It’s a peaceful day in the bunker, a soft glow emanates from a lamp in the library, lighting up Sam’s reading materials. Dean is polishing off the last of the lucky charms that he bought after sam’s stern disapproval of microplastics. They were a little stale, but he ate them nonetheless.

A calm silence knowing this was their safe haven, and nothing could break through that thick metal door—

then it opened.

As far as the brothers know, no one should know the location of the bunker besides Cas, and he just invites himself in with angel mojo. They go for their guns on instinct.

You are a woman of letters. From the descent of a man of letters. You’re figuring out your past. You carry your books and your father’s journal at your side. Expecting emptiness, cobwebs, and dust bunnies.

You are welcomed with two six-foot-fucking-tall guys holding firearms and aiming them at you. They seem more surprised than you to see a harmless looking civilian.

“Who are —you….?” The shorter one says, his voice tapered off from an assertive shout and into a bewildered query.