Thanks to a narky spirit, Dean injures something far more fragile than his flesh and bones ... his vanity.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own vanity - for what that's worth!


Dean groaned, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, rising slowly on quivering legs as Sam helped him up.

"Damned' thpirit!" he snorted irritably, "I friggin' hate friggin' thpirith!"

Sam carefully supported his brother, hunched over breathlessly, still spluttering grass divots, after an angry spirit's final act of defiance had resulted in his spectacular faceplant into the turf.


"Uh, yeah dude?" Sam responded, his concern starting to twitch into amusement.

Dean looked up miserably with perfect straight, white teeth; his pride and joy, punctuated dead centre by a dark, bloody gap.

"I think I thwallowed my tooth!"