It's Complicated

Chapter One

Of course the one thing Sam wants for his birthday is the one thing Dean can't find. And really, who asks for a friggin' book for their birthday anyway? Only Sammy.

Dean pulls up in front of what feels like the hundredth book store he's been to today. It's a little hole-in-the-wall place, nestled between a cafe and an antiques store, and Dean tells himself if the book isn't here, he's giving up. Sorry, Sammy, no can do; here's a gift card to Men's Warehouse so you can pick out a new suit to wear to your fancy new lawyer job, the end.

Dean pauses on his way in to glance up at the wooden sign above the door where STACKS is written in bold, faded lettering. "Alright, Stacks," Dean mutters to himself, "I'm counting on you."

A bell jingles overhead as he enters the store, and Dean's greeted by the smell of dust and old pages. The store is quaint, with books stacked haphazardly in all directions, and threadbare carpets that speak of many days of avid readers treading their length.

It's mostly quiet, some Oldies but Goodies station playing softly throughout the store, and judging by the rundown look of everything, Dean figures the place is being held together by charm and a hefty dose of faith.

No one's behind the register. In fact it feels like Dean's the only soul in the whole store, and so, Dean sets about to look himself, eyes scanning rickety shelves that make the carpenter in him cringe.

He walks directionless among the jungle of books barely taking in any of the titles, and just as he's considering giving up, a man rounds the corner nearly bumping right into Dean. He's tall, all long lines and rigid angles, and he starts when he looks up and sees Dean standing before him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in," the man offers. "Can I help you find something?"

"You work here?" Dean asks, despite the fact the man just made that pretty clear. He's answered with a nod. "And here I was thinking this was a self-serve bookstore," Dean says as he takes in the man's bright blue eyes and two day old stubble. His looks definitely make up for the fact Dean's been wandering around the store alone for the past ten minutes.

The man's brow pulls into a furrow, his fingers curled around a stack of books in his hands, and he stares at Dean as if Dean's just spoken to him in a different language. After a beat, Dean clears his throat.

"Anyway, uh—I'm looking for a book for my brother. You think you can help me out? You're kinda my last hope."

"What is it you're looking for?"

Dean fishes in his jacket pocket for the slip of paper he'd written the book title and author on. He hands it over to the man and watches as the guy shifts the books in his hands to rest under his arm, his hip jutting out to support them.

A look of determination steals the man's features. He sets the books down on a rickety table, its legs swaying precariously, and begins to walk away from Dean calling, "Follow me," over his shoulder.

They come to stop in front of one of the more organized shelves, and the man's slender fingers trail along the spines of the books before stopping on one and pulling it out. "We've got several copies," he offers.

The familiar cover instantly sends relief flooding through Dean before he remembers the one small detail about Sam's request that's made finding this book so damn difficult in the first place. "That doesn't happen to be a first edition copy, does it?"

"First edition copies are extremely difficult to come by," the man points out. He flips the book open, seemingly just for Dean's sake, and scans the first few pages before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not."

Dean's shoulders slump, and the employee eyes him thoughtfully for a moment. "If it's really that important to you, I might know where I can find one. It won't be inexpensive, but I can check if you'd like."

With that statement Dean feels another glimmer of hope float through him. "Yeah, sure. I'm pretty desperate at this point."

The man is off again, this time heading for the register, and Dean follows. "So d'you own this place, or what?" Dean asks. He isn't sure what's given him that impression, maybe something about the way the man carries himself, but for some reason it makes sense.

"For the most part, yes. It belonged to a man named Marv until about eight years ago when I bought it from him."

"Did it come as is, or?" Dean wonders, wincing as the comment comes out. It was a shitty thing to say, he knows that now, but all the weathering wood he's surrounded by is making Dean itch to build the guy some decent shelves; shelves that won't crumble if someone so much as sneezes.

They're at the register now, the dark haired man behind it, Dean standing on the other side, and the man tilts his head at Dean. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Dean shrugs, "I'm a carpenter," he explains, "when things look like they're falling apart, it's my job to fix them. Your store looks like it could use a little fixing."

"I do just fine, thank you," the man counters. His voice isn't exactly cold, but there is an edge to it that Dean recognizes as back off, and Dean does, realizing he's being an ass. If someone came into his shop and said anything remotely along the lines of what Dean had just said he'd have their ass out on the curb so quick their heads would spin.

"You know what," Dean starts, his hands tapping on the counter, "I'm sorry. It's not my place to say shit like that. You're saving my ass; I should keep my mouth shut."

The man quirks a small smile at Dean. "It's alright," he says, "but thank you."

Dean nods, and a silence settles around them as the man plinks away at the keyboard, the corners of his mouth pulled into a frown. Dean practically holds his breath as he waits, his attention deterred only momentarily when a fat, orange tabby cat leaps up on the counter and settles itself on a pile of books. Her yellow eyes flicker in Dean's direction, eyeing him incredulously.

"They have one copy," the employee finally says, "I can have it here in about four days."

"They have it?" Dean's eyebrows shoot to his hair line, almost expecting the other shoe to drop and land right on his head. The man nods. "Is it gonna cost me a fortune?" Dean asks.

"First editions are more expensive, but I'm willing to offer it to you at my cost."

Dean stares, wide eyed. "You'd do that?" The man nods. "I- wow. That's- That's really awesome of you, thanks, man." Dean says, accepting the form the man hands him from across the counter and quickly jotting down his information.

The employee offers him a warm smile. "It's my pleasure...," his eyes glance at Dean's information, "Dean. I'll call you when it arrives."

"Thank you. Seriously, I was afraid I wasn't gonna find it."

"It was no trouble, Dean."

The man's eyes are heavy on his face, and Dean flashes him a grateful smile. "I'll see you in a few days then."

"See you."

When Dean leaves the store, it's with relief and the weight of blue eyes trailing him as he goes.