Chapter Text
🥐
Castiel Milton surveys the large commercial building he’s purchased with a lingering sense of resentment and dread, his mood seemingly insusceptible to Jack’s youthful enthusiasm. The sizeable life insurance policy Kelly had left the two of them allowed for the new location to be bought rather than rented, and Castiel has worked to minimize any remaining reservations he may have regarding their relegation to the outskirts of town, the proximity to a drinking establishment, and for that matter, the need to relocate in the first place. Unfortunately, whatever decision his rational mind has settled on, his emotions are not so easily swayed.
There is an illogical, juvenile part of him that had hoped, by some miracle, that they would not need to move at all. He had grown attached to the small, comfortable storefront he’d made his home for the last year and a half, and he’d believed if he argued hard enough, he would be allowed to stay. It was the first place he had felt at home since he was a small child and still saw his parents’ home as a place he belonged. The large, vacant storefront in front of him looks nothing like a home, nothing like his.
He does his best not to blanch at the work he has ahead of him.
Lost in his thoughts, Castiel feels a hand on his shoulder and looks over to see Jack, the wide excited smile they’ve been wearing all morning dimmed by concern, and he forces a smile of his own.
“I suppose we should get started,” he tells them, holding the keys out and trying to sound at all enthusiastic.
It must work well enough because Jack’s smile regains its luster and they grab the keys, bounding off for the front door.
Castiel tries to feel inspired by their energy. Jack has been excited about the move since Castiel first mentioned it. It’s one of the few things they’ve seemed to find genuine joy in since they moved to Genesis following the sudden passing of their mother. Jack likes their new room at the house, likes the openness of the town they’re making their home, but nothing seemed to penetrate the fog of their grief until Castiel had mentioned the possibility of them building this new place together. Castiel can’t fault Jack for their grief or their excitement. When he’d agreed to be Jack’s godfather, he’d never truly imagined a world without Kelly in it, a world in which he would be solely responsible for her child.
He’s enjoyed getting to know Jack better and spending time with them. Their presence in his life has given him a purpose he hadn’t been seeking but now can’t imagine living without. And he understands how much impact personalizing a physical space can have on one’s sense of belonging. He just wishes it didn’t have to come at the cost of the one he’d already built.
“Castiel!” Jack calls, and Castiel follows them into the building.
This could be good for them.
Lord, let this be good for them.
-
Castiel spends only six weeks on the remodel, with the help of Jack and a number of community members he’s connected with in his time in Genesis. The place had been a restaurant at some point, so there was less work to do than there might otherwise have been, but Castiel has still seen Jesse and Cesar more these week than he has in the years he’s lived in Genesis. He’s grateful to them and has promised them both discounted wares once the shop is finally functional. Cesar laughs, telling him he’s sure the prices are more than fair and such a thing won’t be necessary, so Castiel doesn’t push it, but he makes a note to tell those working the till to give them the employee discount.
Jack’s enthusiasm starts to catch on, and Castiel begins to feel the contentment of accomplishment, if not of home. When he’d started Taste of Eden in its original downtown location, it had felt like a new beginning rife with possibility. The thought had been dizzying then, welcome and warm as it was overwhelming. The new place is mostly just overwhelming. There is an opportunity with the larger space to expand rather significantly, but that had never been Castiel’s intention. The old location had been sandwiched between a bookstore and a pizza parlor, patronized by townsfolk and university students in fairly equal numbers, a small business in every sense of the word but nonetheless beloved. As clean and new as his current location may be, it feels a lot like being an outsider again, despite everything he’s worked to build here.
-
In the time leading up to the opening, Castiel lets Jack go wild with the spaces open to customers. The two of them pore over catalogues of furniture and coffee machines, and Jack is like a child with a toy catalogue, circling everything they find interesting, which is nearly everything. Castiel helps them narrow down their selections, but orders a variety of chairs and tables, preparing for the cafe area to have an assortment of varied furniture. The patrons will have options, he tells himself. At Jack’s request, they’ve turned the wall behind the counter into a giant blackboard, and Castiel enjoys seeing the daily notes they add to the wall with their blackboard markers each morning.
The kitchen is Castiel’s domain. He spends hours researching the specifications of mixers, ovens, proofers and more. It takes him three weeks to decide on a countertop. He wants Jack to make the place his own, but this corner is all Castiel’s.
It’s when the furniture Jack picked out arrives that the space starts to finally feel like a place Castiel might want to be. They set everything up around the room and they stand back and survey their work. Jack insists they view it from the front door before deciding they’re done, and as Cas stands with them at the entrance, surveying the wide array of tables and chairs, arranged to allow for comfortable flow between the tables, some close to the windows for those who want natural light, and some tucked against the wall for those using screens. Castiel can imagine some of the old patrons making their way down to the outskirts to see the new shop, settling into the new seating, and he smiles.
Jack meets his smile with a wide beaming smile of their own.
“We’re ready,” they declare.
-
Castiel’s fears about the drinking establishment across from the bakery are confirmed by the loud, grating music blaring across the parking lot at nine in the morning on an otherwise rather lovely Sunday morning. Gone are the Sundays Castiel has spent dedicating himself to the preaching of the gospel and the observance of the holy day, but he doesn’t think it’s unreasonable for him to expect quiet as he sets up the window displays inside his own business. It has little to do with the abysmal sleep he’s been getting, worrying about Jack and the new location in turn, he’s sure. It’s just frustrating to have uninvited audio in one’s own place of business. The old place was never this loud, and it was in the center of downtown.
