Dean would never admit to anyone, but the Tuesday and Thursday nights when they'd log in to the latest (and greatest) shooter – Croatoan, were the best part of his week.

Sam was at Sanford – teaching now, because damn, the boy was a fucking genius, and Dean was working at Bobby's yard – making a name for himself with his work at custom restorations of classic cars, so they didn't have a lot of time to talk. Not that Dean wanted to talk, because he wasn't a fucking chick, but it was great to stick on his headset and hear his brother's voice – even if it was only to shoot or dodge.

He'd been logged on for about 15 minutes when the notification popped up that 'Samoose' had connected. Almost instantly, Trixxt33r logged on too – damn.

For some reason, they ended up playing with the same two guys every time they logged on. Trixxt33r and his brother, the ever silent – but fucking amazing at the game – Mr_Comatoss. Trixxt33r was mouthy and talked almost constantly while eating down the line, but Sam seemed to like him and Dean really couldn't grudge it. Most of the maps needed 4 or more people, so getting two other brothers who had the same gaming schedule as them was a bonus.

The 'ding' rang in his headset as he joined the private voice chat room – TFW, Team Free Win – and was immediately assaulted by the ever present sound of chewing down the line.

"Moose!" Trixxt33r half screamed around whatever he was eating. "Leet." He added, almost as an afterthought.

"Hey man." Sam said, a smile in his voice. "How's work?"

Dean didn't even get a chance to open his mouth. "Moosekavich, let me tell you," Trixxt33r started. "If I have to deal with one more fucking bylaw or spot inspection I'm going to-" There was a ding as Mr_Comatoss logged into the room, "Hey bro – rip someone's fucking head off, coat it in melted sugar, stick a fucking pole on the end and serve it up as a giant sucker." They didn't talk about what they did for a living, Dean was a grown ass man, but internet safety and all, but from what he'd managed to pick up, Trixxt33r worked (or owned) a candy store that made handcrafted chocolates and crap like that. Dean suspected he was probably about 500 pounds of jiggling flesh, because it sounded like he ate most of his merchandise.

Mr_Comatoss didn't say anything, although Dean knew he had a headset because once he had actually spoken – Dean had managed to get himself pinned down and surrounded by a mob of Croats and would have died if Mr_Comatoss hadn't been sniping from the roof – and his voice was deep and gravelly. Dean imagined he was a fucking giant of a man, maybe they just ran big in their family or something. "Don't do that again." He'd said, and Dean… well… Dean just laughed, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say?

"I was talking to my brother, Trix." Sam laughed. "But you know, if you think you're being unfairly treated you could always…" And then he launched into a load of legal jargon that Dean didn't understand. His brother was such a fucking nerd.

"Are we playing?" Mr_Comatoss asked, sounding slightly annoyed, "Because I have a great deal I could be doing." It was the most Dean had ever heard him say, ever. His words were deep, but clipped, like maybe English wasn't his first language. Dean wondered how two brothers could be so different. He picked up his controller and opened a private chat.

Sam is a nerd. The first time he'd opened a private chat had been to say something probably similar, and he'd been… nervous. Since then though, it was perfectly normal for him to be talking to Sam and Trix, but have another window open and typing to Mr_Comatoss.

My brother is more than capable of hiring someone to advise him. He simply enjoys being the centre of attention.

There was that too – when he was typing, Mr_Comatoss was… well, he was damn wordy and fucking hell if Dean didn't think that was awesome.

I've made a queue.

I doubt we will be waiting long for an opposing team tonight. The population summery is rather high.

Sure that'll shut Trix up?

I believe that should the end of the world actually happen, my brother would be the first to die. He would be incapable of remaining silent even if his life depended on it.

"Leet."

"Trix."

"Where's the moose?"

"He should be here." Dean said, not really concerned with the fact that Trix constantly ignored him in favour of his brother. Better Sam than him, that was for sure.

I think my brother has developed an online attraction for your brother.

Dude. My eyes. I don't need to know that shit.

I apologise, D_Leet, it was not my intention to cause discomfort.

It's cool. Dean typed, hoping that Mr_Comatoss didn't think he was some homophobe or something. My baby bro probably has a man crush on him too. This was more than likely true, anyway. Since he'd moved away, Sam had dated a couple of girls and at least one guy that Dean knew about. He hadn't wanted to tell Dean while they were living together, because he thought Dean would freak out. This was insulting and a little hurtful. He fucking loved his brother. If he wanted to go all Brokeback with some dude… fine. He makes candy, right?

Yes. He is a confectionary artisan. Which Dean figured was Mr_Comatoss talk for 'makes candy'

Sam's into salads.

Gabriel will be heartbroken. I understand that he believes salad to be akin to the Inland Revenue or people who give out fruit at Halloween.

Dean laughed over the line, forgetting that no one else could see the chat.

Dean wasn't good with computers, not like Sam was. He could get porn without downloading a virus now though, so that was something – but he was able to use Google.

Gabriel, candy, confectionary.

He typed it out, feeling like an online stalker, but… give a guy a break, he wanted to know. When the search results flashed up, he found out that there was a whole fuckton of candy bars called 'Gabriel's' until he found what he was looking for.

Gabriel Milton. Owner of TootSweets – the movie reference wasn't lost on him – and as Dean clicked on the various links… he thought he might be getting a bit of a man crush on Trix. Damn, but the pictures of the various chocolates, candies and 'speciality confectionary' should probably be tagged as porn. Close-up shots of caramel poured into melted chocolate were definitely not safe for work. Dean may have drooled onto his laptop.

Made To Order…. Dean clicked the link.

Turned out that Mr Trixxt33r made all the candy by hand, and for a whopping extortionate price, could be requested to make personalised candy… Dean grinned, pulling out his wallet and starting to fill out the form.

There weren't any pictures. There weren't any links, and as far as Google was concerned, Gabriel Milton didn't exist anywhere. There wasn't an 'About Me' section on his website, there were no mentions of family or… well… anything. So Dean was left with nothing about Mr_Comatoss. He finally closed down the laptop and looked out over the Charger that was waiting for him to get started.

Dean wasn't sure how quickly Trix, aka Gabriel got through his orders, but when he logged on the next week, he knew.

"Leet."

"Trix." He nodded. "Sam not on yet?"

"Sammy? Nope." There was a grin in his voice. "Guess what I spent the day doing?"

"Eating your way through a year's supply of m&m's?"

"Handcrafting chocolates for a lecturer at Stanford." Came the smug reply. "Into little mini Moose shapes."

Dean laughed.

Did you stalk my brother online?

Maybe.

I am sure that is a gross violation of his rights.

"So you're not pissed at me then, Trix?" Dean asked, wondering if maybe he had over stepped the line.

