Mint and apricots

58. Color harmony

Sam didn't have the slightest desire to go out that Friday night.

He had repeated that statement over and over again both that morning, when Castiel had put forth the idea with slightly too much insistence, and that evening, on Sam's return from the library, when Dean had announced that he would have given him twenty minutes to take a shower, wear some clean clothes, braid his insanely long hair and powder his nose, then he wanted everybody out of the apartment. After several attempts to object that resulted in nothing, Sam let out a frustrated grunt and bid farewell to his long-awaited evening in the company of Netflix and the wholemeal couscous with lentils he had planned to cook, while his older brother joyfully pushed him towards the bathroom.

The suspicion that had begun to crowd Sam's mind under the shower became tangible as soon as he returned to his room to replace the towel that surrounded his waist with clothes.

"Dean!" he yelled in the direction of the corridor as soon as he got clean underwear from the dresser in the corner. "What's one of your shirts doing on my bed?"

A red and black, checkered soft flannel shirt had been placed at the foot of the mattress and Sam clearly remembered having seen it on Dean on a couple of occasions.

"'Cause it's too big for me!" replied his older brother in the distance, probably lying on the sofa like a beached whale and busy doing some intense channel hopping while waiting for the evening to begin. "And because Cas believes those colors highlight your macroeconomic season or something..."

"Armochromatic," Castiel corrected him, exasperated. His voice came from the master bedroom and he took care to add: "Listen to me, Sam, wear it with those dark jeans you have!"

Sam looked down at the shirt again, observing it with distrust for a few seconds before giving up with a sigh and lifting it up to slip it over his black shirt.

"An image consultant, just what I was missing," he muttered to himself. "A great way not to look suspicious, guys."

The chosen pub was called Bring me the herbs and it had more personality than its rather dark exterior would suggest. Sam, cautious as he had become due to his brother and brother-in-law's bizarre behavior, had refused wasting time wondering why Dean had insisted so much on spending the evening in that place. But it cannot be said that, once he crossed the entrance, Sam was not pleasantly surprised.

The venue adequately reflected the atmosphere of an Irish pub, with furniture and fittings that had mainly being carved into tanned wood planks and an extended counter that displayed at least twelve different emblems of draft beers. But the staff was ready to please customers who arrived looking for an obvious Guinness too. The only room was large, with round tables well spaced from each other, so that each group of customers could enjoy in peace both the hot meals offered by the kitchen and the occasionally live music coming from the stage. Yes, because the back of the hall was also equipped with a low, dark wooden stage, now empty, which could have accommodated a singer with an acoustic guitar as much as a local the rock band.

Sam's neurons were busy offering him a flashback from the play in which he had admired Gabriel as Dr. Pomatter, when a smiling waitress with black pants, a pale shirt and a mass of curly charcoal hair held back by an elastic band nodded at Dean's request for a table for three and motioned for them to sit where they preferred, since, in addition to the already occupied eight or nine tables, there were no other reservations for the night.

"Let's sit there" Dean happily proposed, dodging the tables he met on his way to reach the one closest to the stage.

"Up front?" Sam commented, while following him with a mocking smile on his lips despite everything. "Are you going to storm the karaoke?"