Chapter Text
He was my cream, and I was his coffee - And when you poured us together, it was something.
—Josephine Baker
The first time the man in the beige trenchcoat walked into Dean Winchester's coffee shop, and coincidentally, his life, was 10:31 AM on a Thursday. Dean didn't really pay attention to him at first, just being another customer in the long line waiting for their standard coffees, lattes and frappuccinos. The first sign that something was off with the man should have been the way he looked like he was in pain all the time and not in the ugh-I-didn't-get-an-iPhone way, but in the my-life-fucking-sucks way. From the moment he walked in through the simple wooden door and the bell jingled to signal his arrival, that pained expression remained on his face. Dean should know that expression, he'd worn it for long enough. The second sign would have been his order. Look, Dean was used to the usual orders, "one medium coffee, black", "a caramel mocha latte with whipped cream", "a big latte and a blueberry muffin" and so on. An order he was not expecting, especially not from this guy, was, "Hm… I think I'd like a big black coffee with whipped cream, a caramel wafer on the side along with three packets of sugar."
Dean blinked in surprise. Well, that was new. Not that he remarked on it, because he was damn good at his job and being damn good at his job included not commenting on orders. So, instead of making some vaguely entertaining comment, he nodded and said, "Sure thing, tell me your name and I'll call it out when your order's ready."
"Do I have to?" The man asked, and Dean noticed his eyes for the first time. They were a deep shade of blue, endless and big like the ocean, and it looked like they could see right through him and—oh, Dean was so not going there, waxing terrible poetry about a stranger's eyes. All Dean was doing was taking how sorry he felt for him wearing such a pained expression and then turning it into him being hot. Yeah, that had to be it.
"Well, yeah, or you could just tell me a fake name. People do it all the time. But I swear to God, if you say that your name is 'penis', I will shove your coffee where the sun don't shine." Dean made sure that the man knew that he was joking by grinning at him. The man smiled back weakly, but didn't seem to give much effort into actually keeping the smile on his face.
"Then, my name for the day is… Jimmy" Jimmy now had a small smile on his face, like he knew something that Dean didn't, which was probably true.
"Jimmy? Oh-kay then, that's a lot less weird than I'd expected. I thought you were more of a 'Voldemort' kind of guy." Dean didn't usually talk a lot to his customers, except for the usual pleasantries, but this guy looked like he needed to be cheered up. And frankly, Dean was bored of all the frappuccinos he'd been making for over two hours now.
"I'm afraid I don't understand that reference." Jimmy said as he tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes wide, and Dean has to say that he looked like a confused puppy—what was Dean even doing today, stop noticing that Jimmy looks like a puppy it's creepy and just stop stop stop
"Wait, you've never watched or read Harry Potter? Well, you gotta do that, seriously. They're amazing." Dean smiled at him and then proceeded to punch in some numbers at the register, "Well then, Jimmy, that'd be 6,25 please."
Jimmy put up some bills and coins on the counter, but he wasn't smiling anymore. Almost like he'd remembered something he didn't want to remember. Dean knew that feeling as well, but he tried not to think too much about that. Honestly, he tried not to think too much about anything because that usually ended up in trouble and Dean didn't want trouble. That's why Dean tried damn hard not to notice the way that Jimmy's slender fingers traced the edge of the counter, because thinking that customers were hot was a sure way to get in trouble. First of all, it's creepy. Secondly, it's not professional. Third, it's just asking for trouble.
…Did he mention that it's creepy?
Putting the money in the register, Dean turned around to start preparing the weird order. He barely paid any attention as he poured the dark coffee into the large coffee mug. When you pour about a million cups of coffee a day, you don't really pay that much attention while you do it for the millionth and one time. Dean simply stared out the large windows that showed the world outside, the streets filled with people gossiping away on their cell phones and car tires screeching to a stop at the red light that just came on. Still, it wasn't as busy as usual, so it was probably going to be slow this lunch. Maybe he'd get some pie for himself. When he finished pouring the coffee, Dean paid close attention to spraying the whipped cream onto the cup of steaming coffee. That couldn't possibly taste good, but what did he know? Maybe there was some kind of 'whipped cream with black coffee'-club that had meetings every Saturday and discussed their intimate feelings about the beverage.
