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Cas throws Dean a look. It’s the sort of look that says he’s had enough of something, and Dean gives him a sympathetic shrug. After all, five hours in a car with Sam can be trying, depending on what the guy’s eaten and whether he’s grabbed hold of some new piece of research he just needs to go over. For hours.
Still, not like Dean could do anything about it, not with being stuck the other side of the state helping Jodi take down some leftover Leviathan. Dean’s only been back a couple of hours himself, just long enough to get some pork chops ready for the grill.
Besides, Cas can get in a bad mood over things no-one else would even notice. His threshold for anything he finds annoying can be below the floor at times, and Dean’s had to rescue more than one inanimate object from smiting when the angel’s decided it doesn’t work properly. Not to mention the kid who dared to cut in front of them at that coffee place a month ago. Dean half thought Cas was going to change the focus of their hunt to ‘unthinking, self-absorbed young men with no sense of others’.
“Your brother has become insufferable,” Cas says.
With an irritable movement, Cas shrugs off his trench-coat and throws it at the nearest chair, stalking off with his duffel before Dean can ask exactly what’s up.
Sam appears a minute or two later, and stops near the bottom of the stairs. His lip curls.
Dean glances round, but he hasn’t left anything out that Sam would object to. Hell, the place is tidier than normal, if anything. Jodi’s bringing the girls by for a visit, and it’s going to be a surprise for Cas, so Dean’s cleaned up around the place. He’s even put a vase of flowers on the war-room table, which might be going too far but the pink and purple is pretty.
“Really, Dean?” Sam asks.
“What’s the problem?” Dean asks. “You and Cas get in a fight?”
Sam snorts and crosses to the table, dumping his duffel on the surface and only just avoiding the vase.
“Cas needs an attitude adjustment,” Sam says. “Dude can’t take some helpful pointers.”
Okay. So maybe it was more than Sam being generally too chirpy when Cas was in one of his smite-the-world moods.
“You wanna share with the class?” Dean asks.
Before Sam can reply, Cas reappears. His hair’s been longer again lately, enough that it could do with some styling, and Dean’s wondered if Cas knows anything about that or if the shapes his hair holds are accidental. Right now, Cas’ hair is flat to his head, like he’s wetted it and smoothed it out, and he’s wearing jeans and a shirt Dean hasn’t seen before. It’s deep blue and not a bad investment, but they weren’t supposed to be on a shopping trip.
“Well?” Cas asks.
More challenges, really, standing with his hands out and fixing a look on Sam that’s practically spoiling for a fight.
Sam shakes his head.
“Not that shirt with those jeans,” he says. “And when I said to tame your hair I didn’t mean kill it.”
“What’s going on?” Dean asks, stepping between the two of them as Cas’ glare intensifies.
“Your brother,” Cas says, and it’s never a good sign when Cas starts referring to them by description rather than name, “has taken it upon himself to correct my, what was it? Ah, yes. Appalling disaster of an appearance.” Cas normally reserves this exact tone of voice for talking to Crowley. “I believe the term ‘apocalyptic levels of awful’ was used.”
“Oh, come on,” Sam says. “I only said-”
“You were emphatic,” Cas says. “Far be it from me to bring down the tone of the entire place.”
Dean doesn’t even know where he’s got that phrase from, but he has watched a lot of TV over the last year. In any case, Cas turns on his heel and leaves again, and Dean really can’t see why those jeans don’t go with that shirt. To be fair, maybe the shirt isn’t entirely necessary, but-
“Great. Now he’s going to sulk,” Sam says. “And what’s with the dead weeds?”
“Hey. Those are wildflowers,” Dean tells him, a burst of protectiveness blooming in his chest.
“They’re an eyesore,” Sam says. “Are we ever going to do anything about this place or are we wedded to the outdated chic?”
“To the what now?”
Sam doesn’t seem to be listening.
“Yeah, no. We need to get this place up to date,” Sam goes on. “Not much we can do tonight, but I can start getting some ideas together. What were we even thinking leaving this table in place?”
And Dean finds himself standing on his own with no freaking idea what’s happening.
**************************
The next morning, Dean wakes to the sound of shouting, and it doesn’t take long to recognize Cas’ voice. The guy hardly ever shouts. Growls, yes. Shouts? Not so much.
Dragging on his robe, Dean stumbles bleary-eyes to the library, where Cas is standing in front of a shelf with his arms out. Sam faces him, an empty box in his hands. A large empty box.
“Don’t be a kid, Cas,” Sam says. “I get that you’ve got no taste, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us have to live like this.”
“You aren’t throwing out these artifacts,” Cas says. “Some of them are unique.”
“They’re cluttering up the place,” Sam says. “Collecting dust. And they won’t go with the scheme I’ve got planned. Just get out of my way and let me fix up the place.”
