Chapter Text
Becoming a florist had been a surprise. For Chloe’s family and Chloe herself. Admittedly, she has always liked flowers as a child. She remembers her grandma’s huge garden and the multitude of flowers she had helped plant. She remembers her joy at seeing such small, seemingly insignificant seeds grow into lovely, colorful flowers and the feeling of fulfillment that blossomed inside her every time she saw her work literally come to life. So it wasn’t like she hated her job, in fact she loved it more than she’d ever expected she would. Inheriting the flower shop had been like a light in the dark of the painful days following her grandmother’s death. Her only regret was the hours upon hours she had spent trying to learn all that medical mumbo jumbo she couldn’t for the life of her understand even now. Actually, if she put it like that maybe it was better that she took a florist job over medical school. After all, she wanted to help people get better, not help them into an early grave.
Talking about early graves…. Becoming a florist may have come as a surprise, but she had never imagined her job could be considered dangerous. Or whatever you’d call a 6’ tall guy in his thirties wearing a dirty old tan trench-coat (that was somehow flowing like an oversized cape behind him despite the lack of any wind) shattering all the light bulbs on a 20 feet radius upon his dramatic entrance. A part of Chloe’s brain (that wasn’t busy with maintaining a constant stream of very dramatic, very girly and over the top screams) was immediately reminded of those badass villain entrances that only happened in action movies and half of her was already readying herself for the guy to launch into one of those boring, never-ending monologues that no one cared about but that always gave the hero of the story enough time to come up with a plan to defeat their enemy. But this time there was no hero, Chloe was fairly sure and a glance around her told the florist all she needed to know. The little store had been vacated and she had been left alone.
Awesome…. Maybe if she hadn’t been so caught up in her teenager fantasies about knights in shining armor, she could have done the intelligent thing as well and got the hell out of there. Welp, too late now!
She frantically reached for her handy, sharp scissors she always held close on the counter in front of her, holding them shakily as a kind of shield. She wasn’t much of a fighter but at least the (sort of) weapon gave her an admittedly false sense of security -kind of like a blanket at night- but a sense of security nonetheless.
The guy was now right in front of Chloe, staring at her with his strange electric blue eyes (and holy mother of God, was it natural for them to glow like that?) and his sex crazed hair, completely disregarding the sharp scissors in the woman’s hand. He reached inside one of his pockets trying to pull out something (she really hoped it wasn’t a knife…or a bomb. Maybe he was one of those guys that saw those brothers on TV - what was their name? Win…something- Winchester? - and decided that hey, it seems like a good idea, why not mimic them and go terrorize completely innocent people in their homes- and now shops- and then kill them for fun?)
“Hello--” That waaaaaaay too low voice paired with the unknown object he was currently fishing out of his (unusually deep, like seriously are these things the equivalent of mini- black holes? She wouldn’t be surprised. And they said a woman’s bag was spacious. They should see this guy’s trench!) pocket and his dramatic entrance all piled up and with a panicked cry, Chloe threw her hand forward, plunging the scissors right into the man’s chest.
There were scissors in the man’s chest. THERE WERE SCISSORS IN THE MAN’S CHEST AND CHLOE HAD PUT THEM THERE!
Oh my God…OH MY GOD I just killed a man!
Or…not? The creature- monster? alien? fairy? - tilted his head, looking at the now blood-stained weapon curiously for a few seconds, before simply gripping it with a firm hand and yanking it out of his body, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“--As I was saying, I need your advice.”
Chloe just stared, her mouth hanging open as the creature put the scissors back on the counter as if nothing had happened. And going by the rapidly closing wound…yeah Chloe was actually beginning to consider that she was going crazy.
This was a dream, wasn’t it? It had to be. It just had to. There was no fucking way this was actually happening.
“I- what do you need help with, sir?” was that her voice? Did she just speak right now? Out loud? And a coherent sentence at that?
“It is my and my human’s anniversary today and I hear it is customary to buy them flowers as a gift. However, I have also been informed that not all flowers are appropriate for the occasion as humans have somehow attributed certain meanings to certain flowers - at this the creature frowned, a puzzled look taking over his features-. As I have been trying to indulge my human and his kind’s customs, I want to make sure that I get this right and do not ‘fuck this up’ (insert finger-quotes, seriously what was up with this guy?) as Dean would say. That is why I need your help picking the perfect flower for him.”
‘My human’? ‘Human customs’? Okay, nope, Chloe.exe stopped working at that moment.
Completely oblivious to the complete shut-down he had just caused in the florist, the creature went on undisturbed.
“I also have a picture of him, if it helps.” he said, pushing the bloody scissors further up the counter and placing his phone (HIS PHONE THAT’S WHAT HE WAS TRYING TO PULL OUT OF HIS POCKET) in its place, seemingly unbothered by the blood that was now clinging to the back of it.
Chloe looked down at the picture of a fairly attractive man happily munching on a piece of pie, somehow managing to smile at the camera with his mouth full. A man that was…NOW WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE…wasn’t that…wasn’t that DEAN FUCKING WINCHESTER?? Just, you know the guy who was wanted for murder in twenty states and presumed dead ! Yeah, not so much, by the looks of it.
“Uhhh”
“He is always complaining about ‘chick-flick moments’ (again with the fucking finger-quotes) but I’ve been reliably informed by Sam that he secretly loves them. I have actually caught him crying at an episode of Doctor SexyMd so I think it’s fairly safe to say Sam was right. I think he’s a secret romantic at heart, he just has a rough exterior. Do you have any suggestions?”
Right. Dean Winchester, murderer by day, hopeless romantic by night. Why not? Maybe he was bipolar? Who was Chloe to judge him anyway, right? RIGHT?
She should really call the police. And maybe check herself into a psychiatric yard while she’s at it.
“Roses.” she managed to blurt out after what must have been minutes of staring into space.
“Oh?” the creature asked tilting his head (and looking like a very powerful, capable of exploding all the light bulbs in the room powerful, owl. Seriously, Chloe could almost see the shadows of a magnificent dramatic pair of wings behind his back)
“Roses are classics.” she explained and seriously is this what people called dissociation? Chloe didn’t know. “I uh- I hear he drives a classic Impala,” from the news announcing him as a criminal “so yeah, roses are a safe bet.”
The creature nodded, seemingly content with this explanation and placing a twenty dollars bill on the counter, he happily announced:
“I would like a bouquet of roses then, please.”
Ten very confusing minutes later, Chloe was standing in the middle of her little shop, all light bulbs shattered around her, the glass of her front door broken into little shards and the last twenty minutes of her life a hazy fog.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL HAPPENED?”