Simple Pleasures ~ Chapter 1
Dean yawned while pounding his head on the Levi's steering wheel, grumbling over life's simple rules and willing the stoplight to turn green already. On which rule was he meditating? Rule number one of highways: don't stop in the middle of the fucking road. Why? Because your dumb ass will get hit and then Dean will have to get out of bed at two in the morning to tow what's left back to town. In this case that was a very bloody Mini Coupe.
Once the light changed Dean dragged the royally blendered car to the yard, dropping it next to two-thirds of a 1998 Ford Taurus. He left a note for Bobby about the new addition before putting Levi back in her spot near the back corner. He looked at his watch: 5:30 am. He had to be at the shop on Locust Street in thirty minutes to open up. He yawned again.
Coffee time.
Dean sniffed hard and rubbed his baggy eyes as he walked over to the Impala, shivering despite the three layers of clothing. "Hey baby," he smiled, rubbing the hood. "Let's warm me up."
Levi, or the Leviathon, really had nothing on Dean's 1967 Impala. The rusty tow truck was sturdy but it was old as cave-man crap and looked like it ate bicyclists for sport. The Impala though… the long, sleek, black mistress would at least have the decency to ask your name and whisper sexy little nothings in your ear before taking a bite. Both could kill you, but if you went by the Impala you'd enjoy it. Plus, heating.
Dean pulled himself inside, cranked up the heating and radio, and glided out of the junk yard, trying to remember if any place in Lawrence sold coffee this early in the morning. This would be one of those moments when he'd text Sammy to see what insider scoop his brother had on the secret somethings of this frozen college town, but… yeah, Sammy wouldn't answer nowadays, not with law school and being in Kansas City and dropping off the face of the fucking planet.
"Just leave me behind, Sammy, you do that…," Dean muttered. "Bitch."
It probably wasn't helping that Dean was driving by the University campus right then, the one he'd driven his brother to every morning since they couldn't afford campus housing, the one that Dean'd helped pay for by dropping out and working overtime, the one they'd gotten drunk in and just talked for hours after Sammy messed things up with some chick, or when Dad died. God, that night… and Sam just up and—
"Coffee," Dean said, shaking himself. "Coffee coffee coffee gotta get me some coffee."
He drove north on Massachusetts through South Park, a place that never ceased to make Dean giggle, and onto the main strip. The place was deserted, but that wasn't surprising. Massachusetts Street catered to the high-brow college kids and their suburbanite families; for something that'd be open when the proletariat was getting to work, Dean'd have to look elsewhere. Though proletariat wasn't the word Dean used in his head. He chose 'the Man's butt-boy.'
Two streets over Dean found a string of storefronts with a light layer of grime. One had the lights on and a big, black hanging sign with a white stencil of a coffee cup with a lightning bolt coming out the top. He checked the front windows and indeed there stood a tall counter with a black chalkboard with white words saying 'espresso' and 'caffeine bomb'. He bundled up, yawned wide, and walked inside the unknown java joint.
Loud banter and the laughs of old friends startled Dean upon opening the door. The store seemed… uncannily populated this early in the morning… by clumps of people he wouldn't normally see in Lawrence. Sure, this was a college town, so it was pretty diverse, but in this café there were roughly no other white people. Not one. Hm. Dean recalled the words of a girl he once dated who told him that, as a white male, he could never know what her life was like as a black woman.
I think I'm getting an idea, Dean thought to himself, wary of the dropping conversations around him as people chose instead to stare at him, as if befuddled about why he was there. Dean smiled nervously and contemplated turning right around and jumping into the icy Kansas River to wake up until he heard:
"Hello there! You can get in line over here!"
Dean eyed his onlookers warily. One by one they were shrugging and going back to their business of enjoying each other's presence with gusto. Dean's nervous smile waned into a grimace as he struggled over to the line in front of the counter. Once through the throngs of people Dean saw there wasn't a line, just a brown haired young man with high cheekbones, an airy smile, and an auburn apron. The nameplate read, "Castiel."
"How are you this morning?" Castiel said with such a tone of sincerity that Dean asked,
"Have we met before?"
Castiel quirked his head to the side like a curious bird. "Possible," he said, taking in a deep breath, closing his eyes a moment, then opening them again. "But unlikely."
"Uh, okay. Just gimme something with a lotta wake up juice, like that caffeine bomb thing."
Castiel wrote the order down and moved towards the numerous copper press machines, but his hand caught the corner of the counter. "You know…," he said, biting his bottom lip with a grin and holding his finger up in aha position. Then he was gone, diving off to the right behind the tall counter.
Dean's eyebrows rose for a moment before drooping back down. He as too tired to deal with this much what-the-fuck.
Castiel popped around the corner of the counter again, holding a Dixie cup and an expectant smile up to his eyes. "Try this."
"Dude, thanks, but I just need some coffee," Dean sniffed.
"I disagree," Cas says. "You need something to pick you up. This will do that."
Dean stared for a moment before taking the small cup. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in… a strange mix of aromas that he was sure he knew from somewhere. "What is it?"
"It's a milk steamed tea, but I can't say which one. Kind of a secret recipe," Castiel smiled.
"Ah, sorry man, I don't drink that stuff," Dean said, putting down the cup of alluring steamed whoa.
"I presume," Castiel said, pulling the small cup back towards his side of the counter while turning around towards a tall, copper percolator. "You refuse because tea isn't what a man should drink?"
