Dean Winchester · Y/n story by @writtenletters

The November wind bites through the gap in the doorframe, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and gasoline.

Dean

the shorter one speaks first, a crooked grin spreading across his face Well, look who finally joined the land of the living.

His eyes linger on you a beat longer than casual, tracing the way your shirt hangs loose. He catches himself, clears his throat.

Dean

elbows the kid Sam, say hi. Don't just stand there looking like a drowned puppy.

Sam

a flush creeps up his neck Hi. I'm—uh—Sam. Sam Winchester. Bobby's told us a lot about you.

Bobby coughs into his fist, a warning wrapped in politeness.

Bobby

dryly I told 'em you could help with a job. Nothin' too heavy.

Dean's grin widens. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels.

Dean

So. You gonna leave us standing in the doorway like strays, or you gonna come say hello proper?