"I can’t believe you talked me into this," says Dean, furiously willing his cheeks not to blush as he tries (and fails) to cover his ass cheeks with his hands. The chaps he’s wearing cover most of his front, but leave his ass for the world to see. He started to regret this the minute Sam pulled his attire from the makeshift closet, and he’s full-blown mortified now.
“This was your idea,” Sam reminds him. Dean can see his pleased face from all across the room, through a small mirror precariously tacked to the wall next to his little brother. The fact that Sam is enjoying this makes everything even worse. He shifts, going for an angle that won’t leave his bare ass in his brother’s line of vision.
“I didn’t—,” he splutters, “this was not what I had in mind when I said we should infiltrate this, this… establishment. And why am I the only one wearing this? You’re the one who suggested applying as a performer.”
Sam sighs, ever the patient guy. “They don’t have chaps in my size,” he answers simply, a shit-eating grin breaking into his face. The little bastard. Dean is going to put fuchsia dye on his shampoo this very night.
A small rap on the door interrupts them, and with a loud cough and little fanfare, Cas makes his way into the room.
“I think I found the burial place,” he announces, straight and no-nonsense, Cas style. He blabs about some old cemetery close to the parking lot to Sam, his chatter a steady reminder that there’s a job to do, and that they can’t afford to let another innocent person get ripped to shreds tonight, whatever their career of choice.
Dean sighs dramatically and turns to face the rest of his attire for the night, already resigned to his fate. No point in delaying the inevitable. Except the conversation dies and when Dean turns to face the other men again, Sam is close to tears and Cas’ eyes are inevitably glued to his ass.
”Cas!!” Dean yells, covering himself with his hands once again. Sam dissolves in a fit of laughter and the angel, face as red as a newborn baby, has the gall to look up, into Dean’s eyes, and say:
“You look very fine, Dean.”
Whatever happens tonight, Dean is going to murder his little brother in cold blood.
And maybe take a pair of chaps home.
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