Castiel tries to ignore it, the loud drums and screeching bass, as he carefully lines up small framed advertisements for other local businesses. He’s made good friends with many people at the local farmer’s market, and he looks forward to hosting them here for events, now that he has the space for it. He tries to focus on that, imagining the muffins and turnovers he’ll make with the Fitzgeralds’ fresh and local fruit, the shelf he might keep at the counter with Cain’s honey, breakfast sandwiches made with the goods from Daniel’s farm.
Castiel manages to make it through some of the morning without storming over and scolding his neighbor for their inconsiderate behavior, but after a couple hours of the incessant noise, he reasons that perhaps a gentle reminder to the proprietor that they do now have neighbors wouldn’t be amiss. He tries to maintain his composure as he crosses the parking lot, the music becoming louder the closer he gets, but the subsequent pounding in his skull is unpleasant, and by the time he reaches the bar, he’s at his wit’s end.
Castiel pulls on the door and finds it unlocked. To his unfortunate surprise, the door slams loudly behind him, catching the attention of the man behind the bar who seems to have, until this point, been singing along animatedly to his loud music as he busies himself behind the bar. Whatever it is he’s doing, he turns away from it immediately at the sound of the door, indicating that his loud music is not due to any kind of hearing loss on his part.
Castiel doesn’t allow himself to be deterred by his own unintentional dramatics as he steadily closes the distance between himself and the man. He looks familiar, Castiel thinks, but not familiar enough that they’ve met. Castiel would remember this man. Were he not the source of Castiel’s current vexation, Castiel might let his eyes linger on the man’s physical form, enjoying the obvious strength of his lines and the appealing sweep of his hair as it brushes against his ears, drawing attention to striking green eyes. As it is, Castiel notes these traits in a carefully detached manner. Even attractive men can be assholes, and they often are, in Castiel’s experience.
The man smiles, slow and charming in a way that Castiel is sure has gotten him out of a number of situations he’d otherwise face the consequences of. Castiel can see through it. He owns a service business, he knows what a smile looks like when it exists to appease another person.
“Inviting yourself into my bar and not even introducing yourself?” The man makes a genuine tsk-ing noise at him. Castiel clenches his hands into fists at his side. “Hardly a way to make new friends. I’m Dean Winchester.”
The man, Dean, it seems, puts his hand out over the bar.
Cas looks down at it then back up to the man in front of him.
He should introduce himself, he knows. It’s what he came here to do.
“It’s 10 a.m. on a Sunday,” Castiel says instead.
Dean’s false cheer turns into genuine puzzlement and Castiel can’t help but find the look endearing in its guilelessness, but it’s not enough to win him over.
“And?” Dean asks.
Castiel tilts his head at Dean, looking over to the speakers, which they’re nearly shouting to be heard over.
“Oh shit!” Dean says, and runs over to a panel on the wall which seems to connect to the speaker.
Relief floods Castiel’s head as the sound subsides to a reasonable level. Surely Dean doesn’t keep the sound so high while the bar is open, Castiel considers. He takes a look around at the bar, its features old but clearly well taken care of.
Dean clears his throat, drawing Castiel’s attention back to him. He really does have the most remarkable eyes.
“Who are you?” Dean asks.
“I’m Castiel.”
“And?” Dean gestures at the bar as if to ask, why are you here?
Castiel doesn’t tell him he’s here to tell Dean to turn down his music. That’s not actually why he came over, he reminds himself.
“I’ve bought the building next door,” he offers.
Unexpectedly, Dean’s expression shutters and he crosses his arms.
“You bought the old restaurant? Decided to clean up the neighborhood with a more respectable business?” Dean’s mouth curls around the word ‘respectable’ with disgust, and Cas feels his eyebrows draw together in confusion. He’s not sure where Dean’s derision is coming from, and he has no interest to engage with it.
“I needed to purchase a new location for my bakery,” Castiel explains. “It wasn’t an ideal choice; the location leaves much to be desired—”
Castiel is cut off by a scoff from Dean, the muscles in his arms dancing as Dean clenches his fist.
“What, they didn’t tell you when you bought the place that it was next to a bar? Couldn’t see that far across the parking lot?”
Castiel doesn’t know how the conversation devolved so quickly and he doesn’t appreciate Dean’s tone. He loses the battle against himself and feels his teeth clench tightly together. He believes in affording people grace, but he’s only willing to put up with so much.
“Feel free to stop by if you’d ever like some coffee,” he grits out. Then he turns on his heel and exits the building, ignoring another scoff behind him.
The music is back at full volume before Castiel makes it back to the bakery.
🎸
Dean Winchester has worked at Singer’s Bar since Rufus and Bobby thought he was old enough to be put to work, although his dad had him working long before then. He hadn’t been able to stay here longer than a couple months at most until he was twenty-two and Sammy went off to college, but the apartment upstairs has been his longer than that, more of a home than anywhere he’s ever been.
Rufus had never liked John. The first time John had come to grab them at the house, Rufus had pulled a weapon on the man sneaking into his house in the middle of the night, thinking he was there to rob the place. He hadn’t been too keen on sending the boys home with John after the altercation either, but he had when Bobby told him it was the only option, and John kept bringing them back. After that, Dean and Sam stayed in the apartment above the bar when they stayed in town.
Quiet days here make Dean think of them, Bobby a few years gone now and Rufus holed up in the cabin half the year trying to live without him. In true Singer’s tradition, he drives out the melancholy with some good fucking music. That’s what summer days are all about, Dean thinks as he cranks up the Zepp. Fuck whatever his straight-laced dickhead neighbor has to say about it.
-
When Ash arrives at the bar, he greets Dean with a high five he smoothly swings into an ass slap on his way past Dean into the kitchen, and Dean laughs. He used to think Ash would grow out of that. Then, about a decade ago, he realized Ash never grows out of anything.
