So I've been kicking this prompt around since December, I believe. It's a follow up to Stir Crazy, but I don't think it's totally necessary to have read it to understand what's going on here. I also mention Jedi Mind Tricks.

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own the WWE. I do own way too many mini marshmallows, but that's another story.

AN: This is definitely not Kayfabe; it's kinda meta... It specifically takes place on March 6 (last week Sunday) because the WWE had a house show in Moline, Illinois, and Dean Ambrose happened to be there. Luckily for my writing purposes, Moline is one of the Quad Cities along with Davenport, where of course Seth Rollins hails from.

Dedicated to Captain because she really wanted this fic and let me know...several times. (: I hope I've filled your quota for brotherly feels and fluff...

"And that's right, folks! If you call now, you will receive the blender, the vacuum-sealed bags, and the measuring cups for the easy price of of three easy payments of $79.99 plus shipping and handling! But act now and I'll…"

Seth woke up as the man on the infomercial repeated the bargain price for the blender and added more unnecessary bonus products to the offer. A quick look at the wall clock revealed that it was a little after 2 AM. Seth felt like his brain had been replaced with three and a half packages of jumbo cotton balls.

Why had he awoken? Kevin continued to snore softly in curled up position on his lap. The dog's back leg would occasionally twitch but not enough to jostle Seth. The former Heavyweight Champion considered falling back asleep; however, just as he began to drift off once again, a loud BAM jolted him back to consciousness.

Was his house being burglarized? Seth wiped a hand across his eyes, willing the residual grogginess to dissipate.

Bang! Crash! Clang! Dong! A muffled "Damn it!" followed the series of noises.

He carefully picked up Kevin off his lap and set him down on the couch. The Yorkie snuffed in a very weak example of protest but was too content to get up. The pup opened his eyes and squinted at Seth before he rearranged himself onto the couch cushion and fell back asleep.

"Some guard dog you are," Seth mumbled to himself as he braced himself on the arm of the couch. Then he gingerly stood up and slowly made his way over to where his crutches leaned against the wall. Despite the fact he hadn't really needed them for a while since he was wearing a brace and his physical therapy was making a world of difference, Seth still kept them relatively handy. He wasn't sure if he was just suffering from a case of an old habit dying hard, if he was paranoid of needing them again, or if he was too lethargic to be productive and actually put them away. Seth thanked whatever factor prevented him from storing them for good because now he was in possession of some handy-dandy, burglar-beating sticks…

Seth crept into the kitchen, very slowly and carefully as to avoid agitating his still-recovering knee. He scanned the room and despite the dimness, Seth managed to locate the intruder.

Clad in what looked like a black sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, the burglar was currently kneeling on his hands and knees; his entire upper torso was in the cabinets under the counter. Seth paused halfway across the room, bemused. Those were the cabinets where Seth kept his skillets and baking pans. Why would a burglar want to steal his cooking supplies? Seth was sure he was missing something vital (and frankly obvious).

Seth eased forward, soundlessly. Once he was standing behind the intruder, he lifted his crutch into the air and swiftly brought it down on the burglar's rear end. The burglar jumped and smashed his head onto the top of the cabinet; he proceeded to let out a string of curses.

Seth paused his crutch halfway through its second descent. That swearing sounded familiar; when Seth had heard it last, it had been directed at a car going ten under the speed limit on their way home from the cinema. "Dean?"

"Who else, genius?"

Seth took a few steps over to the light switches and flipped them on. "What the heck are you doing in my kitchen?"

Dean popped out of the cabinet and gingerly rubbed his butt. "Why the hell did you smack me so hard? You of all people should know how beloved this part of me is."

Seth rolled his eyes. "I thought you were a burglar! You were making all this noise in the dark in the middle of the night? What else was I supposed to think?"

Dean shook his head. "What kind of burglar peacefully enters your house with the spare key to search through your collection of Pampered Chef?"

Seth threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's late! I'm completely discombobulated! And I fell asleep while watching Panic Room, so of course the first thing I thought of was a home invasion! And wait...what do you mean you used the spare key?"

