AN: Sometime during the fourth-season.
Warning: spanking of an adult and profanity. Intense and sharp, different from what I normally write, focusing mainly on the difference between discipline for an adult versus that for a child.
S&S&S&S&S&S
Dean slid into the booth, looking around warily before picking his menu. He ducked his head behind it.
"Um, know what you want?" Sam asked awkwardly.
"No," Dean said, still behind the menu. "Shut up."
"Dean, it wasn't that bad," Sam said to the picture of the hamburger combo on the menu where he guessed his brother's eyes might be. "We got the demon, we lifted the curse, we saved the girl. He's going to be fine – he's not going to care."
"I said, shut up!" Dean ordered. "Can we talk about something else, please?"
The please was more an order than a request. Sam opened his mouth, but then he shut it again. No reason to poke the bear.
They sat there for a few seconds in silence, and then Dean slammed his menu down. "Where the hell is the waitress?" he demanded.
Sam was about to tell him that the waitress had walked by twice while Dean had hidden behind the menu, but Sam stopped.
Without saying a word, Sam nodded his head towards the door.
His heart in his throat, Dean glanced back, and his stomach sank as he saw the man standing in the doorway.
"Do not leave me," Dean hissed as he turned back to face Sam.
Sam said nothing, but he watched out of the side of his eye as Castiel approached their table.
The dark-haired angel walked slowly, never taking his eye off the two brothers.
"Dean, Sam," Castiel said as way of greeting.
"Hey," Sam gave a weak smile.
Silence.
"Well," Sam grabbed his coat, "got to go see Ruby."
"What! No!" Dean hissed. He tried to grab his brother's arm, but Sam had already slipped out of the booth.
Sam stepped around Castiel and ran for the door without looking back. Castiel sat down in the booth across from Dean, watching the lighter-haired man start to squirm.
"I haven't eaten anything yet," Dean said in a sharp voice.
"Then by all means, eat," Castiel waved his hand over the menu. "I am in no hurry tonight."
Dean felt his heart do that little lurch thing it used to do when he was in trouble with his dad. He wished he could think of something really cool and snarky to say to the angel, but no words were coming.
"Hey," the waitress finally came up, smiling. "What will you guys be having?"
"Nothing for me," Castiel told her.
"I want a hamburger," Dean kept his eyes down on the menu. "And French fries. And a coke. And onion rings. And a milk shake."
"Long day, huh?" the pretty waitress laughed as she scribbled down the order on her pad. "You're giving the truckers a run for their money."
"What?" Dean glanced up.
"Truckers," the waitress repeated. "All day on the road, they get really hungry. If you spend more than twenty dollars, we throw in free pie."
"I want that, too," Dean handed her the menu.
Once she walked away, Castiel said nothing.
Dean shifted in the booth, almost crossing his arms and then letting them drop to his lap. He tried to look nonchalant and very cool, but he thought it was coming off more paranoid. He thought he had every reason to freak out, but he would die before he admitted to Castiel how nervous he felt.
Dean had never felt particularly concerned about what the angel said or did, until eight nights ago.
S&S&S&S&S&S&S
They had been in the hotel room, Dean sitting at the rickety table to clean a gun while Sam read on the bed.
Dean glanced down at the weapon to slide a loaded magazine in and when he looked up, Castiel stood in front of the table.
"Jeez, man," Dean threw the gun on the table. "Stop jumping out like that."
"I have something I want you read," Castiel held a leather-bound Bible in his hands.
"You want me read the Bible?" Dean gave him an odd look.
"Yes, you can read, can't you?"
Sam snorted loudly from the bed. When Castiel turned to look at him, Sam swung his long legs off the bed and headed for his coat and keys. "I'm going to get some coffee. You guys want anything? No? Okay, bye."
Rolling his eyes at his brother's hasty exit – Sam was always looking for an excuse to get away from the angel who did not seem to like him – Dean turned back to Castiel. He took the open Bible from the angel.
"What do you want me to read?"
"Proverbs 13:24," Castiel directed.
Dean scanned down the small print. "Um, 'He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.' Guess this is the King James Version. Fun stuff."
"You understand what it means?" Castiel prompted.
"Sam's the scholar," Dean tried to hand the Bible back, but Castiel shook his head.
