Okay, so I didn't mean for this to happen. I was really planning on another quick one shot for the holiday like Journada Del Muerto but then it got away from me. It evolved into this fluffy mess that I don't know how to pull out of its nosedive into cuteness. I'm sorry.

Anyways, this is a 'quick' Hammertime set in an AU unrelated to anything else I've written and without the Sburb background. I have no clue what city they are in except it is not in New York. It's written in second person perspective (which I am still getting used to so if you see something that's not, please let me know) with a lot of self references to build John's character (one reason it didn't go where I wanted it to go I've come to realize...).

Please enjoy and leave me feedback!

Why are you here? You hate shopping. And yet here you are shopping at the height of the Christmas season. Damn it. You shuffle through the crowds, trying to catch glimpses of the display cases over the heads of the imposing crowds. You hate being trapped like this. You can feel yourself getting twitchier as more people bump into you. You are about ten seconds from screaming when you see it. Oh it's perfect. You surge forward, ignoring the complaints as your shoulder through the crowd. Your eyes never leave your target. You snatch the prize up as soon as you are close enough and then change your direction to the nearest register. You don't even care how much it costs, you just have to get out of this damn crowd. How did you even get into this situation?

Two months ago...

You are walking through the city, taking a new path home from work than you usually do. The weather is strangely warm for this late into fall but you aren't going to complain about the nice day. And this street seems particularly lively, making you work to dodge collisions with other pedestrians. You wonder why you haven't gone this way before. There is a chalk sign on the sidewalk that piques your interest; "one dollar coffee: any style, any flavor, any size." Wow, that is a good deal.

You open the door, ringing the chimes hanging at the top. You are instantly hit with the aromas of freshly roasted and ground coffees and the sounds of conversations layered on top of each other. The place is busy, but you guess that is to be expected with the sale going on. You take a moment to steel yourself against the crowded sensation and move up to the counter. There are two people in front of you so you gain a moment of time to look over the menu to figure out what you want. You end up ordering a large coffee with one shot of vanilla flavor. It wasn't the best deal per say, but you could pronounce every word. You pass the cashier a dollar and some change and tuck another dollar into the tip jar with a small grin.

You shift to the end of the counter where you will pick up your order once it is ready, careful not to bump into anyone or get into anyone's personal space. It feels like only moments later that the barista is calling out "John!" You raise your hand and then sheepishly lower it and move to the counter like a normal person. After grabbing your drink, you then look around.

Most of the tables are full, but you really don't want to head back just yet. You have a feeling that this is going to be a good coffee that shouldn't be downed on the run but instead should be enjoyed and savored. You are scanning the room when a shock of blonde (nearly white you think) hair catches your attention. There is only one person at the table for four. They wouldn't mind you joining them for a moment, would they (he? she? The sorta long hair is throwing you off)? Well, there is only one way to find out isn't there.

You walk over and lightly touch the back of the empty chair at the opposite corner from the guy (now that you are closer you can totally tell it's a guy). "Is this seat taken?"

"Nope."

"May I sit here for a moment."

"Nope."

Your jaw drops a little at that. Is he really going to be that rude? You guess he could; he did get that table first and seems to have been there a while and there are other seats available.

"Dude. Don't look like that. You make me feel like I just punted a puppy off of a bridge into ice cold water because I am a stone cold bastard. I promise you I am not a stone cold bastard. I just like my space and don't particularly like strangers getting all up in my business. My business is mine for a reason and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Oh. I totally understand. I don't much like crowds also. Sorry to have bothered you."

You make to turn and find another seat (maybe there is one outside) when you hear, "Waaait." He drags the word out until you turn to face him fully. "You seem like a cool dude. I'll give you a chance since you looked like you were going out of your way to stay out of the way of everyone else standing up there waiting for their drinks. Have a seat."

