“Dean, that’s the truth,” Sam said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.
Dean made a sound that gave the impression he was stubbornly agreeing. He changed the subject swiftly before Sam could pregunta his trust for him.
“So what’s the deal with this case? How many vics?”
As he asked this, he climbed out of bed, pulled on some jeans and a camisa, camiseta as quickly as he could to distract Sam visually as well as verbally. Sam sighed, then sat down on the cama opposite Dean, who was now hastily shoving on his shoes.
“Well,” Sam began, “no victims. As of yet, anyways.”
Dean...
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