"Mr D Winchester, you gave me a fucking heart attack when I saw the order. My favourite moose's name and work address? I could kiss you."

"Please refrain." A deep, gravelly voice said over the line.

"Ignore my brother." Trix laughed. "He's a stickler for the rules. I like a man who isn't afraid to smash a few eggs."

There was a 'ding' as Samoose logged on. "Sorry! Lost track of time."

"No worries, Sammich." Trix grinned down the line. "We were just chilling out."

A week later, Sam called him.

"I got a fucking hamper delivered to my office today."

"A what?"

"A hamper. From a secret admirer."

Dean may have been over 30 years old, but that didn't stop him from making kissy noises down the line.

"Dean, this isn't funny!"

"When you say 'hamper' what do you actually mean?"

"I mean a huge fucking wicker hamper full of chocolates." Sam said. "Like, really expensive looking chocolates." He paused. "Boxes of them."

Dean grinned. The order he'd placed was for 6 miniature Moose shaped chocolates. It looked like Trix had decided to add some more. As long as he wasn't going to have to pay for them, he didn't care. "Sounds like someone really likes you."

"Dean, I don't know who sent these."

"What company sent them?"

"Tootsweets." He said. "Oh, there's a number here." He said after what sounded like him searching the hamper. "You think they'll give me details over the phone?"

"Knock yourself out."

Dean was late logging on the next week. The Dodge Charger in the garage had been kicking his ass, and custom parts were always hard to come by for that week. So when he pulled on his headphones and only Mr_Comatoss was online, he was a little surprised. "I aint that fucking late that they'd just piss off." He complained into the mouthpiece.

"Your brother never logged on." Mr_Comatoss said over the line.

"And Trix?"

"Gabriel logged on only for a moment before advising me he would 'Be Right Back'. That was an hour ago."

"Have you just been sitting here for an hour?"

"I have been reading."

"Whatcha reading?" He asked, wondering what turned the usually silent man into a chatty Cathy.

"Foucault's Pendulum. It is vastly underrated."

"I've never read it." Dean admitted, hating that he sounded like a total fucking idiot. "I don't really have a lot of time for reading right now."

"My work leaves me a great deal of free time for reading."

"And gaming."

"Yes. I believe in the adage, 'practice makes perfect' and I have had a great deal of time right now."

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I -"

Ding. "Okay, bitches, listen up." Trix voice echoed over the line. "Did you know about the Gaming Expo next month?"

"No."

"Well, it's in Phoenix." Trix carried on. "And tickets are $50 and we're going."

"I'm not goin-"

"They're having a proper tournament for Croatoan. You can win customised headsets. We're fucking going. I booked a motel nearby already, and the tickets. So you owe me like… $80 each."

"Trix!" Dean managed. "I'm self-employed. I can't just take off for a weekend!"

So Dean was packing to go to a fucking gaming expo because Sam had pretty much emotionally blackmailed him over the phone. It'd be worth it to meet the possibly-500-pound-monster known as Trix and the Giant-possibly-super-ripped-Mr_Comatoss, really. Trix had been adamant that they were going to get their asses kicked because there wasn't a leader board on the game yet, and he figured the place would be crawling with people just looking to prove how good they were.

"We need to look like we know what we're doing." He'd argued over the line as they played. "So I'm getting t-shirts made."

"No."

"Cas, we've been over this. You aren't showing up in a fucking suit."

Dean drove, because aside from the fact people didn't belong in the air with the birds, he got to take his baby out. His pride and joy was the first car he'd ever restored, and she looked like a dream. She drove better, but guzzled gas like a drunk on Hunters Helper – Dean wasn't going to get much change off a couple hundred this weekend, he knew.

The motel was… well, it was a lot nicer than the places they'd stayed when they were kids – before Bobby stepped in and adopted them. Dean didn't like to think back to those days, and didn't think Sam remembered much about them aside from the 'adventure' but Dean remembered. And it was those memories that would keep him working for Bobby until the day the old git decided to croak. He owed the man.

"Winchester?" He asked at the desk. "I think there's a room booked." The older woman looked up from her puzzle word and nodded, handing him a key without checking for ID or anything.

"Your room is all paid up, and I think the other one arrived about an hour ago."

Which would explain the hybrid rental car in the parking lot, because Sam wouldn't know a good car if it reversed over him. Twice.

Sam Winchester should have stopped growing when he was 13 years old, and then he would have been a regular size person. Unfortunately for Dean (who wasn't a fucking midget) he kept growing until he could see clear over his 'big' brother's head and then some. Dean had a theory that the reason that he never cut his hair was because even sitting in the barber's chair, the guy probably couldn't reach his brothers head.

"Damn, Sammy, if you grow that any longer you're gonna start getting mistaken for a girl." He grinned, opening the door and looking at his brother, seated at the table, laptop already open. He didn't look much like a professor at all, in his jeans and plaid, but Dean had seen him at work, and he wore sweater vests and wire framed glasses, so it just went to show you could never tell.

"Dean!" He grinned, getting to his feet and bounding across the room in a step and a half. Stupid giant legs. The hug was tight and Dean forgot just how much he missed his baby brother sometimes. Stanford was great, but it was so far away.

"Right, yeah, I need my lungs to breathe." He gasped. "Get off." He looked up (he hated looking up at Sam) and grimaced. "Nice sideburns, man."

"Shut it." His baby brother laughed, and just like that, it was like they'd never been apart.

"So, do we know when we'll be seeing the guys?" Dean asked, trying not to sound like… you know… he was meeting people off the internet. This was something that was not cool.

"Gabe said he'd already arrived just before you got here, he's getting his brother settled in."

"It's 'Gabe' now, is it?" Dean laughed. "Should I be expecting the wedding invites soon?"

"Shut up, Dean." Sam said, but the tops of his ears (that Dean could see through all that damn hair) were pink. "I said we'd meet them in the dining room. This place is packed, looks like everywhere is busy because of this convention."

Dean was leaning back in his chair and wondering just how much longer they were going to wait before Sam finally let him get up and grab some of the food from the buffet table. "Do you even know what this guy looks like?"

"Yes, Dean." Sam sighed. "We've Skyped."

Dean was saved from having to rip his brother endlessly by the blur of a tan bomber jacket that streaked past him. "Damn, Moose, you weren't kidding about being tall." Trixxt33r – Dean seriously hoped it was Trix, at least – said. He wasn't 500 pounds of jiggling flab, but he was 5 foot something of condensed trouble. Dean could tell that right away. He had shaggy light brown hair that might have been called long if he'd not been standing beside Sam-the-wookie. He was in jeans and plaid too – but his tan bomber jacket added another layer. Dean would probably say he was carrying a few extra pounds, and he'd be able to take him in a fight… but there was something about the guy that made him second guess that. The Trixxt33r looked like he wasn't above swinging a barstool if he needed to.

