You go on solo hunts sometimes, no biggie. You dress up for said hunts, again, no biggie. Except, this time, for this hunt, you have to dress up a little differently.

In such a way that, Castiel and Dean, have never seen you dress up.

It isn’t your fault the demon you’ve been tracking decided to hunker down in a club. You couldn’t exactly waltz in there in jeans and a flannel and not get spotted in about two seconds flat. You needed to be strategic.

You had selected an outfit that appeared fanciful. You found it in a rundown goodwill on the street corner. Hunting didn’t pay the bills and it certainly wasn’t gonna pay for frivolous things like dress-y clothes. Those expenses were for the average citizen. Not a hunter.

You walk out, oh so quietly, trying to avoid any confrontation and being able to get out the house without a single inhabitant of the bunker spotting you. You think you’ve almost got it. Reaching for the door knob when you hear the clearing of a throat.

Damnit.

You turn around, finding Dean and Castiel in the middle of an important discussion that didn’t seem so ‘important’ anymore. “Where you goin’ dressed like that?” Dean’s tone is accusatory as if he hasn’t snuck out to the bar just for the hell of it. No hunt required.

“Very…Sumptuous.” The angel observes with his odd vocabulary. You can’t determine whether he’s judging you or not. He can’t say he’s ever imagined you looking so…this.

“Yeah, what he said.” The hunter nods as if has the faintest clue what ‘sumptuous’ means. So much for leaving the bunker undetected.