"Turn to Proverbs 19:18."
Dean flipped through the book, the thin pages rustling slightly. "Uh – here we go. "Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying.' Man, why couldn't these guys just speak plain English? No wonder everyone got beheaded back then."
"You understand the meaning though?" Castiel said, his face more serious than usual.
"I guess. Giving parents a reason to beat their kids."
"No, instruction for rearing godly children who understand that their parents want them to become righteous adults."
"Self-righteous," Dean scoffed. "I've read the verses before, okay? Proverbs is so preachy – 'do this, do that, don't have any fun'."
"Despite your skeptical view, I can attest to the truth of these passages," Castiel assured Dean. "And I want to inform you here and now that should you disobey me or another authority again, you will be chastised."
Dean's eyes widened. "What the hell does that mean?"
"I will spank you," Castiel said.
Dean jerked out of his seat, knocking his chair back to the floor. "What?"
"If you engage in behavior that becomes defiant, disobedient, or disruptive, I will come find you and spank you," Castiel went on.
"Oh, screw that," Dean stepped up to the angel. "I'll knock you on your ass before you can touch mine." He reached out and pushed Castiel's shoulder hard. The angel didn't budge; he looked at Dean with steadfast eyes, calm but firm.
"You can't," Dean protested. "You – you don't have the right. I'm not sure exactly what the verses say, but I'm pretty sure the gist was fathers punishing their kids. I'm not a kid, and you're not my father."
"You are a child of God. And since your earthly father left this world for another, someone else must step up and reprove you for such unseemly behavior."
"You touch me, and we're done," Dean pointed a finger in his face. "Dad only whipped me a few times, and I was a teenager the last time he did it."
"That would explain your problem," Castiel nodded. "Do not worry – God disciplines those He loves, and He expects His children to submit to those doing His will."
"You're crazy," Dean declared.
"Do not worry," the angel repeated. "I will never abuse you, nor inflict more chastisement than you deserve."
Dean paced crazily for a moment, too distraught to talk. Finally, he whirled back. "What about Sam? You going to pound him, too?"
"No, my concern is you," Castiel replied.
"How is that fair?"
"You are the older brother. Sam answers to you. You now answer to me."
"The whole freakin' chain of command, huh?" Dean challenged.
"It would be wise of you to censor your mouth as well," Castiel added. Then he disappeared.
Sam came back an hour later, with coffee and an extra cinnamon roll for Dean, but he stopped short in the doorway. "What's wrong?"
"That angel," Dean growled. "You know what he said? He said he's gonna – gonna – well, do something I didn't ever think he'd threaten to do."
"What?" Sam looked worried.
"It's – oh forget it. He won't carry through. He's too much a pansy in that stupid trench-coat. Give me that," Dean snatched up the cinnamon roll. He began taking huge bites out of it, muttering something about candy-assed angels who were deluded with their own power.
"And I won't let him do it," Dean said around a mouthful of food. "Don't think for a moment I'm going to let him. Crazy." Dean spun his finger in circles at his temper. "Crazy, man. Loco!"
Sam looked like he thought Dean might be the crazy one, but he didn't say anything.
"Freakin' insane!" Dean yelled before he stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.
S&S&S&S&S&S&S
But now stuck in the diner with Castiel, Dean ate the food with shaky hands, the food getting suck in his throat. He kept trying to rationalize his fear away. The fight hadn't been that bad. Yeah, Dean had lost his temper and kind of not listened to Castiel when he warned Dean to stay back. Yeah, Dean had kind of rushed at the demon and nearly gotten killed when the demon pinned him down. But then Sam had rushed in to help, and between him and Ruby and Castiel, they had gotten the demon off Dean and killed it.
Castiel had straightened and said, "We must go now, Dean. Will Sam be joining us back at the hotel?"
Dean had persuaded Sam to stop by the diner first for food, but Sam had to bolt – the coward! "I don't know. Listen, Cas, I know I kind of screwed up. I was distracted with everything. Sam was talking to me, and Ruby was all hot, and you were moving around. I couldn't concentrate."
Castiel said nothing.
"No one could concentrate with all that going on!" Dean's voice raised a notch. "It was crazy, crazy!"