"Gabe, this is my brother, Dean." Sam said, and Gabe gave him a shit eating grin.

"Dean-o!" He smirked. "Glad to finally see you in person." He waved to someone over Dean's shoulder impatiently. "This is Castiel. Castiel, Samoose, Mooskavich, Castiel. Dean, Castiel, Castiel – Dean." He paused for breath. "I think that's all the introducing I can manage on an empty stomach."

"Hello Dean." A strong, gravelly voice said from almost directly behind him. He didn't know why, but part of him didn't want to turn around. He took a breath and forced himself to twist in his chair.

Mr_Comatoss – or Castiel, now – wasn't what Dean was expecting. He figured, going on the voice, that he'd be tall, broad… probably into weights or something.

What he was looking at was… well… not that.

He was taller than his brother (how the fuck could they be brothers? They looked nothing alike!) but still shorter than Dean, narrow to the point of almost being skinny, with messy dark hair that looked like someone had fucked him senseless, and those eyes… A girl had once told Dean he had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen, but she'd obviously never been in the same room as this guy and those eyes. Fuck, Dean was sure they were coloured contact lenses, because real eyes weren't that blue. Real eyes weren't so fucking intense. He was wearing jeans and a dark navy sweater, the collar of his white shirt poking up at the top. He looked like… well… he just… Dean thought chick's probably thought he was hot.

"Hey Cas." He said, before turning back to his brother.

"Hello, Sam."

"Hi, Castiel." Sam said, giving Dean a dark look. "Sit down, we saved seats for you."

It turned out that Gabe liked anything that wasn't nailed down, talked with his mouth full and Dean wondered how long it was going to take Sam to sleep with him. Castiel, on the other hand, was the exact opposite from his brother in almost every way. Whereas Gabriel talked loudly and with huge, sweeping arm gestures, Cas said almost nothing. He ate everything carefully like he was worried he wasn't doing it right, and stared a lot. A lot. Mostly at Dean, who found himself staring back. A lot.

"So," Gabe was saying, looking at his printed out plan. "I signed us up for a slot when I booked the tickets – you still owe me, by the way – and we'll be drawn at 10. So if we get there for 9am, we're golden."

"Do you know who else is here?" Sam asked, picking at his salad.

"Well, you know those little fucking assholes… the ones who got a rocket launcher?"

"The Hellhounds." Cas supplied, as he picked off all the extras on his burger.

"Yeah, those little shits. Turns out they're here too – a couple of others we've played against in the past. All American though, so we don't have to worry about the Korean players."

"Thank fuck." Dean muttered, grabbing a fry from Castiel's plate. The gamers there were probably the best in the world – or at least had the reputation for it – so them missing out meant that their chances at least had improved.

"I've got the t-shirts too." Gabe grinned. "They look awesome. I went for the same logo but different colours. Baby bro's got blue, Dean-o got green, I'm golden – obviously – and Moose is brown."

"I am not interested in wearing a uniform of any kind." Cas said. "It is un-necessary and looks pretentious."

Dean silently agreed, but the glare that Gabe gave his brother was all too familiar to the one he'd given Sam on more than one occasion and he wasn't about to step in between that sibling spat.

Dean drove to a nearby store and picked up a six pack of beer and headed back to the room he was sharing with his brother, but when he opened the door, Sam wasn't in the room. They'd already agreed that they weren't going out to a bar, so Dean figured he'd gone to the car for something.

About half an hour later, there was a knock to the door, and Dean, sitting on the couch and watching re-runs of his favourite guilty pleasure (Dr Sexy MD) grinned. "It's open."

It wasn't Sam that walked through though – but Mr_Comatoss himself, holding an overnight bag.

"My brother has advised me to tell you that the sleeping arrangements have changed, and Sam wanted me to tell you that you can yell at him tomorrow." He said. "I'm afraid I have been relocated without my permission."

Dean wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say to that – it wasn't like he could let Cas sleep outside.

"Um, well…" He started, but was cut off.

"I have already tried to purchase an additional room in this motel, as well as in several others." He looked like he was about to leave, eyes unsure. "They have been fully booked in advance of this event."

"Cas, you can stay here, course." Dean said, realising that he'd not actually responded. "Yeah, of course. Just move Sam's stuff off his bed.

"I was not aware that their relationship had reached a stage where I would be required to find alternative sleeping arrangements." Cas said, sounding strangely stressed.

"Yeah, well… Sam can be a quick mover when he feels like it."

"My brother is not well adept at denying himself what he likes."

"Beer?" Dean offered, "There isn't anything interesting on the TV."

"I brought my hard drive." Cas said, picking up his bag. "I've got most of the current dramas and shows."

Which is how Dean spent the night watching 'The Walking Dead' with a guy he'd only just met, drinking beer and laughing his ass off at the dry humour that Cas interjected with.

Dean had to admit, the t-shirts were cool. Rather than the cheap, store printed design that he expected, they were a good material, and the logo 'TFW' in a forest green and black – and his name: D_Leet on the back like a footballer. Cas wanted to tuck his cobalt blue version into the black jeans – Dean had to actually walk over to him and physically pull it out of the waistband (not noticing that the dude had the narrowest fucking hips he'd ever seen) with a laugh. "Dude, no."

"I feel extremely under dressed, and leaving a shirt un-tucked look's slovenly."

"Tucking it in makes you look like a giant nerd."

"I am under no false illusion." Cas frowned. "I am a 'giant nerd' and not ashamed of being so."

"What do you actually do for a living, Cas?"

"I write thriller novels."

Dean frowned. He didn't have a lot of time for reading, but he did read – and he loved thrillers and horror. "I've never heard of a Castiel Milto-" He stopped, knowledge hitting him like a truck. Castiel wasn't a common name. "Not Castiel Novak?" He squeaked. "Who wrote Mystery Spot? Abandon All Hope?" He paused. "Are You There, God?" Jesus, they were Dean's favourite books.

"Oh, you've read them." Cas shrugged, like it wasn't a big fucking deal.

"Of course I've read them!" Dean half yelled. "They're best sellers. Most people have read them!" He paused. "Although I've not read 'The Great Pumpkin' yet so… yeah."

"It's only been out a month."

"Two months." Dean cut across. "But I'm working on this Charger, and she's kicking my ass, you know?"

"A horse?"

"A car. I'm a mechanic."

"Ah, that would explain the arms." Cas said, cryptically. Dean looked down at his arms and frowned. There wasn't anything wrong with his arms. He looked up at Cas questioningly. "They are… well formed."

"Ah. Right." Dean nodded. "Okay."