"Thanks!" You pull out the chair, sharing a wince with your newfound friend (wait, since when is he your friend?) as one of the legs screeches against the ground. You slide in guiltily and hide the shame on your face with a sip of coffee. "Hang on... you were watching me?"

"Wondering how long that would take. I people watch. I watch everyone who comes in here unless I am actively writing something, then I might miss one or two people. But yes. I watched you." You don't know whether it's comforting or disturbing that he said that line with a perfect deadpanned tone.

"Uhh..." you try to think of a way to get off of that topic, "So what do you write?"

"I'm a blogger."

"Like as a profession?" You get a curt nod. "How does that even work?"

"I blog about shit and apparently enough people care that they pay me to write about more shit and if they pay me enough, I'll even write about their shit."

"Not literal shit I hope."

"No. I do not have any mention of actual fecal matter on my blog." As he is saying that you come to the realization that you just asked a kind stranger about shit.

"I am so sorry I asked about that. My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes. I'll shut up and leave you in peace. Sorry," you squeak out the last word and dive again into your coffee. You hear a soft laugh from your table mate and look up over the rim of your cup. He's smirking quietly at you. He eyes are squinted slightly but you don't know if that's from mirth or the angle of the sun coming in through the window. You can't see much of his eyes between that and the long bangs that threaten to fall into his face.

"You're cool, bro. Don't freak. I've talked about weirder stuff than that with people. There's not much you could say to squick me out. Especially after what I've lived with." You watch a small shudder pass through his shoulders. "You really aren't a bother."

"Oh, I'm glad about that."

The two of you continue to talk about everything and nothing. The sun travels even further down until pure golden light is streaming into the shop. At this point you don't even think your friend (again with the friend thing) has his eyes open they are so tightly squinted shut. You notice this about the same time that you notice that your coffee cup is empty... as it has been the past ten times you've lifted it to your lips.

"Ah, well, I probably should be getting home. It was nice meeting you, uh..."

"Dave. The name's Dave. It was nice to meet you too, John."

"How did you know my name?"

"It's on your cup."

"Oh." You can feel your face heat up with embarrassment as you push away from the table, wincing again at the noise. "Well, nice meeting you, Dave."

"So you've said," he smirks back at you.

"Uh, yea. I guess I did. Well, later!" You finally turn away and make a beeline for the exit, face still burning with red. Hopefully he didn't see that with the way his eyes were closed. It isn't until you are a block down the street that you realize three things. One, you are going the wrong direction. Home is to the north not south. Two, you are still holding your empty cup. And three, you said later instead of bye as if you were going to see the stranger (Dave, you hold his name in your head) again. What the hell is wrong with you?

The next day everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong at work getting you into a bad mood and making you stay late. You took the short path home.

But the day after that you were able to take your newfound route again. There is no sale going on today; the sign instead has been decorated with cute little figures to sell the coffee. The chimes overhead again. It's not quite as busy today as it was two days ago. Some of the tables are even open, but when your eyes catch on the white blonde hair you feel yourself smile. (That's odd...) You walk up to the counter and order the same thing, large coffee with vanilla flavor shot. It's more expensive today but you still tuck a dollar into the tip jar along with the extra change that you get back.

You are a little less moronic when you pick up your drink this time. You hesitate for a moment, debating on the merits of your next action, but then decide to the hell with it. You walk over to Dave's table and touch the back of the chair at the opposite corner to where he is sitting.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Nope."

"May I sit here?"

"You can sit wherever the hell you want. It's a free country. Or at least that's what they all keep telling me and then I find myself broke because nothing is free and everything is expensive. I'm surprised they haven't found a way to charge us for the air that we breath, but maybe we are already paying for it because each breath we take is a breath closer to dying. You know holding your breath doesn't help with that either so that idea doesn't work." Somewhere in the middle of his spiel you carefully (and thankfully silently) pulled out the chair and dropped down. "I wonder what the secret to eternal life will be and you have to make sure that includes eternal youth too otherwise you'd end up as a raisin at the end and no one wants to end up as a cricket. How are you, John?"