"Excuse me," the waitress appeared by their table. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes," Castiel gave her a calming smile. "We're going to have to leave soon so if you wouldn't mind bringing us the check."
"Sure thing," the waitress smiled as she turned away.
"We can't leave," Dean protested.
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't eaten everything yet."
"Do you want to eat everything?"
Dean hadn't wanted to eat at all, and he looked down at the remains of hamburger, fries, milkshake, and pie. He thought he would be sick if he took another bite.
"But we still can't leave. I – I haven't gotten her number yet."
Castiel did not reply, but when the waitress came back with the check, he spoke in a low voice, "Excuse me, miss, but we need to leave and my friend here is reluctant to go without your number. May we have it?"
"Sorry," the waitress smiled sympathetically. "I'm married. I don't wear a ring because it might catch on the stove. But you are sweet, and if I were single, I would gladly give you the number."
After she left the ticket on the table, Castiel pulled out some bills from his pocket and put them on the table.
"I don't care if she's married or not," Dean said brashly.
Castiel turned to him. "You would violate the sanctity of marriage?"
Dean shrugged, but he didn't quite have the nerve to say anything.
"After we are done, I should make you search Scripture for all decrees pertaining to the holiness of the marriage bed and the sacrament of marriage," Castiel frowned. "Come, let's go."
He stood and waited for Dean to get up. Dean dragged his feet every step, wracking his brain frantically for any reason he could find to make Castiel reconsider. At one point, Dean actually stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, just to see what the angel would do.
Castiel turned back and fixed him with his calm, but resolved eyes. "You will follow me, Dean, or I will start reprimanding you here on the side of this street. I thought you would rather wait until we were in the room. I thought punishment was usually something best delivered in private, but if you have no objections to me starting out here –"
"You've got to be a demon," Dean hissed as he stomped past Castiel towards the hotel. "If I had any holy water on me, I'd throw it on you and listen to you sizzle."
Once at the hotel door, Dean fumbled a little in finding the key card. He opened his mouth to say that Sam had the key, when Castiel murmured,
"In your left pocket, Dean."
Trust an angel to go around spying into people's pockets. Dean stuck his hand inside and pulled out the card. A second later, they stood inside the room, and Dean shut the door.
"Cas, Cas, hear me out," he said shakily. "There was a lot going on today, and I don't deny I could have handled myself better. And I swear, you let me have another chance, and I will prove myself to you."
"Dean," Castiel smiled gently, looking more like an angel than ever, "you always have a second chance. I would never deny you a second chance to redeem yourself."
"Oh, thank goodness," Dean sighed, relieved.
"But you still have to face the consequences of the poor choices you made. Once that is over, you can begin your second chance without any guilt."
"You have got to be kidding," Dean decided. He felt a surge of anger at the angel tricking him into a false sense of security. "I am not a child – I'm a full-grown man. I don't know how it was in ancient Babylonian Jerusalem, but here in twenty-first century America, we don't punish grown men like they're kids. Grown men get punched or shot or sent to prison or fined money, but they don't get spanked."
"I cannot send you to prison because I need you to work alongside me," Castiel replied. "I will not punch you or shoot you, and the money you do have you have gained in sinful ways and I will not partake in its exchange. Any other words before I begin?"
"Can't I pray or something? Do penance through Hail Marys? Anything?"
Castiel moved to the end of the bed. "Please come to me. Any resistance will just prolong the inevitable, and I should conclude that further delay is simply defiance and should be met with more punishment."
"This is insane," Dean muttered as he went towards the angel. Castiel had definitely lost his mind, but Dean kept hoping that he would come to his senses before anything unpleasant happened. "Why do I have to get punished when Sam gets off scot-free?"
"I am not in charge of your brother. If you think he needs to be reprimanded, you can address him after I address you."
"'Address' – like this is some kind of freakin' Jane Austin novel. That's right – I know who Jane Austin is. I read something in high school, no matter what Sam says."
"Attempts to stall will be met with further discipline," Castiel said calmly. "Please take off your shoes and get on the bed, on your hands and knees."
"Sounds like the beginning of a porno," Dean shakily removed his shoes. "You want me to strip my clothes off, too, you pervert?"
"No, your clothes will offer little resistance to my strength."
