Notes: So if you watch "What's Up, Tiger Mommy?" there's a scene where Dean has to take out all his weapons after he goes through the metal detector. If you really look, Dean has a row of chains on him too. A long row of chains. And so, a fic was inspired...

Dean's got it ingrained him that a hunter was always prepared, and you could never have too many weapons on hand. (Well, you could, but you never knew when a throwing star could come in handy!) Somewhere along the way, Dean's managed to find a set of jackets with plenty of pockets, making it possible to carry as many weapons as he needed to feel comfortable.

Sometimes that was a lot of weapons.

"You're a friggin' clown car of weaponry," Sam had said once when he watched Dean suit up. (Sam later ate those words when Dean saved his ass with a throwing star to a werewolf's face.)

Somewhere along the way, Dean probably took it a step too far with the chains. After a particular bad ghost hunt where the ghost had tried to heart-rape him, Dean decided he could go the rest of his life without that feeling. Hence, the chains, wrapped loosely around his shoulders and torso and easily hidden under a shirt. If a ghost got grabby hands, Dean was going to burn those hands right off with a nice dose of iron. Easy-peasy, plus no one knew he had chains hidden under his shirt.

"You are one paranoid bastard," was Sam's only comment (because he was the only one who knew). Dean only scoffed. It was brilliant! The next time Sam got heart-gutted by a ghost, he would wish he had chains on him too.

It was Cas who changed his mind on that though.

He wasn't sure what about the hunt sent Cas off. Maybe it was the rush of danger—maybe it was because Cas could kick ass with a single blade and blow shit up with his hands. (Those were Dean's reasons at least.) Either way, Dean suddenly found himself teleported back into their motel room, shoved up against the wall and kissed within an inch of his life. And holy hell, how that went to his dick.

"Jesus, fuck, Cas," he breathed as Cas started in on him like a kid with wrapping paper. Cas nipped and sucked his neck while shoving Dean's jacket off, his dad's journal and demon knife going flying. While Dean tried to return the favor, Cas went for his belt, tugging it off in one go. Dean felt his jeans start to slip and with them, the feel of cool metal sliding down—

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, grabbing his jeans. Cas pulled back in alarm, panting as Dean reached around and fished one of his guns from his jeans. Cas stared at it, while Dean cursed again. "Jesus, the safety wasn't even on."

Guns and Cas still hadn't mixed even after all these years, so Dean probably shouldn't have been surprised by his blank look. "So?"

"So?!" Dean squawked. "It could have gone off! It could have shot off my dick!"

Cas's blank look went even blanker. "I would have healed you," he offered after a moment, Dean rolling his eyes.

"Nothing would kill the mood faster," he replied, holding out a hand before Cas could start back in. "Hang on, hang on, I got like two more in here."

Cas stepped back again, Dean retrieving the two guns tucked into his shoulder holsters. While he was at it, he grabbed the ninja stars, his silver knife, his holy water, and his lock-picking kit. Cas's eyes followed the items as he put them on the table. "I think I almost got everything. Oh, hang on."

He fished out his machete and another small pistol, plus several rounds of silver bullets, before he remembered the big one. "Might need your help for this one, Cas," he said as he peeled off his shirt, only to pause midway when he saw Cas's face.

"You're wearing chains," Cas said slowly. Dean frowned.

"Yeah, I always do."

For a guy that carried a sword in his arm sleeve, Dean didn't really think he deserved the look he got. "Why are you wearing chains, Dean?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably—it wasn't helping that he was half-naked with his dick practically hanging out. "You never know when you're going to need them," he explained gruffly. "Demons n' ghosts—they hate iron."

"We were hunting werewolves."

Dean had to fight a blush, catching the sight of himself in the motel mirror. And yeah, he looked kind of ridiculous standing in chains with a pile of weapons on the table next to him. "Yeah, so?" he challenged, going for confident because what else did he have? "It keeps me buff. Not all of us can pull off the super-strong holy tax accountant look."

Castiel looked like he wanted to say something to that, but whatever it was was lost in an eye roll. It was replaced with a stupidly fond look that Dean read as "I love you, but you're insane."

"Shut up," Dean muttered as Cas kissed him again. Dean also tried not to think too hard about the way his dick lurched when Cas snapped the chains off him too.

He stopped wearing them after that—because okay, maybe it was a bit excessive and his shoulders were starting to hurt. It wasn't long before Sam noticed too.

"No chains today?" Sam asked, sounding amused.

Without thinking, Dean replied with, "Yeah, Cas said I should probably stop wearing them and—"

He caught himself, but it was too late. Sam had his evil little-brother face on that said he's savoring the gem Dean just dropped.

"Oh, so Cas said, huh?" he sang, like he's five years old. Dean had to fight a blush again.

"Shut up," Dean snapped, and for good measure, grabbed said chains from his bag. Sam laughed and darted away, Dean grinning as he gave chase.