So this is a little one-shot that came to me whilst trying to teach my mother and grandmother how to play basic poker. It was a loooong afternoon, though not I expect, half as difficult as teaching an angel!

He'd been staring at him for over an hour, watching the cards trickle through his fingers and turn over and over in vivid flashes of red and black shot through with the occasional splash of gold. His head had been cocked quizzically to one side like a dog trying to understand a command from its human yet getting nowhere. As the minutes had ticked by he had finally sighed, sat back and stared at the table with knitted brows.

"What is this game called again?" he'd asked, his usually emotionless tones tinged with the vaguest hint of confusion.

Dean had rolled his eyes.

"Poker," he'd replied from where he'd been absently playing a game of five card draw with himself. Castiel had blinked,

"And you make money from these…?" he'd paused, gesturing hopelessly towards the two pair sitting on the table,

"CardsCas," Dean had shot back hotly, fifty-five minutes of being eye-balled finally getting to him, "They're called cards,"

Castiel had nodded once. An affirmative.

"I see."

It had been clear he hadn't.

From across the room, sitting opposite one another at the book-piled desk and elbow deep in anti-Apocalypse literature, Bobby and Sam had smiled and exchanged equally amused looks, the older hunter throwing in an eye roll for good measure as if he wasn't quite sure how he managed to put up with things – sometimes Dean didn't know himself – but it was a gesture that had gone unappreciated.

Castiel had still been staring.

"Look," sitting forward with a sigh and gathering up the cards Dean had decided on an all-out offence, laying his palms flat on the table and watching as the angel straightened in preparation for the lecture. He couldn't have looked much more intense without the aid of a notebook and pen. It wasn't that he didn't want to understand it was that he just…didn't. Dean had steeled his resolve, "The whole aim of poker is to get the best hand – ,"

"Hand?"

Right. Start with the basics.

A deep breath.

"Cards, get the best cards. It's called a hand."

Castiel had frowned once more, suddenly sounding disgruntled,

"This game seems very complicated."

Sam had grinned into his book. Bastard. Dean had decided to plug on regardless, tossing five cards face-down across the table towards the baffled looking angel who had made no move to collect them. Dean had then dealt himself the same amount, scooping them up into his fingers and watching as Castiel had belatedly copied, still looking utterly unconvinced by the whole spectacle. Dean had grit his teeth and tried to sound composed,

"Nobody else is allowed to see your hand, okay? You don't show your cards to anyone and they don't show you theirs."

A sombre nod.

"Understood."

Dean had doubted very much it was.

"Now we bet."

"With money?"

For a moment no one had said anything and had it not been for the severity of the question Dean would have assumed the angel was joking, except it was Cas and Cas wasn't really a laugh-a-minute kind of guy. Luckily for all of them however the silence had been broken by Bobby, snorting in a mixture of amusement and derision,

"Well you ain't stripping off in my house," he'd sniped from the pages of his book, drawing a bark of laughter from Sam. Castiel had swivelled to stare at them in renewed confusion before finally turning back to Dean questioningly.

"Yes, Cas," the hunter had answered slowly and with a long sigh, deciding to simply disregard the previous minute's conversation, "Money. Now, I'll bet, say…a dollar, which goes into the middle of the table. That's called the pot."

As he'd spoken he'd reached out his hand, placing an imaginary bill into the centre of the space and watching the angel's eyes follow the movement closely. Perhaps he was finally getting it.

"Where is the money?"

Maybe not.

"There!" Dean had snapped, jabbing his finger against the wooden tabletop and looking up through narrowed eyes. Castiel had met his gaze impassively.

"There is nothing there."

"I was pretending."

"Is that part of the game?"

"No."

As Bobby and Sam had continued to snort gently to themselves and exchange smug glances Dean had bitten back his temper and faced his clueless protegee once more.

"We're not using real money Cas, because this isn't a real game."

"I see."

Great.

"Now, if you like your cards, you bet."

Castiel had paused briefly,

"My cards are…very nice."

"Do you have a good hand?"

"I do not follow."

Abruptly Sam's amusement had turned into a full-blown and slightly sing-song chuckle of laughter, his shaggy head shaking from side to side in disbelief and what was possibly despair on Dean's behalf. His older brother had simply taken another long drag of air – for strength as he'd continued.

"That's what we're looking for here Cas, okay? A good hand. More than one of a kind, three of one two of another, cards in order, all the same suit…"

Again the angel had looked baffled, an expression which was starting to come as no great surprise.

