Simple Pleasures ~ Chapter 2

Dean stared at the grease stained card to the Obolus Café, specifically at the side that guaranteed him a free drink. Plus a chance to see that airy smile again. And, well, learning what that died-and-gone-to-sex-heaven drink was, but the smile was the more interesting codicil.

Dean shouldn't want to see that smile though. This thought was the mantra Dean had worshiped for the last seven days, a variation from his usual "Please God don't make guys turn me on," which he'd been saying for years. Women had entrancing hips and lips and that should be enough, but for damnable, unknown reasons Dean found the carved lines of men just as distracting. His saving grace was that most men were about as mentally stimulating as the car wrecks in the junkyard, so he could blow off his attraction with a quick wank followed by a chaser of guilt.

But when Dean followed through with his usual modus operandi after his first encounter at the Obolus, no guilt arose to put him back in his place. Instead Dean sat in Winchester Auto-Repair's bathroom with his pants down around his ankles and his brain stuck at WANT. In seven days' time he had somewhat moved past that point; now he was stuck in the Impala's driver's seat, clenching and unclenching his jaw while staring at the Obolus's front door.

His brain replayed "…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."

"The fuck…" Dean muttered. "This is stupid, what the fuck am I doing here, just sittin' here like a…like…"

Dean dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel. He'd been sitting there for an hour. This was no longer stupid. Stupid had gone and passed and now Dean was in county of Pathetic, county seat Come On Already And Do Something.

He should just go in, get the drink, find out what that last drink was, and then drive back to the shop and never. Come. Back. EVER. Get in, get out, he said to himself, reaching for the door handle. Get in, get out, get in, get out…

Dean stepped out of the car, shook off the numb in his legs, and marched through the front door to the counter, holding out Castiel's card like a police badge. "Yo, here for the drink."

Castiel held up one finger as he finished writing something down on a pad of paper. Dean stood unmoving, holding out the greasy card, an act he increasingly realized made him look like an idiot. He checked around the front room and found only one other customer, a red-headed young woman pressed up close to her laptop with donut earphones covering the sides of her head. Well, at least he'd only look stupid to the security camera.

Castiel put down his pen and looked up, grinning.

"Good January afternoon, Dean Winchester. What drink would you like?"

Shit. "Uhh…" Dean leaned over and squinted at the back blackboard. Go in, get a drink, get out… that plan hadn't included choosing a drink. "How about that thing you made last time."

"Would you prefer that or a pleasant surprise?" Castiel said.

"Uh…" Why'd he have to say 'pleasant surprise'? Don't picture him naked don't picture him naked don't – ah fuck. "Sure, heh, let's go with the, uh, surprise."

Castiel gave a brisk nod before swiping the card out of Dean's fingers and walking off behind the counter, saying, "This card has seen a lot of love."

Focus man, FOCUS. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Mm…," Castiel said as he poured something hot into an unseen cup. "I haven't heard of any other wrecks in the area recently. I suppose it has been quiet at your shop?"

"Yeah, quieter than a graveyard," Dean said, which he followed with a mental facepalm. Why was he talking with this guy? Stick. To. The. Plan.

"Interesting comparison," Castiel replied, stepping back into view but with his back turned, pumping something from a copper tank into a tall, card-stock cup. He wore no undershirt beneath his white button-down and apron, leaving Dean with a glancing view of the black wing tattoos going down both sides of Castiel's back. "A junk yard is a graveyard in it's own sense, for the vehicles left there as well as the investments people made in them, be they monetary or emotional or, well, physical."

The guy has tattoos. Fucking BADASS tattoos. Dean's pants tightened around the hips. "Cool tats," he blurted out.

Castiel flinched. "…What?"

"The tattoos on your back, they're, uh…," The plan, but sweet Jesus, TATS. "Yeah, they're pretty awesome."

Castiel put one more pump of an unseen liquid into the cup before turning around. "You can see through the back of my shirt, can't you?"

"Well it's not like you're wearing saran wrap—"

"You can see through the back of my shirt," Castiel pressed his lips together. "My apologies."

"No man it's cool, really. Where'd you get 'em?"

"Not here. They're from… another life," Castiel said. His lips eased around the edges. "Dragon pearls."

"…What?"

"The tea I gave you last time was a black, milk-steamed tea made with something called dragon pearls. Their taste is known for its earthiness and similarity to cocoa. I mixed it with the leftover liquid from brandied cherries... but it's the dragon pearls that carry the flavor's foundation."

"That sounds pretty complicated just for some leaf juice," Dean said, eyeing the cup of yellow-green liquid in front of him.

"Leaf juice…," Castiel repeated with a smile. "Tea is just like anything else; if you want it to be worthwhile, then you must mix it with other things. A painting would hardly be a painting if the only pigment you used was red, or a car engine would hardly be a good car engine if all it comprised of were those paddle things that go up and down."

