Cinnamon (AO3)

Requested by slyrowena

Prompt: (#444 - LEATHER) Castiel, blind from an accident when he was six, usually spends his Thursday afternoons the same way. He orders cinnamon coffee and the special of the day from a bakery run by a man who smells like leather and motor oil, and he may or may not be a little in love.

Castiel walked down the street cautiously, his cane sweeping out in front of him slowly to make sure he didn’t bump into anything. Blind ever since he was hit by a car at the age of six, Castiel had long since adapted to his impairment. He could navigate places he knew well as easily as any sighted person, so most of the time, getting lost wasn’t a problem.

Today was one of those days. He’d gotten into the habit of taking a walk every Thursday, following his nose through the park, towards the bakery he frequented. He’d buy a cup of coffee and a treat of some kind, and settle down in his usual seat in the corner.

The route through the park was nice in the summer, he could feel the sun and smell the plants and freshly mown grass and feel the light breeze on his face. Plus, his sunglasses wouldn’t look out of place. He could sometimes feel the stares and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Today, Castiel didn’t care if people stared. He just enjoyed his walk, enjoying the sensations that most people took for granted.

As he neared the bakery, he felt his feet speed up quickly. He told himself that it was thirst, craving for the freshly roasted coffee that was sold there, and nothing at all to do with the kind man that worked there, the man that always addressed him by name and took care to make sure his seat was always free on Thursday afternoon. Someone that always sounded happy to see him.

Castiel put his cane under his arm as he pushed open the bakery door, navigating himself inside and listening intently. He didn’t want to bump into anyone, especially someone that could be carrying a scalding cup of coffee.

“Cas!” The familiar deep voice greeted him happily, and Castiel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel smiled, following the voice and making his way up to the counter, leaning against it. “You know it’s Thursday, that’s why I can smell my favourite cinnamon coffee already brewing.” He teased.

Dean was always so kind to him, had often declared that Castiel was his favourite customer because he was always so vocal about how much he enjoyed Dean’s baking, and because his other senses were heightened, could always identify the subtle flavours that Dean worked hard to create. On more than one occasion they’d joked about him being a taste tester for the bakery.

Dean laughed and leaned against the counter too. “You caught me,” he admitted in amusement. “What can I say? You’re here like clockwork every Thursday afternoon. The usual?” His voice moved to the left as he walked to grab a plate.

Castiel inclined his head. “Large cinnamon coffee and the special of the day. What is it today?” He asked, curiously.

“Peanut butter blondie,” Dean grinned, plating it up for him and pouring the coffee. “I’ll take it to your table, pay me when you leave.”

That was their usual routine. Castiel had been affronted when Dean had first carried his items to his table, insisting he could do it himself. Dean had assured him it wasn’t a matter of thinking he was incapable, but the coffee was hot and it was a lawsuit waiting to happen if Castiel spilled coffee over someone who wasn’t looking where they were going. Plus, he needed to wipe down the table Castiel was going to sit at anyway. He always did that part, made a show of wiping down the table.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel murmured, taking his seat and reaching out to find the coffee and the plate with his hands. He could sense Dean was still close, ready to help him if necessary. He could smell his familiar scent, something that was a mixture of leather and motor oil. It made sense, of course. He knew Dean worked on his car frequently, tuning her up to perfection. He could only assume the leather scent was from a jacket.

“No worries.”

Castiel heard Dean walk back to the counter and picked up the blondie, tearing off a corner and popping it into his mouth. It was delicious and moist and had a peanut butter centre that made Castiel want to moan.

“Another success?”

Castiel would have jumped had he not heard Sam coming up behind him and he smiled, swallowing and turning his face up in Sam’s general direction.

“Of course. When has Dean never gotten something right?” Castiel sighed in fond amusement. He’d never had anything from the Winchester Bakery that hadn’t been perfection in dessert form. “And peanut butter is my favourite.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, before he shifted a little closer, lowering his voice. “He knows that. He saw your face when you tried the peanut butter cookie a few weeks ago.”

There was something in Sam’s tone that was knowing, as if he expected Castiel to pick up on some great secret that he’d previously missed. His brow furrowed and Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “Well, it’s so lovely of him to go to all that effort just for me,” he said slowly. “I’ll have to thank him.”

“Maybe you could return the favour and get him to have coffee with you sometime.” Sam pressed, keeping his voice quiet. “Somewhere not here. You know he doesn’t do this for everyone, right? And it’s not because… well, not because you’re blind. He likes you, but he’s way too awkward to come out and say it.”

Castiel’s mouth went dry at what Sam was suggesting, and his hand shook. “I’m afraid that’s not a possibility,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry. Tell Dean that the dessert was delicious, as always, but I have to go.” He got to his feet shakily, dropping ten dollars somewhere on the table and shuffling for the door. As Castiel pushed open the door, he heard Dean’s voice call after him confusion, but he ignored it, hurrying out of the store.

