O.k. I've been on this depressing heavy streak lately thought I'd lighten it up a little. Our intrepid heroes investigate a series of unusual deaths connected to a modeling agency. Poor Sam he drew the short straw.
Enjoy!
Don't own 'em.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What's up? You didn't see it did you?" Dean said closing the dressing room door.
"No. No it's not that…" Sam shifted nervously twisting the belt on his robe.
"Spit it out."
"It's the swimsuit."
"What? Why is it a speedo?"
"Think less coverage."
"Coverage? What are you—"
Knock at the door. "Mr. Ulrich the photographer is ready for you."
"Yeah. Ok." Sam followed the bored looking assistant down the hall.
Dean took a seat behind the cameras.
"Lose the robe hon."
Sam grimaced, dropped it.
Dean saw a flash of black spandex.
Just a scrap really. "That can't be comfortable."