(A/N): Feeling the need to clarify that I've never been to Laser Tag in my life, as you will probably guess upon reading.
I'm 100% certain that I've taken crazy liberties, but hey, Creative Licence. When I opened the new text box for this the other day, I fully intended to be trying my hand at a Supernatural One-Shot. Then the idea that had gripped me so thoroughly grew and shaped and kept on growing.
It's probably gonna need a sequel now.
Happy Reading!

"And you're a hundred percent sure you're not too old for this?" Dean asked, eying the black buzz-vest he'd been assigned like it was going to bite him. Or give him a nasty rash.

"A thousand percent." Sam laughed, already pulling his own vest over his head and pressing down the velcro straps with an eagerness he usually reserved for research and other dorky things, "Come on already!"

Dean drew him a look, fighting the fond chuckle that leapt to his throat at the sight of his little brother's hair. Shaggy brown and way too long in Dean's opinion, it was strewn all over from its brush with the vest, hanging over the kid's eyes as he turned them on Dean. Dean rolled his own eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh as he unstrapped the offending item, but he knew Sam wasn't fooled.

It was Sam's birthday, and anybody who'd ever spent five minutes with the Winchester brothers could guess what that meant. Dean would submit to any of his kid brother's wishes on his birthday, no matter how old Sam was or how childish the wish. The fact that their dad wasn't around for Sam's big day was only another reason for Dean to give Sam whatever he wanted, even if the particular thing he wanted was for Dean to drive them both to the nearby town and subject himself to an afternoon of fake guns and smoke machines.

Besides, it wasn't like it wasn't fun. Dean groaned and complained every step of the way, but at the end of the day they both knew he'd still throw himself into the game. It was just an added bonus that their experience with real guns made them both pretty elite. They weren't amazing, or at a professional level, - and Dean cringed at the thought that there were people in the world who truly believed their was such a thing as being a professional at… Pretending to shoot lights at people, - but he and Sam were pretty good shots, which made the busy afternoon sessions all the more fun.

Of course, the biggest challenge - provided there weren't any hardcore players around - would be the last game of the day, when Dean had of course booked them the course for an hour-long private session.

That's when it would get really interesting. Pitted against each other, the Winchester brothers would put their skills into proper action and hunt each other, garnering points for each kill until their time was up and one of them was crowned champion.

It was usually Dean, of course. He had four years on Sam and much more hunting experience, but in recent years the gap had been closing until the past two years, one of which Sam had won by catching Dean off guard with new tactics. The other had been a very close call, Dean only scraping an extra kill right before the buzzer went.

So when he'd cornered his brother a week ago and asked him what he wanted to do on his birthday, Dean hadn't been surprised in the slightest to hear his reply. Still.

It wouldn't do if he didn't put up a fight now, would it?

"You're such a dork." he grumbled, but Sam's reply was given with a sunny, toothy grin.

"The dork that's gonna kick your ass."

He ducked the playful swat and laughed at the muttered denial, bounding around his older brother like an excitable dog. And that was kinda what Sam resembled these days. Since his most recent growth spurt he'd been growing into his limbs, always giving off the faint impression of a gangly Great Dane. Or Bambi.

They collected their guns at the last booth in the corridor, checking they worked against the targets before heading down to the hall where the session members would be assigned coloured lasers and split into teams. Sam and Dean were always on the same team for the group sessions, utterly annihilating their opponents. Depending on numbers, and the size of the course-room, there could be anything from two to five teams.

In the Winchesters' opinion? The more the merrier.

They were among the first to arrive, standing a little off to one side as the room slowly filled. Sam had been excitable all morning, waking Dean at the ungodly hour of six am by throwing himself and his ridiculous limbs onto his brother's bed at the Singer Salvage Yard, where they were currently staying.

John had caught a job in the next state and offered them the option of living arrangements. Sam of course had chosen Bobby's without a second's hesitation, and Dean had agreed. A month or so with their pseudo Uncle was miles better than staying in some crap-trap motel. There was the added bonus that Bobby could be very easily bribed into letting them bunk off school, if they pleaded to be home-taught instead. Dean could always wrangle their lessons into the area of Monsters, and Sam thought every word Bobby said was made of gold.

The kid thought the old bugger was a genius, and Dean kinda agreed.

