Sam and Dean were in the bunker's storage, reading the old Men of Letters' files in hopes of finding something useful to their ongoing case.

Dean had his legs rested on the table full of books.

"There's gotta be something in here." Sam said, trying to cheer up the situation.

"Don't give me the optimistic crap." Dean scoffed, tossing a book on the table. "We've been here for what? Six hours?!"

Sam finished another one and put it back on the book pile. "Seven." He corrected his brother.