"If you're saying it's a sissy drink, then yeah," Dean replied.
Castiel's lips pressed together as he nodded slightly. "I'd think that someone who is strong wouldn't care what anyone says about something they try or that they like; they'd simply try it or do it. And it's not like strength is a definitively male characteristic, nor one defined by abrasiveness."
"I didn't mean to insult you man, just… coffee," Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You didn't mean to insult me but you did mean to insult," Castiel replied, setting a tall cup of coffee down on the counter. He broke open a small package of white powder and stirred its contents into the coffee, adding in a pressed squeeze of an unseen spice. "And someone who is insulting is someone who needs a pick me up, otherwise they wouldn't bother trying to hurt anything else to make themselves feel better."
Not. Enough. Sleep. "Okay, fine. Is that the caffeine bomb?"
"Yes. Your total is three-fifty."
Dean set down a five bill and picked up the bomb, taking a sip and – HOLY SHIT BITTER.
"If you don't mind my curiosity, why are you so tired?" Castiel asked, not looking up from the register.
"I'm, uh," MOUTH BURNING BRAIN TWITCHING. " I'm a mechanic. Opening up the shop on Locust."
"Winchester Auto-Repair?" Castiel smiled.
"Yeah," Dean said, trying to stomach another sip of the bomb. "There was a wreck last night, went to pick up the pieces in the witch hours."
Castiel nodded, one hand on the slow-to-print receipt and the other pushing the Dixie cup to the middle of the front counter. "Where did it happen?"
"The crash?"
"Yes."
"Uh…," God his hands were starting to jitter. "Down near Ottowa."
Castiel's eyebrows drew together and he stared at Dean, almost sternly. "The driver died, didn't they?"
Dean nodded but shrugged it off.
"You've seen many people die, haven't you?"
"Just part of the business," Dean replied. Castiel handed him his receipt and change, still staring.
"But you've known death more personally too," Castiel said.
Dean's hazel green eyes locked with Castiel's blues, clear and steady, knowing. Dean's hands were shaking, but he wasn't sure it was just the bomb anymore.
"It shows in your eyes, and you wear it on your shoulders," Castiel explained. His stern stare broke when he looked down at nothing with pressed lips for a moment, then grabbed a small card from behind the counter and scribbled something on the back. "Here, next drink's on me, out of respect and camaraderie, not pity," he said, passing the card over.
Dean stared for a moment. This was a gift, or something strange and twisted meant to get his guard down so he could get shanked later on. Dean knew how to deal with that second option, but not the first. It'd been too long since he'd been given something… especially something out of 'respect and camaraderie.'
Eventually he remembered what to do. "Thanks," Dean said softly, looking over the card. He turned towards the door, lifting his cup to his mouth, but Castiel's arm shot out and stopped him, grabbing the cup - - or his hand? Both, really.
Something shivery shot from Dean's neck down to his tailbone.
"Don't drink that," Castiel said. "That's got enough caffeine to give a giant a heart attack. Take this instead," he handed dean the Dixie cup. "That's got all you need for today."
"This stuff again?"
"Just drink it, tough guy."
Dean pursed his lips - - no one tells me what and what not to do - - but he decided Ahh, what the hell, and in one gulp he swallowed. A faint chocolate bloom followed, slightly sweet, earthy, and creamy with a strange aftertaste of poached cherries and allspice. His tongue curled from the unmistakable sting of caffeine. And mouthgasm.
"Dude… this is the best fucking thing I've ever tasted. What is it?"
"Come in again and I'll tell you," Castiel smiled.
"Uh… sure. When… uh, when do you work?"
"Ah…," Castiel's smiled faltered. "Kind of all the time."
Dean raised an eyebrow but let the matter go. He turned to leave again, raising the caffeine bomb to his lips again out of habit. He stopped and chuckled awkwardly, pointing to the cup as if to say, "Oh, yeah, right, demon blood, destroy it, riiiiiight."
But as he tossed in a nearby wastebasket he said, "Yo, uhh, Castiel?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you guys make a drink that could kill somebody? Seems pretty stupid for a whole lotta reasons."
Castiel looked down at the counter with a toothy version of his airy grin. "Those reasons would make sense in a normal coffee shop, Mr. Winchester, but does this seem like the average coffee shop to you?"
Mr. Winchester slapped Dean in the face with impropriety of his father and memories of his family that was always sand-crumbling through his fingers, but for a moment he held Castiel's eyes, then looked around the shop at the people who were way too wired this early in the morning, even with caffeine bombs. Which he realized was a popular drink… in fact he was straining to find anyone without one. Dean had felt this place was a little weird before, but now…
"Don't call me Mr. Winchester, aright? It's Dean."
Castiel nodded. "Hope you have a better day then, Dean Winchester."
He walked out the door and slipped into the Impala much more awake than when he entered. His arousal came in part from perturbation from this strange coffee shop without a name. He looked at the card Castiel gave him. The back read, "Free drink from Cas," and the front, "Obolus Café. Lawrence, Kansas."
However, the unarticulated major cause for his arousal came from the warm tingling that moved down his neck to his pelvis, the same thing that was making his cheeks hot and Dean's skin keenly aware of how tight his jeans were at the hips.
Another simple rule of life: do not acknowledge male inspired boners.
