True to his word, Dean is a raucous and enthusiastic audience member. He finds his seat just in time to hear Castiel's name announced and watches his friend skate out onto the ice. Jumping right back up onto his feet he cheers and whistles as Castiel drifts around the rink, waving to the audience. God, he wishes his face wasn't lost in the crowd of thousands, wishes he could make eye contact with Cas.

As Castiel stills in the center of the ice a hush comes over the crowd as they wait for the music to start. And when it does, Dean feels a thrill run through his bones as the music he loves surrounds him and Castiel pushes off to begin his performance.

At first Dean is a bit self-conscious. He is used to hockey crowds who yelled at the refs and players alike, pound on the glass, cheer on the fights with bloodlust, and jump out of their seats, holding their breath every time a player steals a break away or crowds the net. He feels a bit like a hurricane in a bottle as the audience around him golf claps through Cas' first couple of tricks while he tries to contain himself to just applause.

Screw that, he says to himself. Cas deserves some serious support after what he has gone through. All reservations about dignity and decorum fly out the window as Dean watches his friend land a huge jump combination. The resulting, "Fuck yeah! You go Cas!" gets him a few stink eyes but who cares? This is Cas!

Dean doesn't know much about this sport, but what he does know is that the tension is absolutely palpable. It is three solid minutes of sheer torture. Every time he can see Cas setting up for another jump, he holds his breath and is pretty sure that his heart is trying to pound its way right through his sternum. And when Castiel gracefully lands on one razor sharp blade, Dean can feel the breath he had been holding punched out of his lungs as he whoops and hollers, jumping to his feet more times than he can count.

Cas looks good out there, like, ridiculously good. Every movement he makes is precise, strong, athletic. He is pretty sure Cas was like three feet off the ground when doing those big jumps. Damn, the strength it must take to jump like that! Dean's traitorous mind wonders what it would be like to have his hands on that body, sliding up under that freaking costume, exploring solid muscle that ripples under silk skin. To watch and feel as the tight sinew melts, quivering and pliant under his touch. And don't even get him started on the ideas that come to mind when Cas does those spins, full of grace and flexibility.

After nearly three minutes, Dean's throat is sore and his nerves frazzled. Castiel does his final spin and Dean is the first to jump out of his seat, putting his fingers in his mouth to blow loud whistles of applause. His enthusiasm is contagious and the people around cheer with him and a few even respond by slapping his raised hands for awkward high fives.

As the crowd takes their seats, Dean asks the older woman sitting next to him what's next.

She gives him a funny look and says with a thick Russian accent, "You don't know how zis competition works?"

"No. I've never really watched before. I just, y'know, know that guy," he gestures towards where Cas' face is displayed on the jumbo-tron. And Dean can't help the stupid smile on his face as he looks at Cas sitting in the kiss & cry booth all flushed and breathing heavily, holding hands with his manager and coach.

The woman looks at the jumbo-tron and back to Dean before smiling and patting his knee. "Vell, now we vait to see ze judges scores. He vill have two scores, one for 'is elements and anozer for ze grade of execution. Basically, ze elements are how he did technically and grade of execution is more for artistry."

"So, he did good, right? I mean, it looked good to me," Dean asks a bit anxiously.

She nods and gives him a warm smile. "Yes, I sink he did very vell. I sink you vill be pleased with ze scores."

When the announcement comes on, displaying the first set of scores the audience erupts into applause. Dean takes it as a good sign and joins in the applause. However, when the second set of scores, this time for Grade of Execution, are announced, the crowd is less enthusiastic. Dean hears a few whistles and boos and looks to the woman next to him anxiously.

"What is that? Is it bad?"

The woman purses her lips and tilts her head back and forth, "Not bad, no. But… is not ze best."

"The fuck?! why?!" Dean asks the woman, personally affronted for Cas.

"Who knows?" She shrugs, "Sometime ze judges, zey just don't feel it."

"But, he did everything right?!" Dean officially hates this sport. In hockey, if you score, you score. Who the hell cares if how it feels?

