Jeff was proud of himself for not blinking when Jared – all 85 feet of him – bounded over and sprawled next to him in one of the director's chairs. "Real excited t'meetcha." Jared stuck out a hand, grin as wide as the Sahara. It was like shaking hands with a friendly mountain. "Likewise," Jeff replied, bemused and trying not to show it. "I'm Jared." "Yeah, I'd guessed that." "Already heard about me, huh? JEN!!" Jared hollered, and Jeff twisted in his seat to watch Jensen's progress across the open field where they'd been shooting. "I see you've met J," Jensen said, by way of greeting. "You could say that," Jeff replied. Jensen's handshake was brisk, business-like, a far cry from Jared's. "Back off, Jen, I got here first, I am totally Dad's favorite," Jared stated, and punched Jensen's arm in a mock playful manner. Jensen blocked the next punch, and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude, you're the one that up and ran off to college instead of sticking around to fight." "Yeah, but he checked up on me." Jared made a mark in the air with his finger. "Totally his favorite, don't even try." Jeff watched the interchange with an amused smile. "Kind of endearing that I've been here an hour and already you're bickering over me. Makes a man feel mighty welcome." "Oh, you ain't seen nuthin' yet," Jensen grinned, wide and wicked, and Jeff inwardly choked. Well, hell. "Give him a chance to settle in before you go pouncing now." Jared shook his head sadly, and patted Jeff's knee, lingering over worn denim. "We don't let him out much." "I...um..." "Think a couple of days would do it?" Jensen asked Jared, keeping his eyes on Jeff. "For a start," Jared drawled. Jeff sat back and reevaluated everything.
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