Ash is the first of tonight’s staff to arrive, needing to prep some food before the old-timers start filtering in. It’s Sunday, which means they’ll be busier earlier in the evening, Bobby and Rufus’s old friends stopping by to check in with Dean, ask how the bar is doing, ask him if he’s heard from Rufus lately. Everybody else has got work in the morning, so they’ll probably have an early last call, provided no college students sticking around for the summer decide to make their way down to Singer’s. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s not totally unheard of. Dean hopes for his sake that they stick to Crowley’s place if they decide to go out tonight. He doesn’t have it in him to deal with kids after this morning’s debacle.
Dean follows Ash into the kitchen, washing his hands before sliding into place next to his friend. It’s a familiar routine, and Dean can feel some residual tension ease from his shoulders and back.
“How was your vacation?” Dean asks, knowing it will set Ash off. Ash had been working reduced shifts at the bar while he taught a May term course at the college, and even though Dean is convinced Ash secretly loved it, Ash always acts like teaching was akin to being dipped in a vat of acid.
Predictably, Ash throws his head back and groans loudly.
“I need a fucking vacation after that,” he complains. “These kids are ridiculous, man. They’re like newborn infants. Have you ever tried teaching a newborn infant how to code? They don’t even speak the language. I don’t know why Missouri thought it would be a good idea to have me do this shit. It’s one thing to drag me into a capstone course for some kind of fucking guest lecture, but this teaching a class thing is a bit much. Thank God I’ve got Kris to do the actual interacting with them part, or else I’d have to learn how to talk to them.”
Dean doesn’t think that’s what the point of a TA is but what the hell does he know.
“Anyway,” Ash says on an exhale, “how have you been, asshole?”
Dean lets out a groan of his own, and Ash gives him an interested look, mouth quirked and eyebrows raised.
“You would not believe what happened this morning. So I’m doing inventory, right, seeing what we have behind the bar before the week starts to pick up, you know, what I do every Sunday. And, I mean, you wouldn’t even believe it if you’d seen it, Ash, I swear. This guy, all fancy-looking and shit, storms in here with some kind of stick already firmly lodged up his ass because I don’t even know, I guess my music was too loud? And I was totally calm, ready to de-escalate the situation or whatever, but then he acts like somehow the bar, which has been here a hell of a lot longer than he has, is the problem, and not rich idiots like him moving in and buying up all the real estate in town—”
Ash still looks as though he’s listening, but Dean notices a hand stretched behind him, opening and closing to indicate Dean’s yapping to a laughing Benny, who must have come in while Dean was complaining about their new neighbor. Dean cuts himself off, scowling at the man he usually considers one of his best friends.
Ash quirks an eyebrow innocently, as if confused why Dean stopped. Benny doesn’t bother to stifle his laughter.
“I’m serious,” Dean says, turning so Benny can see how serious he is. “It’s such bullshit. We’ve been here since the 80s—”
Ash laughs at him. “You weren’t old enough to step foot in this bar in the 80s,”
“I’ve been here since 1986, thank you very fucking much, and you damn well know it.” Dean’s been here almost since the bar opened, even if it wasn’t as often as he would’ve liked in those days.
“Hmmmm,” Ash says, drawing the syllable out. “Tell me more about this Castiel guy.”
Dean pauses for a moment, considering how to describe the man. Confident. Angry. Incandescently hot. Too bad he turned out to be an asshole.
Benny and Ash exchange a look and Dean points between the two of them.
“What the fuck is this? None of this. Why aren’t you also angry about this? It’s—”
Dean snaps his fingers, thinking of the word.
“It’s gentrification,” he says. “Too many people buying property in town, making it unlivable for the locals like us.”
“That building’s been empty since Elkins retired, back before you stopped wearing eyeliner,” Ash counters with a laugh.
“Look, cher,” Benny cuts in, “you know I don’t like change either, but there’s no avoiding it. Times’ll get ahead of you before you know it, Dean. Easier to let it happen, long as it’s nothing too terrible. I’m not sure I see what’s so awful about a new neighbor who’s got coffee ready all times of day.”
Dean gives Benny his best glare and is met with absolute indifference. Ash continues to laugh at him.
“You guys are assholes,” Dean declares, turning to walk out of the kitchen and into the bar. “And our new neighbor is a whole other kind of asshole. Wait till you meet him, you’ll see.”
🥐
Castiel has never had to manage employees before. His old bakery had been his alone, and if he wasn’t working, the business was closed. The new location necessitates a larger staff, and Castiel can admit that the customer-focused work has never been his strong suit, as helpful as it had been in meeting new people. Jack will be a natural, Castiel is sure, but they’ll need someone with a bit more experience to support them. Dorothy had recommended her girlfriend, an energetic woman named Charlie, and Castiel hadn’t looked any further than that. Dorothy was one of the first friends he made in Genesis. He’d been something of a recluse when he first arrived, and she’d always been kind to him when she’d come by to drop off deliveries.
“I do a lot of freelance work,” Charlie had explained when he asked why she was looking for work. “Computer stuff, graphic design, some copy writing, basically what you’d expect. It pays well, but I like to keep busy, so I’ve had a lot of customer service jobs to get that human interaction in. I was working at the bookshop with Missouri, but now that Patience is back, she doesn’t need as much help there. And, you know, I love coffee and Dorothy said you could use some help!”
Castiel can’t imagine Charlie is a person who needs to be caffeinated, but he finds himself charmed by her energy, and he trusts Dorothy’s judgement.
Jack is thrilled at the opportunity to meet new people, and Castiel believes they and Charlie will hit it off. Kaia, the other young woman Castiel had hired to work the front, seems quiet, one of the more recent transplants to Genesis, and Castiel hopes Jack and Charlie might provide something of a welcoming party.