He was cool with gay guys. He wasn't sure if Cas was gay, but the main character in his books – Chuck – was. And apparently Sam wasn't adverse to a little man-on-man action, so he'd better learn how to be better at dealing with that. "Well, you try working in a garage all day and not getting a workout." He grinned, and was relieved when Cas smiled back. Yeah, Dean was cool with gay guys.

The centre was full, even though they were there at 8am to get there on time, they didn't get through the doors until after 10, and they'd already been booked in by the time they got to the booths.

"Fuck." Dean said, looking at the mass of names on the board. "We're gonna get slaughtered."

"But we look good." Gabe was saying, and… yeah, okay. They looked great. Jeans and t-shirts and their headsets… everyone else looked like they'd just rolled out of bed. Well… almost everyone.

The Hellhounds were there; placed far enough away from them on the board that they would both have to beat a lot of teams to face each other, but Dean could already see them. They were wearing red and black t-shirts with a stylised logo of a two headed dog over the heart. "Fuck." Dean said again, because they already had matching headsets and looked like… well, they looked like total assholes.

"Aw, it feels so good to be able to put a face to a kill screen." A tall, thin man with wispy hair smiled at them. "Alistair." He said, looking down his nose at them – well, trying to look down his nose at Sam – and smirking. "I remember you from a few months back, De-leet."

Dean remembered him too, because the sick fucker had it out for him, and would rather just corpse camp him than complete the match objectives. Because of that, the game had lasted for hours, and Dean ended up throwing his controller to one side in frustration.

"Well, dude, sorry, but I don't remember you at all." He shrugged. "But I'm flattered, really."

"It's not every day you meet a fan." Gabe nodded, looking smug. "Autographs after the tournament."

They played all day. They won all their matches, although some of them had ended simply on points than an outright win, and Dean was having a great time. When they won their bracket and advanced to the quarter finals, people had actually cheered. Dean had to admit that was fucking cool.

Dean felt like a legend by the end of the day, and even overlooked the fact that he'd spent most of the day with Cas because Gabe totally commandeered his brother at every available opportunity. Sam looked slightly awkward at first, kept looking at Dean like he was expecting him to blow a fuse or call him out on it, but Dean thought the whole thing was… well it was kinda funny. Funny because Gabe was a midget compared to Sam and they made the world's most mismatched pair – and for all Gabe didn't seem to give a shit about what people thought about him, he seemed pretty fucking invested in making Sam like him. Anyone who was willing to eat a salad when there was a burger place right there just to make Sam happy was okay in his book. Dean though, had the burger, and so did Cas – who ordered three and left the fries. Dean was impressed; he'd never met anyone who'd been able to keep up with him when it came to fast food.

He did talk, it was just impossibly hard to get a word in when your brother talks a million words a minute, and Dean totally respected the total badassery of his gaming skills. The fact that he was a world famous author kind of fell to the side.

"Tomorrow night, we're going out to the nearest bar and celebrating in style." Dean grinned. He was kicking back on the couch with his shoes off and his long sleeved grey Henley on – Cas was back in a shirt – their TFW t-shirts hanging up in the shower to dry after Dean washed them in the sink.

"I don't often frequent bars or clubs." Cas admitted, and Dean didn't think for a moment he was kidding. He looked about as comfortable with the idea of a bar as Dean felt about airports.

"It'll be cool." He grinned, "You, Gabe, me and Sammy – some pool and some beers and a couple of chicks," he remembered that Cas might not be totally straight, "Or dudes, you know – whatever." He grinned. "It'll be awesome."

"I would rather remain here." Cas said, plugging the hard drive into the TV and selecting where they'd left off on the Walking Dead, "It is not my idea of a 'good time' and I do not see the allure of overpriced drinks, bad lighting or unhygienic bathrooms."

They were in the finals. Dean could hardly believe it. No matter what, they were going to be remembered. Unfortunately, they were in the finals with the Hellhounds, and Dean was pretty sure they were going to get destroyed.

"We're fucked." He told Gabe, who was taking advantage of Sam and Cas being over at the Big Star booth and stuffing his face with as much junk food as he could get his hands on.

"We're doing okay." Gabe shrugged. "As long as they don't kick our asses too hard, we've done alright."

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. He was a grown man; he didn't need to win a game against a bunch of douche-bags to –

"Well, well, well." An urban voice said from behind them. "If it isn't the girls from yesterday." Dean turned, and sure enough – the short one from Hellhounds. "Let's hope you've got more up your sleeves than your usual plan 'D' for Dumbass."

"Well, if it isn't the king of hell himself." Gabe grinned. "Tell me, Crawler, how many little kids have you made cry today?"

"I was going to start on your boyfriend here, but it looks like that'll just have to wait." He smirked, before walking away.

"We've got to beat them." Gabe growled, and just for a moment Dean thought he could see a much more dangerous side to the shorter guy.

In the end, it was a joint effort. Dean and Sam got up close and personal, using their knives and a machete that Dean found in a weapons cache, while Cas – leaning back in his chair and looking for all the world like he was chilling out rather than in the middle of the most intense game they'd ever played – worked on the long range, sniping from a distance and generally being a guardian angel to the brothers in the middle of the map.

Gabe though, Gabe went apeshit, kept moving at all map and objective points, using flashbangs and setting traps – not doing much damage but seriously fucking with the other team. Every time one of his traps went off the crowd around the screens went wild, and Ruby – the hot chick with the dark hair – would hiss through her teeth at them.

"Yo, boys," Gabe whispered through his headset. "These fuckers think they've got it in the bag. I'm gonna lure them into the abandoned motel – let them kill me, and finish them from behind."

"Your plan has a flaw." Cas replied. "They would not all go into the motel. It seems highly likely that they would keep at least one or two people behind to keep watch."

"Then you get up on top of the watertower – didn't you pick up a scope?"

"I did."

"Then snipe them from there. I'm gonna make a big enough noise that they won't be able to ignore me." He grinned, and Dean could see his 'Hunter' move on the minimap towards the main Hellhound base. "Get to the motel and set up position."

Dean wasn't able to see what Gabe did, but he sure as hell heard the crowd – and saw the expression on Alistair's face.

"They are following you." Cas informed them from his vantage point across the map. "I can see three of them entering the motel. 'The_Crawler' has remained outside."

"Leave him." Gabe hissed, keeping his voice low. "Hit him when Moose gives the green light."

The cry that went up when Trixt33r got the kill screen was probably heard throughout the hall – he took his headphones off with a flourish and a bow, to a round of applause. In his ear, Sam whispered 'now' and with a frantic double tap and a roll to the left, D_Leet swung the machete – Alistair's head rolled at the same time Samoose knifed Ruby-2-Shoes in the back. Two against one, they both worked on D1CK, a flashy little fucker duel wielding pistols, as Cas lined up the shot from the watertower – and with a "Now!" from Sam, they took down all four Hellhounds in under 30 seconds, to uproarious applause.

