“So where should we drop you?” Dean asked, pulling the Impala away from the no-longer-haunted house. Sam turned in the front seat to look at you, a small smile on his face.
“Or, you know, we could all grab a bite before you take off,” he said. “On me?”
“Ah, I don’t think so,” you replied, shaking your head. Sam turned to face front again, but you saw the smile fall from his face first.
“Yeah. You probably have a bus to catch.”
“Actually, I was thinking I could make you guys dinner. Back at the bunker,” you said. You waited as your words sunk in, saw the small look Dean gave Sam from the corner of his eye, the way his mouth turned up in a grin.
“Yeah? You planning on staying a little longer then?” he asked. You shrugged, casual as you could with the smile blooming fast over your face.
“If you guys’ll have me.”
“What do you think, Sam?” Dean asked. “Do we have the room in the bunker?” You laughed and pushed his shoulder gently.
“It’s not that I’m worried about,” Sam said. “I want to know what Y/N’s planning on making with the crap you keep in the fridge.”
“Let’s get home and find out,” you said, and sat back in your seat, not missing the grin the brothers shared and the new feeling you had inside at the word that had already fit them so well. Home.
Okay but finding high waisted jeans that fit around my hips, thighs or calfs and are the right length all together without slowly ripping the stitching out of the seams is like finding a needle in a hay stack…