Castiel had emailed contracts over to Dean to sign and send back, stipulating the terms of their agreement. Seeing all those zeroes in a row had been almost hypnotising, although Dean was still skeptical that he would ever see that money. He found that he didn't much care if he didn't. Castiel had also been talkative in the body of the email, something Dean hadn't been expecting. Hell, Dean hadn't expected to like Castiel half as much as he already did. He couldn't stop himself from fantasizing about the dates, picturing himself and Castiel in darkened corners, giving in to the initial attraction he felt.

He was at home, a few days after Castiel's visit. So far, he had managed to fend off Charlie's constant questions by claiming that he'd never found out the guy's name, but had managed to sell a piece and had eventually eaten his pie in peace. Charlie rolled her eyes at that comment, and finally dropped the conversation, only for Sam to have started it up again when he got home. Apparently Castiel had managed to avoid Charlie discovering his identity by paying for the statue through some obscure company he probably owned.

The day before, Castiel had dropped him a message on his phone to let him know he had made him an appointment with a tailor, and that he would be picked up. Part of Dean was hoping for a limousine while another part hoped that Castiel would be true to form and act discreetly. While he waited, Charlie and Sam were in his ear, talking at him.

"But come on, Dean! It's ice hockey, you love watching the blood bounce on the ice when they fight," Sam folded his arms and scowled. "I never get to spend time with you any more.""Your fault for being a smart ass. I'm not in the studio today but I do have plans."

"What plans?" Charlie stuck in. "I schedule your whole life. Ice hockey isn't just penciled in; it's in bright red Sharpie."

This was the problem with keeping it in the family.

"Plans that don't involve you."

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him.

"You know Dean, we put up with a lot of artistic temperament crap from you. You're going to put up with this from us. You're going to buy a chili dog and make inappropriate comments and yell at the other team's fans. And you're going to smile as you do it or so help me-"

"The doorbell rang, and Dean turned away from Charlie in mid-sentence to answer it. A kid no older than eighteen stood on the other side of the door, looking nervous in a suit that drowned him.

"H-hello. I'm here to pick up Dean Winchester?"

Dean turned to his younger brother and sister.

"Don't wait up. Get me a foam finger." He walked out as they both started asking a bunch of new questions, and followed the kid in the suit down the road. "So … you're young."

"I know. I just got this job. I know how to get to the tailor though, you'll get there in one piece, don't worry. Are- are you really Dean Winchester? The artist?"

"Uh-huh. And you are?"

"Kevin. Kevin Tran." He gestured to a sleek BMW and Dean climbed inside, as Kevin did too. Once the doors were closed, he started talking more freely. "Michael thought I would be too young to hire, which made Luke insist on hiring me. And Castiel said they should give me a chance. Getting you to the tailor and back in one piece is my trial. So, how do you know Castiel?"

Dean wondered if this was a test for him too. Castiel had said not to mention how they knew each other.

"Oh, you know. Stuff. Suit appreciation society."

Kevin laughed, and pulled out into the traffic./p
"Did I interrupt something a minute ago?"

"Yeah, my brother and sister got tickets to the ice hockey match downtown. Going to miss it for this. But it's cool. The society would be disappointed if I didn't get this fitting done."

"You could still make it. You won't be that long getting your suit, the store isn't that far from the arena. I could drop you there, you could meet them in the queue?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm here to do whatever you need. If you decide to go to the Canadian border I'd be the one to take you. So long as you get this appointment done."

The perverse side of Dean wanted to take advantage of Castiel's generosity, but he knew it would be better to appease his siblings. He took out his phone and tapped out a message to Charlie, hoping that they would forgive him enough to go along with it.

"Just the ice hockey would be good. I'll go home with my brother and sister afterwards, you can go back to the Novak's.

"Sure. Thanks Mr Winchester."

"It's Dean, and no worries."

Dean settled back in the seat, which was even more comfortable than his own car, and saw a small bottle of champagne in ice bucket in front of him, along with a glass.

"Wow. Real champagne."

"Yes, compliments of Mr Novak. He said to make sure you took the bottle with you when you go, but I don't imagine they'll let you take it into a hockey game."

"I'll just have to get my drink on. I'd leave you some, but you know,"

"Yeah. Under twenty-one. Also driving. Also would definitely be fired if I was drinking on the job. And I kind of need the money."

"I hear that," Dean breathed, and eased the bottle open, before drinking straight out of it. Just in case he spilled it in sudden traffic, he reasoned silently.

The tailor wasn't too far away but he'd managed to neck most of the champagne before they parked up. As they walked in someone immediately took Dean's jacket, and someone else pressed a fresh glass of champagne in his hand, leading him through to the back to try on some suits Castiel had already put aside, and be measured to make sure they fit as well as possible. He managed a few mouthfuls before the glass was taken out of his hands and a suit jacket shrugged onto him, for a moment he was annoyed but then decided to just go with it. After all, it was free champagne, a free suit, and a couple of dates with a hot, eligible, funny guy at stake.

He was slipping into the third suit when a raised voice from the other side of the wall caught his attention, and that of the seamstress poking pins all over the fine material. They listened intently together, neither of them ashamed to be eavesdropping.

"He did what? No. No, absolutely not. I've told you before, I don't care how much he sweet talks everyone, he doesn't get to close a deal without my say so."

Dean looked at the seamstress and shrugged, then winced as a pin dug into his skin near his shoulder. The door opened, and Dean found himself face-to-face with Michael Novak. Of all the people he could have met while some woman was tweaking his pants.

