A sigh. Sam was corrupting Cas, no two ways about it. Why else would the angel suddenly decide that he needed to wash his hands before their meal? And normally, Dean would've let this slide, but it had been twenty minutes and their food was getting cold and the waitress was giving the bathroom door a weird look.
"Dean." Oh damn, the puppy-dog eyes.
"Sam." He would be strong.
"Dean."
"Oh alright," he barked, and walked over. Subtlety was not his thing, so he rapped on the door and asked if Cas was jerking off in there or what, it did not take people twenty minutes to wash their hands. Almost instantly, the door swung open and Cas came out, hands held weirdly in front of him, palms up.
"What are you…do I even wanna know?"
Head tilt. "I'm sure you do Dean, otherwise you would not ask the question to begin with."
"If you were summoning something in Wendy's—"
"Is there something wrong?" the waitress from before had wandered over, glancing at Castiel quizzically. He turned to her with an expression of utmost seriousness.
"Yes. The sign above your sink says 'Employees Must Wash Hands.' I have been waiting twenty-two minutes for an employee to wash my hands. I am dissatisfied with your customer service."