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Chapter 3: The Truth

"Yeah," Dean scoffed with a slight smile as he placed himself in the seat next to you. "Usually we have to convince people we aren't crazy after dealing with things like Hellhounds."

"So what is this place?" you asked, finally taking a bite of the fluffy pancakes. You moaned at how good they were. Sure, they weren't warm anymore, but wow...that Dean guy could really cook. "These are amazing." The words came out muffled by the amount of pancake filling your mouth.

Sam shook his head and laughed. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked Dean, gesturing towards you with his fork.

"Shut up," Dean answered with an equally full mouth. He swallowed and it wasn't hard to follow the lump on his neck as he did. "But before Sammy interrupted your question," he continued, "this is a place for the Men of Letters."

His smile deepened in pride of his home. He must have noticed your stare because he looked right in to your e/c eyes and it caused a blush to form under your cheeks. The speed of your heart seemed to pick up a few paces.

Speak you idiot, you told yourself.

"Why not just People of Letters," you asked. "Why does it have to be specifically men?" The brothers shared a look.

You weren't necessarily into the whole feminist movement, but it always irked you when other hunters thought females incapable. Just because the genetic makeup is different, doesn't make one gender more qualified to hunt than the other.

"Do you know Charlie Bradbury?" Sam asked.

"Who?" you answered in reply.

"Never mind."

"What are the Men of Letters, exactly?" you pushed.

"I know we promised you more answers," Sam said, "but let's take things slow with the info dump." His look told you that he was trying to be considerate and not overwhelm you with all of the new knowledge. Though knowing more seemed important, it was also a relief not to need every but of information in that very moment.

At that point, all of the pancakes were gone and Dean stuck Sam on dish duty, claiming that, "the cook gets off free" or something like that. While the two bickered about the dishes, you slipped away into Dean's room, the rustling bag full of clothes in hand.

It was more than a small relief to be out of Dean's large shirt and robe and into something more normal. The ensemble Sam chose for you consisted of a pair of dark jeans and a maroon shirt, and, embarrassingly enough, a matching set of panties and a bra that seemed like would fit you near perfect It was all fairly plain, but yet somehow sophisticated. It had been so long since you had on nice clothes. Your wardrobe consisted of many second hand items and t-shirts. Appearance didn't much matter as a hunter.

A knock at the door startled you as you finished the final fold of the shirt you had worn. Sam's voice sounded through the thick wood. "Y/N, you in here?"

"Yeah, just a minute," you called out, slipping on the moccasin slippers that were also in the bag of clothes. Walking out of the room, you looked to Sam and started thanking him.

"It was really no problem."

"You don't understand how much I appreciate what you have both done for me, but I need to head back to where I was staying and finish my hunt."

"I'll drive you," Sam offered.

You bit your lip, hating to cause him to go out of his way anymore than he already had. Besides, being on your own was something that was normal. It didn't make much sense for Sam to drive you to the house.