shuffled to the bathroom.
Stretching with a yawn, Dean later ventured into the kitchen. His back arched and his shirt lifted a bit, exposing a sliver of skin to the warm summer air of his apartment. A few bones popped into place. He opened his fridge and took stock of its contents to jot down in his phone later. It was looking a bit bare, but as long as he only picked up the essentials today, he’d be in good shape to last until his paycheck comes in five days. That was also something to keep in mind if he wanted to buy anything at that shop he’d made that reminder for while he was on his grocery run. Reaching into the space, Dean pulled out a jar of grape jelly. From his cabinets, he got sliced white bread and peanut butter. He toasted his bread (so he likes a little texture, sue him.) in the toaster on the counter beside the fridge before assembling his sandwich with extra peanut butter. He sat at a small dining table to eat while scrolling on his phone and writing a grocery list. Once he was ready, he pulled on his boots, grabbed his keys, and joined society once again.
-𐃯-
After an hour or so of driving around the city to get the best deals, Dean finally pulled up to the small storefront. The impala rumbled in the parking space and, when compared to the lifestyle associated with the bikes and compactness of the modern cars he saw, he admittedly felt a little out of place.
…
Whatever, that doesn’t matter. People that went to places like this are supposed to be open and welcoming, right?
He turned the key and removed it from the keyhole before he could get more anxious. All that was left to do was walk inside, check the place out, maybe buy a thing or two. He looked through the windshield at the front window of the store. He could see a few people shuffling around, looking at candles, plants, and incense. Some picked up what they were browsing and brought it to the counter to be rung up. Others remained idly in their locations. Dean stepped out of the comfort of the Impala and into the shop.
A little bell rang as he entered the place — it reminded him of the bar. A small comfort in this unfamiliar situation Dean placed himself in. He scanned the room. Shelves stacked with the candles he saw before. They had shades and hues indicative of beeswax and some of them had what looked to be flowers within them, the occasional petal’s edge aligning with the surface of the wax. Beside the collection of candles was one of incense sticks stored in jars. Each one had its own label for their ingredients. Another shelf stood on the opposite side with bags and paper-wrapped blocks, both holding tea. The entire thing was stocked with a variety of dried leaves, fruits, and flowers. The floor creaked welcomingly beneath him as Dean tentatively looked around.
Then, he noticed. At the back wall opposite the large window he had first looked through and behind a wooden counter that matched the floor and shelves stood a man. A solemn individual with dark, messy hair and light skin and eyes so clear and bright they made Dean choke on the lemongrass infused air when they made contact with his own. Dean swallowed the saliva that had pooled under his tongue. He walked over to the counter. He knew nothing about herbs and he’d need help. Might as well ask the beautiful stranger who seems to be the only person working there. He shoved his hands in his pockets ‘nonchalantly’ as he approached. The man that he had shared the briefest of eye contact with now had his attention set on the register in front of him, tapping away at the keys for the customer he was tending to. The raven-haired man uttered a number and the customer paid before being handed a paper bag full of whatever they bought. Meanwhile, Dean pointed his eyes to the space behind the employee. On the back wall were more shelves. It was the biggest set of them in the whole room. On the lowest levels there were glass jars with a variety of herbs, barks, and spices inside. As the shelves ascended in height though, the glass was replaced with wood and sticker labels scribbled with something messy but not rushed.
Dean turned his attention to the man again, flashing what he hoped was a charming smile. “Hey, you seem helpful. You guys carry anything for uh, sleep and stuff?” The stranger gazed at him from across the counter. His icy blues flickered across Dean’s figure. “Yes. Please follow me.” Glued to his spot on the floor by that deep gravelly voice, he watched the man lift a panel at one side of the counter to walk into the rest of the space. The two finally stood face-to-face without any sort of barrier. The man spoke again, “I take it you have no experience with herbalism?” Dean found himself suddenly robbed of words. He jerkily nodded, following the employee to the shelves of tea. With a chuckle, “What gave it away?” The other man studied the packages of tea bags and loose foliage.
“You’ve never come to this storefront in the many years I have worked here. You’re also nervous and asked for help,” he handed Dean a small brown pouch made from plastic and coated paper. “You wouldn’t have done that if you had experience.” Dean accepted the package, turning it over in one hand without even glancing at it. “Yeah? What if I just wanted to chat with the handsome, stoic store clerk?” He flashed a smile, feeling more confident. If nothing else, he could rely on his charm. Cool eyes stared into his without amusement. Was that the wrong move? As if absolutely nothing happened, the stranger muttered, “I will ring you up.” Off they went back to the counter.