"Yes, he did everysing right." She said, then leans in, looking Dean squarely in the eye, an intense look on her face. "Sometime, not often, but sometime, ven everysing is right, you can just feel ze emotion in ze skate. I have seen skaters move whole arena full of people to tears. Zat," she says as she taps her finger on his chest, "zat is somesing you never forget."

Dean doesn't know what to say to that. It sounds pretty girly. He's pretty sure that no ice skating performance is ever going to have that much of an effect on him. It's just a sport, after all. Yeah, it was pretty exciting watching Cas do all that stuff, holding his breath with each jump. But that's sports. He holds his breath when the Chiefs throw a hail Mary pass or when a team mate gets a breakaway. He's sure as hell not going to get emotional over it.

He wants to go congratulate Cas so he thanks the woman and tries to stand up but she pulls him back down.

"You are friend of Castiel, yes?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure… yeah… yeah we're friends."

"Tell him, he is ze best skater here. Zat is easy part. He should forget scores, forget judges, forget audience. Skate for love… love of skate or music or…" she shrugs, "someone special. But from his heart! Do not skate for numbers. Zen, he will bring us to tears."

"Uh, OK," Dean manages but he is pretty sure he isn't going to be relaying that sappy speech to Castiel any time soon.

She gives him a knowing smile, her wrinkled eyes shrewd and sharp. The woman surprises him when she reaches up and pats him on the cheek, the scratch of her aged and callused hand a stark contrast to the tenderness of the gesture. He is momentarily taken aback by the sign of affection and stumbles over his words as he tells the woman goodbye and makes his escape to try to find Castiel again.

Unfortunately, the lenient security guard from earlier has changed shifts and the new guy is having no part of letting some random American guy back stage, hockey star or not. Defeated, he finally gives up and decides to leave. But he can't get the itch to talk to Cas and congratulate him out from under his skin.

He roams around the Olympic village for a while, taking in the sights of the excited tourists mingling with eager vendors selling their tchotchkes. Impromptu stands have been set up in a busy outdoor market where people bustle around buying sweaters, hats and scarves, flags from every country, flowers and stuffed animals, and food that smells fantastic and makes Dean's stomach growl.

He stops at one of the food stands and buys something that he can't pronounce, orders by pointing to a picture. He doesn't know exactly what it is but it looks like spiced red meat rolled up on some sort of flat bread with a big glob of delicious looking sauce. Never let it be said that Dean is a coward.

It's unseasonably warm for a winter Olympic venue, around fifty degrees, so he takes advantage of the weather and fresh air, taking his feast and heading down to the waterfront. He finds an open bench to enjoy his spoils and the beautiful view of the sun hanging low over the Red Sea. He eats his dinner and it's delicious, whatever the hell it is.

When he finishes his meal, he leans back on the bench and thinks about the whirlwind that the last week has been. One week ago he was on the opposite side of the world, his life a normal routine of practice – game - press – Sam – travel. Repeat every few days. The games are played with the same team of familiar men, the interviews always about hockey, and the travel is in the comfort of his beloved Impala. It was predictable and planned, safe and easy.

Now, only one short week later, he is sitting on the other side of the planet, eating some mystery meat, and watching the sun set over the Red Sea. He is playing with new teammates and against some of his own. The press is after him, not to ask about hockey but about a romance with a girl he barely knows (or likes). His brother knows about his gay thing. And speaking of gay things, there is Castiel.

And that's just ten tons of confusion in a five pound bag. This guy came out of nowhere and flipped everything upside down. The press, Bela, Sam, all if it started because of that first night when he drunkenly fell into the guy and got lost in those blue eyes. Why had he let this one man affect him so much? He can't remember ever feeling so… captivated by someone before. He actually attended a figure skating competition tonight?! Whose life was he even leading?

"Dean-o," a sickly sweet voice from beside him stops his train of thought. He turns his face to see Meg, Cas' manager, standing above him, hand on her hip and smug look on her face. "Fancy meeting you here."

He stands to greet her. "Hi, it's Meg, right? What can I do for you?"

"You can stay far away from Castiel."

Dean is taken aback by the no-holds-barred approach of this woman but tries his best to keep a poker face. "No offense, but I think Cas can decide for himself who he wants to be friends with."

"Friends?" She sneers at him, "Is that what you're going with?"

