#jdflaksdj

Oliver is a little broader across the chest, the shoulders, but that’s okay; a little more room to move, that’s all. Dean doesn’t look like he’s dressing up in someone else’s clothes, at least. Oliver puts the mask on for him, adjusting it across the bridge of his nose before he flips up the hood.

And then he steps back, and there’s a short, critical silence.

“I look cool, right?” Dean asks, and spreads his arms wide. “You can tell me. I look cool.”

Oliver’s got a smile tucked at the side of his mouth, cradling it like he’s half trying to keep it a secret. Felicity snorts a huff of laughter, and then quickly lifts a hand to cover her mouth.

“Maybe a little less of the excitable smiling,” Oliver advises, and Dean clears his throat, rearranges his features to something a little more serious.

“Angry face. Got it.” He lowers his head a little, so that more of his face is wreathed in shadow, and squares off his shoulders. He plants his feet wide.

    “You have failed this city.”

A moment of silence. Oliver ducks his head, almost-but-not-quite stifling his amusement. Felicity, too, is quite clearly biting her tongue to keep from laughing. Dean shrugs a shoulder.

      “ – what? Too serious?”

Another pause, and then:

    “You don’t have to –” Oliver flicks his fingers up, a vague gesture.

              “– do the voice,” Felicity finishes for him. “There’s a little modulator – thingy.”

If Dean looks embarrassed, it’s only faintly. He shifts from foot to foot, and throws out a little shrug, as if he’d known that all along. Just testing.

“So you, uh, don’t do the voice, huh?”

Oliver, from where he’s perching on the edge of Felicity’s desk, tips his head.

“Not so much. Why, you interested?”

“I mean, I’ve thought about it. Time to time.”

      (‘Oh, gross,’ murmurs Felicity, off to one side.)

Oliver stands. Wanders over to Dean and adjusts the hood, just a little, smooths a hand across the leather on his chest. When he leans in, he’s pretty sure he’s got Dean’s rapt attention.

              (And Felicity’s wilful ignorance.)

“I’ve been known to give it a go,” he says, and when he leans in close once more, it’s with a voice much deeper than his own – rough and low and distinctly not Oliver Queen. “On occasion.”

And then Oliver pulls back just far enough to quirk an eyebrow, smirk knowingly, and exit, stage right.

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again. Clears his throat. Looks at Felicity.

 “I’m just – I’m not following him. I’m just gonna –”

Felicity pulls a face.

     “Eugh. Just go.” Dean tips his head, a silent yes ma’am, and turns resolutely to follow Oliver out of the door. Felicity’s voice echoes after him, just before the door closes.