"You are not telling me that Saint Nicholas is a demon. I mean, if it were true--" Dean was still trying to force this mind-bogglingly nonsensical piece of information through his head, "--seriously? He'd be like the worst demon ever."
"Well," Castiel admitted a little reluctantly, "you might call him a...lapsed demon."
"Lapsed demons, half-fallen angels," Dean threw his hands up because it was a dramatic kind of day, "You guys are really starting to get repetitive with this whole 'everyone is morally gray' schtick." He pointed a finger. "What's next, you're gonna tell me everyone's gay?"
"Saint Nicholas might once have been lapsed, but evidence suggests he is reverting back to his true form as Lucifer's pull increases," Castiel steadfastly ignored Dean's gesticulations, but now sported a tiny perplexed line between his eyebrows.
"Saint Nicholas, the old bearded demon who gives toys to children and eats milk and cookies," Dean mused out loud. "Yep, still sounds ridiculous. And what the hell does this make Krampus?"
"Another demon," Castiel said as if it were extremely obvious.
"Okay, fine, whatever," Dean raised his hands. "What do we need to do?"
Then there was talk about pine branches and strategy and "wait, it's March, why the hell are we hunting Santa in March?" and "welcome back, Sammy, guess what Castiel wants us to do?" and eventually Castiel was leaving to make the final preparations while the brothers got ready for the hunt on their end.
"And Dean," Castiel said, turning back suddenly, his tone infused with that subtle sense of long-suffering patience that only angels and mothers could really pull off, "angels and demons do not recognize genders such as they are defined by humans, so we are technically asexual. When lust or copulation becomes a factor, generally we are pansexual."
He whooshed away.
Sam stared at the space where Castiel had just been occupying. "Okay, what."
Dean put his hand over his eyes and muttered, "I think the angel's developing a sense of humor."
"As long as it's always at your expense," Sam said. "Also: I do not want to know what kind of conversation you guys could've possibly been having for him to consider that a parting shot."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
The brothers smirked for a second, and then Dean slid the magazine into his gun with a satisfied click. "Let's go hunt down some Santa."
