Simple Pleasures ~ Chapter 7

Cinnamon. Butter. When Dean could name the smells his aching eyes opened.

This was not his bed.

A silver analog clock stood on a small, live edge end table next to the bed, telling Dean it was almost 11 in the morning. A windy howl rattled the window near the bed, startling Dean for a moment but giving him enough energy to get up. Well, he was still wearing clothes, that was good. Or possibly bad. What the hell happened last night?

He stared into air, waiting for memories to give some context to his present location. Dean's mind gave him the song Eyes on the Prize and he remembered almost everything with a harsh wince. This was an ache in his chest he hadn't wanted to remember: after mom died he'd cut himself off from pain, not even letting his father's death bring him back to it, but here it was. After his grief shivers and tears passed, Dean stood up and found his way to a small bathroom. His shoes were next to another side door, as was a hamper with several white, button downs—

Oh. He knew where he was now. The cinnamon and butter smell should have been a giveaway. Dean stared wide-eyed at the mirror in the bathroom, trying to remember if anything happened last night. His abdominals didn't have any post-sex ache nor his groin any lasting elation, so… yup, still three years without sex. Nice, his streak was still going. Strong work.

Dean washed his face, but it didn't remove the itch of a few too many days without a shower. One stood next to him, open for the taking… and it looked uncannily like the shower in his wet fantasy… but nah, that'd be kinda creepy. As he turned to leave he caught the glint of refracting light, and he paused at the bathroom door to look back.

Some water still hung on the glass shower door. Meaning someone had used it within the last several hours. There was only one person that someone could be.

Well how was that for inspiration for morning wood?

He rubbed himself for a moment, and then it was no going back, so Dean yanked his pants down and right as the going got good there was a clatter at the bedroom door.

"Shit fuck fuck fuck fuck," Dean hissed, stuffing himself back into his pants and trying to will the red heat on his face to immediately die. He heard the bedroom door creak open, and Dean stepped out of the bathroom with the best innocent smile he could muster. He found himself facing a bald, red bearded man with unnaturally drooping skin. "I, uh – look man, this isn't what it looks like."

The man stared at Dean for a moment before turning his stare around the rest of the room.

Dean frowned. "Uh… hello?"

The man said nothing. He stepped further into the room, dressed in the gray, stained linens of a beggar, and walked over to the bed. He bent down, sniffed it long and deep, then turned to face Dean. His pupils were grayed over in blindness.

"Ah," The man rasped.

Dean continued to stare, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment.

The man turned and walked back towards the door, but he missed by a foot and slammed his face into the wall, knocking over the top parts of a stack of books. His hands reached out, found the doorknob, threw it open with a mechanical jerk, and he stumbled out of the room. Dean watched the man go down a thin, yellow hallway before turning left down a flight of steps. Dean followed the man carefully into the small kitchen, where the man turned out the door Dean recognized as the way into the storage room. By the time Dean reached the door the man was gone, though Dean could hear clanging beneath the cellar doors.

Eeriness was one way to kill a boner. Dean glanced over his shoulder several times on his way back upstairs to collect his shoes, which he put on his feet with the door open and his stare fixed at the far end of the wall. There were some things about this place that even a pair of blue eyes couldn't un-creep.

That didn't stop him from pursuing blue-eyes though. Dean went back downstairs and edged out of the storage room into the front room carefully, keenly aware that Castiel was running back and forth from the front of the main counter to different copper devices behind it. This was the busiest Dean had seen the café, aside from that first morning. When he noticed the upscale clothing most of the clientele were wearing he figured out the reason: Church had just let out.

How do I get out of here without everyone noticing? Dean asked himself, ducking back into the storage room. Castiel grabbed a cup from beneath one machine and ran down to the end of the counter, and for a moment Dean felt pissed that Castiel didn't notice him, but then Dean realized he was being stared at. His eyes snagged on the red-headed woman with gray eyes, doughnut ear-phones, and a Kansas State hoodie. She had the cup Castiel gave her raised to her mouth right when her eyebrows popped high. She shot a look at Castiel, then back at Dean, then Cas, and back again, eyebrows somehow getting higher with each glance.

