“I’m nervous,” you said, squeezing Sam’s hand in yours a little harder.

He looked over at you and smiled. “I’m not. They’re going to love you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“So there I was, still covered in blood from the hunt, with the goddamn FBI–the ACTUAL FBI–knocking on my door,” you said. You paused and took a sip of your drink.

Sam had heard this story a million times, but he was still looking at you raptly, admiration in his eyes.

Dean was staring intensely, on the edge of his seat. Even Cas looked anxious to hear how you got yourself out of the aforementioned pickle.

“Well, what happened?” Dean urged.

You shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I woke up in the hospital two days later,” you laughed.

Dean and Cas exchanged a flabbergasted look. “Jesus,” Dean said, before turning to Sam. “Dude, how did you manage this?” he asked sarcastically, jutting a thumb in your direction.

Sam just laughed and shrugged, turning his attention back to you, stars in his eyes. “I ask myself that all the time.”


*pointing to Cas* That’s my father

*pointing to Dean* That’s my dad

*pointing to Sam* That’s my papa

*pointing to Mary* That’s our mom

*pointing to Gabe* That’s my uncle

*pointing to Rowena* That’s his girlfriend

*pointing to Lucifer* That’s not invited to family dinner.