Dean shrugged. "I meant I used the spare key."

Seth shook his head and pointed at Dean. "Didn't I confiscate your spare key last time you broke into my house? You know, because I never actually gave you one?" Dean looked at Seth, blankly. "And it's weird to have spare keys to your friends' homes when they never actually gave you them?"

Dean shrugged. "I used my other spare key."

"Your other spare key," Seth said in disbelief.

"Yep, I probably have about a dozen."

"Why the heck do you have over a dozen spare keys for my home?"

Dean gave Seth a look that clearly said he thought Seth was a moron. "Because you keep taking my keys away."

Seth sighed and decided this was an argument he was never going to win. If he knew Dean (and he did), Seth knew Dean was stubborn beyond belief at times.

Dean bent down and finally retrieved the skillet he had been looking for the entire time. "It's like you don't want me to come visit you whenever I'm in the neighborhood and fancy myself some pancakes."

Seth rolled his eyes. "The last time you broke into my house-"

"I didn't break in; I had a key."

"The last time you dropped by unexpectedly, an embarrassing photo of me and Kevin was posted on Twitter, and you can't think of any reasons I'd object to you prowling around my house in the middle of the night when I'm asleep?"

Dean considered Seth's question. "Nope. Not really. Besides, you know Roman posted that photo. I never go on Twitter."

Sighing, Seth made his way over to the fridge to gather the supplies needed to make pancakes. "I know you took it. You're the only one who saw us... in those T-shirts."

Dean smirked. "You wouldn't be referring to you wearing that "Never Shuts Up" shirt and the little matching doggie shirt that Kevin was wearing, now would you?"

Seth glared at Dean as he began to dump some flour into the mixing bowl, which Dean had already placed on the counter. "It was a moment of weakness. I couldn't help myself."

Dean nodded in sympathy. "And I took that picture and sent it to Roman with the request to put in on Twitter in a moment of weakness, too."

Seth rolled his eyes. "Get out a mixing spoon."

Dean complied, fishing out the wooden mixing spoon and chucking it to Seth. Since Seth wasn't looking, it smacked into the side of Seth's head and fell into the flour. Seth flipped off Dean.

"Grab out another bowl for the wet ingredients."

"What's the point? It's all getting mixed together eventually," Dean pointed out, but he got the bowl out anyways.

"Don't question my methods. Last time I made pancakes, what'd you tell me?" Seth asked.

Dean thought for a moment. "They were the best freaking pancakes I've ever had, and Seth freaking Rollins should be called the Breakfast Master and not the Architect."

Seth nodded, feeling a little smug at the praise. "Can you grab the vegetable oil out for me?"

Dean complied. "Want me to turn on the stove?"

"Ohh noo, Dean, you aren't allowed anywhere near my stove. You're still on probation," Seth said, waving his spoon in the air.

Dean scowled. "That's not fair."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "Yeah right. While we were still in the Shield, what happened the first time you crashed here, and you tried to make pancakes in my kitchen?"

Dean shrugged and tried to look relatively innocent. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Dean, you started a fire, and you completely destroyed my stove," Seth said in a matter-of-fact tone. "That explains exactly why I don't trust you to touch this one."

"You're exaggerating, Seth. It wasn't that bad. I nearly had the thing put out by the time the fire truck came," Dean drawled.

Seth gave Dean a look of disdain as he whisked the dry ingredients together. "Fire trucks - plural. There were two that came."

Dean shrugged. "Once I threw that baking soda on it, it almost went out."

Seth shook his head. "If you would've listened to me in the first place, we would've have needed the fire trucks anyways, and you left me to get groped by that handsy paramedic."

Dean smirked. "I don't remember that..."

"BS," Seth told Dean. "I distinctly remember you laughing at me while some 60-year-old woman kept asking me if I bruised my tailbone."

Dean's smirk grew bigger as he pictured the woman repeatedly squeezing poor Seth's butt. "Yeah, that looked traumatizing. At least, we'll always know whatever harassment we deal with is nowhere near how bad Roman gets it. Remember the Butt Check Bandit?"