Besides their love for Bobby, - the second father nobody thought they needed - the Salvage Yard provided stability and familiarity, a home-like atmosphere that Sam seemed to flourish in. Even if Dean had preferred a motel, he'd never have said no to Sam. The kid adored the place, with the acres of free terrain to roam and the old junkers to explore. Not to mention the library.

When it came to books, the only person Dean had ever seen rival his brother's love for them was Bobby Singer. Sam was in heaven there, and Dean pretty much was too. Besides the extra info on hunting and tips on Monsters his father might not give him or even know, Bobby knew cars. And Dean was mad on cars.

So a couple months at Bobby's was always their first choice, regardless of how crotchety the man could be. Mark of a real hunter, Dean always thought.

"You sure you're fifteen?" Dean asked casually, looking up from the scope of his gun, pausing in polishing the little glass disk with his sleeve to look at Sam in amusement, "'Cause you're bouncing about like you're five."

Sam punched his arm in response, stilling his feet only to bounce on the tips of his toes instead. Dean laughed, and Sam coloured, scowling at him.

"My birthday, Dean. You gotta be nice to me on my birthday."

"Even if you're bounding around like a frog on crack?"

Sam's blush reached his face and darkened as he glared at his brother.

"Shut up."

Dean laughed again, returning to his scope, and Sam's face fell into an easy grin once more. Dean had practically raised Sam from a baby after their mother had died - or been murdered, really, by a yellow-eyed Demon their father was determined to kill - and he loved the kid with everything he had. Their dynamic was bold, sometimes. When they bantered they bantered big and their fights were like tornados meeting oceans meeting rocks. But afterwards was always easy, and nothing ever stuck. Playful quips and sharp remarks were how they showed affection.

Well, that and Sam showed affection in… affectionate ways too. The kid was a hugger, really. Soft-hearted like a baby kitten, most of the time, providing no end to the teasing material that Dean could use. But he had a fierce side that Dean was endlessly proud of too, and that was one of many reasons why Dean loved his brother so much. He was all heart, but had the bite to back it up. They'd never had a conventional childhood, but Dean had always known it was his job as older brother to make sure Sam could be a kid.

The sacrifices he'd made along the way - ones he'd been happy to make and usually didn't even see as sacrifices at all, - had ensured Sam the opportunities to be soft on the inside, under his tough and lethal training.

"We're gonna kick ass." he said, taking a minute to study various occupants of the rapidly filling room.

Sam turned with him, gaze no-doubt finding all the same figures his brother had picked out, a wicked grin on his face.

"Big time." he answered, shooting Dean a gleeful look, "They aren't gonna know what hit 'em."

Dean grinned with him, fiddling with the little screw that held his scope in place for the final time. A single glance at Sam told him the kid had sorted his already, and he knocked their shoulders together.

"How's your equipment?"

Sam's mouth moved into a smile though he didn't raise his eyes from his own weapon.

"There's a hairline on my scope, but I'll manage." he answered.

"Trade?" Dean offered instantly, reaching to unhook the strap of his rifle.

Sam scoffed, shouldering his gun and crossing his arms, treating Dean to a playfully suspicious look.

"Uh huh. And give you an excuse to overrule my victory later? No way."

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Suit yourself. And you're never gonna win."

Sam's grin was almost predatory when he cast his eyes back over the room.

"We'll see."

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By the time they were ready to be grouped there were twenty-four players including Dean and Sam. That made a nice neat split of three teams of eight, and Sam and Dean stood behind the middle post as they were assigned their light colour.

Blue.

Nice. In the heat of the game, people often forgot that red wasn't the only coloured laser that could get them kicked out. For some reason the human mind usually saw blue as a non-threatening colour on instinct, giving their team precious seconds of advantage. Dean didn't need to voice his thoughts to see that Sam had reached the same conclusion, offering a high-five when their filters were handed out. They each attached their colour-square to the velcro squares on the back of the other's vest, marking them as members of their team.

The teams had been split pretty evenly by size and age, the brothers relieved to see that the group of little kids they'd passed in the foyer were either leaving or booked into a different course-room. Their team consisted of themselves, two girls around Sam's age, a sullen-looking teenager with spindly arms and a lip-piercing - who looked like the friend he'd come with was on Green, - and a kid who looked about ten and was standing waving nervously at his mom, who was on Red. The other two on Blue were a couple who looked to be somewhere in age between Dean and Sam, and by the looks of it were utterly useless.

