THE HUNTERS' NEW CLOTHES
Written for the Spring Fic Exchange on Livejournal. The challenge prompt was: 'Spring cleaning means tossing out the old, stained, ratty denim and flannel and buying new clothes.'
Summary: The boys' never enjoyed shopping for clothes. They enjoy it even less now ...
Rated T for a couple of naughty words. No spoilers.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them!
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Chapter 1
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Sam reached into the bunker's giant washer and pulled out a tangled wad of damp denim and flannel.
He sighed.
Laundry had never been a favourite task of the brothers; even less so now that they were at the bunker, and it meant doing actual work; not just rocking up to the nearest launderette with a stuffed bag of underwear and a rolled-up copy of Busty Asian Beauties.
But over recent weeks, this already unpleasant job had become downright depressing.
As he leaned over the ancient monolith which had stood steadfastly in the corner of the bunker's laundry room for generations, washing the Men of Letters' smalls year after year, he reflected that it had probably never had to deal with as paltry a collection as this.
As he folded the washing, he took inventory …
Eight shrunken T-shirts with holes under the armpits
Four ratty pairs of jeans mottled with stains of indeterminate origin;
One almost entirely bald fleece hoodie;
One saggy grey Henley that was so stretched and mis-shapen, it could actually be a tarpaulin;
Thirteen odd socks;
One canvas jacket which still stunk of chupacabra fluids even after having been washed seven times;
Two pairs of sweatpants with no discernible elastic;
Six moth-eaten plaid shirts with half the buttons hanging off;
Pathetic wasn't even the word.
Sam knew that if he went rummaging through his wardrobe, he'd find an equally uninspiring collection of old, faded rags which might have once been clothes and likewise, he was pretty sure that Dean's room was harbouring the same motley collection of gear that was so grim, even the moths wouldn't touch it.
The trouble was, Sam hated shopping for clothes; and shopping for clothes along with Dean, the proud owner of the world's shortest attention span, was the stuff of nightmares.
He briefly considered online shopping, but neither brother were exactly what could be described as a conventional shape. Sam had his slim build, great height and endlessly long limbs, and Dean with his broad shoulders and narrow hips somehow managed to be stocky and slim all at the same time, so the need to try clothes on was essential. Shopping online was just a Dean temper conniption waiting to happen.
His melancholy musings were interrupted when Dean strolled into the room. Freshly showered and in search of coffee, he was sporting only the dead-guy robe, untied and flapping open in the breeze together with a pair of threadbare black boxers which were graced with a very unfortunately placed hole.
Sam finally broke.
"Dude, we have GOT to buy some new gear," he snapped.
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"This is stupid," huffed Dean. "I don't see why both of us need to go out and buy clothes. You know what I wear."
"Oh no, I'm not buying your clothes," snorted Sam dismissively; "whatever I get would be wrong, and anyway, you're a weird shape – I wouldn't know what sizes to get."
"Weird shape?" Dean snapped in wounded indignation; "what's weird about my shape?"
"You've got these stupidly wide shoulders, bandy legs and practically no ass," Sam replied with a grin; "you need to try stuff on."
"Oh, listen to the world's biggest praying mantis," Dean countered; "you're one to talk about weird shapes."
He paused momentarily, "and anyhow, you been looking at my ass?"
"Not willingly," replied Sam calmly; "it's just it's been hanging out of your jeans for the last few weeks; it's kinda hard to miss. Every pair you own are either worn out or falling apart."
"Hmph," Dean grunted; "well, I did have one decent pair, except they got shredded when we took out that piskie nest in New Hampshire, remember?"
"I remember," Sam nodded; "they were tricky little jerks; freaking destructive too."
"Still, we gave them something to think about, didn't we," grinned Dean. "That spell that neutralised their faerie magic was a stroke of genius, Sammy."
Sam nodded; "yeah, now they can't fly or transport or even become invisible. They're completely exposed and vulnerable just like any other small animal, so they'll have to stay hiding in the woods well away from people and animals to stay safe from now on."
"That's that they get for being annoying little douchebags – and for mangling my gear. Oh, and for your information, I do have an ass, and it's awesome!"
Sam grimaced. "If you say so Dean."
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Dean rolled the Impala to a halt in downtown Lebanon. "Let's get this freakin' farce done with," he snorted; "I've got important stuff to be getting on with back at the bunker."
"What stuff?" Sam replied calmly.
"Just 'stuff," snapped Dean; "an' it's important."
"Stuff. Important. Got it," Sam grinned; "we'll make sure you get back before the game starts this afternoo … oh, look!" he tailed off, distracted. "A new thrift store – it must have just opened, it wasn't there when I came downtown last week."
Dean rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you even notice things like that. C'mon, Samantha let's go look."
A small bell tinkled as Sam pushed open the heavy wooden and glass door, which looked oddly weathered and old for a shop which had seemingly only opened days before, and he glanced sideways to the counter which seemed equally antiquated.
Trailing in behind him, Dean paused, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the musty smell so typical of large amounts of secondhand clothing.
"Sam," he whispered, tugging on his brother's sleeve; "this place feels skeevy, let's …"
But it was too late. Sam had already caught the eye of the lady behind the counter who, notwithstanding the weathered and aged appearance of the door and the counter, still looked like the oldest thing in the shop.
"Hello there," she muttered nervously; "how can I help you boys?"
"Uh, my brother and I are looking for some gear," Sam announced, projecting his warmest smile towards the old lady; "jeans and shirts mainly".
"Well, that's most fortuitous," she smiled; "I just got a consignment from a gentlemans' clothing store in Cedar. Went into liquidation a month ago and it specialised in clothing for the younger man. I'm sure I can find something to suit a pair of nice young bucks like you."
She hobbled over to some racks at the back of the shop, and pulling aside some obviously unsuitable garments, she gestured towards one particular rack festooned with jeans and plaid flannel shirts.
"Take your time, boys," she smiled, "there's a small room out back where you can try on if you want."
At her invitation, the brothers began to rummage.
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"Well, that was a stroke of luck," grinned Dean as he unlocked the Impala's door and tossed his stuffed shopping bag on her back seat. "I got three pairs of jeans, four shirts, and an awesome suit - all a perfect fit."
"Me too," Sam agreed as he slid into the passenger seat. "Four shirts, a jacket to replace that one the chupacabra puked on, a suit and two pairs of jeans. And they're the all the right size," he added; "what are the odds?"
"Don't knock it," Dean replied with a shrug. "Let's head back, I've got time to make some muffins before the game starts."
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tbc
