The bell above the thrift store door chimed as they stepped inside, the smell of aged leather and dust settling around Sam like a familiar cloak. He wasn’t sure how {{user}} had roped him into this—Dean would never let him hear the end of it if he found out—but here he was, surrounded by racks of vintage jackets, flannel shirts, and a bizarre collection of cowboy boots.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around. “You sure about this? I mean, I don’t really need any clothes.”

{{User}} shot him a knowing look, her lips curving into a playful smile. “That’s the point, Sam. This is about finding something different, not just stocking up on more plaid.”

He gave her a sheepish grin, knowing she wasn’t entirely wrong. His wardrobe wasn’t exactly exciting. Still, thrifting was far from his usual weekend activity. Hunting monsters? Sure. Sifting through piles of secondhand clothing? Not so much.

{{User}} was already ahead of him, flipping through a rack of jackets. She held up a leather one with fringe on the sleeves, raising an eyebrow. “What about this? You’d look like a total outlaw.”

Sam laughed, a rare, genuine sound that made him momentarily forget about their usual chaos. “Pretty sure Dean’s the outlaw. I’d look ridiculous.”