At least, the girl looked it. But he'd seen girls play off their skill before, either to entice guys to help them out or trick opponents into underestimating them. He and Sam shared a look as they studied their team and Sam raised his eyebrows in the direction of the couple, giving Dean a secret, exasperated smile. Dean grinned back.

Red had the ten-year old's mom, an older guy who looked like he could handle a rifle, a girl and two boys around twelve, a dude in high tops and a Comic Book shirt and another two girls who'd seemingly come as part of a group with the two on Dean's team. (Awesome. They'd likely spend so much time targeting each other that they'd kill each other off.)

Green had a kid with blue-tipped black hair and a lip-piercing to match his buddy's, another two girls around the same age as the others, two guys maybe a little older than Dean, a girl about Sam's age with fiery red hair, and two guys their age standing together who looked a little like they could be brothers.

One was dark-haired and sensible-looking with his gun held loosely at his hip as he listened to the other speak. He looked around Dean's age. The other was an inch or so shorter and looked closer to Sam's age, standing with his rifle slung over one shoulder as he spoke dramatically with his hands.

When Dean glanced at Sam he saw his brother had pegged them too, and the younger Winchester gave him a raised eyebrow when he looked around again, mirroring what Dean was thinking.

We should probably watch those two.

The three teams stood watching the room beyond the shadowed doorway fill with sweet-smelling smoke, and when the buzzer chimed to signal that their course was ready, the co-ordinators split off to guide Red and Green to either side for their own entrances out of sight, leaving Dean and Sam's team to stand before the middle one and await the Go light.

As soon as it lit their teammates streamed through the doorway, pretty much all going straight forwards as they began to explore the room and find cover. The calls and laughter had started already before Sam and Dean even made it to the entrance, each peeling off to one side to scope the room.

The name of the game was fun, yes. Of course it was. Fake guns? Smoke machines? Teens who'd never seen a real gun in their life? Hell yeah it was all in fun.

But Sam and Dean found it fun to win.

Sam found a corner far enough away from the entrance that the light coming through didn't show him up, and he propped the barrel of his gun up against a ridge on a cover wall, peering through his scope to find his brother, who'd set up somewhere similar on the far wall. Dean looked over at him and grinned, even if he couldn't fully see Sam where he hid. Sam grinned back before swinging his gun around and settling into a crouch.

He moved up to his next cover, tapping the blue-tagged girl in front of him on the shoulder. She shrieked and tripped over, turning to look at him with startled, adrenaline-fuelled eyes. He gave her an apologetic smile and pointed towards a fake pile of rubble on their right.

"I betcha there's someone behind that." he told her, raising his voice a little to be heard over the sound of fake gunfire and playful screams, "You want them?"

She gave him a smile then, realising he was Blue like her, and nodded. He lifted his rifle in his hold, smiling patiently when she watched and tried to copy the grip. When she flashed him a shy smile he grinned back.

"First time?"

She nodded.

"My sister's idea, she comes every weekend. I know it's fake, but she got so hyped up I'm kinda scared."

Sam could see in the muted, roving light that she was blushing, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

"I bet if we head round from this side, we can get 'em before they even see us."

Her smile was dazzling.

"Let's!" she answered enthusiastically, before juggling her gun to offer a hand, "I'm Melanie, by the way."

He shook her hand and showed her how to fix her grip again.

"Sam."

She tipped her head towards the rubble and he nodded, following close behind her as she streaked over. For a beginner, she seemed to understand the advantage of keeping low and fast. Between them they took out the mom from Red and then found a girl from Green crouched behind a low wall further up.

"Hey Ruth!" Melanie called, waiting until her friend turned around before zapping her with her laser, "Sorry!"

Ruth laughed and stood up, raising her gun flat above her head to walk across the course-room to one of the doors for her penalty time.

"You suck, Mel!" she retorted, and Melanie only giggled in return, reaching up a hand to offer Sam a high-five.

"This is awesome!" she whisper-yelled in his ear, giving him a friendly grin, "I should've come here ages ago!"

Sam laughed at her newfound enthusiasm, following her as she raced from their cover to the next safe spot.

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By the time the first buzzer went to signal that the first half-hour was now up and the next ten minutes were going into permanent death, Sam and Dean had massacred their opposing teams a dozen times over. Sam had yet to have been shot at all, something Dean was sure his little brother would hold over him for weeks considering Dean had been caught out by a member of Green, though Mel had been caught a couple times as they raced from cover to cover.