"You mean the pistons in the pneumatic cylinders?" Dean asked with a popped eyebrow.

"Yes!" Castiel said, pointing at the mouth that made the word he needed. "It's the same with tea and coffee."

"Uh-huh… sounds all a bit too deep for me."

"I doubt that's too deep for you," Castiel replied. And paused. Just as Dean was realizing the possible sexual innuendo Castiel continued with, "You caught on to the allegory and provided the word I didn't know. A superficial mind couldn't do that."

Dean, once again, stood there stupidly. Technically he was just complimented for his intelligence, which followed a possible come-on that only came about because this guy with blue eyes and high cheekbones had teasing tattoos on his back.

Dean did not possess enough blood to power all his stimulated parts. He finally managed to smirk and grab the drink in front of him, taking a sip. The flavor wasn't as rich this time, but it was at least easier to place: He definitely recognized the crisp taste of watermelon and the icy tang of mint. But there was an additional spectrum of nutty flavors he wasn't sure of.

"First one was better than this one," Dean said, quick to follow with, "But still pretty awesome. What is it?"

Castiel chuckled and leaned forward on the counter with his elbows. "I can't tell you. See, it's kind of a secret recipe."

"Aw, dude, come on, you can't do that to me twice."

"I disagree. Frankly, I can do anything I want as many times as I want. As can you," he smiled. "Am I wrong?"

There was definitely a come-on in that oration somewhere. "I, uh, sure."

Smooth, dude. Smooth.

Castiel's smile faded into a grin and he stood back up, pulling another card in front of him while clicking the back of a pen. Dean struggled for something cool to say, but before he could get an idea Castiel was handing him the card. "The same deal as last time."

This had not gone as planned. Get in and get out had turned into definitely coming back to the Obolus Café as soon as possible. What was wrong with him? Dean didn't want to be one of those gay guys who pranced around in scant clothing and talked like the worst kind of Valley Girl imaginable. Gay guys were fine, and guys who were like that were fine, but Dean didn't want to be one. Conversations with Cassie started running back into his mind… and he didn't want to think about anything anymore.

Twice this place had managed to give him a boner and an unwelcome shove down memory lane. Maybe he could swing by later today and that would be the last time…

"Dean?" Castiel said. "You look to be contemplating something disastrous."

"Nah man, it's… Nah, I'll fill this one up after work tonight," Dean said, waving the card. He turned to leave.

"When do you get off work?" Castiel asked.

"Eleven thirty," Dean replied.

Castiel paled. "No."

"What?"

"Don't come back here after sunset. It's dangerous. Come tomorrow instead."

"What, you think I can't take some drunk college kids?"

Castiel eyed the back of the store for a moment before whispering, "Remember when I told you this wasn't an average café? The danger isn't average either. Come tomorrow, after the sun's risen."

Dean nodded and continued his way back to the Impala. Well now he had something to distract him from introspection or bad memories: The danger isn't average either. What did that mean?

Dean sat in the front seat for several minutes before something else came to him: Why didn't Castiel just say the shop closed early? Why did he look at the back of the shop before whispering not to come back until sun-up?

Dean eventually dragged himself back to Winchester Auto-Repair and called Bobby to let him know he was back on the clock. "Like it really matters," Bobby said. "You'd get paid anyway, boy. I'm still sayin' you need to get out more."

"Yeah yeah, whatever Bobby," Dean said, almost hanging up the shop phone. But before he put it down he asked. "Yo, Bobby, you ever hear of this Café on New Hampshire called the Obolus?"

"The Obolus?"

"Well, the Obolus Café."

"Don't reckon I have, but it's a funny name," Bobby replied. "You know what an Obolus is Dean?"

"Uh… the salient details of public school didn't stick real well," Dean said, pressing his fingers on the bridge of his nose.

"Says the almost archaeologist," Bobby replied.

"Walking a thin line there, Bobby."

"If I remember right the obolus was the currency of the ancient Greeks, mainly the people who lived on the main peninsula instead of Peloponnese. When someone died you stuck an obolus under their tongue so when they got to Hades they could pay for the ride across the river Acheron."

"Hunh," Dean said. "And who's the almost archaeologist?"

"Boy, I got my degree, and you can too if you'd just-"

"Not havin' that discussion, Bobby." Dean replied.

The other line was quiet for a moment. "All right, but I just… never mind. Do good work."

"You too man," Dean said and hung up the phone. He turned around and stared at the two cars in the shop at the moment, one with a transmission leak somewhere and the other with a cracked axle. Both could be managed if he worked late… or he could check out what was so not average about this café come nighttime.

Decisions decisions… but first things first. To the bathroom.

FYI – I plan to update on Wednesdays or Thursdays, depending on what my work load is like (grad school work load = oh ho ho and we thought undergrad was bad).