They'd won the tournament – and, yeah, okay, it was just a small thing at a convention, but Dean kinda felt a little like a superstar when they got their picture taken, and were told that the last match would be shown on the website. They were given vouchers to make their own customised Astro Headsets and were given 'in game' titles for their class – TFW were the only players in game with the 'Apocalypse Averter' titles.

Dean had managed to convince Cas to join them at the bar in the motel, and they were living it up, ordering drinks and spending way too much money – celebrating like they'd won the superbowl.

After a few hours though, not quite drunk enough to be drunk, but enough not to give a shit, Sam and Gabe finished their drinks and left together – Dean really didn't need to see the fact that Gabe actually goosed his brother on the way out of the door. That was a seriously weird pairing.

"I was not expecting to emerge victorious." Cas was saying, looking at the empty shot glasses on the table. Boy knew how to hold his liquor, Dean had found out – he wasn't even swaying.

"Yeah, well." Dean shrugged, feeling lightheaded and awesome. "We fucking rock, man." He winked at the waitress as she walked past.

"I am starting to feel some effect from the amount of overpriced alcohol I have consumed." Cas advised him. "Rather than remain here and become inebriated, I will retire to the room."

"And leave me here?" Dean found himself complaining.

"I am sure that there is female company enough to satisfy you, and I have been told that once affected by alcohol I am 'no use to anyone' by my brother."

"Didn't realise Gabe could be a dick."

"Gabriel is not my only brother." Cas supplied, the shots he'd swallowed obviously loosening his tongue. "I have two others, Michael and Raffa – and a sister, Lucy – who keep me well informed of my flaws. I do not seek out their company."

"Why?" Dean asked, leaning back into the booth. "Gabe seems pretty okay."

"Gabriel left home at a young age to learn his craft. It did not… sit well with my siblings that he should learn something as frivolous as confectionary. My desire to write was met with similar reactions – as well as my personal lifestyle choices."

"Your folks not happy?"

"My father… has little time for us. Lucy is his favourite, he dotes upon her a great deal – and she does use this to her advantage… but even then he is distant. Our mother died not long after I was born. I do not recall her."

"My mom died in a housefire." Dean found himself saying. "Dad went… off the rails a litt – a lot. Sam doesn't really remember. It was all just a big adventure for him."

"The bonus of youth."

"Yeah. When I was about 14 Bobby – he's like… my dad's cousin or something - he took us in. My dad died a few months later. Liver gave out." He paused. "You know, this is a really shitty conversation." He let out a huff of breath. "Let just go back to the room and watch TV or something."

Two weeks later, Dean logged on a little earlier than normal – having finished the custom paintwork on the Charger and feeling pretty pleased with himself. Mr_Comatoss (Apocalypse Averter) was already online.

"Hey Cas."

"Hello Dean."

"What did you think of last night's episode?"

"I found the premise that they would be able to hide under a bus and avoid detection highly unlikely considering their previous actions that required them to hack a zombie to death and cover themselves with the remains."

"I totally thought that!" Dean announced. "I was watching like… are you kidding me?"

"Hello Dean."

"So there's this BBC thing on called 'The Fades' man, I think you need to watch it."

"I have heard many reviews about it."

"Yeah… well… you don't mind me calling you, right?"

"I gave you my contact information so you could use it." Cas pointed out, and Dean found himself letting out a breath.

"Yeah, well… I just thought I'd say, it looks good."

"It's called 'The River' and I believe that it is something you would find interesting." Cas was saying as Dean worked on the Firebird in the garage. He'd needed to invest in a hands free headset otherwise he'd never get any work done.

"I think I saw a thing for that." He said, laying on his back under the car and feeling about for the wrench. "Is that the one with the dude who goes missing?"

"Yes. I thought the premise was interesting."

"It's the gayest thing you've made me watch." Dean stated over the phone, using the crank to lift the engine. "Seriously."

"It is considered to be one of the great jewels of the BBC at the moment." Cas said, sounding about as riled up as he got – a little strained around the edges. "It is far superior to any other Sherlock adaptation-"

"I didn't say it was bad." Dean cut in, knowing from experience that once Cas started talking about something he tended to go on and on… and on. "I just said it was gay. Like… Jesus, why are you not sleeping with each other yet, gay."

"There are obvious hints in the books that Holmes and Watson had a more progressive-"

"Cas, I'm not arguing that it's not canonically correct, I'm just pointing out that it's obvious."

"Dean-o, are we going to play a fucking game or are you two just going to talk about Dr Who for another hour?"

"Cas, do not take your car to a Walmart repair shop!"

"It is not a Walmart it is-"

"I don't fucking care what it is, those parts are bad quality and the work is done by idiots." The phone crackled in Dean's ear. "Find a local place and put it in there."

"They will overcharge me. I am not able to easily converse with people I do not know, and they will expect me to know about engines."

"Cas, do not make me drive three states over just because you're too fucking chicken shit to go to a real garage."

Dean drove three states over the next day after clearing his schedule with Bobby, and arrived at Castiels hacienda style house just after 9pm.

Sitting in the drive was a classic ford – looked like it had been well looked after a few years ago, but had fallen into disrepair. Dean pulled in behind it in his Impala and patted her dash. "Don't worry, baby, I'll never let you get into that mess."

By the time he'd opened the trunk and pulled out his bag, Cas was already at the door, huge blue eyes literally swimming with guilt.

"It was not my intention to have you drive here." He said, as Dean walked up to the door.

"Cas, its fine. I'm due a weekend off anyway." He grinned, as Cas let him inside. The house was bigger than he was expecting, but by no means a mansion or anything. Pale woods and large open spaces made it seem bigger on the inside, and Dean instantly felt dirty when faced with so much cream paint.

"I've made dinner." Cas said, and Dean nodded, stomach growling. "You can put your bag in the room."

"Thanks man." He smiled, "Have I got time for a shower?"

"Yes." Cas nodded. "I was in the process of making the garlic butter for the bread when you arrived."

Dean sat in the kitchen come dining room with Cas and found himself forgetting that this was a guy he'd met online and not a guy he'd known his whole life. There were books everywhere, a TV system that made him want to cry – no wonder the guy was a fucking ace at the game, his TV took up half the wall – and the water pressure in the shower was so good Dean felt like the first layer of skin had been pummelled off.

"I wouldn't have started watching it if I'd known they were only going to do the one season." He frowned. "I thought it was pretty good."

"There is a film as well." Cas pointed out, "Which was very popular with fans, however, I believe that it is unlikely that they would make another at this point."

