Disclaimer: Kripke et al own Supernatural in all its glory. If I owned any part of it, Castiel would have gone shirtless at least once by now. ;) No infringement was intended and no profits made in the writing of this story.

Spoilers: Just to be safe, let's say up to Season 5, episode 10.

Warnings: Crack!fic; inappropriate use of cutlery.

Summary: Castiel has learned a great deal about humanity since he met Dean. One thing he's learned is that revenge is sweet.

"You angels don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby." Dean smirked, sounding superior.

That was the last straw, as far as Castiel was concerned. That was the gauntlet thrown down in challenge. Since then, Castiel had been purposely baiting the hunter, going out of his way to get a rise out of him. He'd pop out of the Impala when it would only have taken a few extra seconds to use the door. He appeared unannounced in Dean's bathroom within a foot of the gargling or shaving man, just to get a reaction. Part of the game was never letting on about how much Dean's outbursts amused him. That would spoil the fun.

The best part was getting Sam to unwittingly take his side. Castiel only had to whip out the wide eyes of innocence after one of his pranks and Sam would instantly rally to his aid, chastising Dean for overreacting and being a bully.

Castiel didn't know why he enjoyed toying with Dean the way he did, but he found the man's frustration infinitely entertaining. Today, he decided, was the perfect day to escalate his offensive.

When Castiel wasn't busy with fighting the forces of evil or turning over rocks looking for God, he was lurking. Dean referred to it as stalking and called it creepy, but Castiel knew in his heart that Dean would commit far worse offenses given the angel's abilities.

So he was lurking.

Today the Winchesters were taking advantage of a lull in the Apocalypse to take care of an unstable spirit at the local theatre (Dean had labelled the spirit 'The Phantom' and had called Castiel a stick-in-the-mud for not finding the pop reference humorous). Lurking, and presently invisible to human eyes, Castiel stood watch across the street from the Sunshine Inn, waiting patiently for his prey. Shortly after 7 AM, Dean sauntered out of the room he shared with his brother and turned his smiling face towards the early morning sunlight as he made his way to the parked Impala.

He watched and waited until Dean had settled comfortably in his seat, started the car, popped a cassette into the tape deck, and then, just as he was about to shoulder check and ease the car into reverse, Castiel appeared right next to him in the passenger seat.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean barked, jerking away from the sudden intrusion into his 'personal space'.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel replied blandly, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"Seriously, Dude! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Dean snapped.

"My apologies," he lied and turned to look out the window, leaving Dean to wonder why he was there.

After a frustrated silence, Dean backed out of the stall and pulled out onto the main road. "So? What is it this time? You need to borrow my sacred, one-of-a-kind wristwatch so you can find your cousin Bill?"

Castiel had discovered that the best response to such comments was honest bafflement. "I have no cousin Bill, Dean. And if I did, I fail to see how borrowing your watch would help me to locate him."

Dean's frown deepened. "So what is it, then?"

"I have no hidden agenda. I merely wish to 'chillax' for a while." Castiel replied, trying out a word he'd seen on the internet. Dean's eyebrows rose, but he didn't comment, so Castiel concluded that he'd used the word appropriately.

They were three blocks into their car ride when a song came on that Castiel recognised as 'Stairway to Heaven', and he turned up the volume. But, just to annoy Dean, he didn't lean over and adjust the knob physically. Instead, he lifted his hand so Dean could watch him mentally crank up the volume with a twist of his fingers. It had the desired effect.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"Do you not like this song?" Castiel replied innocently. "I recall you singing along to it on more than one occasion."

Dean's face pinked in a blush and Castiel mentally placed a check mark on his side of the scoreboard.

"That's not the point – and so help me, if you tell Sammy that, I'll pluck your feathers out one at a time," Dean growled menacingly.

"Did I turn the volume too high?" Castiel asked, and with an internal grin he ghosted his fingers in the opposite direction and the sound level dropped accordingly.

"No, Cas – it's not the volume, it's that!"

"What is what?"

"That! What you're doing with your fingers and the holy mojo – that's way beyond lazy, dude. And what's more, it's cheating," said Dean with challenge in his eyes.

"I don't follow you," Castiel replied smoothly. "How am I cheating?"

Dean rolled his eyes and clenched the steering wheel tighter. "It's like you're showing off."

"Showing off, as you put it, implies that I take excessive pride in an ability that is an integral part of who I am. I can assure you, such is not the case."

It looked, for a moment, as if Dean was going to argue the point, so Castiel fixed him with a stony glare. As usual, it was enough to frustrate the man into silence.

A second mental check mark was added to Castiel's side of the scoreboard.

That afternoon, in the presence of men deemed to possess legal authority, Dean Winchester made the mistake of referring to Castiel as 'Huggy Bear' (a term he had researched and did not find flattering), and repeatedly called him 'the Rookie'. This tipped the score in Dean's favour, and that was simply unacceptable.

As the first stars came out that night and the eldest Winchester stepped under the prickly hot spray of his shower, Castiel approached the dodgy motel room from the rear. He could hear the running water through the open bathroom window, the splashes intermittent on the tiled shower wall as Dean washed up. With a smirk more befitting his fallen older brother, Castiel focused on the hot water faucet and gave it a mental twist.

A very satisfying yelp came from within the tiny room, followed by a loudly bellowed, "son of a bitch!"

Castiel tipped his head to the stars and smiled, adding another check to his side of the board.

