Ready for the Fall // Destiel

And Crumble Away

Don't forget that this was typed on my iPod so please mind my errors.

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Slowly, Dean opens his car door, careful not to wake any of his neighbours or Sammy. He had ended up staying out late for a coffee and much needed muffin at the Starbucks that he isn't well-known at.

A light flicks on from inside their simple house, illuminating the dirty kitchen and silhouette of his brother.

"Sorry Sammy," he sighs as he jogs up to the door, opening it slowly with one hand raised to show that he is not, in fact, a burglar or murderer.

"Dean?" Sam breathes, accusingly pointing a frying pan at his brother. "The hell were you?"

"Hospital."

"And?"

"Starbucks. For a coffee."

"You could've called or answered your phone." Sam grumbles, "Oh and Bobby called and will more than likely be skinning you next time he sees you."

"Great," Dean tosses his keys in the soup can that's nailed to the wall and specifically labelled keys. "What did I do now?"

"Ignored him."

"What?" Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket, groaning at the thirty some odd missed messages. "C'mon man, I was at the damn hospital."

Sam just shrugs, his long locks falling into his tired eyes. "I'm gonna go to bed now, are you going back tomorrow?"

"Going where?" Dean asks, before realizing what his brother's asking. "I don't know...I never actually thought about it."

"Well, you're his friend, right?"

Dean nods, shedding his traditional leather coat and dumping it on the back of their father's old and faded armchair.

"And you guys met over coffee?" Dean's ready to tell off Sam and mention that he's making it sound like they're boyfriends or something, but instead just nods. "Okay, so get this: you bring him his coffee every day, and then when he's released you actually ask him out this time."

"I-excuse me?" Dean stammers, flushing bright red. "What makes you think I wanna ask him out?"

Sam just sighs, before nodding in his direction. "That."

* * *

Dean contemplates what Sam said for the most of the night, and all through his work shift the next day. He puzzles over it on his drive to the hospital with the familiar drink in his hand, and for the next three days until Cas is declared stable and moved to a different room.

"You've been staring at the ceiling for the past ten minutes." Cas kindly points out, wagging the bubble bee patterned straw in Dean's direction.

"Yeah." Dean replies.

"Yeah?"

"Thinking." Dean murmurs, before taking a sip of his own coffee.

"About what?" Cas pushes himself into a sitting position, the pain in his chest still horrendous but now more bearable that he's healed somewhat and currently wearing one of Dean's old flannel shirts that he'd brought. His eyes are locked onto Dean's, who looks lost in his own memory.

"Just 'bout what Sam was talking about last night." He replies, "Y'know I dated this girl once; when I was seventeen."

Squinting and tilting his head, Cas leans closer. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dean sighs, before leaning both arms against the rail of Cas' hospital bed. "Her name was Lisa. Pretty little thing, clever, had a mouth that could scald the devil."