It should help that Jack has already met Claire, who will be working with Castiel in the kitchen. Claire’s adoptive parents, Jody and Donna, were also some of the first people Castiel had become friends with in Genesis, and Claire had been in the very first class he had ever taught at the local youth center. Although she’d been a young teenager herself at the time, she’d served as an assistant of sorts for the course. Jody had explained before introducing them that Claire was something of a self-appointed doorman.
“She’s a bit snarly, but a good kid,” Jody had told him. “Told me she figures if people coming in can’t handle that teenage sass of hers, they ought to find a new place to work up their hours.”
Castiel had nodded earnestly, ready to rise to the test. He could understand the need for such a defense mechanism in those without an established support system. Although he’d never managed to build up that hard outer shell, he respected it from the children he worked with, and he’d grown quite fond of Claire. Her acerbic nature was unpredictable and certainly puzzling at times, but often more amusing than anything. When Claire had mentioned that she needed to do some job shadowing over the summer for her university program, Castiel had quickly offered up his own business as an opportunity. He trusts her to help Jack with their transition to town as she has other young adults at the center.
“Castiel?” Jack says, waving a hand in front of his face.
Castiel startles, knowing that Jack doesn’t resort to such tactics without cause.
“Are you okay?” they ask, brow furrowed and lips pursed in concern.
Castiel allows himself one big sigh and tells Jack the truth.
“I’m a bit nervous about the new staff. They’re all nice people,” he rushes to reassure Jack, “but I’ve never had to manage a staff before.”
Jack nods their understanding but remains unaffected.
“Claire will help!” they say.
Castiel smiles. He appreciates how quickly and determinedly Claire has taken Jack under her wing, and he chooses to find it endearing that Jack believes Claire can answer any question and solve any problem.
“We’ll all figure it out together.”
“We’ll make it up as we go,” Jack says. That’s what Castiel always tells them.
-
He needn’t have worried.
Jack’s open demeanor has Kaia talking more than Castiel has ever heard from her, and Claire and Charlie hit it off immediately, talking at a speed Castiel can hardly follow and doubts he would understand if he could, given the references they toss back and forth. Castiel works with them to create a schedule and discuss store policies and processes, but mostly lets them take this opportunity to get to know each other a bit better.
He’s pulled out of Jack’s explanation of all of the many coffee-making machines they want to have for the cafe area when he hears Charlie say, “that sounds like Dean,” with a light laugh in her voice.
“Dean?” Castiel asks before he can stop himself. “Not Dean Winchester?”
The look Charlie gives him doesn’t seem to indicate surprise on her part or any annoyance at his eavesdropping. Instead, there’s an assessing look in her eyes Castiel tries not to cringe away from. Who knows what Dean might have said about him had the two of them discussed Castiel’s visit to the bar.
Charlie’s wide smile doesn’t falter, though, as she says, “Yeah, Dean Winchester. He owns the bar across the lot? He’s my best friend; we met when I first came through town. I didn’t think I was going to stay, and I didn’t for a while, but, well, there are people here worth coming back for.”
Castiel had known Charlie was another transplant but had assumed she’d stayed for Dorothy. Perhaps that was still who she was referring to.
Claire eyes Castiel speculatively, asking, “How do you know Dean? I don’t think I’ve seen you together at the center.”
Castiel files away the implication that Dean also volunteers at the center but refrains from following up.
“We’ve met,” he says. “We don’t really know each other that well.”
Best to leave it at that, he thinks.
Claire looks like she has more questions, but shrugs and lets it go.
“Dean’s a regular at the center, has been since way before my time,” Claire explains, earning a laugh from Charlie from the dig at Dean’s age. “I mean, he didn’t stay there, obviously, since Bobby and Rufus basically adopted him, but Bobby and Jody were close. And Jody can never resist the urge to mom everyone around her, so you know how that is.”
Castiel nods haltingly. He does know Jody to be a very warm person, although he’d been far too old when they’d met to be on the receiving end of those maternal instincts. His mind is having some trouble, though, trying to match the closed off man he’d met days prior to the man Claire is describing now, who apparently spends much of his time working with children.
“Speaking of,” Claire says, checking the clock on the wall, “Kaia and I ought to get back there soon; summer sessions start today and we’re doing a little kick-off for the kids.”
“Ah yes, I made a variety of cookies, muffins, and danishes for you to bring back, those tend to be favorites at the center. Do you have a hand to help me get them from the kitchen?”
“Of course you did,” Claire says, standing from her chair. She holds her hands up and gestures to the kitchen.
Jack trails after them, always ready to help, and is stuck behind Claire when she stops in the doorway upon seeing the stacks of tupperware and lets out a laugh.
“Think there’s enough here to feed everyone?” she asks.
Jack stands on their toes to look over her shoulder.
“We have more if this isn’t enough,” they offer sincerely.
Claire turns to them and laughs again, giving them space to come into the room, and then sees that they’re serious.
“Nah, squirt,” she says. “This is plenty; I’m just teasing Castiel here. Helps him lighten up.”
Jack looks confused but nods slowly as if understanding.
Claire pats them on the back.
“Think you can help me bring this stuff over? I’m not sure Kaia and I can handle it all ourselves.”
“Can I?” Jack asks, turning to Castiel.
“Did you not bring your car?” Castiel asks Claire. He wouldn’t have tried to send this all with her if he hadn’t thought she had means of transport. “I can give you a ride if you need.”
Claire rolls her eyes in a way Castiel believes to be affectionate, although perhaps he’s flattering himself.
“I brought the car,” she says. “But Jack wants to join. Can they?”
Claire raises her eyebrows in the way that usually means she’s waiting for him to get something and Castiel reviews their conversation. She’s trying to invite Jack to the event at the youth center, he realizes, in the slant way she’s adopted to include new people.
