"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!"