Dean chuckled as he put the cup on the counter, giving Jimmy a quick wink to make sure that he knew that Dean hadn't forgotten about the caramel wafer and the three packets of sugar. Because really, how could he forget that combination? The weirdest that day, by far. Taking out a small plate, Dean placed the wafer and packets of sugar on it and flashed a smile and Jimmy.
"There you go, Jimmy. Enjoy your coffee and have a nice day!" Dean told the man with a smile and, for once, the rehearsed words didn't feel forced, because he really did want the guy to have a nice day. Unlike the rude people who were too busy checking their smartphones to actually be nice to him, Jimmy had actually been cool. Well, except for not knowing about Harry Potter because, come on, how do you not know about Harry Potter?
"The same to you, Dean." Jimmy said and took his coffee and wafer as he walked away to a quieter corner of the shop where the walls were made of wood and some painting hung. It took Dean a second to realize that the reason Jimmy knew his name was because of the very obvious name tag on his shirt. It took him another second to tell his heart to stop beating so goddamn fast.
Jimmy walked out of the shop soon after, having enjoyed his weird-ass coffee, but he returned the next day at the same time and ordered the same thing. Dean thought nothing of it, because hey, the guy was nice and he left some tip in the tip jar before leaving. Dean wasn't exactly complaining about the view either. The state of Jimmy always changed, though. Sometimes he'd be smiling and sat closer to the counter where he'd occasionally say something to Dean, who usually laughed because Jimmy could be pretty damn hilarious when he wanted to be. Despite his general lack of pop culture knowledge and inability to properly use sarcasm, he was pretty okay. Other times, he'd come in looking terrible, stubble on his cheek and eyes tired. Those times, he usually sat in the dark corner of the store again, not talking much, but Dean could still feel his gaze burning on him. Dean usually tried to ignore that because he was a goddamn professional and not a socially awkward teenager. One time, Jimmy had come in and looked at Dean like he was a freaking Messiah or something, right before he said, "Are you still here?"
Dean had only laughed in response because what the hell were you supposed to answer to that? Jimmy was probably depressed and had good days and bad days, Dean got that, but he still had no freaking idea what to do or say. So he just laughed and asked if he wanted anything, even if asking was kind of useless as Jimmy always asked for the same thing. As always, he did not disappoint, but his eyes were still regarding Dean with a kind of awe that should have been inappropriate and just wrong. Dean didn't mind though, he was obviously one of the few fixed points in the guy's life and if he could make him feel better, he would, cause Dean was a decent human being when he wanted be. Jimmy took his strange order and sat down at the table close to Dean, but he didn't speak this time. He barely touched his coffee either, seeming content just to watch Dean work. It made Dean's skin itch, because something was definitely off today. Jimmy didn't speak, but left after a few more minutes, his drink untouched. As he passed by the counter, Dean thought he heard Jimmy say something, but he couldn't quite make out what. Maybe Jimmy was speaking in some other language. Dean was all at once aware of how little he knew about Jimmy and that he presumed far too many things. Get it together, Winchester.
When Jimmy returned the next day, he looked better than the day before. Much better, actually. If Dean ignored Jimmy's dirty and broken fingernails when he accepted the money from him, he would have thought that everything was cool. That Jimmy wasn't an emotional wreck and that Dean knew nothing about him, really. As Jimmy took the coffee and wafer, he cleared his throat and didn't move, which held up the line and made a bitchy-looking redhead behind him roll her eyes. Dean already knew what she'd order—a large chocolate frappe with whipped cream and a blueberry muffin—the usual for a media student that uploaded way too many pictures to Instagram. Sometimes, Dean would doodle something rude on her cup just to ruin her perfect coffee pic of the day. She'd glare at him and snatch the coffee as she muttered something under her breath. Luckily, there were a few good customers to weigh the bitchy ones up, like Jimmy, who was currently fiddling with his coffee mug.
"Yeah, Jimmy?" Dean said, not wanting him to hold up the line for too long, as that was not exactly great for business.
"I would just like to apologize for yesterday, I—" Jimmy began, but Dean cut him off,
"It's cool. We all got those days."
"Thank you for being so understanding, Dean." Jimmy smiled a weak smile that soon faded, but it had been a smile nevertheless.
"No problem." Dean winked at him as he left the line to sit at the table close to the counter.
The redhead walked up to the counter, pulling out her headphones as she went.
"Yeah, I'd like a large chocolate frappe with whipped cream and a blueberry muffin." She absently said, still looking down at her phone.