“Of course you can go,” Castiel tells Jack.
“Right,” Claire says, “so let's get moving.”
-
“I’m not sure where to start,” Castiel admits when Charlie asks about what he’s hoping to communicate with his branding. She’d mentioned experience in web design and marketing when they’d first spoken, and Castiel likes the idea of having a presence outside of this new physical location, something warm which allows them to speak directly to the community.
Castiel makes them both a coffee with his small French press which had been one of the few coffee-related appliances at his old bakery before sitting across from Charlie at one of the tables.
He’s never done much advertising. With the old bakery, it had been enough to be right downtown and to sell cheap coffee and food. Word gets around fairly quickly in Genesis, and proximity to the university helps.
“Well, I think the best place to start is getting to know each other a little better,” Charlie says with a wide smile. “I know you moved to Genesis a few years ago, and obviously Dot talks about you, but you and I haven’t really had the opportunity to get to know each other.”
Castiel nods, thinking. He’s never been very good at these kinds of social interactions.
“I can start, if you want,” Charlie offers after a moment.
“Yes, you mentioned Dean,” Castiel says, trying to keep his distaste for the man out of his voice. “Did you two meet through work as well?”
Charlie is shaking her head before Castiel finishes his question.
“No, Dean and I go way back,” she says. “My parents died when I was young and I spent a couple years moving around a lot before I landed in Genesis as a teenager. I was used to a very ephemeral lifestyle, and Genesis is a lot like a lot of other middle-American small towns I stayed in for a few months before moving on, but then I met Dean, and then Sam and Eileen, and then Dorothy, and then I couldn’t leave. Once you find your people, you gotta not let them go, you know?”
“And Dean is one of your people?” Castiel asks. He’s not sure it’s an appropriate question, but he’s very curious about this seemingly unlikely pairing.
“Dean is my person, singular,” Charlie corrects. “I mean, I’m not into men and I am very much in love with Dot, but Dean was the first person I found myself able to have a real relationship with after years of not letting people get too close. Even if it’s a completely platonic friendship, it’s kind of everything to me.”
She pauses as though noticing that she may have overshared. Castiel doesn’t mind, but he still feels deeply confused about the connection between two people he’s unsure have anything at all in common. He supposes sometimes when you build an attachment to people when you’re young, you’re willing to overlook their flaws.
“Anyway, though,” Charlie says. “He’s never let me make a website for the bar, or even a social media account. It’s all word-of-mouth marketing with that guy, and I try not to push too often, because it works, but seriously, imagine the kind of traffic we could get if he even let me make him an Instagram account.”
“He’s a very attractive man,” Castiel allows. “I imagine there would be an increase in business if he allowed his likeness to be used for advertising.”
His observation is met by bright, loud laughter from Charlie and he feels his face begin to heat slightly.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, fanning her face and trying to stop her laughter. “I’m sorry but please, please can I tell him that?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Castiel says, shifting slightly in his seat.
Charlie, noticing his discomfort, tries more effectively to calm her reaction.
“Sorry,” she says again, more genuinely now. “It’s just, Dean won’t even let me make flyers for music nights; he just makes those monochrome ones on neon paper with Ash, old-school style. He’s such a fucking nerd. I would kill for him to allow me to do any branding of the place at all.”
She says it with such affection that Castiel finds himself feeling endeared, but not toward Dean. It sounds exactly like the kind of stubborn behavior Castiel would expect from the man. He’s not sure how to move forward with the conversation, and Charlie seems to take pity on him.
“If you’d like, we can get started on planning your website today. You’ll let me make you one, right?”
“Of course,” Castiel says. He’s a practical business owner.
“Okay, let’s start somewhere easy. Why Taste of Eden?” Charlie asks, and something about her genuine curiosity, paired with how off-center he’s already feeling, makes Cas answer more honestly than he’d planned.
“I don’t know how much of this you’re already aware of courtesy of the local rumor mill, but I came from a very religious upbringing,” he confides. He’s sure Dorothy would’ve mentioned it at least offhandedly in the years they’ve known each other.
Charlie nods, setting down her notepad to focus her attention on what she must recognize is something of a long story. Castiel feels something in him relax at the gesture and he pushes on.
“I was raised in the church, evangelical, and my family held a lot of esteem in our town for their devout practice. My brothers had little trouble obeying the word, but I often found myself struggling against a contradictory and sometimes cruel doctrine. I strayed, but my mother was very capable of bringing me back to myself. Or at least the identity she had created for me. I was successful in school and similarly so when I entered the family business, but I had a tendency to align myself with…”
Castiel has to pause as he considers his next word. Sinners. Nonbelievers. Undesirables.
“Those of whom my family did not approve,” he says instead.
“And that led you to name your business after the bible?” Charlie asks. She looks at him like he’s crazy, but he can see that the expression is affected, and he smiles. He enjoys her impertinence.
“My family believes that one proves their faith through service, and that’s something I’ve carried with me. To provide food for others is a service, to provide food for those who might not otherwise access it is a virtue. There are many stories in the bible of Jesus providing food to his followers. Baking was an easy path to virtue for me as a child and into my adolescence.”
Castiel looks down at his hands, trying not to hunch in on himself. He’s worked hard not to be ashamed of what his family perceived as his failure.
“As I got older, my parents became less pleased with my dedication to it, and I became less pleased with them as I realized they believed first in service to themselves and their own cause. It became enough of a point of contention that I had shifted my efforts wholly toward other, more ‘virtuous’ practices of my faith before I left.”
Charlie smiles at his air quotations, encouraging him to continue.