It takes you a moment to realize that he addressed you at the end of that ramble. "Uh, fine. Just fine. Pretty good actually." You are slightly surprised that he remembered your name.

"What makes you pretty good today?"

"Well, work was a lot better today. Yesterday was hell. Why did you switch from raisin to cricket?"

"Huh?"

"You said you'd end up as a raisin but no one wants to end up as a cricket."

"Greek mythos about the goddess of dawn granting someone eternal life but forgot eternal youth. Remembered that tidbit halfway through the sentence."

"Cool."

"Is this seat taken?"

"All yours, bro. Let me finish this article and then you be granted my full attention, but you better not waste it because it is worth its weight in pure virgin-blessed gold."

"Attention has weight?"

"Dude, don't analyze my metaphors. Ninety percent of the stuff that comes out of my mouth is fifty percent bullshit. And attention weighs one ounce per minute."

"Is this seat taken?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"Yea, some doofus with messy black hair, blue eyes, and pearly white buck teeth will be stopping by any minute and if you have taken his seat already he will kick your skinny ass all the way down the block and will make sure that you won't be able to sit down without first making sure that you aren't taking his seat again."

"Oh. In that case," you slip into the seat. "Wait, you think I am a doofus?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

It's an overcast day today. The only thing that makes you realize this is that when you sit down with Dave at the table, he isn't squinting as much. He still squints when he looks to his computer to type something up but when he is looking over in your direction, his eyes relax just enough that you can see their color. Red. You also note at the same time that his hair is really white and that his laptop is red and that he likes to wear a lot of red shirts. But his eyes are red. You don't bring it up as the two of you fall into your usual banter.

It amuses you that the two of you didn't even know each other a month ago but here you are chatting it up like best friends. You come in so often that the baristas know your order and have it entered and almost ready by the time you walk from the door to the counter. You always drop them a dollar plus change each time.

The chimes above the door announce your arrival (running later than usual due to your boss at work) and you start for the counter but are halted by the sight of Dave flagging you down at his (your?) usual table. With a shrug you break pattern and head to him instead. When you get close you notice two cups already on the table.

"You got me my coffee?" Dave shrugs at you. "Do you even know what I order?"

"I read your mind. Large coffee with vanilla."

"Lucky guess."

"I knew it wasn't one of the super fancy ones with faux italiano names that just make the prick who orders them sound more pretentious than usual. But it wasn't just straight black because you aren't cool enough for that like I am. I also asked the baristas. They seem to have taken a liking to you. And don't worry I left them your usual dollar tip."

"Really? Cool."

"Gonna ask one of them out?"

"What?" You splutter into your coffee. "Uh... no. No time for that with work. The art of biology doesn't allow me much of a social life." Dave quirks an eyebrow up at you with an odd expression but doesn't press the issue.

(You drop another dollar into the tip jar on your way out just in case.)

You get to the coffee shop at your usual time and glance over at your usual table, but Dave's not there. (You don't understand why your heart twists so when you see the table is missing its usual red and white character.) You proceed to the counter anyways because you are already in the shop and it would be rude just to turn around and walk out just because Dave isn't here (and your heart does that funny thing again).

As you wait for the person in front of you to order, you make an executive decision. You ask the cashier to include whatever Dave usually orders. (A large coffee with a cinnamon flavor shot and extra cream (not black like he said, hah!)) You drop two dollars into the tip jar, collect the drinks, and head over to the usual table. It's still empty, but at least no one else took it. (Why are you feeling possessive over a table?) You sit down in your usual spot. That puts your back to the door which bothers you but you really don't want to mess with the pre-established pattern (why hadn't the back-to-the-door thing bothered you before? You are practically out in the middle of the shop instead of tucked neatly up against a wall.), so you put up with it and distract yourself on your phone instead.