She was on the bench right then, meaning she couldn't return until the next round started, as was the other girl on Blue - the sister, it turned out, who'd dragged her along, - and both members of the couple. Red was down to two players; the mom and the older guy, but Green was going strong with only the teen with the lip-ring on the bench.

Dean and Sam had spent most of the time scouting solo, - well, if solo counted Sam teaming with Melanie, - but met behind a low wall when the buzzer sounded for the last ten minutes. The team with the most people standing when the ten minutes was up would win extra points towards their total and claim the round, and if all members of opposing teams were gone before the buzzer sounded then the team with members alive automatically won both the round and the extra points for their score.

The more members standing, the more points.

Blue were already in the lead by fourteen, the fruits of Sam and Dean's stellar skills, but Green were in second and they had the most members still in. That meant Sam and Dean would be specifically targeting them, but that Green would be hot on Blue to try and win back points.

While the buzzer sounded a one-minute countdown for re-grouping before the last ten, Sam and Dean surveyed the room and took note of where they thought their opponents could be, along with picking out their own team where they could. To get ahead and keep a lead required more than crack shots. They also had to try and lose as few of their team as possible.

That being said, the only people they had to protect were the little kid and the sullen teenager, who were doing pretty okay themselves. Dean was not the only one surprised when he saw them paired up five minutes in, and they were doing well at holding up their end.

"Okay, so it looks like we were right." Dean murmured, sitting back against the wall beside his brother, "Sensible and the Hobbit are pretty clued up."

Sam snickered at the names. It was one of his favourite parts of playing teams; the code names Dean assigned like second nature so that they could keep track of opponents and teammates alike. So far they had Sensible and the Hobbit, who were the dark-haired boy and his hand-gesturing brother, The Soccer Mom, John McCain (Red's older guy), Moody and Moodier (the lip-piercings), Nerd Alert (the kid in the Comic Book shirt), Elmo (the little kid on their team), Bert & Ernie (the two older teens on Green, and man was his big brother obsessed with Sesame Street), Red Dead (the fiery red-head on Green who looked like she was killing it), and the three pre-teens on Red he'd nicknamed The Hoobs.

"Yepp." Sam answered, finding their last known cover spot with his scope. "They've been pretty good at cover so far. I nearly got the littler one earlier but I just missed him. He's fast." Sam added appreciatively, sweeping his scope over the area Green had been favouring.

Dean snorted.

"He's behind the big pillar on the left. Been there for a couple minutes, thinks I can't see him. As soon as the bell goes, I'm tagging him."

Sam laughed, hearing the streak in his brother's voice that the game brought out. Competitiveness. As fun as it was to pit his skills against his older brother, having him on side could be just as entertaining. Especially when his pride was a little - read a lot - stung by a particular member of an opposing team tagging him.

The Hobbit had been the one to catch Dean's vest and win his only death, as far as the bothers could tell. Sam knew Dean had to be itching for payback. Which left the dark-haired older brother for Sam to find, and find him he would, before Dean could. No way he was letting his brother take out both of the other team's two key players.

"Left?" Sam asked, the count-down buzzer entering the last five seconds.

"Right." Dean confirmed with a nod, before the buzzer dinged and he shot from their cover like an arrow from a bow, zigzagging across the whole other side of the room and skidding to a halt behind a low wall, the fake gunfire filling the air and a bunch of Red and Green dots chasing his heels in vain.

Sam loosed a gleeful laugh at the sight, adrenaline rocketing pleasantly in his veins. Somewhere in the room a girl was whooping, and Sam bet it was Red Dead from Green. He had to admit, catching his brother's gaze across the room and flashing him a massive grin, that was one hell of a move.

As Dean prepared to move again, signalling Sam with a flick of one hand, Sam steadied his rifle and levelled the scope over Green territory. He was sure he saw a shadow behind one low walled corner, but it wasn't a great spot and his view wasn't brilliant. But if the dark-haired kid was anywhere, it had to be there.

Dean flew from his cover and zipped across the main expanse of the room again, rousing cries from all three teams as people scrabbled to shoot at him. The muzzle of a rifle appeared right where Sam's scope was covering and he took the shot, his laser giving away his position. The player had winged the Soccer Mom, but Sam was rewarded by the bell-clang of his laser hitting vest too, and a disappointed yowl made him grin in triumph.