Seth winced. "That was brutal. The girl had gumption, and I know what you're doing here, changing the subject. You are not allowed to even touch the stove, and if you want pancakes, you'll do everything I tell you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Seth, I bought you a new stove, and I took you to see Star Wars... What does a brother have to do?"

Seth grinned. "I had to force you to go, and if Rome hadn't made you feel guilty, you would've spent the rest of the day watching that Godfather marathon."

Then Dean's voice adopted a whiny quality. "I said I was sorry."

Seth began pouring the wet ingredients into the dry and whisking them together. He shot a grin over to Dean. "You know, Dean, I'm not really mad about the fire. It's a mistake anyone could've made, especially someone who doesn't really cook very often."

Dean scowled. "Then why keep bringing it up? Every time I visit, you nag me about it!"

"I'm just protecting this stove from a fiery death, man. You can't really blame me with your track record."

"Whatever you say, little brother."

Seth grinned as he turned on the burner to begin heating up the skillet. "So what are we thinking? Plain? Or we can cut up strawberries and bananas…"

Dean made a displeased face. "Nothing too healthy."

Seth began pursuing his cupboards. "Okay then, I'm out of chocolate chips, so we'll have to improvise. Ah ha!" Seth pulled a couple of packages out and set them on the counter."

"No way in hell, Seth. You can't genuinely tell me that you think that'll taste good."

Seth shrugged. "It's practically the same thing as chocolate chip pancakes."

Dean grimaced. "You can't seriously think that putting M&Ms and marshmallows in pancakes is a good idea."

"You forget I'm the Architect, Dean. I'm brilliant. They'll be like little s'mores cakes."

Dean tilted his head. "I dunno why, but I always forget how much crap you eat. With your crazy Crossfit, it seems like you should be eating rabbit food."

Seth grinned as he began dumping the mini marshmallows into the batter. "If I'm going to burn it off anyways, it doesn't matter if I splurge on junk food."

"I can get behind that logic." Dean poked Seth's side. "Maybe you need to splurge more often cause you're skinnier now than you were in FCW."

Seth picked up the spatula from its spot on the spoon rest, whacked Dean on the arm with it, and set it back down once again. "Shut up, Dean. That's not my fault."

Dean dramatically rubbed his arm. "Why'd ya do that? I didn't say anything offensive. It's not like I said you're getting pudgy like Owens."

Seth grabbed the spatula again and smacked Dean in the same spot. "I'm never getting pudgy."

Dean smirked. "You couldn't. I don't think it's in your capacity, but if you did, I'd hold an intervention. Your fitness is important to all your devoted followers, Crossfit Jesus."

"Well, aren't you a saint, Ambrose," Seth said as he rolled his eyes.

Dean nodded, sagely. "Well, I must be. You know, I drove past some church on my way here called that."

Seth groaned. "That wasn't a church. It was a university - Saint Ambrose University."

"Huh, what do you know? I didn't realize they started naming places after me. It's flattering, really. Maybe someone should break it to them that I'm not technically a saint. I mean, I'm not nearly as bad as I was back in the day...but a saint might be a stretch."

Seth snorted. "A stretch? That's one word for it. But I'll have to hand it to you, Dean; I haven't had to bail you out of anywhere recently."

Dean smiled proudly. "See, practically a saint."

"But maybe that's because you've been having Roman do all the dirty work because he's already on the road with you," Seth mused as he poured batter into the hot skillet.

Dean deflated slightly. "Well, brother, I won't confirm or deny that theory."

Seth smirked. Well, that confirmed his theory. Dean still got himself into regrettable situations; only now Roman would help him out."Uh huh"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that you not only don't mind it when I call you at 3 AM to pick me up or even bail me out, but you actually miss it?"

Seth paused in the middle of flipping the pancake. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now why'd I miss that? You literally only called me at the worst possible times."

Dean grinned. "You have a soft spot for me and Rome, and you know it. You miss being on the road. You miss dealing with the basket of crazy that is your best friend and brother."

