Neon Lights

Chapter 69 - Mr. Saxobeat

•Castiel's POV•
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February 21, 1969
9:19 p.m.
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The stress blanket did not stay away for long.

John is staying at Bobby's for another week, and Dean hasn't stopped pacing since we got home yesterday.

When I got home from a milk run - Dean has been drinking a ton of milk since I told him to lay of the alcohol while he's stressed out - Dean was in the bedroom holding a pile of cloth.

I ran the milk into the fridge before I returned, "What's that?"

"You tell me," he gave me a perplexed look, holding up the sandy-brown Catholic schoolgirl's outfit he must've found in my bag.

I flushed red and gulped, "Uhm, i-it's Hester's old uniform. She went to a Catholic school before she got bullied and had to go to public school."

"And you have it why?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"I-It fits me," I played with my thumbs, "so I kept it. T-To remind me of home."

Dean kept staring, confused, "So instead of bringing a framed picture, you stole your sister's old uniform to wear it for sentimental reasons?"

"Yeah...I guess."

He threw the uniform at me, "Go put it on. I'll bet you look hot in it."

I groaned a little but obeyed, grabbing the stockings and Sunday shoes from the bag as well. I still don't know what impulsed me to steal Hester's uniform, but Dean apparently likes it.

Without Dean noticing, I swiped the g-string I got from Meg from under the bed and walked into the bathroom. Yet again, I find myself putting on a super dignifying girl's outfit for Dean.

Anything for Dean.

I started with the g-string. Yet again I had to wiggle around a lot until it was barely semi-comfortable, snapping the string a couple times in hopes it'd stop cutting into my ass. It didn't stop.

Next, the blouse. Short, puffy sleeves adorned with the Virgin Mary Catholic Private School logo (a cross, obviously), difficult buttons and a frilly collar. Is this hot? I think no.

Next, the skirt. On Hester it's flattering but on me it's tight and short. The brown plaid pattern wasn't exactly "hot" either. The only reason girls who go to that school get away with skirts like these are thanks to the stockings.

I pulled the black, finely-embroidered stockings up as far as they go. Instead of actual tight leggings, they're more like individual black socks that reach my mid-thigh. Still not that hot...

Finally, I strapped on the Sunday shoes and walked down the hall, nervous to show Dean the schoolgirl version of me.

When I walked in, however, Dean was wearing glasses - with the lenses punched out - a white blouse, dress pants, a red tie, and he'd actually done his hair. He'd set up his homework desk to look like an official desk; with an apple, scribbled-on papers, and a handmade sign that read 'Mr. Winchester.'

"...Dean?"

"You're late, Novak," Dean eyed me, "I asked you to meet me after class at 3:15 sharp. Do you see the time?"

I stalled a moment, before realizing what this is and snapping into it. "Y-Yes, so sorry sir. Please excuse my tardiness."

Dean "accidentally" knocked a cup of pencils over and they rolled across the room. I caught his drift and went chasing after the farthest pencil, the one by the door, and bent over to pick it up.