You are surprised to realize that it is mid December already. Wow where did fall go and why weren't you informed that winter was here? You supposed that is a side effect of not living with your father anymore. No more cakes to announce the season, the holiday, his pride in you. Instead you finally moved out when you went to college. A year later and he moved as well to go live with his girlfriend (you are still not sure about that development but whatever makes him happy right?) in New York. You sigh and quickly find something on the internet to buy and send him for Christmas. Speaking of gifts though...

Your thoughts are interrupted by a touch on your shoulder which makes you flinch down into your seat.

"Whoa there. Sorry about that. Didn't realize I had the plague. Maybe I shouldn't have touched all of those surfaces. Who knows how many people I have infected before I used the John test to make sure I wasn't carrying. I'm like a rat that stowed away on a merchant ship that just tucked into harbor and I am doing my damndest to kill a third of Europe's population"

Your face burns red with shame. You definitely overreacted to a simple touch. It's not like he hit you. There wasn't any pressure behind it at all. "I'm sorry. You just surprised me." Dave slips down into his usual seat.

"You were expecting me though," Dave says as he picks up the second coffee cup.

When he goes to take a sip you respond, "Yep and got it just as you like it, black because you are just that cool." You can feel your lips curl up in a grin as he pauses his motion with the cup still up. Slowly and carefully he lowers it back down.

"I see my secret has been discovered. I should just go ahead and tell you that I moonlight as a superhero when I am not blogging and I take down all of the supervillains that creep upon this town. What supervillains, you ask? Why haven't you heard about any diabolical plans to take over the city or any major strings of bank robberies? Well that's because I am so damn good at my job that they never even have a chance."

"What powers do you have?"

"Time manipulation," he answers instantly. "I stop the fat nasty criminals before they start."

"Sounds like you have thought about this before."

"I might have had some time on my hands." He smirks at you over the pun (and your heart just did an opposite twist, maybe you need to lay off the caffeine). "Though I guess my time skills aren't perfect otherwise I wouldn't have been late today."

You finally notice that he hadn't pulled his laptop out or even have his laptop bag with him. "You aren't blogging today?"

"Not here at least. I actually had inspiration while I was laying in bed this morning and time got away from me."

"So you showed up just..."

"For the coffee." He salutes you with the cup. Your heart does its dance again.

And that's precisely why you are at the mall with a billion other people. You wish people would stop touching you, but at least you aren't twitching anymore. Something about immersion therapy floats in the back of your head as you almost throw the money at the beleaguered cashier. You grab the bag with your gift and really have to focus on not running out of the door. A quick walk will do just fine.

It's the day before Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve Eve? No that's stupid. You shake your head at yourself as you grab your stuff and leave work. The air is chilled and sharp in your lungs. You pull your jacket closer around yourself and duck your head against the wind. Why does it always seem to blow in your face? No matter what direction you are walking, it is always into the wind. Drives you nuts. But you will not be daunted from your current trip as you remember the small package in your backpack.

You start to have second thoughts about what you are going to do as you turn down the now familiar street. What if he doesn't celebrate Christmas? What if he is Jewish or atheist? What if he isn't here today? What if he's hanging out with his family? You brain spirals out of control under the weight of the 'what if's piling up but thankfully your feet have continued to operate on their own without your input and you find yourself pushing open the door to the coffee shop. The chimes overhead break you out of your mental train wreck. The baristas wave at you and point to a cup at the end of the counter with your name on it already. You smile and pass them a handful of bills. It's triple your usual tip but it's the holidays! You have to spread the cheer. You quickly pick up your drink and head to your usual spot.

Your smile gets brighter as you find Dave buried inside an extremely fluffy knit sweater. The red fabric was bunched up around his face and turned most of his body into a fuzzy blob shape.

"Did you lose a bet?"

"Adoptive sister made it for me. It's actually quite comfortable and warm. And if you insult it again I am obligated to beat your ass."

You slide into your usual spot. You've gotten really good at not scraping the ground anymore. "Your sister is adopted?"

"She adopted me."

