AN: Just a bit of forewarning, the next chapter jumps in rating due to mild smut.
"Uh...Cas, what're you wearing?" Dean hears Sam ask from the living room. It sounds as though he's suppressing a laugh.
"Isn't it customary to wear a costume in celebration of Halloween?" Cas responds in evident confusion.
An hour hours ago he'd disappeared to explore the bunker, while Dean started dinner. Apparently he'd found something ridiculous and in typical Cas fashion, attempted to further assimilate into humanity by using it, without understanding how it actually functioned.
"Uh...yeah." Sam answers, chuckling lightly. Dean quickly checks on the chicken and shuts off the burner with a pot of rice on it, before hurrying from the kitchen, anxious to see what absurd get-up Cas has managed to put himself in.
When he steps into the living room, however, the laugh sticks in his throat. Everything sticks in his throat, words, breath, for several moments. Cas does not look ridiculous. He doesn't even look like his slightly odd, yet somehow still appealing self. He looks...well, freakin' hot. Dean can't get around that no matter how hard he tries.
Cas has found himself a 1940's US Army uniform. The damn thing looks like it's made for him. The shoulders fit snugly, accenting their broadness. The pants are slim and ride at his waist, just loose enough to make you wonder about what's beneath the fabric. Dean's mind is filled with a static buzz and he's really not sure what the hell he should do.
"I found it in an old store-room." Cas explains,in an innocent tone when Dean does nothing but stare.
Surely he knows what he's doing. Surely he's not, he cannot possibly be that oblivious. "Aren't you a little of for the whole trickortreat thing?" Dean has finally found his voice and is immensely proud of himself for forming a coherent and sarcastic response. Yeah, his tone's a little husky, but he doubts anyone notices. Sam's side-ways glances towards him proves otherwise.
"Do you have to "trick or treat" to wear a costume?" he inquires, his tone serious and his face one of concentration. The precise pronunciation of the words sounds odd, when they're so typically run together.
"No, just didn't expect you to go all Commando on us." Dean answers, with a shrug. He's mentally kicking himself, for the unintended double-entendre of his choice of words, because the last thing he needs right now is to think about Cas having nothing on under those pants. Dammit.
Cas' expression falls slightly, as if he's worried he's done something wrong. Sam notices and quickly intervenes, saying "If you're gonna dress up, you've gotta play the part. Give us a salute, Cas." he's smiling and his tone is playful and Cas gratefully picks it up.
"Salutes are typically exchanged as a gesture of respect from a subordinate to his superior. I was a Seraph in Heaven, a high ranking soldier." Cas counters, a slight gleam in his eyes, indicating he's speaking in jest.
"Therefor I believe you should be the ones saluting me." he finishes, his eyes now on Dean. That bastard. He knows. He has to. Dean thinks to himself, preparing to make a strategic retreat to the kitchen.
There's no way he can stay in here, with Cas parading around in that, without doing something drastic. Like ripping it off of him. Dammit
Sam, thankfully, gives Dean the perfect opportunity by laughing at Cas and saying, "Yes, sir." and giving him a two-fingered salute.
Dean darts to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder "I think dinner is ready." and hurriedly beginning to set out plates.
"You might want to change out of that, Cas. You don't really need to wear it until Thursday." he hears Sam say, and he's never felt so damn grateful in his life. Bless you, Sammy