Beat The Devils Tattoo

Chapter 3 Better To Ask For Forgiveness

Chapter 3 better to ask for forgiveness

Chapter Text

Benjamin Lafitte was not a stupid man. On the contrary, in fact. He was smart enough to be classified as a threat by most of the deputies in the city, and Victor regarded him as a person of interest. While the others of the club enjoyed their drinking and carousing at the bar, Benny Lafitte didn't touch alcohol. Cigarettes were one thing, taking the edge off the burn, but alcohol was a danger he didn't want to fall into again.

He knew something was up the minute Dean met him at the door the day after the will was read, looking better than he had in weeks and with a lazy smile on his face.

"Mornin'."

"You got laid," Benny said accusingly, eyeing him. "And I know you went straight home, because I didn't see your bike anywhere in town last night. You been keeping someone on the side?"

"Keeping someone on the side would imply that we were together," Dean said, smile fading. "But you may as well know. And, actually, it was just a good day. I didn't get laid." He stepped back, letting Benny in. He entered the house cautiously, well aware that he was trespassing into Dean's Holy of Holies, and he didn't use the term lightly. He'd never actually been inside the house before, Dean always going to his place. The funeral had been the first invitation contrary. John Winchester kept it as a fortress against the world, and refused the club entry. It was his family's home, not the clubs, and he made that very clear.

The kitchen was clean but old fashioned, the linoleum the strange brown and tan patterns that were so popular in the 70's. The kitchen sink was old, maybe from around the 50's, and the stove was actually green, while the refrigerator was new stainless steel. The only reason it was new was because Dean had, just last month, managed to somehow short out the old white one. John had not been pleased. The walls were painted yellow, the trim white, and the whole place had a scrubbed down look to it, the cabinets unnaturally clean. It looked like it had stepped right out of an old Good Housekeeping magazine.

"Cas!" Dean called up the stairs, which were situated against the back wall. "I've got someone for you to meet!"

Benny raised an eyebrow at the name, but his eyebrows raised even more when a scruffy, dark haired man in a loose blue shirt and loose brown drawstring pants padded down the stairs.

"Novak," Benny realized, shocked. "Castiel Novak, the one Bobby talks about. Holy shit, Dean, I thought he was supposed to be dead."

Castiel looked over at Dean, obviously pouting a little. "You thought I was dead?"

"No, I didn't think you were dead. Everyone else did though," Dean said, leading him over. "Castiel, Benny Lafitte. He's our weapons specialist."

"Pleasure's all mine," Castiel said. He didn't move to shake his hand, just eyed him critically, like he wanted to take a hammer and start chipping away at his flaws. "Louisiana?"

"Yes," Benny said, slowly. Castiel was...odd. There was something off about him, something in the eyes that warned if you test me, you will fail. The man looked like he could slaughter people in his sleep and wake up without a hint of blood on him. Energy crackled around him, making Benny's breath catch in his throat. The man was a threat, but when he looked at Dean every hint of the danger fell away, replaced by some soft, delicate thing that seemed to unconsciously drift to his side. "Can't say I'm thrilled to make your acquaintance."

Castiel nodded approvingly. "Honesty. I like that."

Benny raised an eyebrow at Dean, who simply shrugged and lead them into the sitting room. It couldn't qualify as a living room- no TV, no magazines, nothing but some old family pictures on the walls, a hideously ugly couch leftover from the seventies, two comfortable armchairs, and a heavy wooden coffee table that looked like it had been well used. Castiel made his way to the farthest armchair, and Dean sat on the couch. After a moment's hesitation, Benny took the other armchair. Castiel had the look of a possessive, jealous man, and he didn't want to aggravate him by sitting next to Dean.