The weight in his hand lightened. Brow furrowing, Sam looked down at his Taurus PT92...only to find a pink water pistol gripped between his fingers instead. Mouth parting slightly in surprise, Sam looked back up at Crowley in confusion. "What - where's my gun, you little..." Where was it? Was he some kind of cheesy magician? A real magician? What was he -
Do you not want the blood anymore? Sam stilled. The gun situation was no longer of importance. Lowering the toy ridden gun to his side, Sam nodded. His insides ached hungrily at the thought of warm, fresh, demon blood sliding down his throat. He needed it.
"You're Crowley." Knocking would have been nice. Calling ahead, even. But as long as he got what he wanted from him, he didn't care.