"Cowboys in space?" Dean sighed. "It was fucking great." He mopped up the rest of the pasta sauce with the leftover crusts of bread. "You got the film?"

"Of course."

"Awesome."

Dean was stripped to the waist and sweating under the mid-day sun when Cas brought him out a beer. "Thanks, man." He grinned, and… well… okay. He probably didn't need to be stripped to the waist, but it was worth it just to see Cas try to look anywhere but at him while holding a conversation.

"If there are parts you need to purchase, you must let me know." He told Deans boots.

"So far it just looks like general wear." He shrugged, taking a swig of the cold beer and leaning his hip against the frame of the car. "Should have everything I need in the trunk."

"It was not my intention for you to come here." Cas told the bottle of beer in his hands – anywhere but at him. Dean grinned. Yeah, okay, so he might not be into guys, but it was a great ego boost to know he was attractive to both sexes.

"Cas, you were gonna take this baby to a butchers. I had to do something."

"I will pay you for your time."

"Cas, shut up and pass me the wrench."

Dean was buzzed, hot sun and cold beer will do that to you, but Cas was wrecked. By the time Dean realised just how much his skinny friend had been drinking, the bottle was empty and Cas was swaying where he sat on the steps of his doorway.

"You know, you've got beautiful eyes." He smiled. "I've never seen such nice eyes before."

"Thanks." Dean laughed. "But I think your opinion is being swayed by a bottle of Hunters Helper and a hot day."

"No. I think you're beautiful."

Dean laughed, and closed the hood of the car carefully. "Right, Mr Confessional, let's get you inside."

Cas was still drunk, but he'd taken a shower and changed into 'something more comfortable' which was Cas talk for slacks and a shirt (Jesus Christ, how buttoned up could a guy be?) and Dean ordered pizza.

By the time Cas came back down stairs, with his hair still damp and messy – dude had bed head no matter what time of day – and didn't look Dean in the eyes, Dean had set up the TV and was already hooking up the hard-drive. "How do you feel about The River?"

Cas just nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. Dean would have laughed if he didn't feel so bad for the guy. Hell, it wasn't the first time that he'd been drunk off his face and flirted with someone he shouldn't have. He was the king of bad decisions while drunk.

They ate pizza and watched TV, Dean could feel the prick of his skin as he sat, and wondered if he was going to regret working without sunscreen all day – when the phone rang. Cas, who had been pressed into the far side of the couch like he was scared Dean was going to punch him one if he got closer, actually flinched at the harsh ring.

"Dude, calm down." Dean laughed, grinning at the other man. "It's just the phone."

"Hello, Castiel spe-" Cas started, swaying only slightly on his feet. "No, Gabriel." He sighed. "I don't." There was a pause – in which Dean was sure Cas rolled his eyes at the phone, before: "I'm sure Sam has better things to do on his wee-" another pause. "No, I'm quite sure I'm busy."

Dean grinned. Normally Cas was buttoned up and proper on the phone, but as he was talking to his brother he was getting more and more animated. "I don't know." He said, "You'd have to ask him…. No, I don't see why I have to ask him – Gabriel, you are a grown man. Please start acting like – I have." He shrugged. "As a grown man I am, occasionally, allowed to have a drink or two in the priva – no I'm not being sad and lonel – oh, fuck off, Gabriel." He snapped, slamming the phone down.

"What was all that about?" Dean asked, grinning at the expression of personal shock on Castiels face.

"I just hung up on my brother." Cas said, voice filled with horror.

"I saw that. Why?"

"He was being overly concerned with my 'drinking alone' and I hung up on him." He paused, looking at Dean with wide blue eyes. "I hung up on my brother."

Dean was laughing at the expression on his face. "I hang up on Sammy all the time." He snorted. "It's not a big deal." He paused, taking a breath. "Why didn't you tell him I was here?"

"I didn't want him to make incorrect assumptions."

"Like we're screwing on the couch?"

"He is extremely protect-"

The phone started ringing again and this time, Dean made a dive for it before Cas could even register what was going on. Fast reflexes was one of the things he was graced with. "Hello, Cas can't make it to the phone right now; he's a little… tied up." He grinned down the line, almost cracking up at the expression on Castiels face.

"Oh, um…" The voice on the other line sounded completely taken aback. "Are yo – wait." There was a pause. "DEAN WINCHESTER?!" Gabe screamed down the line. "You're fucking my brother?"

"You're fucking mine." Dean shrugged, aware that Cas could hear the entire conversation because Gabe was loud as all hell on the other side of the line.

"Not right now I'm not." Came a scandalised squeak. "Don't answer the phone if you're boning my baby brother! My ears! My poor ears!"

Dean actually did laugh then, as Cas grabbed the phone from his hand and pushed him away. "We are not having sex." He hissed. "He isn't even gay." Dean had a few more beers since they'd been sitting watching the TV, so he didn't think twice about his actions when he grabbed Cas from behind and leaned forward, ghosting his lips across the other man's neck, just trying to get a reaction that Gabe could hear; the little shit deserved it with all the headboard banging he'd done in Phoenix.

Cas dropped the phone with a squeak far too high for a man his age, and yeah – Dean kinda liked how his hands fit quite nicely on Castiels hips, and the way he unconsciously tipped his head further to one side to give Dean a little more room to work with. He quite liked the way Cas smelt, like pizza and bodywash – and maybe he liked the sound he made when Dean closed his mouth over the vein in his neck, or the shudder that went through his body, or the way those things affected his body.

He'd had a few beers. Not enough to pretend he didn't know what he was doing, but enough to take the edge off, and as Dean sucked and nipped skin and Cas fucking melted… well… yeah. Okay. Maybe he kind of understood why Sam wasn't so concerned about the gender of the people he was sleeping with.

Dean woke up before Cas, rolled over and out of the bed in a smooth movement borne of practice – he'd woken up in a lot of beds that weren't his. This was the first time he'd woken up in the bed of a dude. Who also happened to be one of his best friends. After sex.

Because they'd had sex. Dean had had sex with Cas. A Guy. He'd had guy sex with a guy.

He'd had a shower, shaved, dressed and was already working on the car in the drive – like a real man and not… you know, a gay guy, when Cas appeared at the door, holding a mug (a single mug) of black coffee. He looked… well… fucked – but Dean didn't want to think that had anything to do with him, but the amount of drink he'd consumed the night before.

"Have you eaten?" He asked with a smile, leaning against the door frame. "I don't know if I could make something right now."

"You were pretty drunk." Dean shrugged, keeping his attention on the car and not the man standing at the door. "Probably don't remember a thing." He added; sending up a silent prayer that Cas would just please give him that.

"I, um..." He started, and Dean actually heard his sigh. "No, I don't." Dean refused to acknowledge the fact that Cas sounded like Dean had just kicked him in the fucking chest. "How much longer do you think it'll take? The car, I mean?" His words were clipped and short.

