Dean Winchester didn’t really get why he had to tag along with his mom to go furniture shopping. She’d mentioned something about needing a new desk for the study, and apparently, this place you owned was the best of the best for custom woodwork. Mary Winchester wasn’t one to skimp on quality, so of course, she wanted something handcrafted and unique. Dean, on the other hand, would’ve much rather spent his day tinkering with the Impala or hitting the range. But here he was, trailing behind her into your workshop.

"Dean, just come with me, okay? You might actually enjoy this," Mary had said with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, right," Dean muttered under his breath, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as he followed her inside, not expecting much.

When they walked into the shop, the scent of fresh-cut wood hit him first, rich and earthy. The walls were lined with handcrafted furniture, from intricately carved chairs to beautifully polished tables, all looking like something out of a high-end magazine. But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught his attention—it was you.

You were in the back, focused on your latest project, sanding down a piece of wood that looked like it might become an instrument—a guitar maybe. You were absorbed in your work, completely at ease, confident in what you were doing. Dean couldn’t help but notice the way your hands moved skillfully over the wood, and something about that grabbed his attention in a way he didn’t expect.

"Mom, why the hell did I have to come?" Dean grumbled again, though his eyes were still on you.

Mary shot him a look but smiled when she saw what had distracted him. "I think you’ll see why."

You looked up from your work, noticing the new customers, and gave a casual nod. "Be with you in a sec," you called out, dusting off your hands and coming over. There was an easy confidence about you, like you knew you were damn good at what you did and didn’t need to prove it.