“I like this place, Sam,” Cas says, and Dean could be wrong but he thinks there’s some insecurity in the anger. Cas hasn’t really had a place to call home in a long time, and Dean’s just started to think the guy’s settling in here. “It’s orderly.”
“Yeah. Orderly. I remember,” Sam says, but it doesn’t have the usual understanding or affection he uses when talking to Cas. “But look, we have the space and the light here to do something stunning, and shelf after shelf of old crap is just going to interfere with my vision.”
“Your vision?” Dean asks, and sees Cas sag with what might be relief when Sam turns to face Dean. “Did you swallow a home decor magazine?”
“Home decor?” Cas asks.
“Yeah,” Dean says, and gets close enough to Sam to peer into the box. Ah. Not completely empty. A few of the crystal glasses Dean likes are already in there. “Tying swags to stuff and claiming colors have seasons. Load of nonsense. All you need is to keep an eye on balance and color and you’re sorted.”
He notices the look on Cas’ face and readies a defense. Lise had some of those magazines around, but really it’s always confused Dean how people don’t notice what goes well where. No big deal.
Except Cas turns his gaze on Sam.
“The witch we hunted, she ran an interior design and styling company. Sam told her she didn’t do anything worthwhile. She wasn’t impressed.”
“You think it’s connected to Sam suddenly giving a damn about knickknacks?” Dean asks.
Cas’ expression tightens.
“He didn’t have a problem with my clothing until we were on the way back from dealing with her.”
Sam pulls a face.
“Your clothes are terrible, Cas. I’d say your sense of style was bad, but you don’t have one. That’s not a new opinion. And we’re totally redesigning the kitchen. What we have now’s a crime.”
Dean splutters.
“You touch my kitchen, there’ll be a crime.”
An hour later, they’re on the road back to where they dealt with the witch.
Dean doesn’t say anything when Cas gets in the Impala wearing a dark blue coat, but he does find himself looking in the rear view mirror more often during the drive.
***************************
Sam refuses to step into the motel room on the basis it looks like a giant squid barfed all over the place. Dean isn’t sure whether it’s an accurate description or not, but he grits his teeth and drives them to a hotel fifteen minutes away. It’s all chrome and feature walls and elegantly curving fountains that do nothing except make Dean need to pee, but Sam nods and books them a room. Cas has to be pulled away from watching one of the fountains when they head back out.
“We’ll get you a fountain for the Bunker,” Dean says. “Hell, if we don’t fix Sam, he’ll probably have the place gutted and turned into an art-house by the middle of next week.”
Which will be an issue, because that’s when Jodi’s coming to visit.
They get held up on the way to the witch’s place when Sam veers into a menswear shop, pulling Cas with him, and Dean just manages not to curse.
He finds Sam hauling Cas to a stop in front of a rack of jackets, and rolls his eyes when Sam pulls out a charcoal gray jacket and held it up, looking at it critically.
“Why does Cas need a new jacket?” Dean asks.
Sam doesn’t even bother replying. He hands Cas the jacket and pulls another one, a softer gray, from the rack.
“Sam!” Dean says. “Why Cas? If you’re gonna go all Project Runway, why not come at my wardrobe?”
“Really, Dean?” Sam asks. And smirks. Actually smirks. “You already dress like a model when you get the chance. Not much left for me to do.”
He leaves Dean standing feeling like he’s been slapped and heads towards the waistcoats, and Dean finds himself sharing a look with Cas.
“He has a point,” Cas says, and looks at the jacket he’s been given. “Do you think this is my color?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean mutters, and throws his arm out in Sam’s direction. “Just go. Go and let him make you over. Get you ready to ask that hot guy at the office for a date. Let’s just get this done and get to breaking this spell.”
He’s sure he doesn’t imagine the tiny quirk of Cas’ lips, but he isn’t sure what to make of the lingering look Cas gives him before he joins Sam.
***********************
“You look beautiful,” Dean says, as he catches Cas checking out his own appearance in the window of a shop. “Men will swoon. Is this the place?”
He nods at the shop over the road, which has yards of artfully draped fabric in the window and one tiny wooden chair. It’s carved in flowing lines and Dean can’t understand what good it would do anyone.
“Yeah,” Cas says, a tint of color on his cheeks as he tugs his new jacket straight.
Whatever spell Sam’s working under, it’s given him a good eye. The jacket fits Cas perfectly, and Dean wouldn’t have believed it before. Given the way Sam dresses, he’d have thought fashion stylist Sam would drape Cas in something even baggier than the old trench-coat. Instead, Cas looks ready for dinner at a fancy restaurant. It’s be the sort of place with candles, and the light would bring out the deeper blues in Cas’ eyes, and-
“Let’s get on with it,” Dean says, and steps out into the road.