She ordered the same thing as he'd thought she would. Dean was a freakin' genius sometimes.
The line soon emptied and left Dean alone in the coffee shop. Ruby had called in sick—which made Dean happy because he'd never liked that bitch, especially not when she'd been going out with Sam— and Gabe just hadn't shown up, probably because he'd thrown one of his insane parties. Again. Dean had gone to one of Gabe's parties once and it had ended with him waking up in an empty swimming pool, wearing nothing but a pair of pink panties and sunglasses, his arm around a sleeping flamingo. Somewhere in the distance, he could have sworn he'd heard Tibetan throat singing mixed with dubstep. That had been the last time he'd gone to one of Gabe's parties, despite Gabe's constant pleading and teasing. Dean was not a light-weight when it came to alcohol, by any stretch of the imagination, but when he woke up with a killer headache and his last memory being wrestling another guy in a tub of neon green jello, then Dean would gladly pass on doing that again, thank you very much.
As Dean began to wipe the wooden counter, he heard something rustle to his right. He spun around, brandishing the cleaning cloth as a weapon as his eyes flitted around the room filled with tables and comfy chairs. When he saw the source of the rustling, he couldn't help but to smile a bit. It was Jimmy, who hadn't left yet. A half-drunk coffee was on the table, along with the crumbs of a caramel wafer and three torn packets of sugar. Jimmy tilted his head to the side, regarding Dean with a thoughtful expression.
"Dammit, Jimmy." Dean laughed and put the cloth down on the counter, "You still here?"
"Yes, I… I guess I got lost in my thoughts." Jimmy seemed to say the words almost apologetically.
"Hey, man, it's alright that you're here. You just scared me a bit, that's all. Do you want to come with me for lunch or something? I'm starving and, by the looks of it, you need a new coffee." Dean asked casually, because he totally did not just ask a customer out on a date. It was just lunch. Not a date. Definitely not a date at all.
Jimmy seemed to think about the suggestion for a while, fingers trailing the armrest of the chair as a thoughtful expression washed over his face. He was opening his mouth to answer when a jingling sound interrupted him. Turning around to see who had entered the shop, Dean had to keep himself from frowning when he saw who it was. Sam, a cockblock as always. Not that there was anything to block, no, not at all. Sam's hair looked almost longer than last time and soon he'd be able to put it in a french braid as he pranced across a field of flowers, singing songs about the glory of having ridiculous hair. Combined with him being way too tall—Sam was the younger brother for God's sake, he wasn't supposed to be taller than Dean—Dean had to agree that Gabe's nickname fitted Sam perfectly. Sasquatch.
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean said with a grin, knowing that Sam absolutely hated it when Dean called him that in front of other people. As expected, Sam pulled his infamous bitchface at him.
"I told you not to call me that. It's Sam." Sam rolled his eyes and turned to Jimmy with a smirk, "Am I interrupting something?"
"Nah, sasquatch. Jimmy and I were just gonna go out for lunch, weren't we?" Dean told him, glancing back at Jimmy, who was still sitting in the chair.
"I don't believe I've given you an answer yet." Jimmy stated matter-of-factly, his eyes meeting Dean's in that creepy, unblinking way that had become familiar to him over the past few weeks.
"And I believe we have plans for lunch, Dean, seeing as you've cancelled on me the past three times. What was your reason again, 'Baby needs an oil change'?" Another bitchface was directed at Dean before Sam added, "Jimmy can come along too, of course, if he wants to."
"Feel like having some lunch with me and this giant moose?" Dean nodded his head in Sam's direction, still looking at Jimmy.
"Just because you're a short little chipmunk with a pie fetish." Though Dean couldn't see Sam, he could hear the bitchface in his voice.
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"I wouldn't want to be in the way." Jimmy interrupted their brotherly banter, shifting awkwardly in his chair.
"Come on, we'd love to have you, ain't that right, gigantor?" Dean looked at his brother for support who just smiled knowingly at him.
"Yeah, it'd be fun. You'll get to see my brother gulp down ridiculous amounts of pie and various other artery-clogging foods." Sam said, being an annoying little brother as always. Not that Dean would trade him for anything.
"Then… I'll come with you." Jimmy decided, getting up from his chair and brushing some crumbs off of his trenchcoat. Underneath the trenchcoat was a dark suit and a blue tie, which made him look like a tax accountant or something similar to that. Now that Dean thought about it, he had no idea where Jimmy worked. Hell, he didn't even know what Jimmy's real name was. But he was okay with it. He understood the need for privacy more than anyone.
