Simple Pleasures ~ Chapter 3

Eleven twenty two. The cracked axle was replaced but the leaking transmission tube was still leaking. It was going to stay that way for the night. Dean picked up a box of powdered soap to attack the worst of the grease on his hands when Winchester Auto-Repair's phone rang.

"Oh no you don't…," Dean said to the phone, which rang in response. "It's not even ten till closing…just go away, call some other—"

The phone rang again.

Dean stared at the cheap, green device. "I'm not here."

It rang again.

"C'mon, the one night I plan to go out and do someth—"

It rang again.

"Fine!" Dean wiped the soap off his hands with his oil rag and picked up the phone, pausing a moment to put on his pleasant voice. "Winchester Auto-Repair, we're closing in eight - - no, seven minutes, so—"

"Dean! How are ya buddy, this is Zachariah from AAA,"

Dean clenched his jaw. "Zachariah… let me guess, some college kid's run their pretty BMW into a ditch and I need to go pull them out."

Zachariah tsked. "Too quick to judge Mr. Winchester. According to OnStar there's been a major accident on State Highway 59 North, near an off street called… ah… Osage Road. The account belongs to a Norbert Mueller. He's a few days shy of his seventy-third birthday."

After glancing at the local map taped to the back wall Dean asked, "Isn't that near Oscaloosa? Why aren't you talking to what-his-face up there?"

"I just did. Fast-n-Roll Auto's answering machine said they're Biloxi until February 2nd. Sorry buddy, it's gotta be you."

"Fine, I'm going, I'm going," Dean said. "But you and me? We're not buddies. You do your job and I pick up the crap you tell me to. That's it. This is a business relationship, Mr. … whatever your last name is."

"Dean, I'm hurt! After all these years of-"

Dean slapped the phone back into its receiver, grabbed his keys and jacket, and headed out to the Impala. He revved it and pulled out onto Locust, blasting the heat so he might survive his next drive in Levi.

Dean passed the Obolus Café on his way south to the Yard. The lights were dim, and he saw Castiel turning the Open/Closed sign over while locking the front door.

"Unaverage danger, huh?" Dean muttered, glancing around the empty block. "Oh yeah, real uncanny around here…"

Dean kept on to the Yard, parked his baby in its usual spot, and hustled over to the Leviathon. Several revs of the engine later Dean was retracing his path through Lawrence, once again crossing the Kaw north towards State Highway 59. He flicked on the radio in case it had somehow fixed itself after a lifetime of not working, but all he heard was cold silence.

There were multiple reasons why Dean didn't want to be out on the road. One reason: it prevented him from looking into the strangeties of the Obolus Café. The more important reason, though, was that extended time in dark silence made his mind wander, and his wandering mind inevitably returned to the same place.

"You'll never understand what life is like for me as a black woman. You just won't. I love you, but you're never gonna get me."

Dean's mouth twisted. He glanced over at Cassie, sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala. Her hair bounced in the cracked window as she huddled under her Kansas University parka.

"Wouldn't that mean you're never gonna get me either?" Dean said.

"Ugh, you don't understand."

"What don't I get?" Dean asked. "You're black, I'm white, you're a woman, I'm a man. Yeah, there's a shit-ton of differences, Cassie, but why does that matter? When I'm being stupid you're gonna tell me why and I'm gonna learn, and when you're getting on my nerves I'm gonna try not to be a dick about telling you, and then we'll just… make it work. We'll do that thing Sam's always talking about, you know, that… 'Imagining each other complexly' or whatever."

Cassie smiled but shook her head. "Sometimes I wanna smack you but you're too damn cute."

"Eyes on the road," Dean muttered to himself, shaking his head a bit. "Eyes on the road, simple rule of driving, you keep your eyes on the road…"

Dean adjusted his seat and caught a light glare in the rearview mirror. After a few seconds he heard the sirens, and then he could make out the outline of an ambulance.

"That ain't good…," Dean muttered, pulling over to the side of the road. The ambulance flew by, heading for the turn off to Osage a quarter mile up the road. Dean shifted Levi back into drive, taking a breath to prepare for what he was about to see.