"What are you looking at?" Dean snorted at her. She did one more Cas-to-Dean run around before her slow, quiver of a grin turned into a smile. She tugged at the neck of her hoodie and pulled it down to her collar, exposing an equal sign tattoo. She quickly pulled her hoodie back up and returned her grin to her coffee.

Castiel hurdled down the copper corridor, finally catching Dean's eye. "Ah, good early afternoon, Dean, how did you sleep?"

Dean glanced at the Redhead, who had pulled off her earphones, before looking back as Cas, whose focus had turned to pumping hazelnut extract into someone's drink. "Uh… fine."

Redhead snorted a giggle, again hiding behind her cup.

"Okay, look you-" Dean began, pointing at the young woman, but Castiel cut him off.

"Do you two know each other?"

"Nope!" The woman replied with a sly smile.

Dean's shoulder muscles tensed, but Castiel's head turned curiously to the side. "Charlie Bradbury, Dean Winchester. If you excuse me for a moment, I have to top this hazelnut mocha frappe with one half soy foam and the other half regular," and away he went.

Charlie popped her eyebrows once before turning and walking towards a table, dropping her computer bag on the table-top and pulling out her pc.

"Hey! I said HEY!" Dean said, but she didn't stop. He cursed under his breath and vaulted himself over the counter, startling other nearby customers. Charlie jumped too, but Dean didn't care so much about that. "Nothing happened, you got that? I just passed out here last night, that's all!"

"Okay…," Charlie said, watching him warily while she opened up her computer. "I didn't say anything did happen."

"No but you were thinking it," Dean shot back.

Charlie stared at the ceiling for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, yeah I was."

Hunh. Frankness. Dean hadn't expected that. "Nothing happened."

"Okay."

"So don't go thinking that or telling anyone that."

"…Why would I tell the god-fearing people of Lawrence that a barista and some tall guy were going at it the weekend before Martin Luther King day? Which doesn't mean I think they were, er, you are, uh, were. I mean, just hypothetically."

Dean's mouth hung open, carrying a come-back to a different response then that. He fish mouthed for a moment before saying, "You wouldn't."

"And risk the god-fearing horde descend on me? No thank you, I'll stick with repelling the righteous hordes I can crush into lots of tiny little pixels rather than the bible-thumping ones," she replied, turning her attention to her computer.

Dean stared for a moment. "…Wait, were you talking about the Righteous Hordes of the Seraphim? From the MORPG Hunters in the Apocalypse?"

Her gray eyes snapped onto his in glee. "You Horde or Devil's Dispatch?"

Dean smiled. "Eh, I was kind of a free agent, doing the quests I wanted from either story arc - - whoa, hold on, why'd you say bible-thumpers would go after you?"

She turned her head slightly and looked at him questioningly, as if the answer should be obvious. "…Did you miss the tattoo?"

"No, I saw that, but what's math got to do with—"

"Ohhhhhhh I can't believe I just did that…," Charlie hissed, slipping down into her chair and crossing her arms. For a few moments her eyes jumped between the screen and Dean until they went to something behind him. Dean turned to find Castiel standing a foot away, carrying two card-stock cups and a sweaty forehead.

"Am I interrupting?" Castiel asked in an unusually gravelly tone.

"That'd be awesomesauce…," Charlie groaned. A moment later she looked at him directly and said, "No, no, not interrupting!"

Castiel glanced at the two of them querulously for a moment before handing Dean one of the cups. He thanked Cas, wary of Charlie's gaze, as Castiel pulled a chair up between the two and sat down gracefully, breathing a deep, soundless breath. As the table's silence was filled by the chatter of the church-going caffeinated, Castiel slowly looked at Charlie, hiding in her hoodie as she mussed around on her keyboard, and over to Dean, who stared at the table with an expression two steps towards constipation and one step from awkward confusion.

"I believe I interrupted something," Castiel said carefully.