"Great, let's go! Where are we going, Sammy? The Roadhouse?" Dean asked, hoping that they were going to the Roadhouse. Ellen Harvelle, the owner, made the best pie and burgers in the state.
"Of course. Throw off your apron and we'll be off." Sam said and flipped the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "CLOSED".
The lunch went on smoothly, and much better than Dean would have expected. Jimmy and Sam got along well, talking about the joys of Sam being a successful lawyer. They also learned some new stuff about Jimmy. Jimmy's favourite food was cheeseburgers, which made Dean happy. Cheeseburgers were damn delicious, though Dean preferred some bacon on his burger. Jimmy had a large family that he mentioned briefly, but then he stopped talking and just stared off into the distance. Poor guy must've had some family issues. Neither Dean nor Sam pressed the matter and simply changed the subject. Jimmy was also very polite to everyone. When Jo, Ellen's headstrong daughter, came to take their orders where they sat in the dark booth, he treated her with an old-fashioned courtesy that made Dean smile. Jo got enough crap from other customers at the restaurant, and he was glad that Jimmy wasn't like that. Something that Dean wasn't glad about was the way that Sam sometimes grinned at him and Jimmy from where he sat opposite them in the booth. The grins were often followed by Dean kicking Sam under the table while muttering "stop it, bitch", which only made Sam grin wider. Luckily, Jimmy didn't seem to notice, or maybe he just didn't mind or care.
When it was time for dessert, Dean was so full he thought he was going to explode. Those extra large fries had gotten him good, but there was always room for a bit of pecan pie. Groaning as he pushed away his plate from him, Dean put his head in his hands.
"Damn, if it wasn't for the pie I was promised, I'd be passing out right about now." He complained, holding in a yawn.
"Why would a pie keep you from passing out?" Jimmy wondered, "Are you feeling alright?"
The hand that was placed on his back just then made his body shiver, which totally wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that he stayed silent for a few moments more than necessary, just to keep the hand on his back for a bit longer. No, it was not his fault at all. If Dean could say so himself, he was an awesome liar, even in his own mind.
"I'm fine, it's just… I ate too many fries, man, but I need to eat that pie before falling into a nice after-pie nap." Dean mumbled and definitely did not close his eyes in contentment when the hand remained.
"Are you certain? You look faint." Jimmy's voice sounded concerned, and his hand was still on Dean's back.
While Dean made an appropriate pause to think about his answer and was definitely not stalling, the song streaming out of the speakers in the restaurant change. The first guitar chords of "Can't get away" started playing and Dean listened for a short while, still not stalling, when Sam cleared his throat.
"Are you going to keep on with the self-pity or are you going to order some pie?" Sam said, bitchface ever present in his voice.
"Shut up and let's order." Dean grumbled and sat up straight, the hand now gone from his back.
Dean called Jo over with a smile and a wave. She hurried over, her long blonde hair bouncing as she traversed the dim restaurant filled with patrons.
"What can I do for you, then?" She asked, pulling out a notepad from her apron and a pen from behind her ear.
"A pecan pie for me, thanks." Dean said, smiling through the constant feeling of his stomach wanting to combust.
"I'll just take a strawberry milkshake." Sam told her, which earned him a look from Dean that clearly said "really Sam".
"I would like a pecan pie as well, with some custard, please." Jimmy said kindly and folded his hands in his lap.
"Sure thing, guys. Any alcohol to that or are you going back to work after this?" Jo wondered, jotting down their orders on the notepad.
"Both Sam and I are heading back for work after this, so none for us. What about you, Jimmy?" Dean explained and looked over at Jimmy, who was busy looking at the patterns of the wood in the table.
"None for me either. I don't drink alone." Jimmy absently said, his voice tinged with melancholy.
"All good, then. Your desserts will be out in a sec." She told them with a smile, then turned around to deliver their orders to Ellen, who was standing at the kitchen counter. Judging by her face, some customer had just asked for a ridiculous special order. Yeah, that was definitely her are-you-fucking-kidding-me face.
The table fell into a companionable silence; Dean too tired to talk, Jimmy too much of a socially awkward guy to talk and Sam was busy checking his phone for emails or whatever it was lawyers did on their phones. Dean had no idea and didn't really care to ask. So instead of talking, Dean decided to look out over the restaurant to distract himself while he waited for the heavenly pecan pie.