"Sorry, I thought this room was free." There was a tic going under Michael's eye. Dean wondered which brother had pissed him off.

"No biggie." He shrugged easily. The champagne had given him a nice buzz, and it was hard to feel aggravated by the interruption. Michael nodded, and made to leave, before pausing.

"You're that artist, aren't you? The one Time did a feature on a few months ago?"

"Yeah, hi, I'm Dean Winchester." He offered his hand. Even though he didn't particularly want to talk to Michael Novak, he supposed he'd buy Castiel some brownie points by trying to be nice to him. Even if it was surreal that Michael Novak had any idea who he was, or had followed one of the few articles that Dean had appeared in. Michael shook his hand firmly.

"One of my brothers was impressed with the article, you know. Don't be surprised if he buys from you. Although knowing Castiel, he's probably one of your regular customers already and you have no idea." Michael shook his head, and Dean swallowed down a smirk.

"Well, it's always nice to meet a fan's brother."

Michael gave him an appraising look, and turned to the seamstress.

"Lisa, he'd work better in the Armani."

"These are the suits I was told to try him in."

"Armani," Michael nodded at Dean, like it had been his decision. And then he turned around and lifted his phone to his ear as he walked away. Dean looked at the seamstress again nervously.

"Um, don't worry about the Armani. I think … I mean …"

"It's fine. Castiel never picked it." She made a few more measurements and then took the jacket off of him. "Okay, you're done. Remove the pants carefully and place them on the seat please." She left him alone in the room, and Dean scrambled gratefully back into his own clothes, which felt so much more comfortable without pins sticking out everywhere. He walked back out into the front, where Michael was pacing, phone glued to his ear, talking quickly and angrily to whoever was on the other end. Dean sketched a wave at him as he left, and Michael blanked him, continuing his terse conversation instead.

He slid back into the car that still waited outside and Kevin pulled away almost instantly, saying nothing as Dean continued with the champagne.

"How did the fitting go?" He asked as they hit a red light, a few minutes into the journey.

"Okay, I guess. It was someone sticking pins in my clothes."

Kevin smiled into the rearview mirror, and Dean took another swig of champagne.

"Not long until we get to the stadium. I told Castiel where you were going, so he knows how long until I'm back. And he knows you're well taken care of."

"Oh, cool." Dean smiled, and sank back in his seat, finishing off the wine. His head was swimming pleasantly now, and the car was warm and the seat was soft and he could have easily fallen asleep, but they were pulling up to the stadium. Dean could see Sam already, a head above everyone else in the queue, skulking nearby with Charlie who was on her phone. A few moments later, Dean's cell rang in his pocket.

"I'd better go. Thanks Kevin. I'll put a good word in with Castiel for you."

Kevin waved him along, and he stepped out to join his brother and sister, feeling completely buzzed.

"Hey! So, hockey?" He slung an arm around Charlie's shoulder, and turned her towards the entrance. Sam walked beside them with a curious expression.

"Dean, are you drunk? Where the hell did you go?"

"A little bit, but shhh Sammy, you wouldn't believe me if I told you!"

"Sam groaned, and Charlie shushed Dean as they approached the turnstiles. Sam handed their tickets over, and the security guard scanned them, then called someone over. They looked at the tickets, and scanned them again, then looked at the scanner. Dean started to play with Charlie's hair, as Sam tried to use his lawyer voice to find out what was going on.

"Is there a problem? We got these tickets from the box office a few weeks ago."

"No problem. You're all Winchesters?"

Sam nodded, clearly confused. And ordinarily, Dean would be too, wanting to know exactly what the big deal was even if they were Winchesters? But the champagne was still flowing through his system quite nicely, and he just had a feeling …

"Please come with us." The steward who had been called over gestured, and began walking away. Dean nudged Charlie along, and Sam followed.

"Dean, this isn't a good sign," Charlie whispered quietly. "I bet they know you're drunk."

"He did it," Dean decided confidently. "He did it."

"Great, you even sound drunk," Charlie sighed.

"Bet you a chili dog we're getting an upgrade." Dean was still confident.

"I miss the Dean who PMS's. I don't like happy drunk Dean. He's an idiot." Charlie muttered, as the steward gestured through a door.

"You're in here. Enjoy the game."

He stepped aside, and they filtered through. Charlie and Sam both stopped to stare around. They were in a private box. It was still cold from the atmosphere of the rink, but there was a buffet and bar and cushioned seats with an amazing view of the game. Charlie snagged a plate and loaded it up before pouncing on the front seats. Sam caught Dean's eye.

"How did you know?"

"It's a long story."

"Dean, did you waste all your earnings from one piece on this? We can't afford to live like that!"

"Shhhh!" Dean headed towards the bar. Sam nudged him along to the food.

"Nuh-uh. No more alcohol. Look, mini burgers. You can feel like a giant."

"I should do miniature sculptures."

"Uh huh. Dean, seriously, what's going on?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Except I can't tell you. And if I could, I wouldn't. Whatever. Just enjoy it, Sammy."

He ambled over to Charlie, taking the seat next to her and grabbing a giant shrimp from her plate, watching as the team skated onto the ice. Sam finally joined them, and focused on the game, although Dean knew the questions had only just started. He made a mental note to message Castiel and thank him for his generosity, once his siblings were distracted by food and booze at half-time.