"What does a math tattoo have to do with bible-thumping hordes?" Dean asked, ignoring Charlie's panicked glance and wild hand expressions to drop the topic. Castiel stared at him for a moment before looking over at Charlie. She sank down into her chair, pulling the hood of her hoodie over her head.

"You refer to the equality tattoo on Charlie's collar," Castiel replied. Charlie winced. "It is a symbol for people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning, and asexual, used to indicate a safe space for people who do not live as hetero-normative. Many people have adopted it as a sign of gay pride or as acceptance of their sexual or gender identity."

"That was a lot of big words but I think I got that... Hm. Cool," Dean said honestly. He looked over at Charlie, whose eyes were hidden by her bright red hood and hair. "So… are you…?"

"I can only fall in love with men," Castiel interjected. "And Charlie can only fall in lo- ow, Charlie that hurt. It's fine for Dean to know, he's an ally."

She poked her head out, glancing between the two men. "He is?"

"I am?" Dean asked.

Castiel sighed as a patient friend does in a movie theater when their viewing partner keeps asking questions with obvious answers. "An ally is a heterosexual person who accepts and values non-heterosexual people despite their differing sexual preferences."

As Dean nodded slowly and Charlie inched out of her hiding spot, it dawned on his frazzled mind that Castiel thought he was straight. He remembered when Cas told him that he only fell for guys, how there had been an awkward silence and a pained look on his face. The pain was rejection. Cas was attracted to Dean, and believed it wasn't mutual... and he hadn't tried to push the matter (aside from saying no one was going to suck Dean's soul).

Charlie started talking animatedly with Cas, who leaned over in his chair to see what was happening on her computer screen. Dean leaned back in his chair, at first staring at the duo but then into the deep space between them. Who the hell does that; try to comfort and reach out to someone who has more or less implied their attraction grosses them out?

Is this guy really human? Dean wondered carefully. How… why would someone keep pursuing someone else just as a friend when they want more? How... why...?

His mother came into the view of his memory.

She gave him a pained smile after what he told her. Tell each other secrets, wasn't that the rule of their game?

"Do you really think Aaron Bass is cute, Dean?" She asked him quietly.

"Yeah, and Lisa Braeden too, but Aaron's way cuter -,"

"Shh, quiet Dean, shh…," She told him, dropping her knees into the grass of the front lawn. She glanced over at Dad, as he talked with Ms. Mosley about something unknown and held Sam, whose face was scrunching up in his tell-tale 'I have a nasty diaper on me and you'd better get it off' look.

"Dean, I will always love you, but you have to keep that secret, okay? You have to keep that secret very, very deep inside you, dear."

"But why?"

"Boys aren't supposed to like boys, honey… that's what a lot of people think, anyway…,"

Dean's eyes widened in panic. "Does that mean I'm bad momma?"

She winced and opened her mouth, but couldn't answer. After a few moments she said, "No, no dear," but he knew she was lying. No one ever believed Dean's lies, so it made sense he never believed anyone else's.

"I'm sorry, Momma,"

"Oh honey, come here," She said, pulling Dean into a warm hug. She held on longer than she usually did, frightening Dean even more. "There's nothing bad or wrong about you, okay? I love you so much, don't you ever forget that. This'll be our little secret. You can come tell me whenever you think a boy or girl is cute, and I'll love you and it'll be fine dear, but you gotta promise not to tell another soul, okay?"

"Okay, momma," Dean whispered, though he didn't wholly know what was going on. It all seemed so much bigger than him.

"And I mean it, not a soul, especially not your daddy, got it?"

Dean came back to reality Castiel quirked his head to the side like a confused puppy while watching Charlie press her nose close to the computer screen, clicking madly and whispering something about the prissy horde. Dean exhaled long and slow, unaware he'd been holding his breath.