In other words, how long before Dean would be able to make his excuses and leave. "I should be finished this afternoon."

"Right."

"Yeah."

Dean stood in his own garage, and let out a pleased sigh. This was his world, his life, his posters of busty women in bikinis and his box of skin mags under the desk he had the laptop on.

He made his excuses to Sam – not really an excuse because he really was snowed under with work after his weekend trip – and didn't log on to the game. He didn't get a single phone call through the day, and didn't want to think how fucking much he missed his daily conversations about stupid TV shows until he was watching Game of Thrones.

Two weeks later, when Cas hadn't called and Dean hadn't played a single game, he picked up the phone and dialled. As soon as the line picked up, he started talking.

"So, Joffrey Lannister is a smug little fucker and I'm well within my rights to punch him in in the throat." He said, "Right?"

"Who is this?" A confused but amused British accent asked down the line.

"Who is this?"

"Balthazar, of course."

"Who is it?" Cas voice asked in the background and Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. There was a muffled sound as a hand covered the mouthpiece, "Not sure, love." The line became clearer, "And you are?"

"Sorry, wrong number." He managed, before hanging up, unsure why he felt so much like shit.

"Fucking shoot him!" Sam yelled down the line. "I'm bleeding out."

"I'm out of ammo!" Dean snapped, "I told you that already."

"I don't think this is gonna work with three people." Gabe said, sounding seriously un-amused. "I love you, Moose, but if you're brother doesn't fix whatever he did, then I'm finding a new team."

"Why do you think it was Dean that did something?"

"Because I know my brother."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Gabe?" Sam bitched. "I'm pretty sure he's not a saint."

"Shut up both of you," Dean sighed. It had been like that for a week. Dean wasn't the only one avoiding the game anymore. "I'm logging."

"Whatever." Gabe shot back. "Asshole."

He could hear Sam trying to defend him as he pulled off his headset (his Astro a40's had arrived – green with his D_Leet tag emblazoned on the ears) and quit the game. He looked at his phone and groaned.

"Balthazar."

"Is Cas there?"

"I think you perhaps didn't have the wrong number last time, then." The English accent smirked. "He's busy."

"Yeah? Tell him it's Dean."

"Who?"

"Just tell him." He snapped, already hating the smug limey asshole. A few moments later, the phone was picked up.

"Hello, Castiel, speak-"

"Your brother is chewing me out about you not logging on, so fucking log on and quit being a dick."

"Dean?"

"Who the fuck else is it going to be?" He growled down the line. "Get your ass online."

"I am entertaining." Cas shot back, sounding just about as pissed as Dean had ever heard him. "I have a houseguest."

"Yeah? What, you can't get his dick out your ass long enough to play a fucking computer game?" The silence on the other line was deafening. Dean knew he'd gone too far. "Look, sorry – I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did."

"Look, just…. Can you just log on for like, a single match?" Dean was not begging. He was asking persuasively. There was a difference. Sammy begged. Dean persuaded.

"No. I am currently busy."

"Cas, don't be a fucking chick, okay? Just log on and play one match and that'll be it."

"So my brother will stop 'chewing you out'?"

"You know what, fuck you." Dean snapped. "I didn't even have to call."

"Singer Scrap." He said, picking up the phone.

"You had no right to take advantage of me."

"I didn-"

"I was drunk, you knew fine well how I felt about you, and you had no right."

"You weren't that fucking drunk."

"Neither were you." Cas snapped. "Or are you trying to convince yourself that you don't remember a thing either?"

"Look, fine, okay." Dean admitted, "I'm sorry, okay?"

"No!" Cas hissed. "It's not okay. I'm not a practice run to see what it's like. I don't just screw around."

"Well you moved on pretty fucking fast. Balthazarand you seemed pretty cozy -."

"He's my publisher, if you must I know!"Cas shot back, "And if you remember, you started this whole thing!"

"I know!" Dean found himself saying. "I didn't mean for it to go so far."

"Don't you fucking dare say that to me."Cas snapped, and it was the first time Dean had ever heard him curse. "Because I gave you every opportunity to back out."

Dean had no argument. From the moment he'd put his hands on Cas, he'd been unable to stop – and Cas had given him every chance to back out. Even when he'd been arching and fucking moaning and… Dean felt heat pool in the base of his stomach, and damn if he wasn't half hard just thinking about the way Cas had moved under him, stronger and rougher than any of the girls he'd fucked before. He didn't mean for it to go that far, but wild fucking horses couldn't have dragged him from that bed.

"Yeah." He said at last, all the fight leaving him. "I know."

"I didn't do anything wrong." Cas spat, "Aside from sleeping with a total bastard."

"I know." Dean agreed. Probably not the best time to tell Cas that hearing him curse was doing… well… really nice things to his body.

"And now I have no one to talk to about Spartacus and that's your fault."

Dean was pretty okay on the laptop – although not as good as Sam – and he'd already managed to download porn, so what did it matter if he was looking at… you know… other porn.

It turned out that sex noises were still sex noises no matter who was making them, and Dean's body didn't give a fuck about the lack of tits in the shot. He cared even less when he found the slight, dark headed Russian dude with blue eyes sucking off the biggest dick he'd ever seen.

Dean got pretty… varied in his porn. Yeah, so he still wanted chicks, and he still wanted skin mags, but since Cas had started logging back on to the game, Dean had found himself spending more and more time checking out the Russian dude with the blue eyes.

He was watching him just jerking himself off – for some reason they always put him with huge guys that Dean didn't really like, so the solo stuff was best – when his phone went. He was going to ignore it, because answering the phone with a cock in your hand was fucking wrong, but when he saw the caller id…

"Hey Cas."

"Dean." The voice said over the line. They hadn't quite settled back into their normal routine of calling every day, but Cas turned out to be pretty forgiving and they were talking. "Have you seen the new promo for The Walking Dead?"

"Ah, no." Dean said, concentrating on the voice and watching the muted clip play out on his laptop. His voice was still pretty even though – he doubted that Cas would be able to tell.

"Are you logged onto skype? I'll send you the link."

Dean caught the phone between his ear and shoulder and used the hand that wasn't sticky with lube to click connect. A few seconds later there was a muffled cough on the other line. "What?" He asked, eyes flicking over the screen, making sure he hadn't accidently accepted a video chat instead of text.

"Are you aware that you have your 'now playing' in your status?"

"So?"

"Dmitri? Really?"

Dean panicked, slamming the screen shut and hanging up the phone almost instantly. Fuck. "Fuck." He moaned – and a promise of a happy ending wilting in his hand. Fuck.

"Is this a bad time?" Cas sounded highly amused.