"Yeah… friends."

"You're cute, you know that? I can see why Clarence can't stop with the doe eyes. But you know, Dean, you're not a friend. You're a distraction, one that Castiel doesn't need."

"Who the hell do you think you are? You don't know anything about me."

"Oh, sweetheart, I think I do." She slinks towards him and Dean has the distinct feeling he is being stalked by a cunning predator. "Dean Winchester, hockey star who shines bright on the ice but is pretty dim off it. High school dropout, right? Worthless father who never made it out of the minors. History with alcohol abuse and one mysterious arrest for… what was it dropped down to? Disorderly conduct? Don't think I don't know there's a darker story there. Oh and let's not forget, the infamous love 'em and leave 'em Don Juan. Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself, Dean? What could you possibly have to offer Castiel?"

Dean keeps his eyes as cold as steel. This woman's words cut like a knife but he'll be damned if he's going to show it in front of her.

"You don't even have the sack to come out of the closest. Don't think you're going to use Castiel like that while you play your media game with Biathlon Barbie."

"You don't know shit about me, lady."

"I know what you hockey players are like."

"You do, huh? And how is that?"

"I worked for a goon like you. You pros are all the same. Even if you're only half as bad as Luc, Castiel is still way too good for you."

"Luc? Luc Morningstar? You dated Luc Morningstar?"

Dean sees a flash of hurt on her cold face. It's so quick he almost misses it. This woman must be amazing at poker!

Dean knows Luc. In fact, he's playing the guy tomorrow. He's a left-winger for the New Jersey Devils and he is unequivocally a giant bag of dicks. He plays so unsportsmanlike that his nickname on the ice is Lucifer. The guy plays dirty, fights dirty, and has caused more than his share of unnecessary injuries, yet cries foul and overdramatizes every infraction against him. He's a complete narcissist who isn't happy unless there is a camera on him. Seriously, the guy showed up to last year's ESPY Awards dressed like Colonel fucking Sanders in an all-white suit, with a girl hanging off each arm.

"Gold star for the Ken doll. Yeah, Luc Morningstar. He was my client for a while and… maybe a little more. I did everything to help him rise and, well let's just say we didn't end our partnership of good terms. You know what it taught me, though? Hockey players are no good."

"Look, I don't know what happened to you, but you're right about Luc. He's a complete tool. That doesn't mean we're all like that."

"Honey, even if you're not as bad as Luc, Castiel is so far out of your league. He's… special, a real angel. And he's a cause I'm willing to fight for. He's been through enough and a guy like you? You'll only hurt him. So I'm telling you to do us all a favor and leave him alone 'cause he's so much better than the shit you wallow in."

She reaches up and pats his cheek, the same gesture the woman at the ice rink had done not an hour ago. The contrast is startling. Where one was sweet and motherly this is condescending, a subtle threat that sends a chill down his spine.

"Think about it," she says and turns on her heel and walks away.

Dean sinks back down on the bench, hit hard by the woman's words. Some were a little too close to home. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should just stay away from Castiel, not involve him with any of his own crap. Dean's a dropout with a history of trouble and he's never been able to make a relationship last more than a few weeks, not to mention he's too much of a freaking coward to come out. Yeah, she's right. Cas is intelligent, articulate, cultured, brave and just plain good – everything Dean isn't.

Dean picks up his phone, resolves to tell Castiel congratulations and lie about Bela, make him believe that he and Bela are a thing. It's better this way. Cas shouldn't spending his time on someone like Dean. His stomach twists into a tight knot at the thought of having to do this. Dean sighs, head hung, resting his phone against his forehead as he closes his eyes and works up the will to make this call.

Castiel picks up on the third ring and Dean is awestruck by the calming effect the man's voice has on him.

He answers with a low breathy, "Dean." And Goddammit! Dean can just hear the hopefulness in Cas' voice.

"Hey, Cas."

Dean swallows, and why is it so difficult to just swallow?

"So, nice job tonight…"

"Thank you, Dean. It… wasn't my best but at least I didn't fall, right?"

Dean chuckles a mirthless laugh, "Yeah, it would suck to fall at the wrong time, huh?" The double meaning of his words hurt more than he cares to admit.

