James let Dean in, his heart pounding in his chest. So Dean still wanted to salvage their – friendship? Did Dean think of Cas as a friend? Had he even seen James as that, before?

The mechanic came to stand in his living room, staring at the couch, shuffling his feet.

"I'm sorry, man" he finally began. "I – just – your uncle is in the hospital and you really don't need anyone to hit on you right now, I get that, and I really shouldn't have tried to kiss you, but I was still half-asleep and you're really hot so – "

James ignored the heat that suddenly flared up in his stomach – tried to, at least – and interrupted him with, "No, Dean I understand. Like you said, we were both half asleep. Otherwise, I wouldn't have bolted when an attractive man tried to kiss. Let's just forget about it."

He couldn't understand why Dean's eyes lit up until he realized what he had said. He had meant to convey that he wasn't attracted to Dean. So much for that plan. But his neighbour didn't bring it up again, thankfully, and he didn't try to kiss him again.

"Friends, then?" he asked, although there was hope in his eyes, and James hated himself for putting it there.

"Friends" he replied and was surprised when Dean pulled him in a hug.

When he stepped away, he commented, "At least you put on a warmer jacket. Wasn't really into helping another walking icicle." He frowned. "What are you doing anyway? I mean, I get going to the hospital, but you were out much too long for that last night, and you apparently went out again today, so..."

James bit his lip and tried coming up with an explanation. He couldn't really tell him that he was looking for –

On the other hand, why not? He didn't have to tell him the real reason.

"I went to the library. I'm working on a translation and I needed some references..." he trailed off. He might as well tell him more.

"I'm looking for someone."

Dean nodded, waited for him to continue.

"His name is Patrick Langleben. I've tried googling him" he still felt strange using words that he wouldn't have allowed to leave his mouth when he was his real age, but added "and phone books. He's supposed to live here, but I have no idea how to find him."

"I know it's none of my business, but why do you need to find this guy so bad?" Dean asked, and James detected a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Dean was pissed at himself that he was pissed at Cas for running after a guy who obviously wouldn't even give him a phone number while he was – while his uncle was dying.

"He..." James had to think quickly.

"He runs an illegal casino. A friend of mine owes him money, and it could end badly."

Only when something like disappointment and worry crossed Dean's face did he realize how that sounded.

"A friend of yours owes him money."

Dean was obviously trying to sound neutral.

"Yes" he confirmed.

"How much?"

He was worried and James felt even guiltier as he answered, "Enough, but I can pay him back."

"For your friend?"

"Yes" he confirmed, not bothering to correct Dean's deductions. If he thought he had gaming debts, he wouldn't be that attracted to him anymore – and that was what James wanted. Absolutely.

"And this friend – does he play poker often? Or crabs? Or whatever the Hell he lost the money at?"

"It was a one-time thing, terribly misguided, of course, and he hasn't touched a pack of cards since." When he saw Dean's doubtful expression, he added, "Really."

The young man relaxed and smiled at him, albeit weakly.

"Thank God for that. It's a nasty habit."

"It is" he agreed.

"So. You need to find this..."

"Patrick Langleben."

"Or there will be consequences?"

"Most likely" he answered, imagining the young man he had met in a prison cell aging and dying, shuddering involuntarily.

"Hey" Dean clasped his shoulder. "Don't worry man, we'll fix this."

"We?"

He nodded. "My father, he was... I know a thing or two about looking for someone."

Dean had never spoken about his parents – except for mentioning his mother's untimely death once – and James longed to ask. But he had no right. He was lying to Dean and he wouldn't use the lie to wriggle out information about a sensitive subject.

"Thank you, Dean. I cannot tell how much I appreciate your help" he said.

Dean looked at him and shook his head.

"Sometimes you sound so much like your uncle it's creepy."

"We are related" he shot back weakly.

"No denying that" Dean said. "Is there any news, by the way?"

He shook his head.

"I would tell you."

"Thanks, Cas, I appreciate it."

"No, I'm the one who should be thanking you. It's clear you've done a lot for him..." he began, desperate to finally thank Dean. He had tried to often enough in the past, and the younger man had always declined to hear him.

As he did now.

"It's really no problem. I like your uncle. He's a good man. And he really couldn't shovel all the snow we have been having... You're lucky. It hasn't snowed since you've shown up."

James nodded, feeling that Dean would never accept gratitude, no matter where it came from.

"So... Patrick Langleben" Dean said, all business. "Any idea where we could look for him?"

James sighed.

"He was arrested two days ago, after that he disappeared. I tried everything, Google, phone books..."

"But if he's gone, why even try to find him?"

"He has the habit of showing up unexpectedly. I don't want to risk spending the money and then having him stand in front of me suddenly. I settle my debts."

Dean nodded. "It's safer, I suppose."

