Being assigned a VIP patient wasn't supposed to be difficult. Everything was going well, you had explained treatment options to Bobby Singer. It was going fine, he even asked for your number. Maybe it has been naive of you to believe that his intentions were purely innocent.

You opened your phone to a text message from him and a grimace spread across your face. Conrad happened to have been walking by, he frowned and took a few steps towards you.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"A certain VIP sent me a picture of an enlarged member, and it definitely wasn't his thigh."

"I'll talk to him," Conrad says, his expression changing to even more pissed off than usual