Okay, Mr Winsborough; I'm just going to take a little blood now …

Disclaimer: I don't own them, but would take such good care of them if I did …


Dean Winchester knew all about facts and all about lies.

For instance; right now he was sitting in a clinic, staring intently at the freakin' harpoon in the doctor's hand; a quivering grin plastered across his pallid face in a slightly demented rictus.

That was a fact.

Grubbing around in dark, rat infested catacombs did you no good. That was a fact.

When Sam sends you to the quacks because he's convinced you've got Weil's disease, you go; because he's probably right. That was a fact.

But when the Doctor says, "don't worry, this won't hurt a bit;" that was one big, fat friggin' lie …