“I suppose the name is born of the idea that something that was once virtuous can become a sin, through context or simply perception. Eden was the divine providence of Adam and Eve, but it took only one forbidden taste for them to be exiled. The bakery, as wholesome as it may seem, is my rebellion, and it is made possible only through my own exile.”
Castiel smiles wryly, “I thought it would be funny, although no one truly has the context to find the humor in it. That’s part of the appeal, I think. It’s another way for the bakery to belong only to me.”
“Whew,” Charlie says. “That sucks. I can see why you left.”
Castiel nods silently, smiling at her ability to keep this feeling manageable. He knows all the reasons he left, and he’s confident in his decision to never return, but there is still an ache when he talks about the place he’d once considered his home.
“Even if pastries and good coffee were a sin, I’m not sure I’d be able to give them up,” Charlie jokes, breaking the tension.
“Yes, well,” Castiel says. “I like to think that the opposite of their logic can also be true. What’s considered a sin by some may be a virtue, when seen through different eyes. Not that coffee and sweets have moral or virtuous weight, but,” Castiel gestures around at his new bakery, the place he and Jack have built with painstaking care. “I think of this as an opportunity to give back. It’s not just about my work at the center, or spotlighting other local businesses through our events, but the smaller moments of community and joy that arise when interacting with the patrons. It’s silly perhaps, or unnecessarily grand, but I like to think we make people’s days better.”
Charlie smiles at him warmly.
“I think I can work with that.”
🎸
As soon as Dean sees the shock of red hair making its way through the crowd to the bar, he goes to work making Charlie’s ridiculous tequila sunrise, complete with maraschino cherries on the umbrella. There are only two women in town with hair that red, and on the off chance Ash’s girlfriend decided to make her way to the bar on a weeknight, Dean figures she’d probably be as stupidly delighted by the fruity drink as Charlie is.
“Charlie!” he calls out in greeting as she gets closer, and she grins at him as she takes her usual seat at the bar.
He slides the drink over to her, enjoying how her face lights up at the sight of it. There’s a reason he keeps those stupid umbrellas at the bar, and it’s not only so he can make fun of his brother with them.
“How’ve you been?” he asks. “How’s Dot?”
“Good!” she says. “We’re good. Dorothy’s busy as ever, which is how she likes it. We’re thinking about renovating the space over the garage into an apartment space for guests, which I’m letting her handle, with Jesse and Cesar’s help obviously. Once they’ve got the space cleared out, I’ll help with the paint and decor.”
“Sounds about right,” Dean grins.
Charlie shrugs. “We all have our strengths.”
She toys with her straw for a moment, looking as if she’s debating whether or not to bring something up.
Dean nudges her elbow to get her to meet his eyes and raises his eyebrows in question.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Castiel?” Charlie asks in a terrible impression of casualness. Barely a hello, Dean thinks.
“The asshole from next door?” he asks. “Not much of a deal, except for him storming in here the other day because I was, I don’t fucking know, listening to music too loud or because he needed something to be mad at on a Sunday morning.”
Charlie tilts her head and looks doubtful.
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“How would you know, you’ve met the guy?”
Probably, if she’s asking about it, he supposes.
“Dean,” Charlie says, drawing out his name in exaggerated exasperation, “I told you last week I was going to start working at the new cafe in town. Castiel’s bakery? Taste of Eden, sound familiar?”
Dean scoffs at the name. It made sense that Castiel had been so angry if he was religious, he thinks. Religion can drive people crazy. Maybe he thinks it’s a sin to listen to Led Zeppelin on Sundays.
“He got kind of weird when I mentioned you,” Charlie says, “kind of cagey, and I was wondering if something had happened.”
Dean tries to refocus on the topic at hand. Charlie had told him she was starting a new job soon, and he feels a bit bad that he hadn’t put the pieces together, but he feels more strongly something twisting in his stomach at the thought of Charlie being on Castiel’s side of things, as if there are even sides to be on. They met once, less than a week ago, didn’t hit it off, and Dean’s been doing his best to avoid the guy ever since. Somehow, the gossip mill in this town has already made that impossible.
“You’re working for the guy?” Dean says, making sure his voice communicates his distaste for the idea. “Come on, Charlie, you’re not twenty years old anymore, you’ve got to get better at vetting your employers.”
Charlie gives Dean an unimpressed look at his perhaps unwarranted mention of her miserable experience working for Dick Roman shortly before they’d met. The experience had been bad enough that she’d left the town she was working in entirely and had found her way to Genesis. He’s glad it worked out in the end, at least, but it’s still a sore spot in her personal history.
Dean puts his hands up in an apologetic gesture and Charlie nods in appeasement.
“Castiel isn’t some rich asshole like Roman,” Charlie says. “I mean, he might be rich, but not like, fuck you rich, and he’s a really nice guy.”
Dean makes an are you fucking kidding me face. What is it with his friends trying to defend this guy? Charlie doesn’t even seem to be doing it to set him off like Benny and Ash had. She seems to genuinely like the guy. But Charlie can be too nice at times, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening here.
“We are talking about Castiel, right? About yea high,” Dean gestures a height a few inches below his own out of spite. “Stocky, scruffy, bitchy as hell?”
“You describing your taste in men?” Cassie asks as she slides past Dean on her way to the kitchen.
“Ha!” Dean calls back to her in the driest tone he can manage. None of those things are what Dean finds most interesting about the new guy, as much as he can admire an impressive chest. Castiel’s eyes, though, are like nothing else, and his hair is the perfect length for Dean to get his hands tangled in it. Or someone to get their hands tangled in anyway. Someone else. And so what if the guy is hot as fuck; he’s also unbearable.
