Okay, over the past few months, Dean really didn't have much of a choice but to accept that his things just disappear sometimes. In the beginning, he might've growled under his breath and cursed the world, blaming whatever took an old flannel or six from him on the same monsters that may or may not live in the washing machine and eat his novelty socks (but not the plain, boring hand-me-down socks from his dad that Sam steals half the time, of course not).

After being forced to realize he does, in fact, have a stalker, since things go missing when he's on hunts no matter which state he's in as well as back at the Bunker on the regular, Dean might've tried even harder to hunt the thing that's constantly tailing him. But that was then and this is now where, months later, the bastard still hasn't shown themself.

Sam, of course, after burning through a healthy layer of worry about said stalker and all the weird…stalking for all of three days, thinks the whole thing is hilarious because none of his stuff ever seems to go missing. No, this thing's after Dean—Dean's laundry in particular, even though he and Sam use the same detergent and everything.

But after months of digging into this and coming up empty every single time, Dean now doesn't do more than grumble about the missing jacket that he's sure had been there the day before and go to pick out a different one for however long he might have it. He doesn't really have a choice to do anything but ignore whatever's taking all his things because everything that he's tried has failed and he still loses a flannel and two pairs of socks a week, not to mention the occasional weapon or mug.

So he uneasily ignores the fact that he has to rebuild his wardrobe every couple of months as even putting stuff in magically warded lock boxes does nothing to fix the problem. But that was before. Now, this…whatever it is that's after him (after his stuff, more like, since they haven't done anything to actually harm him…yet) has taken the keys to the Impala three times in the past, making Dean glad he can make homemade extras, but never anything like this.

"Oh, you've gone too far this time," he all but snarls under his breath, eyes locked on the empty space in the Bunker's garage that should very much not be empty. "You hear me, you bastard? I catch you, I kill you!"

"Did you lose your car-washing shorts?" Sam asks oh so helpfully from the doorway and Dean, still fuming, doesn't even respond to that. "What did your secret admirer take this time?"

"That slimy bastard took my car!"

Sam makes a big show of wandering around and looking around the garage for the Impala, as if Dean just didn't look for it in the right corner, as if Dean would ever overlook his baby, before nodding slowly and settling his hands in his pockets like this is an everyday occurrence here, which it very much is not.

"Looks like it." Dean's, like, two seconds from decking Sam on principle for his nonchalance when he asks, "Were any of your back-up phones still in the glove box? You could try to track one of those down."

And just like that, it's like the dark clouds have lifted and the sky grows brighter, because unlike five seconds ago, he has a plan now and a half a dozen burner phones to choose from. "I knew there was a reason I keep you around, Sammy."

Sam just rolls his eyes, but Dean doesn't wait for a response, instead leaving the garage in a hurry to get to a laptop. He's got a car-snatching stalker to catch. He's not as skilled at tracking phones as Sam is so it takes him a few minutes, but soon enough, he finally has his first tangible lead on not only the Impala, but also on his stalker.

Surprisingly, his stalker is within walking distance, apparently, which…kind of makes sense given just how often his stuff goes missing, but still, talk about keeping enemies closer. That still doesn't explain why he loses stuff on hunts as well as at home, making him wonder if he's dealing with a network of evil fairies or something, so he packs for the trip to his stalker's location with pack-monsters in mind.

He hopes for his stalker's sake that they used one of the sets of keys they stole and didn't just drag the Impala out or bust into it with a coat hanger or anything or they'd really be dead. Like, Dean would figure out a resurrection spell to bring them back just to kill them again. Yeah, there's no way whoever had the gall to take his baby is ever gonna see the light of day again…

Or, well, that's the plan, anyway.

Sam doesn't want to come because he's convinced his stalker isn't half as dangerous as Dean thinks they are, so he's loaded up to the neck with weapons of all sorts, ready to take on everything from a vampire to a werewolf to a demon with a weird Winchester fetish and just about everything in between, along with a healthy supply of salt and sugar packets in the lining of his jacket (the last jacket in his closet, by the way, thanks to his stalker).

