#spookyxmoose

If I get 12 'SING' s The Mun Shall Record Themselves Singing

Pouring the alcohol on his own bloody wound, the older Winchester looked up at Sam, watching him struggling with stitching up the open wound on the top half of his arm. "Need help over there, Sammy?" He asked, finishing cleaning his own wound.

They just returned to their motel room from after a hunt on a shape shifter. Dean had to admit, it could've gone better.

It's the second beer she's had since she got here, and Jo can hold her alcohol so that doesn't really matter - except she's probably going to buzz out on her next one if someone doesn't speak up in the next five minutes. She knows she's been gone a long time, she's supposed to be dead and all, but she thinks that if anyone should be used to the dead not staying dead, it'd be Sam and Dean.

   Obviously she's going to have to be the one who starts this conversation, because if she sits in silence with anymore she's either going to get buzzed or fall asleep. 

            "Have y' gotten a haircut since I died?"