"But you really don't have to..."

"Like I said, I got experience. And I won't let you alone, not with all the stuff that's already going on right now."

Before James could try to thank him again, Dean had sprinted out of the door. He assumed he would soon be back and sat down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. What had he just done? He was supposed to keep away from Dean, not ask him for help. And now he thought he had gambling debts...

That could be a good thing, at least. Dean must think him far less desirable now if he believed he had made deals with a criminal.

The prospect didn't cheer him up.

"So, I – Cas, cheer up".

He hadn't heard Dean come back. His neighbour patted his shoulder.

"We're gonna do this, alright? Like I said, I know a thing or two. Don't worry. And if push comes to shove, I can always call Charlie."

James remembered everything Dean had told him about Charlie, but of course he asked, "Who?"

"Friend of mine. Really tech-savvy. She can find anyone she wants."

It was tempting to suggest asking for her help right now, but the less people knew, the better. Patrick Langleben had after all been in prison when they met, and if he realized someone was searching for him, he could disappear completely.

If James had another motive – spending some more time with Dean – he didn't acknowledge it. Least of all to himself.

"But I guess you want to keep this quiet for now, so you'll have to do with me."

"I'm sure you'll do very nicely" he said before he could stop himself, and Dean grinned at him as he connected his laptop to the wifi.

"Man, your uncle has an amazing internet connection."

"It came with the telephone package" James answered before he realized that he wasn't supposed to know, and added, "I was bored and snooped through the drawers. Found the contracts."

"You spy, you. Still, can't blame you. It's tough trying to make a sense of new surroundings while under stress".

It's tough not to kiss you was James' first, completely spontaneous and juvenile (it's getting worse, oh God, it's getting worse) reaction, but thankfully he managed not to blurt it out. Then he remembered what Dean had said.

Dean said it as if he was all too used to the sensation. James wondered why. Dean hadn't talked about his childhood often, as far as he recalled, and only in connection to his brother.

"It's not easy" he admitted, wondering how someone could be so understanding of the pain of others when the few times he'd noticed Dean was troubled or sad the young man had waved away his concern with a simple "I'm fine."

"You're here all alone, too. No relative ready to drop everything and help you out?"

James shook his head. "Like I said, Uncle James was always rather an outsider. I knew I had an eccentric uncle around these parts, but other than that..."

"If James is eccentric, your family must be the most boring people I've never met" Dean said before cringing. "Sorry."

James smiled. "It's alright. We really are all rather normal."

"I wouldn't say that."

Dean looked up from the laptop and their eyes met. There was so much sincerity in his neighbour's face, and the knowledge that he was lying to him and using him should have made James look away, but it didn't. Instead, they kept staring at one another and a part of him wanted to cross the short distance between them and do what Dean had wanted to do this morning.

Dean licked his lip unconsciously, and James was surprised at the intensity of the heat travelling down his body. He broke the eye contact before he did something he would later regret.

"What do you know about this Langleben? And what kind of name is that anyway?"

"Roughly translated, it means "live long" in German" James answered automatically and Dean mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "language nerd" before continuing, "And? Any idea where he likes to park?"

James didn't know what to answer. He hadn't learned where Langleben's illegal casino had been located (not that it mattered – he couldn't believe that even he had so much confidence that he stayed there after he'd been arrested). Only now, he realized how suspicious it all sounded.

True, he had never had much experience in lying. But the honesty he had been so proud of all his life was of little use to him now.

Dean was intelligent, highly so. He must know that there were holes in his story. Yet he hadn't asked. It worried him that he was ready to just act because James had asked him to, and that he obviously cared so little for his own safety that he was perfectly willing to chase after a criminal for a man he hardly knew.

Dean Winchester was too good a man for the world he lived in.

"Dean, you really don't have to do this".

His neighbour snorted. "Right. I'm just gonna let you do this yourself. The scrawny translator against the evil con artist. I don't see this playing out so well."

"I'm not scrawny. You're just a giant" James defended himself. Even at eighty-one, he'd still been rather tall; and in his thirties he hadn't yet had lost any height, of course.

"I know you're not – giant? I'll let you know that my little brother is taller than me."

"It's official. You're weird genetic mutations, then."

"You're weird genetic mutations" Dean murmured as he concentrated on his laptop again, deciding the discussion was over.

James smiled against his will.

"So how would one find someone who doesn't want to be found?"

"Well, for one, everyone leaves traces. Today that's just inevitable. You can't walk down the street without being filmed, and you need money to survive. So we look for the money. At the very least, your friend lost a few games against him, so they spend some time together. Did he tell you anything? He seem like the guy who likes expensive stuff?"

"Definitely" James answered, relieved that he could answer one question, at least.

"It's a start" Dean said simply.