"What the hell you starin' at, boy?" the caterpillar-thing asks him, and it sounds so much like Bobby that for a minute Sam can do nothing but gape. "Well?" the Bobby-caterpillar snaps impatiently when Sam just stands there with his mouth hanging open. "You just gonna stand there all day like an idjit?"
Sam closes his mouth and takes a half-step back, swallowing. "Uh, I was wondering if you knew what the date was?" He frowns slightly, not having intended to make his statement into a question.
"Well," the Bobby-caterpillar replies almost thoughtfully. Sam wonders at the sudden mood swing. "If today was tomorrow and it was the thirteenth, then yesterday would be the twelfth."
Sam blinks. "Um, okay," he says, a little uncertainly. Because seriously, what the fuck? "That's great. But I need to know what the date is today."
"Well, if today was tomorrow and it was the thir—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know about the thing with the thirteenth, okay?" Sam cuts him off, losing his patience. "Just—what the hell is the date today? Right now. I want to know the date now, not the date tomorrow or if today was yesterday or whatever the fuck, okay? Can you please just tell me the date?"
The caterpillar thing surveys him quietly, his expression unreadable, and Sam shifts uncomfortably because it once again reminds him way too freakin' much of Bobby. But he can't think on that fact too much before a pair of bottles that smell distinctly of alcohol are being held in front of his face, making him even more confused. He looks up at the thing.
"Pick one," he tells Sam, waving the bottles a little with his weird spider-leg thingies.
"Huh?" Sam asks stupidly, bewildered. Some part of his mind is saying that it's probably not a good idea to take alcohol from some half-caterpillar, half-spider, insect-human hybrid that sounds like Bobby Singer whom he just met in the middle of the forest. It's the part that reminds him of Dean.
Bobby-caterpillar lets out a frustrated breath. "Dammit, boy, just pick one!"