"I… I'm glad you were there."

Fuck! Dean leans forward, dragging his hand over his face. "Yeah, man, me too."

"So, I hope figure skating wasn't too boring for you?"

"You kidding? That shit was stressful!"

Castiel laughs, he actually laughs, a low gentle velvet sound that sinks into Dean's bones, filling them with an unexpected warmth and he can't do it. He can't lie and he can't let this go.

"You were great, though. But I'm pretty sure the folks around me thought I was crazy…."

Dean goes on to tell Castiel about the audience members sitting around him who were less than thrilled with his cursing and the awkward high fives he forced on them. Castiel laughs even harder at that. He tells him about the woman he sat next to who was kind enough to explain what was going on and he very deliberately leaves out the sappy stuff she said about feelings and tears and love. Just, no. Castiel responds by telling Dean about his program, how he left out the quad but snuck in an extra triple.

Dean leans back on the bench and pulls his coat tighter around his chest as he listens to Castiel talk as the evening turns into night. It's relaxing to watch the sky redden while the sun descends over the sea as Cas' voice keeps him warm. He and Castiel talk like that for two more hours. They talk about hockey, skating, and life growing up an athlete (what life?). Dean tells Castiel about his dad dragging two tired little boys onto the ice every morning at 4 AM and about Bobby Singer. Castiel talks about being the odd foreign kid with no friends. But it didn't matter because he was always on the ice anyway. They discuss everything and nothing. Burgers and movies and Classic Chevy Impalas. And Dean is shocked at how little Castiel knows about two of those subjects. Dean carefully avoids any mention of Bela.

Finally, he can't feel his fingers or toes and his back aches from sitting on the cold, hard bench for so long. The temperature dropped once the sun went down and Dean knows he needs to not let his muscles gets chilled before tomorrow's big game. He reluctantly tells Castiel good night and hangs up the phone, standing and stretching his cramped muscles.

He takes one last look out over the darkened sea, no longer able to tell where the water ends and the starlit sky begins. All the way back to his room he thinks of Castiel and it isn't until he is turning the key that he realizes he has had a stupid smile on his face the whole time. He quickly gets that in check, not wanting to answer any questions from Sam but it makes him realize how completely screwed he is over the hot figure skater.

Dean slumps onto the bench after a grueling shift on the ice. He wipes down his sweat covered face and takes a long drink of water, spitting half of it back out. Shifting his eyes up to the scoreboard he wonders how they got here. It's about half way through the third period and the score is tied at 4-4.

He had skated out onto the ice after the second period intermission confident that the US had another win in the bag. They were up 4 to 1 and the Slovenia team was faltering, especially on defense. But something had happened, some change in the tide, and in the last ten minutes of play, they had evened up the score, playing with the desperation of a trapped animal.

Morningstar continues to be a force on the ice, playing his usual brand of slash and burn hockey. Benny is spitting out blood from where Luc hit him with a punishing check, his face smashing into the seam between the boards and glass. And Sam is trying to hide it but he can see his brother rubbing his knee where Luc broke a stick against it. Yeah, the asshole definitely earned the title Lucifer. Shouldn't the devil have an aversion to ice?!

He knows they've got to put something together and regain the lead. Bobby is standing behind him talking to the assistant coach about maybe pulling Garth, see if someone else has better luck in front of the net against this offense. And that's when he sees one of Slovenia's defensemen put his stick out in an obvious hook and the whistle blows as Dean's teammate goes down.

This could be just what they need, a two minute power play goal to gain back the lead. Dean, Sam and Vic vault over the board separating the bench from the ice, ready to play with a one man advantage. Sam takes the faceoff against Luc and he can hear the bastard jawing, trying to get under Sam's skin. Sam plays it smart, though, keeps his cool, and as the puck drops, he wins the faceoff, directing the puck right to Dean.

Dean takes the puck and the play begins at spectacular speed and intensity. He drives the puck towards the net, heavily pursued by Azazel, one of their top defensemen. The next minute is a flurry of push and pull, pass and shoot, chase and evade. Victor gets off a shot to the net and Dean groans as he hears the tell-tale 'ping' of the puck off the pipe. Shit! One inch to the right and that shot would have gained them the lead!