"Fuck off." Dean snarled down the line. "I'm in the garage."

It had been three days since Cas had basically caught Dean jerking off to a guy who would pass as him if you weren't paying too much attention, and three days where Dean was praying that he'd never, ever have to face that blind panic again. Porn was one thing; gay porn was something entirely different.

"Did you even get around to watching that link?"

"No." He snapped. The laptop was still in his room, still untouched since their conversation.

"Ah." There was a pause. "What are you working on?"

"General stuff. Got no specialised work right now so I'm just helping out Bobby."

"I'm selling my car." Cas said after a few awkward moments. "Getting something newer and easier to maintain."

"What?" Dean said, "you can't do that! It's a classic."

"I don't know the first thing about cars, and I cannot keep a car that requires so much upkeep just to keep it on the road."

"Her."

"What?"

"Her. The car is a 'her'."

"It's a car."

"She's a car."

"She's too much work to keep."

Dean pulled up into the drive behind a classic ford in a tow truck he'd liberated from Bobby. Cas was out of his door almost immediately. "Who are y-" He started, and then stopped, swaying slightly on his feet as Dean hopped out of the truck.

"I'm stealing your car." Dean shrugged. "You'll get her back once I've taken her apart and put her back together – and don't even start on me about money because I know you've got the cash, Mr New York Times Best Seller."

"Dean!" Cas said, staring. "You cannot drive all the way here because I'm selling my car!"

"Sure I can." Dean shrugged. "And if you really want to sell her when I'm done, I know a few collectors who'll pay the right kind of money for a classic restoration."

"Dean, you can't just drive-"

"I can just turn right around." He pointed out. "I'm not asking to stay." Only… well… he kinda was.

"Don't be an idiot." Cas waved him off. "Come inside."

Dean left the overnight bag he'd brought in the car, because he didn't want Cas to think that he'd planned it.

They watched 'Vikings' and ate take-away – and when Dean 'accidently' spilled spicy sauce on his shirt and reallyneeded to take it off before it burned his skin, and when Cas helpfully checked him for any injury… well… Dean didn't pull him closer.

"You're not doing this to me again." Cas warned, pulling back.

"Yeah I am." Dean grinned.

This time, when Dean woke up, he didn't roll out of bed and grab his clothes. He'd have a pretty rough time of it even if he wanted to though, because he was pretty sure his shirt was in the living room, his jeans were on the stairs, and his dignity had left the building – because at one point he may have begged.

"You look worried." Cas said, and Dean was pretty sure he'd pull away if Dean hadn't been using him as a body pillow.

"I was just wondering if I could deny the sounds that came out of my mouth last night." Dean said after a while. "Where the hell did you learn to do that thing with your tongue?"

"Porn." Cas shrugged. "I learned that from the Pizza delivery man."

Dean left the next day; hurting in places he didn't think he'd be hurting, but pretty impressed with himself all the same. The fact that he spent the entire drive with Cas in his ear, talking over the phone about Dr Who and – seriously, he nearly crashed the truck – how good Dean felt inside of him, probably helped.

It went on for months. The weekend visits and phone bills that made him wince, before Dean started to seriously consider where the hell it was all going. He wasn't saying anything to Cas, because talks about the 'future' were strictly chick territory and Dean refused to be the first one to bring it up.

There was a garage for sale in Galesburg. The only reason Dean knew about it was because Bobby told him about it.

"Get your head out your ass, boy." He snapped. "Ol' Frank is retiring and he's looking for something quick."

"Galesburg?" Cas asked over the line. "Here?"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Bobby thinks I should be starting my own place, you know? Custom work, restorations, that kind of thing."

"Here?"

"It doesn't have to be." Dean said, trying not to sound like he gave a fuck about the whole thing. "But Frank is selling; he thought he'd mention it. They go way back. I'd get a good deal."

"You could live here." Cas said, "Galesburg is under an hour away."

"I dunno." Dean shrugged. "It's a bit soon."

Dean bought Ol'Franks garage a month and a half later, with a small loan from the bank, a big loan from his brother, and the promise of the spare room from Cas.

The new signage went up: Winchester Restoration, a week after he bought the place – a silver sign with a sleek black Impala on the front.

A week after the sign went up, Dean got his first customer.

A month after that, he was fully booked and had to hire a couple people to help out – Ash, a genius with engines, and Jo, a pretty blond thing who made Ash stutter and Cas bristle. She knew her stuff though, and her habit of tight jeans and bright smiles brought him even more work.

About a year after Dean opened Winchester Restoration, Castiel Novak published 'Hammer of the Gods' which became an instant hit. It certainly helped with the nice lady from social services who interviewed them. She got a signed first edition and two months after that, they were painting the spare room pale yellow.

Her name was Anna; she was 4 months old, with bright red hair and a laugh that turned Dean a little soft around the edges. She was adopted under Anna Novak-Winchester; everything she did was photographed or filmed. By the time she was walking she already had her own pink tool belt and baby typewriter.

She was spoilt by Cas, Dean and Sam, but she was ruined by her uncle Gabe who forgot how to use the word 'no' in her presence.

By the time she started pre-school; she could read, write and change a flat tire.

Dean couldn't have been prouder.

Dean glared at his brother-in-law who was trying to hide the fact that he was slipping Anna candy from the moment he walked through the door, singing carols off-key and a Santa hat on his head.

"She'll never sleep tonight if you keep feeding her sugar." He pointed out. "And if she pukes it all up, you're the one cleaning it."

He was woken up the next day by a hyperactive 5 year old dancing on his ribcage. "Daddy! Santa's been!" She screamed in his ear. "He was really here! The cookies are gone! And the carrot for the reindeer!" She dove on top of Cas and shook him hard. "Poppa! Poppa! Did you hear?"

Cas was about to reply when the sound of a much older whoop echoed around the house. "Uncle Gabe knows Santa has been!" She screamed, directly into Dean's ear. "Get up!"

Dean and Cas, dragged out of the bed they'd only managed to get into an hour or so before due to the sheer amount of gifts they had to wrap, half stumbled down the stairs and flopped on to the couch.

"This one is for Poppa from Moose." She announced, holding out an elegantly wrapped package to Cas.

"Don't call him Moose." Cas chided. "His name is Uncle Sam."

"Uncle Moose." Gabe cut in, sitting on the floor between Sam's stupidly long legs.

"Mooskavich." She giggled. "Like Fivel!"

"Fivel is Mousekavich." Dean said before he could help himself.

She rolled her eyes at him.

And so Amanda wanted a GamerAU and I wanted to write one... and this is the result.

I hope you like it, and thank you to WeekendShip for giving me permission to use your names and idea!

You can find the art that inspired this fic here:

post/45078557635/i-would-definitely-regret-this-later