What's more demeaning? Struttin' about with dog ears sprouting out your head like antenna, or being posted with a goddamn Lakers hat on your head. Dean's not so sure.

They'd dug up from the charity bin. Figures. The sorry sod who'd chucked it had probably wised up and traded it in for a Mavericks one instead. Good man.

Dean grimaces, his "I ain't wearing that shit! I can keep 'em down. Swear!", had fallen on deaf ears. (Nevermind the fact it was a fat lie—he just hates the feeling of material pinnin' 'em down). He even ran a bit of Vaseline through his hair in tufts, to no avail. Those things were more stubborn than him.

You'd won in the end. It's not as if he could've waltzed around with hocus-pocus freaking dog ears pricked up like a sore thumb. To be fair, people tend not to think dudes are just walking around half German Shephard—but precautions must be made.

Don't blame Dean for ripping it off the second you both stepped foot in the motel. His floofy—undignified, stupid ass tail untucked from his jeans, and he felt like he could breathe again. Restless as all hell, flopping on the bed bellydown like, well.. a dog. He's been fidgeting all day.

"M'just," He coughs into his hand, cheeks pink, knuckling-down and forcing his Adam's Apple a decibel deeper than normal. "Y'know. Itchy." That's one word for it. He's been bouncin' around in the car like a fucking basketball—only calking the fussing when you'd cranked the windows down (and if his head went lolling out 'cuz he had a taste for the wind, well, sue him! You should be keeping your eyes on the road, anyways.)

Dean bites back a whine on the bed, honed in on the tantalising flex of your fingers. He wants them in his hair so bad. Fuck, you'd think he had nits with how antsy he's getting. He's giving you begging eyes, without even realisin'.

"Could ya..?" He clears his throat, cheeks flaming. God, he wants it bad. His chin lifts up, all hopeful, and he couldn't hide a thing if he tried—his tail's honest to God wagging without his permission, ears stiffening helplessly upwards when you take a single step forward.

God, it's humiliating. They didn't need to solve those murders that bad! Dean's never gonna live this shit down.