Summary: Everyone knows Dean Winchester is a simple man—cold beer and cute girls and homemade pie and his Baby. But not everything is black and white. One teenage ruse and Dean is committed to hiding behind closed doors where no one can find out his dirty secret. Contains pre-slash Destiel.

A/N: This has been floating around in my head for a while, and I'm happy to say that it's finally out :)

*SPOILERS: up to, and including, s05e17 of Supernatural.

Hope you all like, Fearless Readers. Read on!

SIMPLE MAN

1. One Ruse

It was a bar not unlike every other bar in existence. There was music, a little dancing, but mostly the patrons were at tables or on stools, nursing whatever drinks caught their fancy. Dead didn't really know much about bars. It was the first time he'd actually been allowed to step foot in one. He was only sixteen, but with his muscled bulk and his recent growth spurt, no one would question the fake ID he had with him.

It was the first time he'd ever been in a bar, but it definitely wasn't the first time he'd had a few beers. Usually, after a good Hunt, his father would reward him and they'd chill in whatever backwater hotel they were staying at and just relax, beer in hand, polishing off a twelve pack like it was water. Sammy wasn't old enough to drink with them, but root beer was good enough for him on those nights.

Dean nearly chuckled, remembering the time he'd let Sammy try a sip of his beer when their father wasn't looking. The face he'd made: priceless. It wasn't all that hard to convince him from there on out that drinking, especially as much as any Hunter they came across drank, was bad. Even when offered, he always stuck with root beer.

Dean wish he could have stuck with root beer at the moment. His palms were sweaty, bottle clenched a bit too tight in his hand to be natural, but worst of all, he was conveying a look of pure nervousness that would get him noticed—something nobody, especially a Hunter, wanted.

He forced himself to calm down, not closing his eyes or taking a deep breath, but controlling his breathing to slow his quick-beating heart. He forced his muscles taught for a quick moment, then relaxed all of them at once, and put a lazy smile on his face that was sure to stop a few hearts. It was a look he'd seen on his father's face and one that he'd practiced in the mirror enough that it was seamless to imitate now. He flashed that smile around the bar, making eye contact with every woman he could see, single or taken, and settled back in his stool, waiting for an approach.

He wasn't even three quarters of a beer down when the first woman came up to him. She was young and pretty, light freckles peppering her nose and long brown hair that he could get lost in. She was tall, that was for sure, just two inches shorter than his five foot eleven, and that smile. Damn. It was perfect. Pink lips, like the real pink, not that pale reddish pink that peoples' lips tended to look like, but a real light baby pink that he knew was natural, no makeup added. Her teeth were an unbleached white and her eyelashes were full, nearly hiding shining green eyes that were a rival to his own. This was the one. This was the girl.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself." He winked, causing her to giggle, a little embarrassed.

"I'm Lisa."

"Dean," he said, making eye contact and holding it.

Her cheeks flushed and she bit her bottom lip, bringing his attention to her mouth. It was plush and looked so soft, like velvet. Yeah, she was the perfect one, the one no one would be able to dispute.

"Wanna dance?" he asked her.

She did.

Two beers and a dozen songs later, she was beckoning him to the side door toward the alley, a horrible spot as far as Dean was concerned, but he didn't say anything. He just grabbed his jacket from the back of his stool and eyed the room for someone in particular.

From across the bar, he caught his father's eye and lifted his chin, silently communicating that he was off. His father tipped his beer and nodded his head. A quick glance at the clock and Dean realized he was noting the time, just in case something went wrong. He had about fifteen minutes before his father got antsy, twenty before he got worried, and twenty-five before he came busting into the alley to look for Dean.

He could work with that.

Dean plastered the smirk back on his face as he walked outside, but inside, he was twisted into knots. It was getting harder to control his breathing and the anxiety was rising inside of him. What if it didn't work? What if it didn't go well? What if he screwed it all up somehow? What if he was wrong about her, if she was the wrong person?

But then they reached a somewhat secluded spot in the alleyway—behind a dumpster, how romantic—and she turned around with a sweet smile. He couldn't help but release a shaky breath. This had to work.

"So," she said, putting her arms around his neck, angling for a kiss. "You have me all alone."

"Yeah," he hesitated.

She quirked an eyebrow, a silent question.

"Uh, you see… Look," he said, wanting to back out of her grip, but staying put. "I… sort of need your help."

"Okay?"

This was probably the furthest thing on her mind, but he really did need her help. His plan wouldn't work without her. The problem was that he didn't know where to begin. It was complicated—stupid, his mind supplied—and no doubt unusual, but, damn, he needed it to work. His dad was already suspicious. He needed to do something, now.

"So…" It shouldn't be this hard.

"So?" she prompted. Her cheeks were still flushed, but it was with the cold now. Any thoughts of sex were gone, out of her head completely. Lust was no longer a part of the equation and that, alone, made it easier to speak.

"I'm not… I'm gay," he whispered. It was the first time he'd ever said it out loud. It didn't feel as good as he thought it would. If anything, it just made him feel worse.

"Of course you are," she said, getting angry now. "Because that's what gay men do. They flirt with woman and follow them out into the alley after implications of sex. Why the hell did I have to pick the strange one?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking and feeling dejected. He really was no good at this.

"You know there's a gay bar like ten minutes from here, right?"

Actually, Dean did know. It just hadn't been in the cards. "Yeah," he said.

"So you're here, why?"

They still hadn't moved from their positions, standing a bit too close with his arms around her waist and hers around his neck, though it was more so for warmth now than anything. She had to be freezing in nothing but a skirt and tank top. Obviously, she'd been hoping for something else to keep her warm.

Dean dropped his hands and she followed suit, letting her arms fall to her sides. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on her shoulders. It was warm from being on him and the leather would keep it that way.

"Thanks," she murmured, pulling it tighter around her.

"My dad's in there," he said, answering her question.

"Oh," she said, and it sounded like she understood. "So you want him to think you scored with a chick and I was just the first to approach you?"

"Kinda," he said sheepishly. It didn't sound like she was judging him, but the tone was definitely self-conscious, and it was something he could fix easily. "Actually," he said. "I sort of picked you out especially. You just happened to be the first to come up to me, but if it was someone else, I would have turned them down."

"Oh." And this time, she sounded pleasantly surprised, if a bit skeptical. "Why?"

"Because I've seen you around, and I know you're a good person. It also doesn't hurt that you're hot as hell."

He smiled genuinely at her and she returned it with one of her own.

"So," she asked after a minute of comfortable silence. "How long did you want to stay out here?"

"Don't know," he said, looking at his watch. "It's been a little over five minutes. Wanna stay 'til ten?"

"Well," she said, smirking at him. "We wouldn't want to embarrass you or anything."

He nodded, playing along. "You're right. I can go fifteen, easy."

She laughed and Dean felt good. His plan could work. They could do a few jumping jacks, muss their hair a little, and his father would be none the wiser. Things were going to be okay.

A/N: If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands *clap**clap* If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands *clap**clap* If you're happy and you know it, and you really wanna show it... If you're happy and you know it, please review *submits review**flies off into the sunset**clap**clap*

Chapter two to come tomorrow :) Read on!