Seth dumped the first pancake off of the skillet and onto a plate before pouring the batter for the next one. He rubbed a hand across his face to hide his smile. "I dunno about that, Deano. Why would I miss being on the road? Driving crazy long distances almost every night? Having to chose between getting a nap in or working out? And still choosing to work out even though you're running on less than three hours of sleep? Yeah, no thanks"

Dean grinned. "You miss it, you jerk."

Seth focused on the bubbles forming on the top of the pancake, watching them pop one by one. Softly, in almost a mumble, Seth said, "Yeah, I miss it." He carefully flipped the cake over.

Dean watched Seth carefully. Dean rarely felt comfortable dropping his guard around others; surely, this was the result of a crappy childhood, but he always felt completely comfortable around Seth. He trusted the high flyer more than anyone, and as a result, he frequently found himself opening up to the younger man. However, despite the fact there were several subjects weighing on the Lunatic Fringe's mind, he wanted to push them off for now to keep the mood light. So instead of telling his younger brother about how much he missed having him on the road (not just because he enjoyed his company, but because their in-ring chemistry was insane, and Dean missed wrestling against the man who helped him achieve some of his best matches), he decided to change the subject. He came here to distract himself away from these types of thoughts, not explore them. "So it looks like the marshmallows weren't the most brilliant idea ever, ain't that right, Mr. Architect?"

Seth frowned. "I guess not; looks like they've mostly disintegrated. That's crap."

The spots where the mini marshmallows had previously inhabited were completely vacant. Dean was reminded of Swiss cheese.

Seth let out a big sigh, "Well, that's legitimately disappointing. S'mores pancakes sounded like such a solid plan."

Seth finished up the last of the batter, placing the pancakes on the plate, and Dean could truthfully say the man was actually pouting. Seth moved the skillet to the sink and let some water run into the pan.

Dean sighed and grabbed the plate full of pancakes. He grabbed out a handful of mini marshmallows and began plugging the little craters in the pancakes with the sweet puffs of sugar.

"What are you doing?"

Dean glanced up from where he was furiously working. "Nothing"

Seth peered at the pancakes. "Are you seriously filling up the disintegrated marshmallow spots with new ones?"

"No," Dean mumbled.

Seth began to grin.

Dean frowned. "Don't look too pleased with yourself."
Seth's grin grew. "You're a softie."

Dean shook his head vehemently. "No, no, I'm not. I'm not doing what you think I'm doing."

Seth raised an eyebrow and sounded slightly confused, "So you're not filling up the spots with new marshmallows?"

Dean slowly said, "Nope…"

Seth gave him a weird look.

Dean scowled. "You looked so pitiful when you saw they were disintegrated…"

Seth wore a small smile.

"Let's get this straight. I'm not soft, " Dean said gruffly.

Seth nodded. "Oh course not"

"I'm mean."

"You sure are."

"I'm a scary man."

"Yup"

"I'm unstable, unhinged."

"True"

"I ain't soft."

"Definitely ain't soft…" Seth agreed.

The two were quiet as Seth watched Dean finish plugging up the vacant spots in the pancakes.

"There," Dean said. "Done. You happy?"

Seth pulled out a couple of plates and forks before he turned and grinned at Dean. "Ecstatic. You know why? Because I have the best big brother."
Dean scowled. "Believe that."

Seth snorted. "I can, and I will."

Dean smirked and shook his head as he set the plate full of pancakes down on the table.

Seth slide Dean's plate in front of him and plopped a pancake down on Dean's plate. "One flapjack for you," Seth said in an exaggerated southern drawl.

Dean waited until Seth grabbed a pancake before he dumped the serving plate full of pancakes onto his plate. "Now that'll fill me up."

Seth rolled his eyes and snagged one more pancake off of Dean's plate. "Are you trying to eat yourself into a food coma?"

Dean smirked. "I've been living off crummy gas station food too long now, so this is pretty much gourmet cooking to me."

Shaking his head, Seth just grinned. "I think I'm going to take that as a compliment."

The two were quiet as they worked on demolishing the pancakes with the only sounds coming from the ticking of the circular wall clock and the clanking and scraping of forks against porcelain plates.

