It had been about a week since you'd learned of Sam's powers (still extremely weird to say…or think or whatever). To say it was an awkward week would be an understatement. Sam was on edge, as you still hadn't given him concrete support on whether or not you thought he was a freak. To be fair, you didn't. You never judged on things people couldn't control. Why waste the energy? It really was simply a trust issue. You were at a stalemate. You wanted to trust Sam, you really did. Bobby alone trusting him should've been enough to convince you to, but the General was just too far drilled into your psyche. You had to form your own opinions about a person, regardless of other's influences, especially if there was a red flag as big as this. It was simultaneously your best and worst quality. Sam had given you no reason not to trust him; then again, you hadn't really been in a situation to prove that. Bobby had the three of you home all week to test his different theories on how the colt worked. It was a tedious process that required zero violence (unless you count the numerous books thrown at Dean for inappropriate comments…by both you and Bobby). Overall, you decided on being cautiously optimistic. You'd trust Sam for now, but only enough to where you could still pull yourself out if need be.
Man, this gun thing was some serious mojo. None of Bobby's methods had worked thus far. You were still wearing your light wash bootleg jeans and beat-up black Rolling Stones T-shirt (that you honestly weren't even sure was yours) from the night before. Bobby sat at his desk analyzing a blueprint of the colt while dismembering the actual one. Dean was busy melting bullets and Sam was doing some research in the other room. Every base was essentially covered. You finished the book about special bullets for colts and set it on the stack with the other essentially useless material. Time for a break. You stood up and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing three cold beers out of the second shelf of the fridge. Walking back into the study, you dropped one on each Dean and Bobby's perspective desks. "Thanks Y/N/N." Walking back to the couch, you lifted your bottle in response before taking a swig.
"Hey." Sam entered the kitchen. Dean looked up. "Hey, what's up?" It was your turn to look up, waiting to hear the information that Sam had gathered. "Might have found some omens in Ohio. Dry lightning. Barometric-pressure drop."
"Well that's thrilling." Dean had a point. Not the most interesting symptoms of a case. "Plus, some guy blows his head off in church and another goes postal in a Hobby-Shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens" Sam walked into the study to join you all. He really needed to figure out that the hook goes at the beginning. Some dude capping himself in a church would've caught your interest immediately. Apparently not Dean's though. "Or it could be just a suicide and a psycho scrap booker."
"Yea, but it's our best lead since Lincoln."
"Where in Ohio?"
"Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt."
"There's got to be a demon or two in South Beach. I mean don't you wanna see Y/N in a bikini too?" That was your cue to take the (extremely thick) copy of the bullet book you just analyzed and chuck it at Dean's head. Dammit, the bastard ducked. "Hey!"
"You earned that one and you know it."
"Ah-fair." You rolled your eyes and sprouted a half smile.
"Sorry Hef. Maybe next time. How's it going for the rest of you?" You looked to Bobby, as you had found nothing. He didn't even look up. "Slow." Dean looked reminiscently at the gun. "Ah, I tell you, it's a little sad seeing the colt like that."
"Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick." You walked up to his desk and looked over the weapon. "So what does make it tick?" Bobby slowly looked up at you and you immediately raised your arms in a 'don't shoot' position. Sam chuckled and you shot him a look…which he threw right back at you. You were surprised the nerdy one could step up to bat. Dean coughed, breaking the eye contact you and Sam had established. "So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio, you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?" He had stood up to face you and Bobby at this point. Sam again chuckled; knowing all too well the look Dean was about to receive. And let me tell you, Bobby delivered. "Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you it'll kill you." Dean joined in the small laugh you all shared. "All right. Come on, we're wasting the daylight." The boys began walking out. "See you, Bobby." You threw a hand up and gave them the two-finger salute. You walked to the bookshelf to grab the next assignment when Dean stopped and turned around. "Coming Y/N/N?" You turned your head and stared. "Was I invited?"
"Purely for your own safety. I don't wanna read tomorrow's headline 'Old Drunk Shoots Hot Brunette'." It was Bobby's turn to throw the nearest book, this time smacking Dean right in the shoulder. You cracked a smile again. "I'll grab my bag." You picked up your black duffel and leather jacket from the kitchen chair. "Hey! You all run into anything—anything—you call me." All three of you nodded and turned, you throwing one last wink to Bobby, who in response gave you his warning eyes. Right. Case #3 with the Winchesters. Here's to hoping it goes better than the last two.