"Dean. That looks really bad."

"What? It's just a scratch."

"A scrat—dude, have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like you lost a fight with the guy from Halloween."

"Who, Michael Myers? Jesus, Sam, if you're gonna make horror movie references, at least pick something decent. Not Halloween, that thing was worse than the fourth Saw movie. —Then again, Jamie Lee Curtis was kinda hot…"

"Dude, she's like fifty."

"Not in 1978, she wasn't. —What? Don't give me that look."

"Whatever. Seriously, Dean, you're bleeding. I mean, really bleeding. As in, 'let's get your ass to the ER,' bleeding."

"Relax, I just need a few stitches."

"Yeah, and then maybe a defibrillator after you go into cardiac arrest—"

"Defibrillator? Who the hell knows what a defibrillator is? God, am I even related to you?"

"Dean, focus!"

"Sam, chill. Just…stitch it up, I'll be good as new."

"Stitch it—oh, yeah, totally. Hell, let's do it now. All I need is whiskey, a needle, and some thread to sew your freakin' face back on. You know what? Screw it. I'm driving you to the ER, and you can't stop me."

"We don't exactly have a wad of cash to spare, college boy!"

"Yeah, well, we don't exactly have a spare face, either! Which would you rather lose, a hundred bucks or your life?"

"Oh, don't be so over-dramatic. You're like a teenage girl."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

So I'm thinking of starting a new series of fics. Nothing serious—I have Glimpses to focus on, which by the way might be a few chapters away from some sort of official hiatus or something—just kind of a place for me to put the random Supernatural conversations that come into my head. I might not even have any more of them. I guess we'll just see. Anyway, for now this gets its own story, but I might end up putting all of them into one place if it turns out there's more.

All right. It's really late and I don't exactly know what I'm saying. Peace, homies.