"I am not wearing a suit."

"A suit Cas, a suit. Not clothes. The symbols on the cards. Hearts, clubs, diamonds, spades. Got anything like that?"

The explanation had been greeted with a slow nod of realisation, as well as a head shake,

"This is a most complicated game."

They'd seemed to have established little else.

"Then if you're happy – ," probably not Dean's best choice of words, "You bet as well."

Briefly Castiel's eyes had flickered up to meet his and then, dutifully and with the sort of haste that told Dean the angel was actually keen to get it right, a hand had gone into the pocket of the trench coat and emerged again holding nothing, which was then carefully placed beside the other imaginary bill in the centre of the table. So far so good.

"Okay, now you can replace some of your cards."

"Why?"

"To get a better hand."

"May I replace them all?"

"Three at the most."

"What if none of my cards make a good hand?"

"You should have folded before you placed a bet."

For once Castiel had looked vaguely disgruntled,

"That was not presented as an option."

"Yeah," Dean had sniped back, heavy on the sarcasm, "Neither was having an angel just dropping in whenever he feels like it but do you hear me complaining?"

The answer had been dead-pan,

"Frequently."

It had set Sam and Bobby off again and so growling away his growing antagonism Dean had thrust the deck out towards the angel,

"How many?"

"I believe I require two."

A fairly long-winded way of putting it but fine. Dean had dealt them out.

"If you get a joker, that's called a wild card. It means it can be any card you like."

"But you just said it was a joker."

Dean had blinked at him again,

"It is. But in this game – ," more table jabbing to emphasise the point of where they were and what they were doing, " – they can be any card you want."

Castiel had sat back, clearly a little ruffled,

"It is – ,"

"Most complicated," Dean had interrupted with an airy hand flap, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just bet again will you?"

Quickly Castiel's hand had gone back into his coat, one more imaginary bill added to the pile in the middle and with a surprisingly good piece of method acting accompanying it. Dean had done the same before looking up,

"I bet two dollars."

"I only bet one."

"Then you either have to match my bet or fold."

Castiel's eyes had flickered briefly towards the non-existent money-pile before them,

"Why did you bet two?"

"Because the better your hand the bigger you can bet."

"I see," Dean had grit his teeth again, throwing his eyes skywards. If he heard that sentence one more time…"I have now bet two dollars also."

At last, finally they had been getting somewhere.

"Great now, show your hand."

Castiel had looked at him uncertainly, eyes narrowing as they had weighed up the other man's motives,

"You said I must not show anybody."

"Not until the end."

"This is the end?"

I damn well hope so.

"Yes," he still hadn't seemed convinced and so Dean had sighed and nodded, "Fine, I'll show mine first, okay?"

He'd dropped them face-up onto the table, watching as the angel had bent forward to look curiously. His eyes had scanned the cards quickly, the brow furrowing once more. He'd looked almost put-out when he'd glanced back up,

"You do not have a good hand at all."

Dean had grinned,

"I know. It's called bluffing," besides, he'd won less with worse cards and it wasn't as if Castiel was sitting on a royal flush anyway. Sighing he'd edged forward, nodding towards the angel whose cards had still been held by protectively to his face, "Your turn."

Across the other side of the room Bobby and Sam had stopped their research to peer over, both of them waiting with baited breath and stupid grins for the result as Castiel had finally parted with his hand.

Dean had blinked, checked the cards and blinked again,

"Son of a – ,"

Sam's grin had widened,

"What have you got Cas?"

The angel had pivoted in his chair, his expression as close to satisfied as it was probably ever going to get.

"Four cards with an A in the corner and a joker which, under the terms of the game, can be used as a wild card,"

"Five of a kind?" Bobby had spluttered in disbelief, "Holy – ,"

Holy had probably been right.

"Did I win?"

Castiel had been staring back at Dean again, his expression wide and innocent.

"Yeah," Dean had managed to reply, nodding mutely and watching as the angel had started to collect up the little pile of imaginary notes, "Yeah, you did."

"I am pleased."

Sam had chuckled again, his tone irritatingly amused,

"So am I Cas, so am I."

"Yeah," Dean had shot back, "I bet."

Sam's eyes had twinkled in response and Dean had slouched back against the chair. Damn angels.

If this was how it was going to be, they could roll on the Apocalypse.