Dean may have won the battle - and it was a helluva battle because burgers would never not be delicious - but he was pretty damn certain he'd lost the war… or at least been taken prisoner by enemy forces. (Not that he was being forced to do anything; he'd be sitting on the couch and not moving from it even without Charlie's handcuffs - he did not want to be regaled with the story of why she had those … she was practically his sister and that was way, way too much information - or Cas' puppy-dog eyes.)
What he might not have been doing without… ahem … alternative interventions (the handcuffs were far, far more convincing than Cas' expression, of course) was listening to the cacophony of rustling cloth, loud thumps, and discontented mooing from Samantha's bedroom without going to investigate… but he didn't very well have a choice there. (Because of the handcuffs. Not because of Cas. Of course. Obviously.)
Except he was about to find out what was going on because Cas was shouting from their room, "Close your eyes, Dean!"
And… well… puppy-dog eyes or no (not that they had any, any, any influence whatsoever, so shut it), he couldn't very well just go along with such a ridiculous (read: worrying) request. (He may have forgotten the handcuff tethered to one leg of the couch to the point that his attempt at passing his hand over his face was stopped with an unpleasant jerk of his arm… but no one saw it so it didn't happen.) He blustered his way past that (nonexistent) screw-up with, "C'mon, Cas, why?"
Charlie tutted from the doorway, eyes glittering with something mischievously malevolent. "You're stuck there anyway." A smirk, then, "Just close 'em, Dean. And anyway… Cas asked you to."
Cas joined her at the door, tapping her on the shoulder and yanking her back into the room. "Samantha is ready."
And damn if that didn't make Dean nervous. "Ready?" He shifted, frowning down at the damn handcuffs as they once again stopped him from moving - never had he hated something pink and fluffy more - and investigating whatever damage the two were doing. "What do you mean, ready?"
Cas was giving nothing away. "Close your eyes, Dean."
And… well… this time - this time? More like never. His roommate's requests were never more or less convincing than anyone else's. Ever. At all. - not even Cas could convince him to go along with it. Thus was his "Fine." followed by no such closing of eyes.
Except damn Cas for just somehow knowing. "Dean, close your eyes."
"I did!" Was that convincing? Of course that was convincing, right?
And then Cas was glaring at him from around the corner (Dean did not gulp, of course… he was utterly unaffected) and shaking his head. "Liar. Now close your eyes."
Charlie peeked around Cas' head. "You'll hurt your daughter's feelings. And Cas'."
Dean closed his eyes for reasons completely unrelated to anything that had just been said. It was his own decision. He still wasn't gonna go without a fight - or at least a sullen "Fine." and overly dramatic closing of his eyes - but he still did it. "Happy now? What dumbass shit y'all do this time?"
The sound of shuffles and moos picked up again, and then - both too many and too few minutes later - Cas said, "Open your eyes."
Dean did.
Dean blinked.
Dean seriously contemplated shutting his eyes again.
"Is… is that my shirt?"
He was reasonably certain it was. More than that - since stretching out an old Metallica T-shirt apparently wasn't enough - Samantha was also wearing an oversized white cowboy hat, a denim skirt, and a ridiculously long and very, very bright pink feather boa wrapped loosely around her neck. (Judging by the pink cowboy boots dangling from Charlie's hand, only her still-drying nails spared her from that fate, too.)
Charlie grinned. "Yup!"
"How did yo- Wait, didn't I lend that to you, Charlie?"
Cas confirmed with a bright smile and a nod. "Yes, Dean. And Charlie had it in her bag to return to you, but… well… Samantha didn't like the vest we'd intended to put on her so we let her see Charlie's purse to pick something else out, and she chose your shirt. It was necessary, Dean."
"But… I loaned that to you, Charlie. As in, I wanted it back."
Cas was on the verge of frowning - not that Dean immediately felt bad, nope, no siree - with only a touch of reproach pulling him back from it. "It was necessary, Dean. We think she likes your scent."
Which… okay, nope, Dean was not going to address that - if it were true, which wasn't a guarantee, he really didn't want to consider the fact that he'd somehow accidentally imprinted on a baby freaking cow - so he looked away… and that was about when he realized that nether Charlie nor Cas had remembered to secure the room. At all. (Not that he cared about the cow or the fashion show or anything, but he did immediately try to jump to his feet to draw the window curtains shut… only to have forgotten about those damn handcuffs and regret the action a few seconds later).