A roar built on his left side and then a flash and bang; Dean's eyes made it halfway to glancing at what made the sound before his peripheral vision showed the ambulance rolling off the highway like a tumbleweed. A lone backlight rocketed up towards Osage Road.

"The fuck!?" Dean said, pressing on the gas. He rolled down the passenger window as he approached two EMTs scrambling out of the wrecked ambulance. "You guys all right?"

"Yeah, yeah we're okay," One of them said before looking back at the crushed vehicle, wheels up in the air and tangled up in a farmer's fence. "Jesus, she left a dent!"

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked.

"I dunno, it was… for a second it was just us and then she was on our tail, and then we we're rolling-"

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Some lunatic on a motorcycle," the EMT said. After a pause to check his coworker, the EMT asked, "You going to the wreck on Osage?"

"Yeah, get in, we'll check it out."

"Thanks man but I gotta call this in first… Jesus Christ…," the EMT said, again looking at the ambulance and pulling out his cellphone. Dean rolled up the window and headed down the rest of the way towards Osage, where he could make out the outline of a parked motorcycle.

"What the…," he hissed. The Leviathon's lights caught a woman with bushy black hair and a leather jacket holding up an ancient, diabetically obese Mr. Mueller at the throat. She glanced at Dean for a moment before shoving her free hand into Mr. Mueller's eye sockets.

"THE FU- JESUS MARY JOSEPH," Dean screamed. After a wide-eyed moment of panic he lunged for the handgun under the driver's seat and jumped out of the truck, taking aim at the woman who was already running back to her bike. "Hey! I said HEY!"

"Oh please, drop it Robocop," the woman called back, not breaking her flow of slipping onto the motorcycle and starting its ignition.

"You're not going anywhere till I get some ans—dammit I said stop!" Dean shouted, but she was already revving the engine. For a moment he considered shooting at her, but that could go bad in a whole lot of ways, so he shot at her tires instead. And missed.

The woman revved again, without a helmet, and tore past Dean, kicking up icy dirt and gravel at his face. He aimed his gun at her for a moment but she was already too far for a good shot, heading back towards town. He growled and turned towards the wreck he came to clean up, a pale blue Buick that had an electrical pole wedged deep into its hood.

Norbert Mueller lay with his back on the ground, white haired and slack-jaw. Dean couldn't see the man's face, but as Dean pressed his fingers on Mueller's neck for a pulse he knew wouldn't come, his eyes adjusted to the shadows. Warm blood still rolled down the man's face, starting from his eye sockets, but there was no damage to the eyes at all. They were perfectly fine, though dead empty.

Dean stepped away from the body and stared. What the hell was this? That woman-

He'd seen her before. She was in the crowd of people he shoved out of the way on his way to the front counter when he first found the Obolus.

This indeed wasn't average. This was fucked up.

Dean ran back to the Levi and slammed himself inside, pulling out of Osage and turning South on 59 towards Lawrence. He shot past the still-on-his-phone EMT and focused on the fast vanishing taillight of the motorcycle far ahead of him. After a few minutes he passed Locust, crossed the river, and angrily honked at college kids stumbling around Massachusetts Street. He turned down New Hampshire and found the bike, driver-less, parked in front of the Obolus Café.

Dean pulled into a spot across the street and after a moment of contemplation grabbed his gun. He stepped out of Levi onto the abandoned road, lit by sharp fluorescent streetlights, and jaywalked to the dark café. He pushed the door handle; locked of course. He eyed the security camera in the back corner of the room and for a moment thought he saw it turn towards him, but he couldn't be sure. He banged his fist against the door, and after a few moments waved the gun around in the cold air so he could stow it without melting his skin off.

Dean checked his watch. Ten past midnight. He banged again. Nothing. He slid a finger along the nozzle of the gun. Still too hot. He banged again on the door. Watched the seconds tick away. Stowed his gun. Pounded again.