The last week replayed in his mind. On happenstance he found a café that snapped him out of his everyday-is-the-same, found someone who cared about him because they both knew that life was no easy game to win, no clear good guys or bad guys like in Hunters in the Apocalypse. His entire perception of reality was thrown over and the debris had barely settled, not just by the whole psycho-soul thing but also by this man who was impossible, who was basically completely alone but still tried to cultivate friendship with someone who, for all he knew, rejected him. This week threw Dean back into the night terrors he thought he'd pushed away after Dad died, after he sold the house and everything…

And Ms. Mosley. Dad had gotten a call from AAA that day years ago, so he ran, leaving it to Ms. Mosley to take Sam and change his diaper there on her front lawn. She did it because circumstance demanded it, but she came over to the Winchester house that night and gave Dad one hell of a talking to about the place of family before a job.

She did it because she had to, but then when she didn't have to anymore... she raised hell. She said last night that you can't unkick anything, but she never said you couldn't kick back, that you had to keep going through hell to get to those heaven years...

Something red was growing in Dean's stomach, pounding up towards his heart, but he could feel it was going for his throat, his mouth, and he wouldn't be able to keep it back. Dean jumped out of his chair, startling Charlie and Cas, as well as a few other people nearby, but this time it was that latter category of the living that he didn't care about.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, getting up too, looking concerned and… restrained. God that wasn't fair.

"Just - - Ahh, I just gotta go do something real quick, just, you know, forgot about it last night," He said, zipping up his coat and buttoning it. "Just… Cas stay here, got it?"

Castiel looked over to Charlie before looking back at him. "Shall I stay at this table or-?"

"No, not this—ah, forget it, just stay. And you!" He pointed to Charlie, whose eyes widened. "Kick horde ass."

The feeling was spreading, down to his hips and legs as it reached up and swallowed his lungs. Dean caught a glimpse of Charlie smile and Castiel's head turn as spun around and ran for the door. He was in the Imapala, Led Zepplin blaring, half way to his apartment when the red buzz reached the bottom of his throat and he had to pull over. It shook his fingers and made his feet shudder against the brake pedal, but it took his tongue and then he shivered all over his body. Once again he rest his forehead on the steering wheel, and it made him laugh, the circuity of this week.

"Bi," he rasped.

Nothing happened.

"Bisexual," he said. Again, no great lights or exploding feelings. In fact, the red buzz seemed to have vanish as fast as it had first arisen. He could still feel it's residual heat on his cheeks as he said, "I'm… no. No secrets, no fucking secrets…

"Bi," He said again, trying to get used to the feeling. "Bi... bi bi bi bisexual fucking think guys and chicks are hot, bi bi not fucking wrong or bad no, no secrets, I'm bi, I'm bi! I'M FUCKING BI GOD DAMMIT!"

This time the Impala honked, but that was because he accidently punched the steering wheel.

"I'm fucking…," he said again, leaning back in the front seat and spreading his fingers through his hair. The hell. He was bi. He was bi and he liked that Cas guy, dammit.

After catching his breath Dean pulled the car out of park, got turning back onto the road and driving on to his apartment. "Not ally, I'm bi… heh, Jesus, Mary, Joseph… the hell is my life?"

He parked and brought himself up to his abode. He started turning off the lights around the one-bedroom apartment but found that the ghosts of last night hadn't left the shadows, so he stopped as he approached the bathroom hallway. Dean walked back into his room, picked up the covers from where he threw them in his frenzy to get out before, and tossed them back on the bed. He found his phone near one of the garbage bags that stood in for a dresser. One new message, from Bobby.

Dean listened to the message, but it was just Bobby checking in, saying he wanted to talk eventually about the Café. Dean dialed the Yard's number and got the machine, so he called Bobby's cell instead.

"Yullow?" Bobby said.

"Hey man, it's me, got your message a sec ago."

"Dean?... Are you high or something?"

Dean pursed his lips. "Why is it every time I talk to you ya start assuming things, Bobby?"

"I dunno, maybe 'cause in the last few days you've been psychologically swinging one way or another faster than a cheap Vegas hooker?"

"Nice, real charming, old man."

"Save my best stuff for Sundays. So… you got time to talk about that shop full of the Psychopomps?"

"Ahh, no. No, actually, I uh… I got something I gotta take care of today, but I'll catch up with you tomor—wait, that's MLK day - - Tuesday, I'll grab you Tuesday and we can talk."