“It’s a nice place,” Charlie tells him, choosing not to add to Cassie’s argument. “He runs it with his kid, Jack. It used to be just a bakery with, like, a drip coffee and tea station, but they’re expanding, so I’ll be donning my barista hat again, which is always fun. I’m helping him with some of the marketing stuff, too. The plan is for me, Jack, and Kaia to man the front and for Castiel to work in the back with some help from Claire. She’s getting some of her college credits out of the way, and it’s a good summer job. I think it could be a really good thing for all of us.”
“Probably for the best that he’s working in the back with that attitude,” Dean grumbles. He takes some delight in knowing Castiel will be working with Claire. Jody’s always saying that Claire is exhaustingly like a younger Dean, and Dean can hardly argue the resemblance. He trusts that if anyone can take the guy down a notch, it’s her.
Charlie levels him an actual glare now, markedly less playful than her previous one.
“Okay, okay,” he says gruffly. “I hope you have a good time with the new job. I’m happy for you.”
Charlie knows him too well to trust that he’s being wholly sincere, but she accepts that.
“How are things here?” she asks.
Finally. Thank fuck.
🥐
Opening day at the bakery is reassuringly hectic. A number of people Castiel recognizes from the university, staff and students alike, filter in over the course of the morning, and Castiel makes small talk with them about their summer courses or research.
Marie is thrilled to hear they’ve reopened and orders three different pastries to go with her vanilla spice iced latte. “I thought I was going to have to fumble my way through my thesis without your muffins,” she explains before settling into one of the booths with her laptop and a number of books and binders.
“We’re filming an expose,” Ed asserts when Jack asks about his video camera, “digging into the dark underbelly of Genesis, Kansas.”
Jack furrows their brow and Castiel can feel himself doing the same as he tells Ed, “Genesis doesn’t have a dark underbelly. And if it did, I don’t think you would find it in my bakery. But you are welcome to film here, if you obtain consent from the patrons.”
“Right on,” Harry says, cutting off whatever Ed was going to say, likely a rant on authenticity in documentary filmmaking. “Could we also get, like, an insane number of donuts?”
Other community members stop by as well. Cesar pops in to get coffees and croissants for himself and Jesse on his lunch break; Jody stops by to grab some powdered donuts for Donna; Bess picks up a couple of fruit breads for the kids’ breakfasts. For the first time, Castiel considers that maybe this new venture doesn’t have to mean starting over. Maybe it is only a new chapter.
As the day goes on, Castiel spends more time in the kitchen, preparing food to replace what has already sold. There are a few people Castiel expects to come in late to order muffins and bagels for the morning, and they ran out of both twenty minutes ago. Claire is a quick learner, and she already knows how to make his muffins from previous lessons at the youth center, so she keeps up a steady stream of conversation as they work. She’d like to do some work with Charlie on marketing, she says, and with him on the accounting. As much as she enjoys being in the kitchen, she tells him, it’s more of a hobby, and as long as she’s paying for the college credits, she might as well do the actual career exploration part of job shadowing.
“I might like to own my own business,” Claire says, “to get around those authority problems Jody keeps telling me I have. Probably not a bakery, but I figure some of the basics are transferable.”
She pauses for a moment and Castiel is quiet as she gears up for whatever she intends to say next.
“It’s pretty cool some of the stuff you do, too,” she says. “With the center, and the farmers market, and all the community stuff. All the classes I’m taking keep talking about networking as, like, the skill everyone needs to find opportunities, and I figure that’s basically corporate bullshit speak for building a community. I think I’d like to build a community like this one.”
She nods her head toward the door, through which they can hear the muffled bustling of customers.
Castiel takes a moment to consider that. He has built a community here, and he’s been intentional about maintaining it, but he’s not sure what he can teach Claire about that. Before he has the chance to formulate a response, Claire elbows him lightly and smiles mischievously.
“Well, in general you’re a community guy, but I hear you’re not completely free from drama.”
Castiel feels a deep furrow form in his brow at that.
“I think my life is largely free from drama,” he says.
“Oh?” Claire asks, “So what’s the deal with you and the boy next door?”
She’s poorly suppressing a smile as she scoops the muffin batter into cupped trays, and Castiel does his best not to noticeably react to the question.
“I assume you mean Dean,” he replies, keeping his voice as level and disinterested as possible, “and there is no deal between us. We interact minimally and I believe we both prefer it that way.”
He’s seen Dean in passing a few times, coming into work or leaving, and once at Jesse and Cesar’s when he has needed to buy more paint for the blackboard wall Jack had insisted on to post the menu, but he’s not spoken to him since their unfortunate meeting, and he does his best to ignore any references Charlie or Claire make about Dean in his presence. It’s odd that he’s seeing Dean so often when Castiel was certain he’d never seen him before, but he does get out more now that he has Jack.
Claire snorts.
“Sure.”
Castiel is grateful to have the excuse of focusing on the bread he’s elbows deep in kneading.
🎸
Dean loves Friday nights at the bar, the live music, the energy everyone has going into the weekend, the way everyone who works here finds their way back to the bar whether or not they have a shift. He loves being the place where people unwind after a long week, and where they celebrate a good one. Fridays also mean more college students finding their way down to his bar than Dean wants to deal with, but it’s a trade-off he’s willing to make. It’s easier when Lee’s not performing, and Victor’s not too busy watching him to man the door. Dean’s happy for those two, finally finding what they wanted in each other, but he’s even happier with the opportunity to give them shit about it.
It does mean, though, that Dean is left to man the bar and watch the door more than his share. He should just stop scheduling them together, but it’s not worth the fight. Dean’s perfectly capable of juggling both jobs. He’s doing another scan of the bar when he sees a familiar head of blonde hair hanging around the edge of a group of college students, and he knows exactly who it’s attached to. She’s going to kill him one of these days, he swears. He’s going to have a heart attack like the old man she’s always telling him he is.