The Roadhouse wasn't a fancy restaurant; it was more of a diner, really. Along one wall were dark booths, another wall was covered with rock records and the kitchen counter and bar was on yet another wall, just to the left of the wall that had the entrance. The open floor area that made up the room had tables and chairs, nothing fancy but still comfortable enough for patrons to sit on for a while without getting uncomfortable. A pool table had been placed a bit off to the side and dim ceiling lights lit up the entire restaurant. Sometimes, Dean would play pool if he was here by himself, but it had been a while since last time. It was a nice place, really. There were always people there, so things were never quiet. Dean had first discovered the Roadhouse as a kid, when his dad's friend Ellen Harvelle opened the place. Then he'd almost grown up here, becoming friends with Ellen's daughter Jo. Jo was a nice girl and they'd dated for a while a few years back. Dean had dumped her, because to him, she was more like the little sister he never had. Well, with the way that Sam's hair was going, he'd soon be a Samantha. Ever since the breakup, Jo had been a bit more professional towards him, but that didn't stop them from getting drunk together on Saturdays when Dean felt like making the world go away.
"Dean, what are you looking at?" Jimmy's voice pulled him out of his reminiscing.
"What?" Dean blinked in surprise and discovered that some time during his trip down Memory Lane, he'd started staring at Jimmy. Well, that's not awkward at all. But to be fair, Jimmy always stared at Dean, so they were even.
"I asked you what you were looking at." Jimmy tilted his head to the side, and dammit, he still looked like a puppy when he did that.
"I wasn't looking at anything, really. Just reminiscing about this place. The Roadhouse and I go way back, you see." Dean explained, trying, and failing, to suppress a blush. Hopefully, the dim light would hide it.
"Yeah, Dean and this place has a real history. This was the first time he got turned down by a girl at the age 16 and then passed out on the pool table from drinking two bottles of non-alcoholic beer, after Jo tricked him that it had alcohol in it." Sam chuckled and Dean would gladly have hit him at that moment because that's some embarrassing info right there.
"Shut up, bitch." It was the best comeback Dean could come up with at the moment.
"Love you too, jerk." Sam winked at Dean in an exaggerated, very creepy, way.
Dean didn't respond, because their desserts had just arrived. Jo put the strawberry milkshake down in front of Sam, complete with a thick, red straw. Jimmy got his pecan pie with custard and Dean finally got his beloved pecan pie. Words could not express how much Dean loved Ellen's pecan pie. The way the crust was always the perfect thickness and how the filling had the most amazing flavor and consistency just couldn't be properly explained with mere words. Dean dug into the pie, cutting himself a nice chunk of pie that he devoured in about five seconds flat. Sure enough, no matter how full he was, there was always room for pie. As he was eating the succulent pie, he sometimes glanced over at Jimmy, whose face did not reveal his intimate feelings about the pie. Despite keeping such a pokerface, Jimmy was almost rivaling Dean when it came to eating speed. It all happened almost mechanically; slice, cut, eat, repeat. All too soon, though, the pie was finished on both Jimmy's and Dean's plate. A quick look at Sam revealed that he had barely drunk half of his milkshake and was looking at them both with a shocked expression on his face.
"What the hell?" Sam breathed, shock evident on his face.
"Jimmy, did you like the pie?" Dean asked, completely ignoring Sam.
"Do you have to ask?" Jimmy countered and Dean's heart melted a bit. Fuck.
They walked back to the coffee shop in a comfortable after-dessert silence. Sam had paid for their food, despite Jimmy's protests, and both Jimmy and Dean were in a kind of post-pie bliss. When they reached the door to the shop, "CLOSED"-sign hanging there as it should, Dean pulled out his keys to open the door, but was surprised to find that the door was unlocked. Maybe he'd just forgotten to lock it. Still happy from the pie, he shrugged and opened the door, Jimmy and Sam fallowing him in. As it closed behind them, bell jingling, Dean could only stare at what was behind the counter. He heard Sam mutter "holy shit" and felt Jimmy stiffen next to him as they looked at the strangest thing they'd ever seen.
Behind the counter, right in front of them, was a giant fucking pepper shaker.
Now, to Lizzie's artwork.
please don't kill me lizzie