Dean had no idea why he climbed up on the bed. He could have run, he could have argued more, he could have howled at the top of his lungs for Castiel to leave him alone. The angel was stronger than he was – brute angel power against weak human limbs, but the fight would have at least proved that he was being punished against his will, that he didn't agree with what was happening to him, that the angel was assaulting him. By climbing up on the bed, he was practically agreeing that the angel had the right to punish him, and Dean had no idea what that said about him, and he didn't want to think about it.
"Just get it over with," he said, settling down on his hands and knees with his feet hanging off the edge of the bed and his ass at the right angle for Castiel to wallop. "But after this, we're never speaking again."
Castiel put a hand on Dean's back, and Dean jerked in surprise.
"How would refusing to speak help you?" the angel asked. "Humans have to use verbal language to communicate. Otherwise you would become animalistic and unable to understand each other."
Dean gritted his teeth. "It's not real – it's just something people say when they're mad at each other. Jeez, Cas, would you please learn to speak American so I don't have to tell you every –"
WHAM!
The blow caught Dean by surprise and he nearly toppled facedown onto the bed. Pain blossomed across his right buttock, and he drew in a haggard breath.
"Cas – Cas, that's too hard. I can't take – you have to –"
"You will not take the Lord's name in vain, not even in slang," Castiel said above him.
It took Dean a few moments to realize that he had used "Jeez" which he supposed was slang for "Jesus" but that seemed unbelievably ridiculous, even for Castiel.
"You got be kidding me. I'm an adult and if I want to swear, then I goddam–"
WHAM! Wham! Wham!
The second whack was just as hard as the first, but the two that followed were marginally lighter. They still were harsh enough to make Dean catch his breath and stop breathing for a second.
"Stop swearing and show repentance," Castiel warned. "Admitting that you were wrong is part of the process. Stop fighting me and humble yourself."
The rage that rose in Dean was so great he nearly pushed himself off the bed, turned, and slugged the angel in the face. It was one thing to be punished so humiliatingly, but to be lectured like a child evoked wild anger inside Dean. He hated how vulnerable he felt and the twisting sensation low in his stomach and the fact he hadn't run away.
"Shut up," Dean said in a low voice.
"Dean," Castiel warned.
"No," Dean swallowed hard, trying to ignore how his teeth were starting to chatter, "no, you can punish me because you're stronger than me and you could chase me down and kill me, but you can't make me be quiet when – when I want to t-talk."
"I'm not telling you to be quiet –"
"Yes, you are," Dean kicked a foot out, but the angel was far enough out of the way to avoid being hit. "You want me to stay quiet and take it, and I can't."
"You don't have to be quiet but you can't be disrespectful. That isn't nice to me or to God."
Any other time, Dean would have laughed at such a statement, but now he just ground his fists into the comforter and muttered, "I don't want to be nice."
"That is more than evident," Castiel said. He swatted again, and Dean hissed between his teeth. The angel started swatting in a rhythm, and each smack stung, but they were bearable, nothing more than Dean could take. Castiel was careful not to hit his tailbone and to deliver the blows evenly. Dean tried to take it stoically, but he made small noises of protest as the heat intensified.
"Breathe, Dean," the angel commanded. "Are you breathing?"
It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to go tell Castiel to fuck himself, but he took a shaky breath and said, "Yes – yes, I'm breathing."
"This will be easier to take if you keep breathing."
Dean wanted to say, "This would be easier to take if you didn't swing so hard, you fucking angel!" But instead he answered, "I'm breathing, I promise."
"You have to stop being so reckless," Castiel continued to spank him. "You need to think before you rush into action."
"I'm good at action. I know what I'm doing – I did it for years before you showed up, you motherfucking angel!" "Yes, yes, I know."
"You are important," Castiel did not pause in his swats, and they seemed to get harder. "You matter, you have people that love you, and I won't let you throw that all away."
"I hate all of you, you motherfucking, shit-covered angel!" "Okay, okay."
"Do you think I like having to punish you? I hate to see you in pain, but I cannot allow you to keep self-destructing when you have so much to offer."
"Shove it, you motherfucking, shit-covered, goddamned angel! No wonder God doesn't want you."
