Happy Monday!
So this is a little surprise tag to 14.4 "Mint Condition." I seldom write a tag so soon after an episode, but this little scene just came to mind so vividly. I really enjoyed the episode last week. It was so fun and old-school. Just loved it. Anyway! Here's a fun little tag. :)
I'm five days into NaNoWriMo (ahhh!). This is one of the SPN one-shots that has been produced for NaNo. More of those to come in the future! :)
This wasn't what I was supposed to post today...and my beta hasn't even looked at it heehee...so any and all mistakes are totally mine. Just couldn't wait to post it and wanted to surprise her as well. ;)
Hope you enjoy!
"We could have just worn the Fed suits, you know."
"Hey, I'm not the one who decided halfway here that we were gonna be insurance agents," Dean said dryly as they pulled up to the thrift store.
"I think insurance agent will give us a bit more leeway to investigate all angles of this than comic book collectors would. Besides, I've never seen you in such a hurry to leave." Sam shook his head. "I would've grabbed my suit if you hadn't practically run out the door."
Dean rolled his eyes at his ever practical (and boring) brother. He parked the car and said, "The suits needed to be pressed anyway and—"
"Because no insurance agent ever wears a wrinkly suit."
"Whatever. Can you stop worrying about the suits and just find something to wear?"
Dean shoved his door open, then led the way into the shop.
Once inside, Sam surveyed the racks of clothing and said, "I hate these places. They always smell funny."
"You always say that," Dean replied, already walking away, a nice leather jacket catching his attention.
"Because they always smell funny."
"Stop whining," Dean said, checking the price on the jacket. Sixty bucks? So much for a bargain.
He shook his head and glanced at his brother. Sam wore the mildly disgusted and very un-enthusiastic expression he wore every single time they walked into a thrift shop. Ever since they'd been kids, Sam had disliked thrift shops. Apparently that was never going to change.
"I don't know what your problem is." Dean moved on toward the men's section. "Saves us money. Helps people out. And we find cool stuff."
"Cool stuff?" Sam asked, searching through a display of slacks.
"Yeah. Cool stuff." Come on, Dean! Think of something cool! Uhhh… oh! "Like that Han Solo blaster we got when you were like six."
"How do you even remember that? And that's one thing."
"Another time we got a pack of hot wheels. More cars for a whole lot less than what we'd have paid in a regular store." He pulled out a pair of dark blue pants and checked the size. "We got a basketball."
Sam snorted.
"Whatever. I'm just saying, there are treasures hiding in these places." He put the blue pants back and went back to searching. "You just have to look for them."
"Right now, I'm just looking for a pair of pants long enough to wear," Sam muttered as an entire row of slacks were shoved to the end of the rack. Hard. "I'm gonna have to wear my jeans."
"It's not casual Friday, Sammy," Dean said, shaking his head and holding out a pair of slacks. "Here. These are extra long."
Sam took them, then glared. "They're at least five sizes too big."
"Hey, you wanted long, I gave you long." Grinning, Dean walked to the next rack. "You never said anything about size."
Ten minutes later, they walked to the fitting rooms, arms laden with dress slacks and very boring short sleeved button up shirts. Wasn't his favorite look, but his idea of going as comic book nerds in Green Arrow t-shirts had been shot down pretty fast by his boring brother.
Hence the boring shirts and slacks.
"Does a white shirt match alright with khakis?" he called out over the partition, pulling a too large green shirt off. He didn't have a lot of options left and he really didn't feel like going spending any more time searching the racks.
He was hungry.
"Why wouldn't it?" Sam called out in answer. "I'm pretty sure those two match anything."
Dean changed out of a pair of black slacks. One leg was shorter than the other by about an inch and that would drive him crazy. He tried on the khaki pants with the white shirt. After a moment of staring at himself in the mirror, he shrugged. Didn't look too bad.
Boring, but apparently that's what they were going for whether he wanted to or not.
Glancing one last time at the other option, he asked, "What color shirt are you wearing?"
"Blue."
White it is. He started changing back into his clothes and said, "We're gonna have to find some funky ties."
"Define funky." Sam didn't sound too thrilled with the prospect.
Boring.
"I don't know. Weird designs. Ugly colors."
"We're insurance agents. Doesn't mean we can't wear plain ties."
"We're getting funky ties."
The other door opened, then banged closed and Sam said, "I'm picking out my own tie."
"Are you already done?" Dean asked, tripping over the pant leg and falling against the wall.
"Yes. The clothes just need to fit, Dean, you're not on America's Top Model. Pick something out and let's go."
Dean glared at the door, hoping his brother felt his annoyance. He finished changing, then found Sam looking over the ties. There wasn't a very extensive display so they were both going to have to make sacrifices.
"Put that one back," Dean said, motioning to the one his brother was holding. "That's too plain."
Sam shook his head and Dean yanked the tie out of his hand. He grabbed another one.
"Here. Try this."
"You have got to be kidding me." Sam wrinkled his nose and backed up. "I am not wearing that."
"Why not? It's got polka dots—"
"Those are mice."
"What?" Dean looked more closely at the tie. Huh. Mice. Weird.
"You need glasses." Sam elbowed him aside.
"Shut up."
After a few more misses, Dean had finally selected a tie for each of them. Sam wasn't thrilled with the choices, but since neither of them had mice on them, he had been willing to compromise.
"Ok. Jackets."
"Dean, we could just wear—"
"No, we need jackets. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."
