"You can't do this," the man hissed in Dean's ear, his warm breath tickling Dean's neck and sending chills down his spine. "I'll kill you."
"Not if I get to you first, bitch," Dean growled in response.
The man laughed. It was a warm, golden laugh, not at all what Dean would have expected from a monster. "You're tied to a chair, señor," he snapped, "You're not going anywhere."
The man reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out an old fob watch, silver and tarnished. "Oh," he said calmly, "It's nearly time."
"For what?"
He looked at Dean with a grin, a devilish gleam in his golden-brown eyes. "The ritual," he whispered, enunciating carefully. He was clearly enjoying himself. "You're the final guest at the feast, Mr. Winchester." He slowly pulled a silver pistol out of his pocket, making sure Dean could see every inch of it as it was revealed.
And, slowly, he pointed the gun straight between Dean's eyes.
"Please," said Dean, swallowing nervously, "Mr. Winchester was my father."
"Yes, we know all about John," the man replied, rolling his eyes, "He rolled into town in that hideous car of yours a few years back. I couldn't place where I had seen it until the incident last night."
"Right, exactly." Dean jumped on the opportunity. "You knew my father, but listen, uh, amigo… I'm not him. Neither is my brother, Sam. We're different. You don't have to do this."
"I'm not your amigo," the man hissed.
"Well, what am I supposed to call you?"
"Call me?" The man squinted at Dean, a slight smirk spreading across his features. Dean saw his finger tighten slightly on the trigger. "You can call me Carlos."
He pulled the trigger.