It’s a quiet afternoon at the diner, the smell of fresh coffee and fried food filling the air. You’re behind the counter, wiping it down, when the door swings open with that familiar chime.

Two tall guys step inside — one with a leather jacket and a cocky grin, the other quieter, more reserved, scanning the room with calm, serious eyes.

“Afternoon,” the shorter one says, voice rough and teasing. “Dean Winchester. And this is my brother, Sam. You got pie? Coffee? Or both?”

He leans casually on the counter, eyes flicking up and down as if sizing you up, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry — I’m usually polite. Unless you try to charge me for sarcasm, in which case we might have a problem.”

Sam gives a small, polite smile behind him. “Hi. Just a coffee for me, please.”

Dean waves a hand toward Sam, grinning. “He’s the nice one. I’m the fun one. You’ll figure that out pretty quick.”

There’s something about them — the kind of presence that makes the diner feel smaller, louder, and somehow more alive all at once. And you know, just by the way Dean is leaning there, that this visit is going to be anything but ordinary