"Do it right?" Sam huffed, trailing along behind him. "There's not a uniform for insurance agents, dude. You're making way too much of a deal out of this."
"Authenticity, Sam, authenticity!"
"The last time you wanted authenticity, I stepped in horse —"
"Careful!" Dean raised an eyebrow, nodding toward a kid who was staring at them from a few feet away.
"- manure." Sam glared at him.
Dean just laughed.
"And then I had to ride a horse all over the countryside while you got to play wild, wild west," Sam continued complaining. "You know how sore I was?"
"Yes, I do. Because you wouldn't shut up about it for the next three days," Dean said, smiling at the memory. Of the wild west, not his brother's whining. The whining had gotten very irritating. "Other than, you know, the rush and the fact the world depended on us getting those ashes, it was pretty great to go back to the wild west."
"Uh huh." Sam was going through the racks of jackets.
Ignoring the wet blanket that was his brother's mood, Dean started looking for a jacket. Sam could be boring and all that, but Dean was going for auth-en-ti-city. Five minutes later, Sam had a boring tan jacket and Dean had the gaudiest, cheesiest jacket the thrift store had in stock.
"I can't believe you're going to wear that," Sam said as they walked to the front of the store. He pointed to the left. "Dress shoes."
Dean admired his ugly jacket and said, "It's great. Looks like an insurance agent. You're gonna look like a kindergartner on a field trip."
"Pretty sure kindergartners don't dress like this and I don't know why you think insurance agents look like that." He motioned to the jacket.
"Just find some shoes, will ya? I'm hungry. Lunch before investigation."
Sam muttered something under his breath, but Dean decided to ignore it. He said, "We should just keep our dress shoes in the trunk."
"I believe I've suggested that before. There's a lot of ways we could manage our finances a little better. Buying new clothes every time we go out on a case doesn't make a ton of sense."
"Do you hear yourself?" Dean grinned. "You sound like you're some kind of responsible citizen."
"Well, I'm trying to be. Besides, it would be easier on us. It's hit or miss whether or not we find anything that fits."
He had a point, Dean had to admit. Ever since Sam had hit his growth spurt as a kid, finding clothes that fit had proven to be a challenge.
"This method made sense when we were living out of the car," Sam continued. "Now we've got our own place; we don't need to just buy stuff then trade it in at the next stop."
Dean's mood soured a little bit at the mention of the Bunker. It hadn't really felt like home since he'd gotten back. He was trying hard to avoid thinking about all of that, though. Thinking about the people who had taken over their house, who seemed more comfortable within its walls than he did, wasn't what he wanted to do right now. They were on a case and it was just the two of them. Like it had always used to be. He wanted to enjoy this.
So he shoved thoughts of Michael and the Bunker with all its strangers to the back of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. They'd both managed to find shoes that would fit and were heading to the front of the store when Sam's phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID, then said, "Hey, it's one of the guys…I just…I'll just be a minute. Probably needs help on a hunt or something."
Dean waved his hand and accepted the armful of clothes and shoes Sam gave him. Sam nodded his thanks, already into a conversation with…whoever.
Continuing toward the cash registers, Dean paused when a display of odds and ends caught his eye.
He grinned.
"You look ridiculous," Sam said, an hour later.
They'd eaten, gotten a motel room, and were dressed and ready to go.
"I look authentic," Dean corrected, studying himself in the mirror. He smoothed down the tie and smiled at the contrast it made with the ugly suit jacket.
Sam was leaning against the bathroom door, arms crossed. He shook his head and said, "I don't know where you're getting your idea of authentic, but I'm pretty sure you're insulting insurance agents everywhere."
Dean took one last admiring look, then turned around, looked his brother up and down and asked, "Do you know any insurance agents?"
"Do you?"
"No." Dean waved a hand. "Never mind. Let's go."
"Are you sure you don't need another minute to admire yourself?" Sam asked with a smile, not moving.
Dean grinned, took another look and smoothed a hand through his hair.
"You're an idiot," Sam said, walking away.
Flipping the light bathroom light off, Dean caught his brother just before he pulled on his boring tan jacket.
"Wait! One more thing."
Sam glared at him.
Dean just pulled the item out of the bag and presented it to his brother with a flourish. Sam raised an eyebrow, looking completely and totally unimpressed.
"What is this?" he asked.
"A pocket protector!"
"A what?"
"Here," Dean said, grabbing Sam's shoulder to hold him in place. "You put it in your pocket like this…there. And…you got a pen? Ok. There we go."
He patted Sam's chest and laughed.
"You're an idiot," Sam said again, then started to pull the pocket protector out.
"Leave it." Dean knocked his hand away. "It's perfect."
"Fine." Sam threw his hands up in the air in surrender. "You ready to go?"
"Ah ah! Gotta grab the pièce de résistance."
"I do not want to know," Sam muttered, hurrying toward the door.
Dean grinned and grabbed the black rimmed glasses he'd snagged on his way to the checkout counter. Putting them on, he called out, "Voila!"
Sam turned. For a moment, he seemed stunned, and then he just started laughing.
"Great right?" Dean grinned. "Like Clark Kent."
"Yes. Just like Clark Kent." Sam pulled the door open, still laughing. "They're perfect."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Can we go now?"
"Yeah." Dean grinned, smoothing a hand over his ugly jacket and mismatched tie. "Let's go be nerds."
Thanks for reading! This was so much fun to write. :) Have a great week!