"Huh." You puzzle over how that would work.

"Don't hurt yourself thinking too hard. The sweater is an early christmas present and since it is as cold as satan's balls outside right now -Dante's version- I thought it appropriate to wear today."

"Speaking of presents..." you segue as you lean over to pull a small package from your backpack. When you straighten up you find the spot on the table in front you suddenly brightly colored. You blink the close object into focus and find its wrapping paper. The design looks vaguely familiar...

"Hey, hand me my loot. I wanna see what you got me."

You numbly hand his present over while you continue to stare down the new object. You finally look up when you hear the crinkle of paper and watch as Dave rips into your gift to him. When he gets through the layers and comes across the object he pauses. Carefully he pulls it from the wrapping. Almost reverently he unfolds the arms and slides the aviator sunglasses onto his face. You can see the muscles around his face relax as he releases his squint.

"Welp. I feel stupid now." You tilt your head slightly to the side in confusion. "I never thought about sunglasses." He looks around to check out how things look with the new eyewear. They are just tinted enough to block out strong light and sharp glares but you can still see his eyes through the dark glass. Much more relaxed than before. "These are awesome. I apologize ahead of time for the atrocity that is my gift to you."

"It can't be that bad," you reply as you start tearing at the paper. The print on the wrappings still tugs at your memory but you can't seem to place it just yet. You peel it back and are greeted with the smiling green face of a familiar prankster ghost from behind the plastic window. Carefully you pull off the rest of the paper and throw it into the seat next to you. Your jaw drops as you take in the realization of what you are holding. And holy shit that's a signature. And there's another. There are five total. You are going to cry.

"Whoa, hold up the waterworks. Like please don't cry. At least not here. I just found the thing on ebay. No big deal. Good lord, please breathe." You follow his advice and take a deep breath. "There we go. Much better. Jesus, John."

"Sorry, sorry." You can't take your eyes off of the treasure in your hands. "How... how did you know I'd like this?"

"Well, I definitely didn't know you'd like it that much. Like, fuck, you're treating it like it is the Holy Grail, not even the Monty Python one but the real 'caught the blood of Christ' one. I thought you might enjoy it from the name that you use to post comments on my blog." Suddenly it all clicks in your head. The images on the wrapping paper were from a popular blog you visit on the weekends and you comment on things under ectoBiologist and Dave is a blogger and that is his blog. Holy shit.

"You run that blog. You're Strider!" you manage to squeak out. You feel a small panic attack coming on.

"Well, yea. Didn't you know that?" You shake your head dumbly at him. "Oh. I guess it never really did come up in conversation... Dude. Breathe." You gulp down some more air. "Wow. I totally thought you knew which is why I worked so hard to figure out who you were on the site and trust me you did not make it easy and even then I really was guessing but I guess I guessed right."

You continue to stare wordlessly at him. In less than a minute your world had been flipped upside down. Not only did you just find out that your favorite blog's author is Dave (last name Strider apparently) but he just got you a limited edition Slimer figurine from Ghostbusters (one of your favorite movies) signed by the cast of said movie. Your brain is spinning so fast that you think there might be steam rising from your head. Everything suddenly stops when you think about some of the posts you commented on this weekend. You definitely can feel the heat coming from your cheeks as you remember one in particular.

"Oh god."

"You probably just remembered that you commented on the kinks post. I was wondering why you'd post on that. That list was freaky."

"Oh god oh god oh god." You are pretty sure you are more red than Dave's sweater and all you want to do is vanish into the air. You are two seconds from bolting out of the shop and hiding in your room forever. Now only if you could get your legs to move.

"Are you okay? Oh. No, dude. I mean freaky as in hot."

"Oh." And suddenly your lungs aren't working again.

"Breathe." Dave is so helpful with that. "Well since I can't do any worse and you look like you might need a place to go break down and then recover in," he scratches the back of his head in a very out of character nervous action, "would you like to come back to my place?"