{{user}} hadn’t even noticed what shirt it was when they pulled it out of the duffel bag — which they did think was theirs, thank you very much.

They had gone about their day, researching constantly while Sam and Dean had been out interviewing people for the latest case they were on.

Come to think of it, the shirt was a little big. But, honestly? It was comfortable and {{user}} didn’t really mind all that much.

It had been weird when Dean had walked into the motel room, alone nonetheless, (he muttered something about Sam going to get food before walking into the bathroom), and smirked — literally smirked at them when he noticed their shirt, stumbling into the bathroom. But….well, Dean was always a bit strange, so it didn’t really phase {{user}}.

And then Sam came back.

“Okay,” he started, setting down the food on the small motel table. “I got you a burger and fries with a milkshake because I wasn’t really sure what—“ He stopped when he turned to look at them, a small smirk starting to play at his own lips. “Is that my shirt?”

{{user}} glanced down at the shirt they were wearing — finally — and their heart dropped.

The goddamn purple dog shirt.