As the clock ticks down on the power play, he can feel the desperation amping up. Sam takes a sloppy shot that gets deflected off the Azazel's stick, right to the waiting stick of Luc. Sam quickly gives chase, easily the faster skater with his long legs and reach. He snags the puck but Luc retaliates with a high stick to Sam's face and the whistle blows. Luc is called on his penalty and heads off to do two minutes in the sin bin and Sam rubs his face, flexing his jaw.

Luc says something to Sam on his way off the ice that Dean can't hear but by the dark look on Sam's face and menacing one on Luc's, it can't be good. A quick glance at Bobby tells him that his line is going to stay on the ice for this power play too. There are only a few seconds left on the first penalty so with Luc heading off the ice, they now have two more minutes to make something happen.

Dean takes the face off this time against Azazel and gets the puck to Sam. It's two more minutes of intense play. Sam, Dean and Vic manage to keep possession of the puck most of the time but no matter where they shoot it, the goalie stops them flat. The guy's on fire. Azazel manages to get the puck as the seconds wind down and smacks it down the other end of the ice. Sam chases it down, retrieves the puck, and turns up the speed back towards the other end of the rink.

He's flying down the ice, along the boards as the penalty clock ticks down three, two, one. The buzzer sounds just as Sam is crossing center ice and Lucifer barrels out of the penalty box with his stick raised. He puts his shoulder down and slams it directly into Sam's side as he is travelling full speed, clotheslining him at the same time with his stick.

Sam's legs go out from under him and his head flies back and body twists with the force of the blow, blood and mouth guard go flying. He lands on his side, unmoving as the spot of blood under his face begins to spread outward.

Dean sees the whole thing and his blood boils as he barrels towards Lucifer, ready to tear into the guy. Benny grabs him and stops him, growling in his ear something about not getting himself kicked out of the game. The blood pounding in Dean's ears keeps him from hearing clearly what his friend his saying but it's enough of a delay to keep Luc safe as the ref locks him right back in the penalty box.

Dean glares at Lucifer who smirks at him casually from behind the glass. The refs give him a five minute misconduct penalty. Should have kicked him out on a game misconduct but that's OK. It gives Dean a chance to pound the bastard's face in once he gets out of the box.

Dean looks at his brother, who is motionless on the ice, his helmet knocked off in the collision and his long wet hair splayed out all around. The medical staff is already swarming and Dean stands helplessly as they try to revive Sam.

Benny tells him he has to leave the ice. Bobby's switching his line out. But Dean refuses to go until he sees if Sam's OK. The arena is filled with some upbeat goddamn music and it's making Dean crazy that his brother is bleeding on the ice while with Cotton Eye fucking Joe plays in the background. Bobby comes up to Dean and stands square in front of him to get his full attention.

"Hey, Winchester, I need you off the ice. Let the medical team do their job."

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill 'im, Coach! He should be out of the game!"

"I know. But the ref made the call and you're not gonna change his mind standing here staring down Morningstar. Now cool off so I can get you back out here to win this game."

"No fucking way! If Sam's hurt-"

"Dean," Bobby says to him and there's something in his tone that says family rather than coach. Dean looks down and Bobby's face has softened. "Listen, son, I know you're worried about Sam. So am I. But he'll be pissed if you let that Winchester temper of yours lose this game. It's why your daddy never could get into the pros. But you're better than him. And these guys… they'll follow your lead," he says, gesturing to the bench. "Now go cool off so that we can send that bastard Lucifer home empty handed."

Dean feels the steel grip he had on his stick relax a little as he lets Bobby's words sink in. He's right. Sam, always the martyr, is all about the team. He'll be pissed if Dean lets this game go because of him. He takes one more glance over and sees that they already have Sam on the stretcher and are headed off the ice as the audience cheers and a couple of guys come out with shovels and buckets to clean the blood off the ice.

And just like that the game goes on. It continues as if nothing had happened. As if Dean's baby brother isn't in God knows what condition in the back of an ambulance. As if Dean's world wasn't just shaken to pieces. As if the devil's spawn isn't sitting across the ice from him grinning like he just won the lottery.

