A video camera, recording, is propped up on Dean's bedside table, giving any viewers a wide frame of his torso and head.  A bottle of Scotch sits next to it, half-empty.  The Doors' Touch Me is playing in the background, fairly quietly as Dean's music goes.  He's thumbing through an automobile magazine, predictably, and humming along (a wee bit off-key).  The hunter snorts when he reaches a particularly hilarious page in his reading material.  "Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me," He rolls his eyes.  "Goddamn horoscopes in my car mags?  Better be a damn good one about Aquariu-"

Dean stops - glancing down at his watch, then the magazine, then his watch again - and makes a face.

"Oh."

His eyebrows raise in surprise.

"So, uh."  He chuckles a little nervously at the camera, quirking a crooked grin.  "Looks like I'm twenty-nine today.  Time flies, huh?"