Author's Note: All I can say is...I'm sorry. My brain is trying to reboot following the Season Nine finale, and it vomited out the following train wreck of a oneshot. Please excuse this...piece of...writing?... for existing.

Since both my current WIPs feature nice guy Dean (you know, prior to the First Blade and Demonhood)...well. I'm just having trouble with knowing that the loveable, overcharged, Alpha male he was is going to become such a nasty, bitter (and demonic) man.

Sigh. I'm depressed.

Anyhow, I'll keep trying to update Sammy I Broke the Kid (maybe I should retitle it "Carver, You Broke my Dean"?) and Dirty Deeds. I'm hoping that I'll be motivated again. I just need to get over seeing Dean's beautiful green eyes turn black.

Dean left his bedroom and headed for the kitchen, but he took a hard left when he heard voices in the library area.

Sam and Cas were whispering. Probably so he couldn't hear them; they'd been doing that a lot, lately. Sam had accused him of changing because of the First Blade, and maybe that was true. But mostly it was a lot of bitchiness and whining because Sam couldn't have his way.

And now Sam was dragging Cas into the mess; every time Dean turned around, his brother and the angel were huddled together, whispering.

They giggled, too, which was especially creepy. Not only that, but it gave Dean a sour feeling in his stomach that he'd normally consider jealousy except-this was Cas and Sam, and there was nothing to be jealous of, no matter what the books and stories about them said.

He stomped into the room, ready to throw chairs or something, because he'd had enough.

"All right. What the hell are you Nancies giggling" Dean pulled up short and stared. Because Cas was dressed in tights. "Dude? Is that... a dress?" If it was, it was too short. And the tights were too tight and he could see everything. Ewww.

"It's a jerkin, actually." Sam appeared in Dean's line of vision; he'd been in the room the whole time, but Dean's attention had completely narrowed to the sight of the angel-and his junk-in the funky outfit. "Here, Cas. Try this sword."

"Do you think I'll really be allowed to walk around with an actual broadsword?" Cas took the proffered weapon. "Most of the ones I saw online were made of plastic. Or aluminum foil."

"Wouldn't hurt to try. I'm thinking most people will think this is a well-painted prop. As long as you keep it in the scabbard and don't accidentally cut someone's head off with it." Sam nodded and put his hands on his hips. He nodded. "I think you look pretty awesome."

What? "What?" Dean echoed his own thoughts. "I think he looks like a tool. What is this?"

Cas belted the sword into place. "I'm going to HobbitCon, Dean. I'm Aragorn. What do you think?"

"Hobbit...what? Oh geez. You know what I think? I think you need some freaking pants. And I need a drink." Dean turned and headed for the sideboard where the whiskey glasses were.

"Perhaps you'd like to dress up, too. I know! You can be one of the Men of the Roharrim." Cas followed him.

Dean paused before pouring, and put the decanter he'd picked up, down. He turned to look at Casagorn. Pants. He definitely needed pants. "No."



Cas's brow furrowed. "Faramir?"



Dean slammed the decanter onto the sideboard; the glasses rattled. "Do I look like a freaking dwarf to you?" Behind Cas, he could hear Sam snickering.

"No, but you didn't want to be a man, so..."

Dean glared the angel quiet. "At least let me be someone tall."

Cas frowned. Dean could see him actually ticking through names of Lord of the Ring characters in his head. Creepy. Creepier was the fact that Cas could do it. "I'm at a loss. Sam?"

"Legolas?" Sam supplied.

The angel looked thoughtful. "That would work. I could see Dean as an-"

"No! I'm not doing it. And that's final." Dean picked up the whiskey and poured himself a tumbler full. He needed it, worse than Cas needed pants.

Crowley suddenly materialized in a whiff of sulfur. "Hello, boys! And Cas...Oh! What the bloody hell?"

The fact that the Bunker was warded against unexpected demon appearances-especially from the King of Hell-apparently didn't matter to anyone, anymore. Crowley popped in and out at will. Dean sighed and filled the glass to the brim. Too bad the Men of Letters never stocked the bar with curly straws; he could use one right about now. "What do you want, Crowley?"

"Just heard a bit of hubbub going on and thought I'd come up to see what all the squawking was about."

"Dean won't be Gimli. Or Legolas." Cas whined.

Dean sighed again. He'd need to check to see if the wards had been somehow tampered with. This was unbearable, getting to the point where a guy couldn't have a quiet moment without some celestial or anti-celestial being dropping in for a chat or a broadsword or whatever.

"Well, I can say this, Cassie. You need some pants. Good God, man. I can see everything." Crowley paused. "You're coming up a bit short, mate. That's for sure."

"This is a real sword, Crowley. And I know how to use it."

"Is that so? Right." The King of Hell was clearly not impressed. "So what's this, then? You finally go off your nut, or...?"

"I'm going to HobbitCon."

Dean turned, expecting to see Crowley holding his sides with laughter. Instead, the demon was nodding and looking impressed. "Really? That's a thing? I'd be interested in seeing that."

Oh, hell. "Great. I'm surrounded by nerds. Why don't we just call Metageek down here and make it one big nerd party?" Dean took a deep swallow and welcomed the burn of the alcohol as it coursed down his throat. "I'm going to my room."

"Maybe you should come with us, Dean," Sam said, eyeing his glass in that bitchy, paranoid way that made it so obvious he thought his brother was drinking too much. "You don't want to spend the whole day alone, do you?"

"I won't be alone. I'll have my good friends Jim and Johnny with me," Dean answered, knowing he shouldn't. But it was so delicious to see the spasms of worry pass over his little brother's face. No, wait. Strike that. His business partner's face. Bitch.

"I think you'd enjoy it, Dean," Cas added. "There will be tournaments. And cash prizes."

Well...that was different. "Really? What kind of cash?" He perked up. "Maybe I could come with, just to check it out..." He put the glass down on the table. "But I'm not going to be a dwarf, and that's final."


"I don't know why I have to be Sam." Cas muttered.

"Because our Sam is too tall to be a realistic Hobbit. And you're my faithful manservant, so it works." Dean shifted the sword at his hip and surveyed the room. Nope, his was definitely the best broadsword. Every guy would envy him. "You're lucky I don't make you be Pippin."

"Dude, don't be a jerk." Sam said. "You got to be Aragorn. Leave Cas alone."

"Shut up, Gandalf. Don't be such a bitch."

Crowley couldn't help but add his two whiny cents. "At least Winchegorn didn't make you be Gollum." The King of Hell looked sulky. "I could have been Frodo, you know."

"No, you couldn't."

"Sauron, then. He was powerful."

"He was a douchebag."

"You're a douchebag," Crowley grumbled.

"Hey. Hey! You're lucky I let you come at all. So quit your whining and think about your Precious." Dean stopped himself from smacking Crowley with the flat of his broadsword. It would get them thrown out of the Con after all their hard work sneaking in. He looked around at the throngs of people in LOTR costumes; they had the best by far, he thought.

If only he could have convinced Sam to dress like an Ent. Ah well. "I think I see some fair maidens who look lonely. I'll go scout it out. Since I'm a Ranger and all."

Cas continued to mutter. "For me to be your faithful manservant, you'd have to be Frodo. But you're not. You're Aragorn. I wanted to be Aragorn, but I let you be him. And I'm not a Hobbit. I'm an Angel of the Lord."

"You're not an angel of anything." Dean couldn't help but point out. "See if you can find the tavern tent. I could go for some beer." He headed after the ladies, who looked at him with appraising eyes. "Hey, maids. I'm Aragorn. How do you like my sword? Big enough for you?"

Oh, I don't like DemonDean. He's so meeeeeeen!