Seth sunk against the back of the chair and sighed. He really missed this: just being with his brother, enjoying each other's presence. Seth considered himself to be a laid-back person for the most part; he had always possessed the ability to get along amicably with nearly anyone. However, truly connecting to people to the extent where Seth felt entirely at ease with them was a different story altogether. Unless he was with someone he truly connected with, the compulsion to prevent awkward silences arose, and Seth would find himself obligated with filling the passing seconds with idle chatter. When he was with Dean, Seth never felt the pressure to fill silences. While the two wrestlers could banter and joke for hours with little effort, they could also feel at home without speaking at all, and they never experienced the uncomfortable feeling which accompanied an awkward silence. Seth felt a content smile ripple across his face.

"You know what I really miss?"

Dean's sudden question broke Seth out of his current copacetic state, which was brought on by being full of delicious pancakes and from how late (or early) it was. "What?"
"Suicide dives," Dean said simply. "Remember how dominant we were when we were the Shield? We had the timing down like none other... except for the Usos, but they have the whole twin thing going for them. I miss being in the ring with you. Just one look out of the corner of my eye at you, and we'd both bounce off the ropes and dive through the other side, destroying the poor schmuck on the outside of the ring. You'd freaking land on your feet half the time like a cat, or you'd just bounce up like your boots were made out of springs. It didn't matter how tired we were or who we were up against because you, me, and Roman...we were brothers."

Seth nodded with a soft smile. "We still are."

Dean shrugged. "It ain't the same now…" He sighed. "Even before your injury… It just sucks. You know how hard it was pretending to hate you? Not being able to treat you like my best friend?"

"I know what you mean, man. I can handle playing the heel in the ring and in front of fans," Seth admitted. "But it's the fact that we can't go to a bar and hang out after a show because of the trouble we'd get into if a fan saw us..."
"Or carpool," Dean threw in.

"Or meet up and grab lunch on the road."

"It's complete crap."

Seth nodded. "It really is. At least, you've always had Rome."

Dean studied his maple syrup-drenched pancakes. "For now"

Seth rubbed his beard. "You're afraid they're going to turn him heel, aren't you?"

Dean tapped his fingers on the side of his plate. "Yes and no. I know he needs a heel turn. It's what the universe wants. I think it'll stop all the boos, and get the smarks off Uce's back… But it freaking sucks. If he's heel, it'll be you all over again. I'm going to have to ignore him in public. I'll have to drive alone or find someone else, like...Shit, I don't wanna drive with New Day. I don't like video games! And Cesaro's still out. Man, I'm going to have to settle with someone else, which is going to suck. Then we'll have to beat the snot out of each other, probably with steel chair because creative is made up of assholes… And I'm stuck losing another brother-"

Seth frowned. "You didn't lose me; I'm still here."

Dean shook his head and chewed his bottom lip. "I have to pretend I did, and that's just as bad sometimes. But you know what's worse?"

"What's worse?" Seth asked slowly.

"I know he needs to be heel. With the way creative and the Powers that Be are booking him, it's the only way. He needs it. He'll never go over otherwise."

Seth sighed. "I know it sucks, but you are right. The best thing they can do is turn Roman heel. If you think the audiences' reactions were bad before the Triple H beat down, well…"
Dean scrunched up his forehead. "Well what?"

Seth grimaced. "It could get worse."

"What do you mean worse?"

"I've been bored as you know, so I've been creeping on the internet again…"

"Please, tell me you haven't gone on the Tumbler thing again," Dean said with a disgusted look.

"No," Seth said, shaking his head quickly. "Nothing like that. No, I've been on some wrestling-related sites, like the wrestling forums on Reddit-"

"What's that?"

Seth rolled his eyes. "It's site made up of various forums, where people can share links and pictures related to different topics, and they discuss them. It's a cool site."
Dean shrugged. "Never heard of it."

"And that doesn't surprise me at all," Seth said as he rolled his eyes. "But there were so many posts after Fastlane, saying the WWE should send Roman back to NXT or fire him. And even worse were the posts where people asked RAW goers to start "Die, Roman, Die" chants…"

"You're not serious."