Silence, and then Dean realized he had spoken the last words out loud. Terror dawned over him, and he said, "Oh, Cas, I'm sorry – I didn't –"
The wallop that followed was so hard that Dean fell onto the bed. But Castiel just moved up and kept swatting, spanking on and on until Dean twisted from side to side on the covers.
"No – ow! Cas, please. I won't be able to sit down. Ow, ow, ow – not there. Ugh! Not the back of my legs – I hate it there. No, my ass is on fire – go back to my legs. Oh, stop, just let up a little. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"We're almost done here, Dean," Castiel's voice was more clipped than usual.
Dean felt sorry he had hurt the angel, or at least he would have felt sorry if he could concentrate on anything beside the raging inferno in his ass and the back of his legs. The pain grew stronger and stronger and greater and more intense.
And then everything broke and the world grew still and calm. Castiel was still swatting, but Dean didn't feel the individual swats one at a time. He seemed to float, hovering over himself, and gnawing pain inside disappeared. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, peaceful, and he closed his eyes to relax into the swaying feeling. He felt like he had as a child, the times when he climbed up in his dad's lap and John held him tightly and Dean knew nothing scary could get him inside that warm embrace as long as those powerful arms held him. Or when his mother put him to bed at night and she would smile at him and hold his hand, stroking his hair while she sang a soft sound, and he felt safe and loved and happy.
"Dean?" Castiel put a hand on the back of Dean's neck.
The floating disappeared and Dean raised a hand to his face. His forehead was streaked with sweat, and tears had spilled down his cheeks though he didn't even remember crying. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
"Roll over," Castiel instructed.
When Dean moved, he felt a pillow slide under his head, and a blanket covered him up. The warmth felt good to his freezing limbs, but to his surprise more tears came. He lifted a cold hand up to his face and gave a hoarse sob into his palm.
"There, there," Castiel's voice was surprisingly gentle as he pulled the blanket over Dean's right shoulder. "It's over now. You took that really well."
"I feel all shaky," Dean choke on the words. "I'm-I'm all quivery and – and not in a good way. I never felt this way when Dad punished me."
"You were a child and he didn't spank you so long. You're an adult now and your body reacts differently and you think and process information differently."
"Sam says I don't think at all," Dean meant to joke, but the words came all weak and pathetic to his own ears.
"That would be a lie on his part," Castiel answered.
"Dad used to get onto me, too," Dean wasn't sure why he was talking, but he needed to get the words out and he felt terrified that Castiel would tell him to be quiet and Dean knew he would die inside if that happened. "He used to yell all the time, drill me over and over about hunting and weapon care and exercise."
Castiel nodded sympathetically.
"I didn't like him sometimes," Dean admitted, glancing up to the angel's face. But Castiel didn't seem particularly displeased so Dean went on, "I loved him, of course, but it's hard to have an obsessed parent. He really missed Mom, and Sam was so little, and there wasn't a ton of time for me. I wanted him to spend time with just me, but he couldn't, and I was mad at him for dying before we could get everything worked out."
Castiel said nothing.
"Aren't you going to yell at me for being disrespectful?" Dean asked.
"Not liking your father at times isn't the same as being disrespectful. Humans aren't perfect and while I'm sure your father did his best, he wasn't God so he made mistakes. Not liking someone's mistakes isn't the same as disliking the person, and disliking isn't the same as hating. If you said you hated your father, I would be disappointed in you. But you get to decide how you feel."
"You punished me for how I felt," Dean dropped his eyes to his fingers that were playing with the edge of the blanket.
"No, I punished you for your reckless actions. You might be angry at your father, but once your anger carries over to affect how careful you are on these hunts, then we have something to talk about."
"I didn't like being punished," Dean kept his eyes fixed on his fingers, "but now I feel better and worse and confused and still shaky."
"Those are the endorphins," Castiel said, as calmly as if they were suggesting where to buy groceries. "When the human body experiences pain or extreme discomfort for long periods of time, it releases endorphins, the same that you get when you run long distances and feel shaky and calm after you stop."
"Where'd you learn that?"
"The internet."
Dean gave a guilty smile. "Did you use the laptop I use sometimes? Because Sam was the one downloading those naked pictures."
"You should keep your body pure for marriage," Castiel said, but his tone was so light that it barely felt like scolding.