"…You sure you haven't been smoking somethin'?"

"I'll talk to you later Bobby," and as Dean was closing his dumb phone he snapped it back open and said, "Whoa, hey, Bobby, you still there?"

"Yep, I'm still here."

"Hey, go check on ol' Ms. Mosley, would ya?"

"What? What's going on with Missouri, Dean?"

After a moment to gain composure Dean said, "I was at the café last night, and… she came in. Well, her soul anyway. I kinda saw her off to the Acheron. I think that place is the real deal, Bobby. And if I saw Ms. Moseley off, then her body…,"

Dean heard a sigh. "Damn… yeah, I'll go check it out. Can't say I still wholly buy this soul thing, but… yeah, I'll check it out."

"Thanks Bobby," Dean said, and hung up. He pulled a card out from his back pocket, the card with his last free drink on one side and the Obolus Café's number on the other. He dialed it and waited for the pick up, though by the second ring he was swallowing hard and tensing his jaw.

Two agonizing rings later someone picked up. "Obolus Café on New Hampshire street, best local coffee and tea around, how can I help you?" Meg said.

"Yo, psycho- bi—uuuhhh, Meg!"

"Robocop?"

"Yeah, yeah, put Cas on the phone."

She hung up.

He called back.

"Obolus Café on New—"

"Put Cas on the line dammit."

"Oh, after last night's resounding conclusion? I don't think so." Dial tone.

Great. Dean ran back out the door, worried his commitment to do this was going to run out on him if he didn't act on it soon. But while flipping through radio stations a familiar tune came on, Eyes on the Prize, and then he didn't worry. He parked across the street from the Obolus and walked inside. Castiel was back behind the front counter, and Charlie was hunched over her computer screen with her ear-phones on, but most other customers had cleared out. Good. Dean got nervous around big audiences.

He marched up to the front counter and pulled out the Café's card. "Yo, I'm back."

Castiel nodded once, and still Dean could see the restraint behind his eyes. He held up the card. "So can I cash this in?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "Though you still have the cup of tea sitting on the table from before you left."

Whoops. Way to make him feel appreciated. Dean blinked once and pressed his lips together. The sun caught Cas's eyes, making him squint out the window, his mouth slightly hanging open, and oh how did Dean want that bottom lip.

"Actually," Dean cleared his throat as his voice decided to momentarily throw itself into his pre-pubescent vocal range. "Actually, I'm gonna cash it in for something else. A date. Tonight…" He paused as Castiel's wide stare was now fixed on Dean. "…with you."

Several beats passed before Castiel finally stuttered, "S-sure- Sure!"

Dean let himself smile. Not all the way, toothy and awesome, but it was still a smile he hadn't really felt for ages. "So uh… When's closing time?"

"Seven on Sundays," Cas replied with a child-like smile of his own.

"Seven sounds good," Dean nodded. He looked down at the card he put on the counter and knocked it with his knuckles. "I'll swing by around then."

Dean walked over to Charlie's table and grabbed the cup Cas put out for him earlier. Charlie started, but then waved and grinned as Dean turned to walk back out the door. Exactly how he was going to kill seven hours? He had no idea. But hell of that mattered. A middle aged man and woman near the front door stared at him in disgust as he walked by… they were close enough to the front door for them to have probably heard his conversation with Cas. With a bloom of impish pride Dean said, "What are you looking at?"

Dean walked out into the freezing, sunny afternoon and took a sip of his drink. Dragon pearls and brandied cherry juice. It was cold but who cared? He sipped it while walking back to the Impala, and when he slammed the door he looked back at the front windows of the café just in time to see Castiel throw a giant air punch of awesome.

1. I FINISHED IT BEFORE MIDNIGHT CENTRAL TIME! IT'S STILL TECHNICALLY THURSDAY!

2. …I've been BETA for my friend's BDSM Destiel fic… it is messing with my mind. While writing this chapter I deleted, "and then he brought out the leather and chains" a few too many times…