"I wish I was making this crap up."

Dean scowled. "This is just as bad as the shit-heads who sent you death threats after the Shield split."

Seth nodded, grimacing. "Those got really nasty."

"People really suck sometimes."

"They really do. What frustrates me is most fans don't get it. We have little to no control over how we're written. I mean, it's different if you're Undertaker, and you've been with the company for so long that they'll clear storylines with you first, but Rome's just following directions. He's not asking them to write him crappy John Cena lines or to be booked so...awfully."

"Exactly! I just," Dean began saying but paused.

Seth looked at him, curiously. "You just?"

Dean hesitated. "This is going to sound really stupid…But I don't want the big lug to go through this shit. I know he's a big boy, but a part of me wants to protect him from those cruddy people. Whoever starts those chants isn't a real wrestling fan…"

"No, they're not fans; the asshole who starts yelling that is just a troll," Seth said, and Dean nodded.

Seth slowly willed himself to stand and to go dump the dishes in the sink. Just as he was about to quickly wash everything, Dean smacked him in the arm.

"What? I want to get the chocolate off before it dries on," Seth said, almost whiningly to Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved Seth gently out of the way. "You cooked; I'll wash."

"You'll what?"

"Shut up. You heard me," Dean said as he began scrubbing the dirty dishes.

Seth shook his head. "I think I heard you, but I'm not sure if I believe you. Who are you, and what have you done with Dean Ambrose?"

Dean smirked. "I told you, they call me Saint Ambrose now."

Seth snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure they do, Mr. I'm-actually-going-to-sign-posters-for-kids."

Dean pulled a face. "What? I like kids!"

Seth shook his head. "Don't you remember a couple years back how when we'd stop for dinner and if there were kids near our table, you'd make scary faces at them until they cried?"

Dean frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Suuure, you don't."

Dean began handing clean plates to Seth to dry. "You know what I was thinking about the other day?"

"How you've always dreamed about joining the New Day, so you can wiggle around?"

Dean snorted. "I don't wiggle."

"Like I'd believe that," Seth said with a shit-eating grin.

"And if I did, it would be better than your poor excuse for dancing."

Seth just shook his head, still grinning. He put the last of the dishes away.

"No, like I was saying before, I was thinking about how big of a pop you're going to get when you return."

Seth chuckled and began slowly making his way back into the living room. "I hope so, man."

"What do you mean, you hope so?" Dean asked, following him and sitting in a recliner. "Remember how nuts people went during the Slammy's? People miss you."

Seth sighed and plopped down on the couch again, carefully stretching his leg out and getting comfortable. Kevin woke up to crawl back on Seth's lap, whining. Seth absentmindedly scratched behind the dog's ears. "I really hope that's true. I'm kinda afraid I'm going to show up one day, and everyone will have forgotten who I am."

Dean scoffed as he retrieved a couple of blankets from the ottoman. He threw one on top of Seth and brought the other back to the recliner. "How the heck would people forget? You'll return in that horrible white Power Rangers outfit, and the crowd's reaction will be so epic that they'll have to give you an immediate face turn. Then," Dean paused and considered before saying, "they'll give you the end-all feud with Triple H."

Seth smiled and shook his head. "Seriously, I really hope I get a cool return."

"If you don't get a cool return, I'll grow a beard and join the Wyatt Family," Dean said in a deadpan.

"Please, don't do that. The Ambooty lovers would be devastated if you got rid of the jeans and wore a jumpsuit," Seth said, grinning. "So remember how I said I've been bored?"

"Yup"

"So I was looking at fanfiction again and-"

"Don't go down that rabbit hole, Seth. Because of freaking New Day, Roman had to explain to me what Ambreigns was the other week, and I'll never be the same..."

Seth shook his head. "Not all fanfiction is like that. But like I was saying, I read this fanfic about my return, and it was so weird."

"Yeah, how so?"

"The chick wrote a story where I literally returned out of the sky in golden light on a unicorn... How screwed up is that, man?"

