Bloody Mary.

Never thought something you almost did at many-a-sleepover growing up was a legitimate and deadly thing.

“Hit the lights.” Dean murmurs

Sam and Dean are in a room, lights off as the ritual calls for, and a small digital camera in hand.

Sam hands the camera to Dean, “Hey. Night vision.” Dean nods and flicks it on for him, handing it back. “Perfect.”

He roams around with the camera a bit, not paying much mind to it and aims it at Dean. Dean looks over his shoulder with an ever so slightly exaggerated version of his perpetual model-face. He purses his lips.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” He smirks crookedly and raises his brows at Sam.