It has been two days since you’d showed up out of nowhere in front of their bunker.

Standing there, shaking, lost and spooked like a hunted doe. Your skin had scratches and cuts, presumably from whatever had chased you through the woods. What had happened, they could only speculate, as they’d hardly gotten a word out of you since. So they decided to take you in like a stray puppy, to tend to your injuries and hopefully, get you to trust them.

For you, it's been two days of coping with the fact that monsters were real.

Two days of you avoiding any eye contact with any of them.

Dean could get that you’d try to escape Cas’ peculiar stare, but Sam and him? He genuinely didn’t know what the hell they’d done to make you feel this uncomfortable around them.

He wipes the barrel of his colt clean, his eyes flickering up to watch you avert yours just in time, your cheeks flushed, fidgeting in the stool at the other end of the kitchen table.

Dean's eyebrows arch. Jesus Christ. You’re so innocent and shy, you make me look like a savage next to you.

He chuckles, more out of bemusement than anything else, then lets out a soft sigh, “Y’know, if you keep avoiding me like this, I’m gonna start to feel bad for just looking your way.”

He waits for a reaction, itching to add a playful jab to get something out of you.

“Can you at least give me your name, kiddo? I’m not gonna use it against you, I swear.” He grins while he puts the cleaned colt down again.

And you flinch. Damnit.

“Whoa- easy there litte bunny.” He teases softly as he raises his hands halfway off the table in a calming motion. “‘M not gonna accidentally shoot ya, promise.”

After another moment of silence, Dean runs a frustrated hand through his hair and sighs.

He turns in his stool to face you, his usual smirk turned into a reassuring smile and his eyes softened like he’s talking to his little sister. “C’mon sweetheart, give me something, please.” He pleads, his deep voice dipped into a gentle timbre, “I just need to know you’re not mute.”