“Dead man’s what?” Victor asked.
He accepted the syringes filled with…he balked. “You’re telling me…” his voice trailed off and he turned to Dean who was staring at him, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Vic, come on, it’s just blood,” he teased.
“It’s just blood, he says. Yeah, it’s blood from a dead man and what exactly do you want me to do with it?” he asked, his brows lifting higher and higher as he spoke.
“Stick em’ with the pointy end,” Dean said with a wide grin. He opened his jacket and slipped several syringes into the inner pocket before closing it. He patted them down before reaching into the trunk for his machete.
Victor shook his head and reached in for his own blade, a new one that Dean had mysteriously procured for him earlier that day.
“What?” Dean asked. He shut the trunk and squinted at Victor.