For the Win

Summary: "What, they think they can just stick a 'w' on the start of it and suddenly it's about us? That's cute. In fact, you could say it's…winnovative."

"There's Sam girls, and Dean girls and…what's a slash fan?"

"As in, Sam slash Dean. Together."

"Like...together, together?


"They do know we're brothers, right?"

"Doesn't seem to matter."

Sam folded his arms tighter over his chest. "They call it 'Wincest'."

Dean laughed then, shutting Sam's laptop. "Wincest? What, they think they can just stick a 'w' on the start of it and suddenly it's about us?"


Dean chuckled to himself as he stood up, walking across the room to a small fridge, out of which he pulled a beer. He popped off the top, and took a long sip. "That's cute. Very…um…clever."

Sam smiled, noticing that now Dean had vacated his seat, he could prop his feet up on it.

"In fact, you could say it's…winnovative." He laughed loudly. "Hey! I can do this shit too!"

"Oh, God…" laughed Sam, palm meeting face with despair. "You're going to be doing that all day, aren't you?"


They had never followed up on that possible haunting in the comic book store. They were certain it would just be a simple salt and burn, but they needed facts first. So they had to go back and ask someone some questions, but they knew the guy who was there before wouldn't take them seriously – they'd encountered a lot of obstacles while hunting, but never people accusing them of pretending to be themselves.

So, having made certain that the man in question wasn't working that day – or anyone else who'd been listening when he'd accused them of being LARPers – they walked confidently into the tiny store, flashing badges at the man behind the counter.

He was small, and smiled up shyly at the two 'FBI Agents'. His glasses had tape around the bridge, and he had a pencil sticking out of his unruly dark brown hair.

"Agent Flowers," said Dean, introducing himself. He made a mental note to punch Sammy later for picking Dean an alias from the Killers, like anyone cared about them, whoever they were.

"And this is my partner, Agent...ahem, Followill –'

"Jared Followill," Sam smiled, leaning forward to shake the young man's hand, smirking sideways at Dean who actually showed visible discomfort at using names from these particular bands.

"Pleased to meet you, Agents. What is it you want to know?" the man asked, striking up a conversational tone and leaning against the counter.

Dean glanced down a little suspiciously at him. He didn't notice anything weird about the guy...he had a blue shirt and a nametag that proclaimed very proudly that his name was 'DAN' – nothing out of the ordinary.

"So, ahem, Dan...what can you tell us about the wistory of the building?

At that, Sam let out a laugh, snorting as he did so. It was one of those laughs that you could almost cover up as a cough, if you handled it well. Sam did, by the skin of his teeth.

"What's the matter, Agent?"

"Nothing, tickle."

"Well, have a cough drop. I need you sharp – this is a very wimportant winvestigation."

Sam almost doubled over with the physical effort of not laughing.

"Well," began Dan, as he led Sam and Dean up the stairs. He was taking them up to the storeroom, as they had asked to inspect every inch of the building. "I don't know about this building before, but my Dad bought it in seventy eight from the county." He paused, pulling out a key to unlock a dusty old door at the top of the stairs. "The place was falling apart by then, until Dad fixed it up and turned it into what it is today."

Dan smiled proudly, looking off into the distance for a moment.

Sam broke the silence. "So, does your Dad still own this place?"

Opening the door and turning away from the brothers, Dan spoke quietly. "No...uh, Dad died. About a year ago."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, I mean," Dan contined, ushering them into the room. "He died doing what he loved."

"What's that?" Dean joked. "Reading a comic?"

"No," Dan said, with a scowl on his face, entirely serious. "He got crushed under a bookshelf while he was sorting through the archives. Right over there," he said, pointing towards the far end of the room.

Dean paused, looking into the dark room, then back to Dan, his expression stoic. "Winteresting. Very winteresting windeed."

Dean was rewarded with a bitchface from Sam and a smack to the back of his head as Dan led them back down the stairs.

"Ow! What was that for?" Dean hissed, noting quickly that Dan was out of earshot.

"The guy is telling us how his Dad died and you can't grow up for two seconds?"

Dean rolled his eyes, slyly changing the topic. "I think this is the violent death we're looking for, Sam."

"I agree, but –"

"No more buts. You want me to grow up? Fine. I'll stop...for," he paused, peering at his watch in the dark. "Another ten minutes. At least until we're out of here."

Sam issued the bitchface again – but no, this one was different. There were subtle nuances in Sam's bitchfaces that made them each special and unique.

"So, Dan...uh..." said Dean as he plodded down the last few steps and into the light with his usual swagger. "Out of winterest..." – Dean couldn't resist; he tried to say it quietly, but he knew Sam heard him – "...where is your Dad buried?"

Dan eyed them suspiciously from behind the counter. "Why do you need to know?"

Dean smiled that charming smile that he knew could make people of either gender comply with him. "We're the FBI. You don't need to know why."

Dan sighed. "Fine. He's at Stonefall Cemetary. Take the main road, turn left at the traffic lights. If you hit the Arby's you've gone too far."

"Thank you, Dan." Dean smiled and shook his hand. "Uh...stay safe. Don't get carpal tunnel from writing too much fanfiction, now."

"Won't do, sir!" Dan laughed, waving them out of the store. "Won't let that happen again!"

The hunt was just your old salt and burn, but when they got back to the motel, Sam was just about ready to pass out. After they'd left the store, he'd had to listen to Dean say winsert and wincredibly wimpressive about a million times and he was beginning to think he was in some sort of cartoon.

He hadn't stopped when they got to the motel either. He didn't waste any time telling Sam how winthralling this episode of Dr. Sexy M.D. was, no matter how many times Sam moodily told him the word was 'enthralling.'

No, he wouldn't listen. No matter how much Sam bitched and moaned; in fact, that just seemed to spur him on.

There was really only one thing Sam knew that would truly render Dean speechless. So, when Dean was paying more attention to his TV show and adding 'w' to every single freaking word, Sam leaned over him, grabbed the hair at the back of his head, pulled him close, and kissed him.

That shut him up.

He pulled away after just a few seconds, breathless. Dean's expression was a sort of mixture of 'OMG-you-just-drowned-a-puppy' and 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing?'.

"How do you like your wincest now?"

Dean was still staring at him with that awed expression. Sam made to pull away, his point having been made, but Dean stopped him. One hand grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt, and the other weaved into his hair.

In one swift movement, Sam felt himself being pulled down again and he gasped when he felt Dean's lips meet his own. They were surprisingly pliant this time, and without knowing what he was doing, Sam allowed Dean's tongue entrance to his mouth when he silently asked for it.

This isn't what Sam had intended at all. This was Dean, for God's sake...his brother. But, when he thought about it, this was just a thin line they'd been hovering over for a long time, just waiting to topple over. Now here they were, toppling, headfirst, with no foreseeable way to stop.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thought to himself as he sunk into Dean's kiss. The hand on his hip just drew him closer to his brother, and both were so engrossed in the moment, they didn't notice they were leaning so far on the bed; there was a gasp and a surprised groan as they fell down onto the matress.

Sam pulled away again, breath ghosting in short puffs over Dean's lips.

"You know, Dean..." he started, laughing to himself a little. Dean flushed as Sam's laugh just meant more friction between their chests. "...if Chuck ever publishes this...the slash fans will go winsane."

A/N: Just allow me to exaplain this whole Dan thing. My friend was reading a fanfic and misread 'Dean' as 'Dan', and so now it's our job to put this 'Dan' character – whoever he is – into every fanfic.