Getting Cassie to cover the bar, he walks up behind Claire and taps her on the shoulder.
She turns with an open expression that closes immediately when she sees him.
“Dean,” she says in a voice someone might use to say “syphilis.”
“Don’t you have school or something, kid?”
“It’s Friday night. And it’s summer,” Claire says, like he’s stupid. “Are you getting so old you’re losing track of time?”
“At least I’m old enough to legally be in this bar,” Dean counters.
Claire rolls her eyes.
“Come on, you know I’m close enough.”
“There is no close enough. You’re old enough to be in the bar or you aren’t. You got a summer job?”
“Internship,” Claire says. “Jody got me in with the new bakery across the lot. Cas, the owner, helps at the center sometimes. Teaching us basic living skills or whatever. Cooking and shit. He’s cool.”
It’s high praise from Claire, and Dean feels himself getting annoyed again. He can not fucking rid himself of this guy. He supposes it’s nice that Castiel works at the center, but Dean’s not too impressed. Plenty of hoity-toity religious folks like to make themselves look good by volunteering in the community. The fact that he’s gained Claire’s approval does give Dean pause–she’s usually a pretty discerning customer–but he supposes everyone has their weak spots. Or maybe he’s just on his best behavior around the kids.
“Actually,” Claire says, “you know him, right? Charlie said you and he had a ‘thing’ about each other, what’s that about?”
“It’s none of your business,” Dean ducks a pair of drunk college guys who are stumbling together arm in arm towards the restrooms. “We’re not big fans of each other. Good going on getting the summer work, though. Maybe you should be taking an early night to prepare for that instead of sneaking out to bars.”
“Come on, Dean,” Claire whines, “Donna says this guy’s really good. I won’t even drink, I promise.”
“It’s a bar, Claire, you’re not allowed to be here, drinking or not.” It doesn’t help that she’s always trying to sneak in on music nights when he’s too busy to properly look out for her, but he’s not looking to cater to an underage clientele regardless.
“I keep telling you that you should get those hand stamps to mark people who are underage,” Claire says as though that’s not an absurd idea for a place like this.
“What kind of place do you think this is?”
“The kind that has live music! You know Crowley’s is playing the worst possible top 40 bullshit and Thirst–"
“You definitely don’t need to be going to Gordon or Crowley’s place, but that doesn’t mean you can sneak in here every other Friday night this summer for another year. Until you’re twenty-one, you can listen to live music any weekend of the year at the music store,” Dean argues.
“Right,” Claire scoffs, “and that’s what you did?”
It’s not what Dean did, which is exactly why he’s here telling her to cut it the fuck out. The last thing he needs is some twenty year old kid trying to follow in his footsteps. On one hand, Claire is right–there’s nothing quite like the energy of live music at a local dive bar, and Dean had known that even as a teen–but Dean can hardly agree with her on this. More than that, he’s not reassured that her complaints about the other bars mean she won’t try to sneak in there.
“I’m taking you home,” he tells her.
-
Claire sits in moody silence next to Dean for the short drive, putting in one of his Queen cassettes and cranking the volume high enough that Dean couldn’t try to talk to her even if he had something worth saying. Dean is tense as he always is when Claire pulls this shit, but the music helps, and he feels something still within him as he pulls up to the center. He could have brought Claire to her apartment, but it’s not a school night, so he can only assume Jody and Donna are still at the center, hosting some event or other. Claire groans when she sees where they are.
“You’re telling mom on me?” she asks like he’s an annoying older brother, which, he supposes, he is, just not hers. Happy to take on the role, he ruffles her hair and opens his door.
“You said it was Donna’s idea,” he says, goading her. She hadn’t really said that, but close enough.
The look she shoots at him in response is scathing, but she gets out of the car as well, running a hand through her hair to right it. He walks in the front entrance, sure she’ll follow him, and checks in with the kid working the front.
“Hey Krissy,” Dean greets. “I thought you were apprenticing with your dad these days.”
“Oh, I am,” she assures him. “But it’s slower during the summer without the college kids getting ink they’ll definitely get covered up in five to ten years. More specialized work. And, you know, you can’t beat the refreshments.”
Krissy holds up an apple danish and Dean perks up.
“Are there more of those?” he asks.
Krissy shrugs. “There was when I got this one.”
“Hell yeah,” Dean says. They bump fists before he walks through the next set of doors.
Donna brightens immediately upon seeing Claire and Dean walk in. Jody smiles, too, but then she looks between Dean and a clearly still perturbed Claire and does the math. She used to be a cop, and she’s always been terribly perceptive. Dean walks over to give them each a hug, Claire trailing after him.
“You tried to get into the pit again?” Jody asks Claire, tone unsurprised but unimpressed.
Claire lifts her chin and shrugs.
“One of these days he’s going to let me in.”
“Yeah, in February, when you turn twenty-one.”
“That’s so unfair. February is so far away, and the summer shows won’t be running then.”
“Yeah, you’re that far away from being legally allowed in the place. That’s why I keep bringing you back here.”
Dean shares an exasperated look with Jody and Donna. Donna looks at both of them sympathetically.
“Pastry?” she chirps, offering up a plate of donuts.
“Yes,” Dean says, grateful for the subject change. “Krissy said you might still have some of those apple danishes I like. After that I’ve got to head back to the bar, though, with the music night and all.”
“You’re in luck,” Donna says, putting the donuts down and grabbing a nearly empty plate of apple danishes. Dean grabs one and takes a bite, groaning in appreciation.
“You’re the best, Donna. Thanks for this.”
“Actually,” Claire says, looking like she’s gearing up to ruin his night, “Castiel made those this afternoon. Maybe you should thank him.”
God fucking damn it.