Dean's search for his missing…everything leads him into a nice enough neighborhood in Lebanon's suburbs, because of course it does. It takes only seconds of being on the street for his eyes to zero in on the Impala, parked outside of a house just like all the other cars on the street, as if it isn't special. No, his baby needs a garage or the paint might get all faded from the sun, and then there's the rust factor…

Furious, Dean wastes no time in stomping past the flower garden with the obscene amount of flowers and all but a swarm of bees darting overhead like some sort of Home Alone trap and up the steps of the nice little peeling porch that needs a paint job (preferably in a color that isn't eye-searing yellow?), pounding on the door before he can think of a better plan, like sneaking inside. His oversight can be forgiven, he thinks, seeing as how someone stole his baby.

The door opens after a few seconds spent clenching his fists and scowling into the door's peephole to reveal a bright red head of hair, and in the time it takes for her to grin at him, Dean's already pushing inside with a forearm against her collarbone, shoving her into a wall in a way that'd have anybody shaking in their boots.

"You think this is funny? Huh? Is this some weird game to you?" he demands, drawing a weapon but withholding from actually doing anything with it on the off chance that she's human. "What is this, some kind of weird…flirting?"

"Okay, whoa, slow your roll there, Romeo," she says, pushing him away and still seeming way too amused about this whole thing. "One, you are so not my type and two, I absolutely do think this is hilarious."

"Wh…"

"I'm Charlie," she begins, ducking under his slackened arm to stand beside him instead, "and I promise, this whole mess isn't on me."

"Who the hell's been stealing my stuff then?"

"That'd be Castiel," Charlie replies, pulling out her phone to type out a text message with a wicked sort of grin on her face. "Used to be just a cosplay partner, but now we're roomies. Hope you like D&D."

"Castiel?" Dean repeats, knife hanging loosely from his hand. "D&D?"

"Yep. All the action should be happening right about…"

As if on cue, a smoke alarm goes off, making both of them jump out of their skin. Whereas Charlie just keeps standing there, however, Dean runs to the sound to see what's happening and, through a plume of dark smoke erupting from the oven, he finally meets who he can only assume is his stalker.

His stalker is…smaller than Dean would've thought. Dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes that widen to the size of dinner plates when they lock onto Dean. The thing that should stand out the most is the collection of dark…scales splattered around on any and all visible skin like weirdly dark freckles, or the horns sprouting from said messy hair, or maybe even the wings growing from his back or the long tail that just knocked a fruit bowl off the countertop. But no, what stands out most are his eyes, and due to some kind of witchcraft, Dean finds he can't look away.

His stalker, he belatedly realizes, is a dragon. He's never encountered one before and has no idea how to kill it, so if this thing attacks him—

"Um…hello, Dean," the dragon says somewhat awkwardly, standing there in a bright yellow, bee-themed apron with striped oven mitts that hold something charred to Hell and back. "This is for you."

"Uh…what the hell?" With a towel to protect his hands, he dumbly accepts the pie tin of what he eventually realizes is supposed to be a pie. Hard to tell with all the smoke coming off of it. "Thanks?"

Castiel (because who else could it be?) seems elated by the tentative gratitude, a big gummy smile coming to his face. "I've been practicing," he says, nodding to himself. "Charlie and Youtube have been teaching me."

"Looks like you could use a little more practice," Dean mutters, though he immediately feels bad about it when Castiel deflates, adorable if misplaced pride gone and then somehow vanishing even more when Dean puts the…extra crispy pie on the counter to cool. "Wait a sec, how do you know my name?"

At this, the dragon squints, head tipping to the side like a confused puppy. "Why wouldn't I?"

Dean snorts incredulously. "Right. Guess it'd be weird to take somebody's underpants and not even know their name."

The squint intensifies. "I've never taken your undergarments."

"Not the point, Cas," he snaps. "Why are you taking my stuff?"

"Oh. I'm courting you."

Dean blinks, then blinks again, but it still doesn't make sense after the fifth blink. "What?"

"I'm courting you," the dragon repeats simply, finally turning to open a window to clear some of the smoke away, dropping the striped oven mitts on the counter. "Charlie introduced me to…'fanfiction,' and I have several folders of bookmarked fics that I've collected informing me that this is an adequate way to go about it."

"And Charlie is, what, your mentor or something? Your Dungeon Master?"

"My human roommate." Castiel nods seriously to himself, and Dean realizes the dragon is currently wearing one of the flannels he'd lost. "She assured me that this is how humans go about showing interest in one another and getting noticed by each other, and that if Spock weren't a Vulcan, he'd be taking Kirk's stuff, as well."

