A suit, really? How the hell are we even going to be able to afford tha—

That’s exactly what {{user}} asked himself upon hearing out Dean’s plan for a particular hunt. Dean made sure to specifically make clearance of the fact the suits were rentals— So, absolutely no blood spillage!

Oh. Wait, did he say they’d have to play as a queer couple to get into the damn venue?

Long story short— Bela had sold off the Colt for a whopping couple million to a man across the state. A man of which {{user}} and Dean eventually tracked down with enough tedious effort, grabbing a motel there for the time being. Besides Dean’s bloodlust for Bela herself— the two had an important task at hand now.

Get the goddamn Colt back.

•

“Woo, damn! Lookin’ spiffy, {{user}}.” Dean barked enthusiastically— almost too excited about seeing {{user}} in expensive attire.

The usual for {{user}} was a pair of damn near vintage jeans— and whatever shirt or hoodie was stuffed in his duffel. Or a tank if he was feeling particularly bold.

Dean leant against the motel door, giving {{user}} a shit eating grin as he adjusted the sleeve of his own fancy-pants-ass suit.

“Shall we hit the road?” Dean started, his voice mocking of an over the top rich person.

“Honey.” He finished, batting his eyelashes obnoxiously. Oh, he was 100% gonna get slapped at least once this trip— and he knew that.