Dean sniggered. "Please, tell me you were in your Summerslam gear!"

Seth nodded, grimly.

Dean's sniggers turned into full-blown laughter. "That's perfect! You'd be guaranteed to join the New Day if you returned on a unicorn."

"Let's be honest with ourselves; I'll never be able to make the pink work," Seth said, grinning. "But as long as creative doesn't read it and get any ideas…"

"Fangirls are the best," Dean said, still chuckling. "I mean, they're terrifying at times, but they're the best."

"They're something, all right," Seth agreed. "But I'd probably go with persistent."

"Heh, that's a given. Something happen recently to remind you of this?" Dean asked.

"You can say that. Today, I was at my gym, going through paperwork when a car pulls into the parking lot."

"Aren't you closed on Sundays?"

"Yup. So it parks, and two women jump out."

"Not ring rats, right?"

Seth shook his head. "I don't think one was wearing a New Day shirt. They literally got out of their car, ran to the sign out front, took a picture, and drove off again. And they seriously looked so happy. They had an out-of-state license plate, so I'm thinking they were on a roadtrip to Moline for the house show and decided to track my gym down."
Dean kept smirking at Seth. "Oh come on, Seth; that's adorable!"

"You'd think the fact that I've set up base in freaking Iowa of all places would clue people in...But no, I still have fangirls driving into Davenport to track down my gym just to take a picture next to the sign!"

"And you love it," Dean said.

Seth grinned and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I do. It was actually sweet. They didn't interrupt anything. They technically weren't even trespassing. It would've been different if they had tried to creep in the windows or find the backdoor or something. But they looked like they were having the time of their lives. It was nice to know people still care."

Dean shook his head, smirking. "You should have went out there and signed autographs. It would've made their trip even better."

"They actually left before I could. I was heading out there when they were pulling out. I think they were afraid they'd get in trouble."

"They were probably afraid you're a total jerk in real life," Dean said with a serious expression.

"You do play a convincing heel, and let's face it, they wouldn't actually be wrong."

"Shuddup!" Seth retorted. "I'm not a total jerk…" He paused and then smiled sheepishly before saying, "Just kind of a jerk."

Dean's response was garbled due to him yawning.

"What was that, Dean? You should enunciate more."

Rolling his eyes, Dean said, "If you were a jerk, you'd make me work out right now."

Seth made a big show, considering the idea. "I do know a nice Crossfit gym where we could go work off those marshmallows. The owner's pretty cool, so I'm pretty sure he'd let us in at…3:40."

Dean groaned. "That's not nearly as funny as you seem to think it is."

"I was half serious…"

Dean yawned and leaned his chair back. "I appreciate you letting me stay. It's convenient since you live so close to Moline - Quad Cities and all that. It's nice; I don't have to be in Chicago til the afternoon, so I can sleep in."

Seth curled up and cuddled Kevin to his chest. "It's funny; I don't even remember inviting you over, and I definitely don't remember saying you could stay."

Dean lazily turned his head to Seth. "It's funny how bad your memory's getting. Are you sure you're younger than me? But I guess I can leave if that's what you want."

Seth waved a hand vaguely in Dean's direction. "Nah, you're fine where you are. I'm too tired to kick you out."

Dean closed his eyes. "Good. I didn't feel like breaking in again with my spare key."

Seth's only response was a light snore.

AN: So that's finished. I wasn't expecting this much of a fic... I was planing a page or two before this thing was suddenly spanning over 5000 words. But real life kept giving me tidbits that worked so perfectly in this. Like my sister putting mini marshmallows into the sad gaps in my pancakes to cheer me up. And people on the internet being absolutely horrible to Roman... That Die Chant is a real thing; people seriously think it's a good thing to yell.

But suddenly, I had a monster. Opps. It didn't help that Captain (being very sarcastic) challenged me to write 5000 words. Hehe.

I had that entire fire scene written and was going to include it as a flashback, but it wouldn't flow right. If there's an interest, I can post it as a little bonus chapter to this. Tell me if you're interested in that.

Leave me a review, and Seth and Dean will make you pancakes.