"Uh…" He pointedly ignores half of that statement and focuses on the part that almost makes sense. "So you're taking my stuff because Charlie said to?"

"And fanfiction, yes." Castiel smiles again, which looks especially goofy with all the flour on his face. "Clearly it worked, because here you are."

"Here I am," Dean echoes hollowly, still trying to figure out what the hell is even happening.

"Would you like to see my hoard? It utilizes many flannels."

"Of course it does…" Despite himself, Dean does check out the 'hoard,' which ends up being a massive pile of his own laundry arranged in a vaguely nest-shaped bundle in the center of Castiel's bed. Weirder yet is all the other little trinkets decorating the…hoard, including empty beer bottles, shotgun shells, Dean's old favorite knife, and even a few used coffee cups and plastic spoons. Hell, there's even a pillow Dean tossed out after spilling coffee all over it a while back. "You, uh…you're really serious about this, huh…"

"Of course. I've been courting you for quite some time."

Dean nods and bites his lip, wondering if it's rude to ask how they know each other at this point. He's pretty sure Castiel wasn't some one-night stand, at least; he'd remember a face like that, not to mention all his other…redeeming qualities… Oh, and the dragon bits, of course (probably should've led with that).

Eventually, he just comes out and asks, "How'd you even find me?"

"You vanquished a ghost that had been hurting humans in the place I used to live," Castiel replies, looking far too cozy on the bed in the midst of all Dean's stuff. "I'd never seen someone so…so…" For the first time since they met, Castiel looks away. "I followed you here. Charlie needed a roommate to split the…'rent,' so I live here now. She knew before that I'm a dragon after initially thinking this was a costume, so I knew I'd be safe here."

"Fascinating. And you help pay the rent…how ?"

"I work at the local gas station. The night shifts, mostly." Castiel tips his head slightly. "I don't think anyone has noticed that I'm a dragon yet, if that's what you're wondering. I have a coat that covers up most of…everything, which undoubtedly helps. Then again, most people are ignorant of the supernatural, but not you…"

"Yay for me." Dean definitely should not be thinking about joining Castiel in his weird nest, about how comfortable it looks. "Why me though? My brother would've been dealing with the ghost, too."

"But he's not you. Sam is nice, but I don't find him to be attractive," the dragon answers bluntly, making Dean blink in surprise.

"Yeah, well, you and me both." It takes far too long for his words to sink in. "Wait a sec, how do you know his name? You stalking him too?"

"I'm not stalking anyone," Castiel grumbles, suddenly grumpy over the word choice. "I'm courting you. But no, I know of Sam because he's been helping me, as well."

"He's been what?"

"Helping me court you. I explained my intentions to him when he caught me taking one of your soft shirts and he offered his assistance. He and Charlie are my…'wing men,' although I already have wings of my own."

"That little bitch…"

"No, actually, he's rather tall," Castiel the Oblivious says with a frown. "You should know this, given that he's your brother." Dean shoots him a look that goes right over his scaly little head. "Have I succeeded in courting you, Dean? Are we…'dating' now?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably, quipping, "Hey, at least take me out to dinner first, huh?"

"Of course. Would cheeseburgers suffice? They've become one of my favorite foods, though I must admit that I'm…not much of a cook."

Despite himself, he can't help but smile a little. "Yeah, I've noticed. Burgers would be great."

Yeah, maybe this whole situation is, like, beyond weird, but as if Dean could turn down a free meal, especially one with the promise of (thankfully store-bought) pie at the end. That won't save Sam from half a dozen nasty messages, though, nor will it protect them from Charlie hogging the TV when they return to Castiel's place as she further indoctrinates him in Star Trek.

Still, as far as dates go, this one isn't half bad. At this point in his life, Dean's willing to welcome a little weird into his life, and Castiel? Well, he's about as weird as they come, no matter how good he looks in Dean's stolen flannels (or rather, as they become closer, Dean's gifted flannels. Gotta keep his cold-blooded boyfriend toasty, after all, even if that means Castiel cutting jagged slits in the backs of half his shirts to bring his wings through).

Overall, he's glad he finally caught his stalker, and more than glad he didn't end up being a vampire with a vendetta or anything and instead just a weird, dorky…little guy with a strange penchant for all things…well, him. And bees, for some reason, but Dean can live with that, even if Castiel thinks dandelion yellow is a good color to repaint the porch in.

(It's so not.)