He couldn’t ask Dean to go on a date with him. Sam didn’t understand. There was nothing he would love more than to spend more time with Dean, to kiss him and hold his hand and go on dates with him. Dean was the only person who had never let Castiel’s blindness get in the way. It had never bothered him, never made him seem less of a person.

Castiel had gone weak at the knees the first time he’d ever heard that voice say his name. But the fact was, he was blind. He could never appreciate half of the things Dean did. He could never go to the movies and enjoy it the same way. Could never watch Dean’s favourite shows without audio description, which would ruin it for the other man. He couldn’t even read his own menu if they went out to dinner.

He’d dated before, of course, but sooner or later, he felt the effort people put into the relationship dwindle. It was too much hard work to date a blind man and he couldn’t bear to have Dean start to resent him. It would break his heart.

By the time he got home, his shoulders were shaking with repressed sobs. Castiel knew he could never have what he wanted, and if Sam was right and Dean did feel like that about him, then he could never go back.

His resolve held for almost two weeks.

He spent the first Thursday in his room, unwilling to leave his bed. Castiel hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Dean, wishing it could all work out the way he wanted it to. But it wouldn’t happen. When the second Thursday came around, he decided that he’d rather have Dean’s friendship than nothing at all, there was no reason they couldn’t continue on as before.

It was selfish, but the thought of never hearing his voice again made Castiel feel sick.

He tugged on his coat and slowly made his way to the bakery, his heart thudding the whole way there. Pushing open the door, he was met with silence. Not exactly silence, since there was the usual bustle and chattering of the other customers. But there was no familiar greeting.

Hesitantly, Castiel approached the counter, finding it with his finger tips and waiting patiently for someone to speak. There was movement, and he could smell the familiar leather move away from behind the counter, and someone else took over, that Castiel immediately recognized as Sam.

“What can I get you, Cas?”

Castiel’s face fell. “Just a black coffee, please,” he said quietly, his appetite gone. Dean had deliberately walked away to let someone else serve him, which meant Sam had told him what had happened.

He didn’t take his seat, just waited patiently for the coffee to be made and took the cup quickly. “Tell him it wasn’t anything personal. Nobody wants to be saddled with a blind guy,” he mumbled miserably, shuffling over to his regular seat with tears in his eyes. If he could see, he would have stared morosely into his coffee, but instead he just hunched over it, warming his hands on the takeout cup.

“Dean,” he heard Sam call out, which made his face screw up. Maybe it was a mistake to come back here, it was obvious that the damage was irreparable. He would just have to find a new place to spend his Thursdays. Or maybe he should just start getting takeout and sit in the park. There were some nice benches in the sun that might be a good place to sit.

He wiped his eyes discreetly, glad he’d forgotten to take the sunglasses off, because then nobody would know he was crying. Reaching out for his coffee, his hand found a piece of paper, folded in half and stood up like a sign. Frowning, he pulled it closer and turned around.

“Excuse me,” he called out quietly to the table next to him. “Can you tell me what this is, please?”

A woman next to him reached out to take it from him, looking at it briefly before pressing it back into his hands. “It’s a reserved sign, honey. I think that table might be taken.”

Castiel felt a lump in his throat. He knew Dean would never be that cruel, to give his table away to someone else. Which meant he’d reserved that table for him. Castiel suddenly realised that had always been the case. That it was never just coincidence that his table had always been free. When Dean always made a show of wiping his table down, it was to get rid of the reserved sign before Castiel found it. Today, he must have forgotten because he hadn’t carried a tray over. So all this time, Dean had been going to a lot of trouble for him, and he had never gotten sick of it.

“Dean?” He called out shakily.

There was a moment of silence, then a resigned sigh. “I’m right here, Cas.”

He was a lot closer than Castiel had anticipated, and he turned his head as Dean stepped closer, setting a tray down on Castiel’s table and tugging the takeout cup of black coffee from his hands. “Peanut butter blondie and a cinnamon coffee.” Dean told him gruffly as he pushed the tray towards Castiel.

Castiel’s hand flew out to stop him from leaving, his grip tight as he could Dean’s wrist. Without speaking, he got to his feet, his hands sliding up Dean’s arm, over his shoulder until he got to his cheek.

“Cas, what…?” Dean’s voice came out slightly strangled.

He ignored it, cupping his other cheek and leaning in to press their lips together. His aim was slightly off, but he corrected it instantly, kissing Dean softly. Dean responded instantly, pulling Castiel flush against him and kissing him back.

When their lips parted, Castiel smiled widely, and buried his face in Dean’s neck. He still smelled like leather and motor oil, mixed with cinnamon and peanut butter and he loved him a little bit.

It was only when Dean told him roughly that he loved him a little bit too, that Castiel realised he’d said it out loud.

But he didn’t mind, and when Dean’s lips found his again, he felt on top of the world.

Masterpost