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First four be here!

Dazzler/Longshot: Clothing

There were socks on the first floor landing. They didn't match. A necktie dangled off the banister on the second floor. Her husband hated ties. A pair of swim trunks sat conspicuously on the third floor landing. Alison knew he hadn't been wearing those. It was the middle of winter.

And how the heck did he fold them into an origami swan?

She collected two different pairs of pants from the fourth floor landing before she made her way up to their bedroom. There, she found Longshot sprawled on the bed, gloriously naked, with a look of pride and anticipation on his face. Alison glanced down at the armload of clothing she held and back over at him, waiting expectantly.

"You said the breadcrumbs were too messy."

She laughed as the bundle of clothes fell to the floor and she nudged the door closed behind her. Can't argue with that kind of logic.

Vampire Dean/Wolfy Sam: Books

It was hard to believe that, after all this time, he had his baby brother back. His gigantor, brainiac, gonna-be-a-lawyer, baby brother. Packless and mostly alone for most of his life, Sam was putting himself through school and building a life. It was kind of amazing. More than anything, Dean wanted to be a part of it. To help in some way.

It took some doing, but he talked Sam into staying in an apartment Dean would rent near campus. At first, Sam seemed reluctant, but gave in when Dean argued that the place would be for him, too, when he came to visit his brother. A home for them. For family.

A couple of weeks after the decision was made, the place was ready to move into. Dean gave him the tour that evening, saving the best for last. He'd re-designed the study; three of the walls had ceiling to floor book shelves, some already filled with various law texts, with plenty of space left for whatever books his brother might want to bring. A large desk and computer setup took up a good part of the middle of the room.

Dean watched him prowl the room, taking down a book here and there to look at it. He was feeling pretty damn good about himself, actually. Then Sam looked up with a wicked gleam in his eye. It took Dean a second before he caught on and a scowl crossed his face. "You even think about it and I will end you."

He turned on his heel and marched out of the study, but not before he heard Sam hum the first few notes of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Dean smirked and shook his head. Oh, yeah. Family.

Dean/Jess: Gambling

Across the room, Dean sat nursing a beer and watching the show. The participants didn't know it was a show... well, one of them did. It turned out that, once he'd taught Jess the basics of poker, she'd run with it and turned into a hell of a card shark. At this rate, if she kept up raking in the money like she was, Dean could retire.

Plus, she was fun to watch.

She had a finesse with it that was kind of enviable. A lot of the time, she had her opponents still smiling when she walked away with their money. Girl would have made a hell of a lawyer. Not that he'd wish that on anyone.

Jess got up from the table, pockets a bit heavier than when she came in, and sauntered across the room and out the front door. Their routine was that Dean would remain inside a few minutes more to be sure none of the players she'd fleeced decided to follow her out and make trouble. Once Dean was sure the coast was clear, he slipped outside himself.

He found her in the driver's seat of the Impala, happily counting her winnings. Dean scowled and slid in the passenger's side. "Who said you were driving?"

"My good friends Ben and Andrew," Jess shot back, waving a handful of bills under his nose with an impish grin.

Dean sighed and swapped the keys for the money, splitting the cash into two parts and tucking one into each of their bags while the Impala roared to life. He shook his head, settling into the seat and watching the scenery roll by as they cruised out of town.

You're missing out, Sammy.

Dean/Daryl: Alcohol

Ultimately, this was all Daryl's own fault.

Dean had picked up a Scrabble game box on a whim during one of their scavenging hunts and decided one night that they should have a contest. A bottle of Maker's Mark upped the difficulty considerably. And the entertainment value.

"Stop it." Daryl demanded for maybe the tenth time since the game started. The more he scowled, the more amused Dean became.

"Stop what?" He asked innocently, sliding the final tile of his latest word onto the board. "Are you arguing that I'm using non-words?"

"No, I'm arguin' that you're using those words just to irritate me." He growled back, shuffling his tiles as he turned red all the way down his neck.

Dean just grinned and took another pull from the bottle, admiring his handwork. 'Blowjob', a triple word score, and Daryl turning six shades of red. He was already a winner.
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