"Practice one more time before you go," Sam insisted, trying to hold back a smile.
"Why?" Dean leaned down to slip his feet into a pair of cowboy boots.
Sam brought his hands over his face, feigning frustration and hiding laughter. "You want to do this job right or not? You have to sound convincing."
Dean bent over, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Playing debonair FBI agents was one thing. But this?
"Fine," Dean gave in. He tipped his hat, turning just fast enough for the brown, leather duster to flare out behind two guns in holsters.
"Alrighty, little lady. We a-grade that it'd be best if you moseyed on over with us…I….I…reckon?"
"I reckon you still sound pretty lame, Dean."
"I reckon I'm about to shove these cowboy boots straight up-"
Sam's laughter didn't let his brother finish.