"Godammit!"
"What?"
"Nothin'… just get on with it!"
Dean resumed taping Bobby's ankle. Never before had he seen the man's legs. It was a shock to them both. Dean's own legs were pretty pale; a hunter's life was hardly all frolicking on the beach after all, but Bobby's skin was really pale – like a ghost.
And soft.
Very, very soft.
Dean suppressed a shudder as he finished.
"Seriously Bobby - you fell over the dog? Nothing demonic at all?"
Bobby's response was a death-like glare.
"Okay, so, uh, maybe a beer?"
"Pretty sure this calls for whiskey Dean."
"Damn straight!"