His team mates play with renewed fervor. With Sam out, Bobby switches up some line combinations and puts Vic into the power play, which makes sense since he's definitely the best left-winger they've got. Benny's in now too and he's fighting with fire in his eyes. It gives Dean a minute to get his head back in the right place as he watches his team play and readies himself for the next line change.

The clock is winding down on Luc's penalty and the game itself and the US team has been in almost complete control of the puck since Sam's injury. They are playing together like a seamless unit and Dean is taking a leadership role on the bench, planning strategies with Bobby and the team.

Vic loses the puck to Azazel who looks like he is going to break away when Benny steals it from him at the blue line and swings back, putting all of his power behind a huge slap shot. The next thing Dean knows, the siren is going off and the light behind the net is flashing. Benny got one in from the blue line! Team US has regained the lead with just two minutes left to play.

Team mates crowd around Benny to congratulate him as he drifts towards the bench. He skates straight up to Dean and pokes him in the chest with his stick.

"That's… for Sammy," Benny drawls as he makes eye contact with Dean and there is no mistaking the unspoken communication between the two old friends. Go finish him.

Dean nods and takes his place on the ice for the face off and wouldn't you know it, he's facing off against Luc. A murderous grin paints over Dean's face and the second the puck drops he tears off his gloves, grabs the front of Luc's sweater and punches him square in the jaw. Luc was expecting the confrontation and drops his own gloves in a flash, swinging a left hook that, luckily, gets more helmet than it does Dean.

The excited crowd is on their feet, the roar of their cheers thunderous and out of the corner of his eye, Dean spots a few other team mates in smaller scrums nearby. Refs are carefully circling the fighting players, trying to keep an eye on at least three fights breaking out at the same time. It's a gong show and how often does that happen at the Olympics?

Dean gets in two more solid punches to Luc's face but takes a couple of his own, a left jab that breaks the skin over his right eye and knuckles to his upper lip. He can taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and feel the trickle of it mixed with sweat as it drips down his temple. He hopes that it doesn't go in his eye. He needs to see Luc to beat the pulp out of him.

Finally, Dean pulls back and puts the full force of his anger into one more right hook that lays Lucifer flat. That's it. The ref skates over and grabs his elbow to signal the end of the fight. Dean let's himself be led but as he does he looks up to see the crowd and his team mates cheering him enthusiastically.

It's a game ejection. He knew this going in but with Benny's goal giving them the lead and less than two minutes left in the game, it was a risk worth taking. On his way off the ice, he looks up into the crowd, smiles, showing teeth red with blood, and raises a fist and the volume amps up. The audience loves it! They know Luc's move was some dirty and dangerous bullshit and everyone loves a guy protecting his brother. He glances over to the bench and even Bobby is doing his best to hide a satisfied smile and he's pretty sure he hears him mumble "idjit" as Dean goes past.

Dean makes his way back to the locker room, quickly showers and changes. He does a quick bandage job, slapping some butterfly tape on the cut over his eyebrow. And then he beats it out of there, ducking out through the player's only entrance to avoid any reporters. He has only one thing on his mind – get to Sammy!

Author's notes: Lots of hockey terms in this chapter as team US plays team Slovenia.

The chapter title, Five for Fighting refers to a common penalty for fighting – five minutes

Hockey has three 20 minute periods instead of four quarters like many other sports. This chapter takes place in the third and final period of the game.

A Power Play is when one team has the advantage of at least one extra player because someone on the opposing team is in the penalty box (aka Sin Bin). Penalties range from minor infractions of 2 minutes and can even be a game ejection. The penalty durations are up to the refs and the fans are not always in agreement with their decisions.

If you aren't familiar with hockey it may seem odd that the refs just kind of hover around while the players fight. Actually, this is pretty common, and it also isn't unheard of for tensions to run so high that multiple fights happen on the ice at the same time (when this happens in a game it is often referred to as a gong show especially if multiple fights happen during the duration of the game). They usually let them go at it for a bit to let the players get it out of their system, stopping the fight if someone goes down or it's getting too one sided. And, yes, the audience loves it!

Thanks for reading. This was a fun chapter to write with Dean's reactions to Cas' skate plus the hockey fight. Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think.