In the end, he simply had to indicate the window with a (totally not frantic) gesture and say (not yell at all), "Shit, guys, at least make sure the damn things are shut before you pull this shit."
Neither moved. Cas eventually shook his head. "We need light, Dean. It's too dark to see her walk."
Damn it all to hell, he had to cover this, too? "And my dad owns this house, Cas. If one of the neighbors mentions, 'Oh, your son has a freaking cow in the house'… she's gone, okay?"
That at least got them moving, and it was only a few seconds before - amid Cas' "I didn't think about it that way." - Charlie had obscured the windows and hit the lights instead. (Dean actually did smile at the way she squealed and hyper-walked over to do so… but that was only fair, after all. It was pretty much impossible to avoid.)
He started regretting all of his life choices, though, as she channeled some posh announcer with a: "Presenting, in fine attire, with elements of brilliant cow decoration from our very own Charlie Bradbury-" Okay, was it really necessary for her to bow and applaud herself? Goodness. "-and the perpetually ancient-"
Cas broke in then, apparently knowing where she was going and frowning at it. "Vintage, Charlie."
Charlie rolled her eyes, but obliged. "Vintage closet of Dean Winchester…" She flickered the lights, the switch clacking loudly twice. "Samantha Novak-Winchester!"
Dean very resolutely did not dwell on the damn name and instead focused on, "Okay, very nice, but can I have my shirt back before you completely kill the seams?"
Charlie walked over and bopped him on the head. "Damn it, Dean, shush. And enjoy the show."
It was… certainly a show. Cas had taken firm hold of the boa and was guiding Samantha with it, who, Dean was surprised (not pleasantly, of course. Absolutely not. Completely not.) to see that, despite being a bit clumsy and shaky on her feet, she actually managed to walk the entire length of the room without pulling one of her trademark collapses. (He also would not ever admit to finding her adorable because nope, he didn't care, not at all, shut it.)
He wasn't gonna dwell on that (on what? Beats him.), of course. "Yes, yes… but… my shirt?"
Cas nodded. "She likes your shirt."
"That-" is not at all touching. "That makes no sense."
Cas and Charlie promptly decided to ignore him, the alleged fashion show carrying on without pause aside from Cas' under-his-breath muttering of, "Walk, walk… you're doing great… and pose."
The whole feather-boa thing finally registered and, "A boa? You brought a boa?"
Cas nodded. "Of course, Dean. You can't lead a cow with rope. That'd be far too traumatic for the dear."
Charlie grinned. "See? I told you."
Dean did not sigh with the approximate drama of a Pride and Prejudice character (which he knew for… reasons. Shut it). He did ask, "You're both in on it, now, then?"
And they were. Enough so that they both agreed simultaneously. "Yes."
"I guess I should be glad you're not trying to actually take her outside of the house."
Cas frowned, seeming vaguely put-out. "I'm not an idiot, Dean. I want to keep Samantha."
"No, Cas, you're just… naïve. I'll remind you of your plan to have her open the door for my dad ?"
Strangely, Cas elected to ignore his response, simply returning to his fashion show. (Reluctantly, under extreme duress, Dean might admit that the whole thing was a little adorable… not that it had anything to do with Charlie squealing and jumping, Cas smiling, or Sam strutting around. Something else was cute. What it was? Uh… something. Shut it.)
By the time they were done, all three of them had piled beside him into a clump on the couch in a slightly awkward position that none of them seemed to care about beyond breathless laughter (or mooing, in one notable instance).
Until, at least, Cas tutted. "Samantha, hooves off the couch. It just isn't polite."
Dean let them sit there without complaint for a while (totally wasn't about an hour and absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't feel like disturbing Cas - by, say, pointing out how his head was on Dean's shoulder, which his roommate wouldn't like - but was just because Dean was planning to stay on the couch anyway)… but the final straw was when he was about 99% sure both Cas and Charlie had closed their eyes. "Guys, you're gonna undo these, right?" He tried rattling the handcuffs, but the ridiculous fur made them completely and infuriatingly quiet. "Guys?"
No answer.
Dammit.
