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“Dean, what is a flasher?” Castiel asked for the second time, hovering over Sam’s shoulder as the younger Winchester googled the closest thrift store.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean insisted. “Just trust me on this, Cas. You can’t wear that coat all the time. We need to get you some real clothes.”
With a small frown, Cas lifted his limp blue tie and peered down at it. “All right.” Sam could practically hear him deciding to let Dean’s comment about ‘real clothes’ go. An angel learning everything at once about being human had to pick his battles when it came to expressing his confusion.
***
At the thrift store, Cas was enchanted by a pair of silvery stilettos. Dean came and steered him away from the shoe section. “All right, Cinderella, that’s enough.” Half to himself, he muttered “I am not explaining why you can’t wear those.”
Cas narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth.
“Shirts!” Dean announced loudly.
Sam was examining a big brown-and-green flannel shirt, traditional Winchester attire. “Hey Dean, what size do you think Cas is?”
“Normal,” the angel said defensively, but nobody was listening.
“He can probably wear my size, a little narrower across the shoulders,” Dean estimated with a shrug. “Just pick a bunch of stuff and let’s make him try it on, I don’t want to be here all day.”
***
The changing room was uncomfortably small. Faced with a mountain of t-shirts, overshirts, jackets, and pants, Castiel was overwhelmed. He made his own clothing vanish in the blink of an eye, but wasn’t confident enough to magic the new items onto his body. He picked up a t-shirt and tried to figure out which side was the front. After five minutes, he had discovered that zippers could be surprisingly nasty little creatures. After ten minutes, a knock came on the door. “Cas, I’m getting gray hairs. How much longer you gonna be?”
Castiel looked down at his own body, clothed in a pair of pale and rather stiff blue jeans, a green t-shirt that said ‘FLORIDA KEYS’ in bright orange letters on the front, and the first flannel overshirt that Sam had found. He made a snap decision. “I’ll take everything.”
The door opened to reveal a skeptical-looking Dean. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of Castiel’s get-up, but then he shook his head with a little smirk. “Okay, whatever. Let’s get out of here.”
***
Sam proved to be somewhat less laissez-faire than Dean when it came to letting the angel wear whatever he wanted. “Dean, he looks absurd!” he hissed across the front seat, as if Cas couldn’t hear. The occupant of the back seat didn’t mind, though. For the first time in his existence, he had possessions. Just like a human. He was happy.
Dean snorted. “If you want to give him a complete makeover, be my guest. I’ve got better things to do with my time. Like break into the morgue tonight, remember? You comin’?”
Sam sighed. “Sure, but I still don’t think it’s a vampire. The reports just don’t match up.”
“Well, we can agree to disagree for the time being,” Dean said with false cheer as he accelerated away from a stoplight, “and then tonight we’ll check out the bodies and see that I was right all along. How’s that sound for a compromise, Sammy?”
“Can I come too?” Castiel asked while Sam bitchfaced.
Both brothers eyed him in the rearview mirror before sighing in chorus. “Sure.”
***
Back in the motel room, the brothers took turns in the shower. Castiel watched them dressing with such intensity that they looked rather uncomfortable. “Okay, that’s it,” Sam finally announced. “We are not busting into the morgue with you wearing a tropical-vacation shirt. Take it off, you need to wear something more reasonable.”
Within a few minutes, the angel was standing in nothing but his jeans, hair ruffled and messy from having his shirt pulled off over his head. Sam handed him a sleeveless white shirt made of a thin material, informing him it was called a ‘wifebeater’. Castiel’s eyes got very large when he heard this. He was about to complain when the shirt obliterated his view. No sooner had Sam gotten it on him than Dean was approaching with a plain black t-shirt. Castiel frowned, but yet again a piece of cloth was sliding over his head, making argument difficult.
With these two items of clothing on his torso, Castiel was sure he must be dressed enough to satisfy even the most Puritan standards of modesty, but the brothers weren’t done yet. Sam threw an olive-green button-down around Cas’s shoulders and began forcing his arms through the sleeves while Dean lay in wait with a heavy flannel. After he had submitted patiently to these additional layers, Castiel let himself be bundled up into a dark blue jacket.
“There we go,” said Sam triumphantly when they were done.
Dean gave an appreciative nod. “Not bad, Cas. Now you’re one of the gang.”
With some effort, Castiel lowered his arms to his sides and smiled radiantly. He felt like a real hunter.
***