"I don't think I'm going to get married," Dean said before he could stop himself. "I don't think either of us are. Marriage and happiness and family and kids – those aren't meant for us."
Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed, and Dean started talking. He wasn't sure what motivated him, but he talked about their work and their weapons and the fear and the drive and the anger and his memories of hell. When he got around to talking about the torture, he started shaking and Castiel pulled the blanket tighter over him and rubbed his arm. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about another man touching him, but he reasoned that Castiel was an angel and he kept talking.
Gradually the shakiness eased away, and Dean's eyes grew heavy. He closed them, but he kept talking. The burn in his ass and the back of his legs settled down to a mild heat and then an easy warmth. He felt exhausted, and though he wanted to keep talking, weariness closed over him.
"Don't leave," he mumbled, burrowing deep into the pillow.
"I won't go anywhere until Sam comes."
"Sam's not bad," Dean said, barely able to move his mouth. "Just . . . Sam."
No answer came.
And just because Dean couldn't let Castiel think he had won, he added, "I want to have sex with a girl. Go . . . get me a girl, Cas."
"I'm not a pimp," Castiel said, "and I'll let your inference slide for now. Go to sleep."
Dean didn't reply.
S&S&S&S&S&S&S
The first thing he felt when he woke up was hunger. Hunger and extreme thirst.
Dean sat up to see Sam on the edge of the other bed, awake, dressed, and watching him warily. "Hey, dude, how you doing?"
Dean yawned. "I'm hungry. Let's go get food."
"You – um – you want to talk about last night?" Sam looked uncomfortable.
"Not really," Dean avoided Sam's gaze as he got up. His ass was mildly sore, but nothing too bad.
"'Cause, uh, I came in and found you asleep and Castiel almost spooning you in the bed."
"I was cold," Dean grabbed some clothes. Inside he felt good, relieved and peaceful.
"You were cold?"
"No," Dean straightened up, "Cas and I had wild gay sex last night. We were all over this room and humped on your bags. I pulled his hair and called him Daddy – he called me Candy Ass."
"Dean!" Sam grimaced.
"I'm getting dressed and we're getting food," Dean said as he went into the bathroom and shut the door. It wasn't the first secret he had ever kept from his brother and it wouldn't be the last.
Breakfast had never tasted so good. Dean devoured four pancakes, eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon along with four cups of coffee as Sam watched amazed.
"You want to talk to me?" Sam asked slowly. "Anything you want to tell me?"
"You know," Dean leaned back in the booth, "we really don't talk about our feelings enough. We should change that. Tell me about growing up, Sam."
Sam looked very suspicious.
"Tell me about your feelings," Dean tilted his head to the side mockingly. "Tell me about your first period. Was it awful? Did the other girls tease you?"
"Shut up," Sam scowled. "Should have known you can't be serious about anything for five minutes."
Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Castiel appeared at that moment.
Rather than go with his initial impulse (to act awkward and stammer and avoid looking at the angel), Dean went with his second choice (pretending last night had never happened). Over the years he had perfected the art of pretending that the past had never happened, getting so good at ignoring everything that occurred that he thought he might be able to take a polygraph test about the past and pass with flying colors.
"Hey, Cas," Dean scooted over to let the angel sit. "You want food?"
"No," Castiel sat down stiffly, his back rigid straight.
"Your human, the dude you possess, Jimmy gets hungry," Dean said after a sip of coffee. "God made humans to want food. Are you denying the purpose of His creation?"
Sam's eyebrows went up.
Castiel gave Dean a stern look but then said, "Very well. May I have the rest of your food?"
"Humans order their own food," Dean handed him a menu. "Try to think like a human for once."
"I will if you start to think like a child of God," Castiel did not even lift his eyes from the menu where he studied the fruit-topped pancakes intently.
"Done," Dean nodded. "Sam, what about you? You want to be child of God, angel, or human?"
"I think I want a new brother. Maybe a new angel."
"Be thankful for what you have," Castiel said.
"Blessed are the grateful," Dean said with mock seriousness, "for they shall get breakfast at the diner anytime they want."
Castiel looked up from the menu with resolve. "I want pancakes with bacon. And don't blasphemy the Beatitudes."
"Yes, sir," Dean grinned.
Sam looked like they had both gone crazy.