The boy stood, his gun held reluctantly over his head as he stepped out of his little spot, the fog wisping around his dark hair. His eyes were blue in the foggy light, almost scarily blue, like sapphires and the sky at the perfect pivot point of evening meeting night. He took his loss gracefully, even shooting a small smile in Dean's direction as he passed.

From somewhere nearby, there came a much less graceful shout from someone Sam thought was very likely the kid's brother.

"Oi, you plunkers are going down!"

Sam found himself grinning as he hollered back a garbled battle call, Dean's voice joining him before they heard Elmo and Moody join in like an out-of-tune pack of wolves. Sam's laugh echoed gleefully.

The game was on.

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Bert and Ernie from Green fell first, cocky and over-assured of their own abilities. That and Dean was a crack shot even on the move. Moody shot his Green counterpart moments later, much to Blue's delight. Someone somewhere was cussing like a pirate, in increasingly creative ways, and Sam could appreciate the resolve to stick to kid-friendly language.

He was still pretty sure the voice belonged to the Hobbit, though he'd yet to see him. Dean was desperate to tag the bugger, and Sam was finding himself increasingly amused with him.

"For the love of hopscotch! Where in the blasted blaggerdy are you?" came one particularly hilarious cry when Sam clipped the girl called Ruth in the ribs as she shifted to shoot for Elmo.

Sam only laughed, making no attempt to muffle the sound. Even if they knew where he was holed up, any attempt to find a line of sight would end with him tagging them. Or Dean. Wherever his brother was, Sam could be sure he had a view.

"And you can stop laughing at me, Mr. Snipey-man, because I will end you!"

Sam couldn't help the chuckle as it slipped from his lips, adrenaline and delight bright in the sound.

"You'd have to find me first!" he cried back.

The timer buzzed with a voice-over for three minutes, and the fragile care in the room shattered as people scrambled to pick off the other sides. They lost Moody and then Elmo, someone on Green dropped John McCain and Red were out.

Sam was tempted to stay where he was and pick off Green as they grew restless, but if they wanted Green destroyed before time up, he had to be more proactive. And that was no question, he didn't need to ask his brother. Obviously Green had to go down. Sam picked his new spot, took a breath, and ran.

Green began hollering, gunfire sounds clouding the air as he streaked through the fog to his new spot. He nearly crossed a laser line in front of him, but it vanished right before he barrelled through the spot. He slid into his new hole and gasped, heart thumping with excitement, with triumph, with that faux fear of losing.

He swung his rifle around the corner and sprayed the light across the room, catching someone by chance, the satisfaction of watching the other girl walk off before the sound clanged again and Red Dead gave a wail before striding out herself, looking less than impressed.

They were down to Dean and Sam versus the Hobbit and one girl. This was gonna be a close fight. Sam peeked through his scope, scouting all the areas he could see and wondering where they could be hiding. The bell rang shrilly in the momentary still, making Sam throw his head around to look for Dean, seeing his brother crouched behind a pile of rocks with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

He'd gotten the Hobbit! Sam was sure, right before the last remaining girl stood up and slouched off towards the gaping door, her gun slung limply over one shoulder.

And it made sense, of course. Who best to face off against the Winchesters than one of the two best opponents they'd seen in a long time?

"We know you're on your own, Pipsqueak!" Dean hollered, his grin wide and victorious already, "You lose!"

Sam was just beginning to grin when the figure appeared from the smoke not two feet from his spot, giving Sam bare seconds to realise what was happening.

"Hey! Who you callin' Pipsqueak?" he called, before firing over Sam and striking Dean for the second time.

Sam didn't see the expression on his brother's face, raising his own gun and tagging the boy square in the chest, the bell trilling triumphantly.

Sam expected him to be upset, so close to winning all on his own only to be bested at the last second. He was sure that was how he'd feel, Dean certainly. Instead the boy stood before Sam and beamed, his face lighting up with a wicked sort of glee as his eyes flared almost golden in the lavender smoke.

"Nice shooting, Quick Draw." was all he said before the erupting victory cheers could be heard from Blue.

Sam thought his smile was kind of nice, then, when it softened just a little around the edges and he offered Sam a hand up from his crouch.

"I'm Sam." Sam blurted, feeling his face flush and not really sure why.

The boy's eyes were bright with delight and dancing almost, because of the smoke, Sam thought.

"Gabriel." he replied, the smile turning lopsided and friendly, "They call me Gabriel."