He knows Cas is following him. He also knows Sam is sulking back at the hotel, but Cas has determined it’s the sort of spell where Sam doesn’t need to be there to have it lifted, and Dean lost patience after the third shop Sam diverted them into. The throw pillows were a step too far.
At least, he hopes Sam’s gone back to the hotel. There’s every chance he’s browsing the upholstery options in a furniture shop, but with any luck they’ll have him back to his decor-resistant self in no time.
For now, he pushes through the door of the witches place of business with the sort of smile on his face that even Crowley steps warily around.
“Can I help-?”
The woman behind the counter cuts off as Cas stops beside Dean, her eyebrows rising.
“I told you I wouldn’t do any more magic you didn’t approve of,” she says.
“Except for fucking up my brother,” Dean says.
“Except for what?” she asks, and steps out into the room.
Her skirt is patterned with daisies and she’s wearing a cardigan. It’s a drapey thing that probably has a fancy name Dean doesn’t know, but it’s still a fucking cardigan. Not that Dean’s a stranger to bad guys wearing nerd clothes, but still…
“My brother,” Dean says. “Tall guy. Hair that needs shearing. He came back from dealing with the crap you caused with his heart full to bursting with the need to redecorate our home. And he’s put Cas through a make-over montage. What gives? You have to get in one more shot?”
He has to give her one thing: she looks genuinely surprised.
“I what?” A moment later her eyes widen and she gasps. “Oh. Oh, gods. I am so sorry.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, taking a step closer. “You should be.”
Cas’ hand on his arm stops him.
“Dean,” he says. “She obviously didn’t know.”
“You saying she did it by accident?” Dean asks, incredulous.
The witch meets them in the middle of the shop, a weird move for someone being hunted, and reaches out to pat Cas’ arm. Cas lets her.
“I really am sorry,” she says. “I swear, that spell was for someone who needed to impress his mother-in-law with the new house. I must have left the duck out, and your brother must have touched it.”
“Duck?” Dean asks, half thinking she’s cast some spell on him which is messing with his brain.
“I grafted the spell to a wooden duck,” she says. “Touching it wasn’t meant to trigger the spell, but some people are more sensitive to magic. I mean… Look, I can break it. Just give me a minute.”
Ten minutes later, the spell is broken and Cas is the owner of a wooden duck, because his eyes lit up when she mentioned them and she’s insisted he have one.
“Thank you, Sandra,” Cas says, softly, looking at the duck with the sort of gooey expression an angel should be ashamed to have on his face. “And thank you for breaking the spell so quickly. Sam was starting to talk about getting me colored contact lenses.”
“What?” Dean asks. “He thinks contacts could go one better than your eyes?”
It takes a half second for his own words to register, and he looks away, coughs and runs a hand over his face.
“Yeah. So. You sure Sam’s fixed? Because I can’t take living in a land of swags and conversation pieces.”
“I’m sure,” Sandra says. “If you find any after-effects, just ring me. I can run a further cleanse from here. No need to drive all the way back.”
They thank her again and say their goodbyes, and they’re almost out of the shop when Sandra calls after them.
“I love your new look,” she says. “Look me up if you’re coming through town again.”
Dean manages to hide his stumble.
***************************
“All I’m saying is, there’s no point rushing back,” Sam says.
He says it from the middle of a bed which is double the size of the ones they normally get, not even lifting his head from the nest of pillows and cushions.
Dean squints at him.
“You sure you’re fixed?”
“Dude, I promise you, I feel no more urge to tear out the Bunker kitchen and remodel. And Cas can wear what he wants for all I care.”
Cas shrugs from his place on the room’s settee. He’s still wearing that jacket and his hair is full on styled. Sam was thorough, Dean has to give him that.
“I think I’ll stick with this, now,” Cas says. “It’s pleasing.”
Dean really couldn’t argue with that.
“And I don’t know why, but I’m beat.” Sam yawns, even though it seems a bit exaggerated. “Must be the spell or something. But, hey, the guy on the front desk said there’s an awesome steak place a few doors down. It’s a bit fancy, but Cas looks the part and I you have that good suit with you, right?”
“You trying to get rid of us, Sam?” Dean asks.
“Yep,” Sam says. “And I want the world to admire my hard work the last couple of days. Go on. Take Cas out. Let the ladies see him.”
“And the men,” Cas says.
When both brothers look at him, he shrugs again.
“I like both,” Cas says. “And I had both approach me when I was being Steve.”
He says it like it’s nothing, and Dean feels something clench in his chest. It is nothing to Cas, he realizes. What does being a man or a woman matter to someone who’s used to be a beam of light with a harp?
“Uh. Yeah,” Dean says. “I guess I could go for some steak.”
And if, later, he notices the looks he’s getting as Cas offers him a bite from his fork, Dean’s not going to let other people’s envy put him off enjoying a nice dinner.