After being caught with a fake FBI badge on an open FBI investigation, Sam and Dean were both taken in by the police to be questioned, stuck in separate interrogation rooms as they awaited the officer’s arrival. They’d been in situations like this before; they’d be fine, right?

There was no sound apart from the occasional sound of passing footsteps outside the heavy door, Dean being handcuffed to a table in the centre of an interrogation room. There was nothing but two chairs, said table, and a venetian mirror where he knew he was being watched.

He tapped his fingers on the desk to the tune of a song he’d heard on the radio previously that day, not one bit worried about the upcoming interrogation. In fact, he was feeling smug about it. He was a smartass, and he knew it.

His head immediately perked up upon hearing the sound of the door opening— and he almost couldn’t believe his eyes. His grin grew wider as he looked them up and down. {{user}}.

Shit, he hadn’t seen them since high school.