"It is," Sam nodded. He fixed a second cup of coffee for himself. "But as much as I wish my brother was here with me, I'm glad he's not." Dean would be...well, Sam hoped he would acclimate to life in camp, but Dean had always been more restless than Sam. More likely to shoot first and ask questions later.
"But these two," he said with a wayward glance toward the stairs. "I don't know. I'll let you decide for yourself, when you meet them." He moved to the bottom of the stairs and called up to them, calling their names. "Connor, Evan. Could you come down here, please?"
He'd go up after them if they didn't respond, but he'd give them time to come down on their own. He'd been a teenaged boy, after all. He knew it could take them a couple minutes to comply.
Evan was the first to come down. He kept his gaze to the floor, as if he needed to watch his feet to keep them from stumbling. He wore a pair of khaki pants with tennis shoes and a blue striped polo. He had a cast on his left arm, the name CONNOR scrawled in huge letters across the topside. His short hair was neatly cut, brown with hints of blonde. For all that he was seventeen, the way he held and carried himself made him seem younger.
Sam glanced at Natasha as Evan came into the kitchen. He moved to stand close to the wall. "Evan, relax. You're not in trouble. I just want you guys to meet a friend of mine. This is Natasha."
Evan's head bobbed up. He glanced at her, but quickly resumed staring at his feet. His right hand tugged at his shirt, and the fingers of his left hand rubbed against his thumb. He took a step to the side as Connor came down the stairs behind him.