It seemed Dean Winchester was incapable of learning. That evening, after recovering from his cold shower, Dean walked with Sam across the street to a somewhat respectable bar to have dinner. Castiel waited until the brothers were seated and quietly flipping through the menu before popping into the cramped booth right next to Dean.

Dean jumped slightly, even though Castiel felt he should be accustomed to his sudden arrivals by now. The hunter gave him a sour look and then ignored him to concentrate on his menu. Sam was watching them oddly.

"Did you enjoy your shower?" Castiel asked, feigning interest in the dessert menu in front of him.

Dean's eyes flashed holy murder at him. "That was you?"

"What?" Sam asked, his eyes volleying between the two of them in confusion.

"I have no idea," Castiel proclaimed smoothly. "Your brother mentioned his plans to have a long, hot shower, and I was simply trying to make conversation."

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, looking for some indication that he was 'being had', but Castiel was a master at keeping a straight face.

"My shower was fine, thanks," Dean stated through clenched teeth, his lip curling up in a little snarl.

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Dean, don't be an ass – he's just trying to be polite."

Double points on that one, as Castiel added to his mental tally.

Castiel sat soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying the rare pleasure of besting the eldest Winchester, when a particularly buxom waitress arrived to take their order. She was attractive and blonde, and her blouse displayed her bosom in a blatant invitation towards sexual advances.

Castiel, sitting nearest the outside of the booth, was in the unfortunate position of being in the waitress' way as she set out their cutlery. He was fairly certain she lingered unnecessarily with her cleavage inches from his face in an attempt to illicit arousal from him. However, she only succeeded in making him extremely uncomfortable.

When she finally straightened up and poised her pen over her order pad, Castiel was very much aware of the leering grin Dean was aiming his way. He pointedly ignored it and buried his gaze in the menu Sam had discarded.

"What can I get you boys?" the waitress asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, causing parts of her to jiggle suggestively.

Sam plucked his menu out of Castiel's grasp, and passed it to her. "I'll have the chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea, please."

"Perfect. What about you, Sweetie?" she asked, and to his horror, Castiel realised she was addressing him. He was momentarily rendered speechless – which wouldn't have been so bad if Dean hadn't taken it upon himself to answer for him.

"'Sweetie' here will have a beer and a bacon cheeseburger, fries on the side, and I'll have the same." Dean's smile oozed charm as he handed the waitress his menu. She gave him a toothy grin in response and bounced away to attend to another table.

Castiel glowered at Dean. "I had no intention of ordering a bacon cheeseburger, Dean."

"I know. You never order anything. But I'm starving, and I didn't want to order two for myself and look like a pig." Dean looked so proud of his own ingenuity that Castiel had little choice but to retaliate.

He bided his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his move. Eventually, the waitress returned with their drinks and their food, once again leaning provocatively into Castiel's space to place Dean's plate on the table. That was when inspiration hit him. At just the right moment, as her head was perfectly aligned with Dean's beer, Castiel used his power to undo the waitress' burette, causing it to fall into the beer with a sloshy plop.

The waitress apologised profusely, mopping up the spilled beer with the cloth she kept in her apron, all pretences of flirting with Castiel gone out the window. Double score.

She left in a hurry, promising to bring Dean a fresh beer, and when she was gone, Castiel noticed Dean looking at him accusingly. "What?" asked Castiel, taking a long pull on his untouched beer.

"I am so on to you, Mr. Magic Fingers!" Dean said, squinting at him knowingly.

"I don't understand," Castiel replied, all wide-eyed and innocent.

"You don't fool me – I saw what you did. You mojoed that girl's burette right into by beer!"

Sam was looking at his brother like he'd lost his mind. "Dean, what's gotten into you?"

Dean ignored Sam and continued giving Castiel the hairy eyeball. "You know, wasting your angelic hoodoo on stupid parlour tricks and juvenile pranks is probably against the rule book. Don't you think there are better things you could be doing with your powers?"

That sounded like an out-and-out challenge to Castiel, and he couldn't entirely hide his evil grin from flickering across his face. Dean's smugness faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly and grabbed up his burger. He took an enormous bite out of it, grinning around his mouthful in complete satisfaction.

That was Castiel's cue. Slowly, he picked up his knife and stroked his fingers up and down the length of it, seemingly deep in contemplation. Next to him, Dean nearly choked on his burger, his eyes shooting wide open as he froze on the spot. Castiel continued to fondle the utensil, knowing full well the effect his ministrations were having on Dean's anatomy.

"You know," Castiel replied serenely, "you're right, Dean. I should limit the use of my powers to strictly urgent matters. After all, I don't want to get flabby, do I? And, as you said, using my gifts is kind of like cheating. I wouldn't want to put you at a disadvantage." Castiel shot Dean a triumphant glance. Then, after spreading ketchup on his burger with his knife, he slowly raised it to his lips, watching as Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. And as Castiel carefully licked the ketchup off the knife, the eldest Winchester nearly did a face-plant into his dinner. When the knife was licked clean, Castiel lowered it, suspending it just above the napkin. "You win, Dean. If you want me to stop, I'll stop."

Castiel raised his eyebrows at the hunter, who was red-faced and squirming, and he could tell he was losing the battle. "No, don't stop! I was wrong, okay? You were right, and I was wrong – dear sweet Jesus, was I wrong! Just-just, please don't stop."

Score, and game won. Castiel allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.

Across from them, looking more embarrassed than shocked, Sam cleared his throat. "Dudes – TMI – get a room, would ya?"