At 12:25 a light flicked on in the Café's back room. Dean stared at it for a moment, only able to make out the corner of a picture frame in the back hallway, but then Castiel appeared, hair disheveled and wrapping his arms around himself in a dark night-robe.

"Castiel!" Dean yelled. "Open the fuck up!"

Castiel paused behind the counter and stared as a horrified frown grew over his face. He lifted up the divider and went towards the door when the leather woman stepped out of the back room.

"Behind you!" Dean yelled, stumbling back and grabbing for his gun. He saw the woman shout something and Castiel turn around. They started talking. Dean watched wildly as the two's discussion got heated, Castiel pointing his finger over at the door and the woman shaking her head angrily and throwing her hands up in the air. A few moments later Dean could make out a muffled, "What were you thinking?!" followed by "Then what was I supposed to do!?"

Castiel ran his hands through his hair. Something unheard exchanged between him and the woman, who glowered but stalked back into the back room. Castiel's shoulders heaved. After another moment he turned around and walked towards the door, pulling keys out of his pocket and pushing them into the lock. But he didn't turn. Castiel looked at Dean cautiously, then the gun, and then back at Dean, shaking his head slightly.

"No way," Dean said, glaring at the back room. "No fucking way."

"Dean, please, it's okay, no one got hurt tonight," Castiel said through the glass.

"No-one – That bitch picked a guy up with one hand and stuck her fist into his face!" Dean yelled. Castiel glanced up and down the street worriedly but Dean didn't care. "The hell no one got hurt you lying son of a bitch!"

Castiel shuddered. His face lowered and shoulders fell inwards slightly. "It probably looked liked that, but that's not what happened. I'm not allowed to tell you… but Meg can; she'll be out there in a minute."

Dean stepped away from the front door slightly as an incredulous grin slipped over his face. "What the hell is this… What the mother-fucking hell all manner of fucked up shit is this!?"

"It's a way station," a female voice said. Dean whipped around to his left and pointed his gun at Meg, clad in a leather jacket and jeans with a hat reading "Haskell U." She should be freezing just leaning against the building as she was, but she looked perfectly calm as she rolled her eyes. "Oh no, a gun, whatever will I do?"

"What the fuck is this?" Dean asked again.

"A way station, Robocop."

Dean glared at her, ignoring the lights coming on inside the front room of the Café. "A way station for what?"

"Mainly the newly dead," she replied with a wry twitch of her eyebrow. "But, you know, we take lots of clientele. The intern's idea."

Dean blinked and shook his head. "Wha- for the newly dead? What is this, some psycho cult?! The-"

"Look, before you start shouting more profanities at anyone, maybe you should take a little looksee inside and see what I mean," She said with a cock of her head.

Dean held his gun pointed at Meg's face but glanced inside for a moment, then turned his full attention to the front room. Castiel, still in his bathrobe, was walking over to a table carrying a steaming, yellow mug. At the table sat Mr. Mueller sobbing over a small picture. Castiel placed his hand on the man's shoulder and rubbed it gently. The two spoke for a moment before Castiel handed the Mueller the mug, which the large man ignored in favor of the photo. Castiel sat down next to him and stared intently, as the man began to speak.

"What the hell…," Dean whispered. "But he's dead. I just saw him. You… you super punched him in the face."

"Sorry bad boy, but looks can be deceiving," Meg replied, slowly walking over to stand next to him. "I merely picked up the old fart's soul, and that's who's in there."

"His…soul?"

"Oh come on, haven't you heard the old saying, 'Eyes are the window to the soul'? The Christians picked that up from the Greeks, who picked it up from… well, wouldn't you like to know."

Dean continued staring. "The Obolus Café… you need an obolus under the tongue to get a ride across the River Acheron."

"Ooh, bad boy knows a few things," Meg crooned.

"That mug Mueller's holding… is that…?"

"The obolus hand out? Nice try, but that's what old MacDonald's drinking."

"But… it's supposed to be a coin…,"

Meg sighed. "Like anything's ever how it's supposed to be?"