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2:29pm September 2, 2014

Of Flowers and Flours

jimmynovakisaved:

A/N: For thekingslover because we missed you so much! Also for dreamedofwings because of poopey bad days. — Florist!Cas/Baker!Dean. 4k~. PG-13 cause of swears.

When Dean first steps into the flower shop, he’s hit with the fresh, crisp smell of nature. The shop is quaint, lined with an array of flower arrangements, and potted plants, and dripping with color.

It’s a little overwhelming at first glance.

Rather than try to find something himself, Dean approaches the counter where an attractive brunette woman is clicking a mouse, and staring intently at her computer screen.

She holds her finger up at him when he clears his throat, and after a few moments she smiles at the screen.

"Spider solitaire," she tells Dean, her brown eyes flicking in his direction, "I won."

"Congratulations."

The woman nods. “So what can I do you for, Handsome?”

"I need some flowers for my mom. It’s her birthday tomorrow."

"Awww, how sweet," the woman’s voice is thick with sarcasm, and Dean scowls at her. "Do you know what arrangement you want?"

"No." Dean admits.

"Well how ‘bout this, Cowboy. Why don’t you look around, find something you like, and then come talk to me when you’ve done that, mkay?"

Dean stares at the brunette, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. For such a cherry shop, this employee - Meg, her name tag states - is anything but.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for your help, Meg,” Dean grates.

Meg’s already turned her attention back towards the computer screen, but he knows she heard him when she responds with a monotone, “Anytime, Baby Face.”

Dean shakes his head and turns from the counter, making his way deeper into the shop. As he goes, Meg’s smirking brown eyes simmer in his brain.

After what feels like forever Dean finally plucks a bouquet of roses out of a can of water and examines them. Roses are definitely cliché, and Dean doesn’t want to seem like he didn’t put thought into his mother’s gift, but all the flowers are beginning to look the same, and Dean finds himself at a loss.

With the flowers clutched in his hand Dean continues to walk throughout the shop, stopping here and there to examine other possibilities.

He’s stopped in front of a display of daffodils, considering them when a gentle, “What’s she like?” sounds from off to Dean’s side.

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