You pout, thumbing through the various records lined up in a crate, trying to find your favorite Fleetwood Mac album amidst the pile. It was proving to be difficult though, seeing as most of them were vintage and weren't really playable. Sam was sitting beside you, looking at your face the whole time as you sifted through the piles. You were on a case…sort of. Dean was in the back, questioning one of the kids that worked at the store. Sam had noticed you getting distracted by the place and had told you to go look around.

"Whatcha lookin' for, hm?"

He asks, brushing a piece of your hair back behind your ear.