Dean shrugged to himself and took his jacket off, slinging it over one of the chairs. He walked back to the bed and sat down. Sam looked up, hopeful, as he realized what Dean was doing. If nothing else, he's get a better angle and could get himself out. Dean bent down. "Dean!" Sam shouted. Dean froze. "Dean!"
"Sam?" Dean asked, sitting back up. He scanned the room, but Sam wasn't in sight. He shook his head and bent back down.
"Dean!" Sam tried again. Dean ignored it. "Dean, I'm right here! Come on, man! Just look at your socks!"
Dean huffed. "What do my socks have to do with anything?" he muttered.
"I'm freaking tiny! That's what it has do with anything! And jeez', do you ever wash these things!? It's rank!"
Dean focused on the socks, and, just as he was about to ignore it again, caught a small motion out of the corner of his eyes. He grabbed the sock and pulled it back. "Holy crap…" he breathed, staring at the tiny hunter.
"Now come on man, get me out of here! It reeks!" Sam pleaded.
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