“So?” Dean spreads his arms. “Look how handsome I look.”
“That is a woman’s leather jacket, Dean,” Cas informs him.
“This jacket has clean lines,” Dean points out, “and pockets that won’t quit.”
“And room for your hips,” Victor says.
“And when I wear it I feel hot to trot.”
“Okay, do not say hot to trot,” Benny says.
“My coat makes me say things like that!” Dean exclaims, his face jubilant.
“First of all, it’s not your coat,” Victor says, brandishing the package it had come in that morning.
“True, it may have been delivered to the wrong address,” Dean says, “but then tell me… why does it fit like a damn glove?”
He moonwalks very poorly across the floor; the rest of the loft watches him with judgmental grimaces.
“It’s someone else’s woman’s coat,” Cas says slowly.