The Monsters that Kill the Nightmares - Part X: September
Early September
“We have to do this for him, Sammy. He’s scared out of his mind all the time and it’s getting harder to convince him everything’s okay.” Dean’s voice cracked through the phone, the sound of the car on the highway threatening to drown his voice.
“How, Dean? What could we possible do to make any of this better for him?” Sam argued back. He knew exactly what they could do, but it was currently his last resort. Because if they did it? Sam wasn’t sure h could bring them all back from it.
“You know what we can do, Sam. You know exactly what we can do.”
“No. We’re not doing that, because if you kill them, I don’t know if I can bring you back, man.”
“I’ll be fine, Sam. Just this one last one. Please, Sammy. Think about Cas. Think about how scared he always is. It hurts to look at him like that. And it hurts even more knowing I can fix it. Please, Sam. Please.”
Sam was silent on his end of the phone. Dean had a point. But Sam didn’t want to risk his brother to do this.
“Why is this so important to you?”
“I have to make it better for him, Sam. He’s always got our back. If it was our nightmare, I’d want to make it go away too.”
Sam’s breath rasped through the phone. “I just don’t want to lose you, Dean. I don’t want you to do this and not come back as my brother. I almost lost us once; I don’t want that to happen again.”
“If you let me do this, I won’t ever ask again, I promise. It’ll be the last time, I swear.”
“You sound like a kid, you know? Begging for a toy to play with or something, which to be fair is probably the most accurate description of what’s going on.” Sam paused for a moment, thinking it over again, one last time.
“You get this one, Dean. Just this one,” he finally conceded. “That’s it though, no more after that. We can’t keep doing this and you know it. Okay?”
“Yes, okay, thank you, Sam.”
“And you can’t go by yourself. You have to let me come with you. You don’t know what you’re walking into and I don’t like that.”
“Then you’d better hurry. We attack tomorrow.” The line went dead. Sam slammed on the gas pedal.
The road signs fell away as he sped down the highway. He loved their games of hide-and-seek. They were more fun and less destructive than other activities. And the reunion sex? Well that wasn’t bad either.
--
Dean threw the phone onto the bed with a shout. “Cas!” he called.
Cas stuck his head out of the bathroom. “Jesus, Dean. What the hell?”
“I can fix it!”
“What?”
“I can fix it. Everything. I can make the bad memories and the nightmares go away.”
“But what about, Sam?” asked Cas warily.
“Sam said its okay. He’ll be here tomorrow to help. It’ll all be over soon, Cas. All of it.”
Dean was shaking with excitement, clinging to Cas like he might break him. Cas was shaking with relief. It would be over soon, all of it. He wanted to cry at the thought.
--
It was a quick operation, sneaking into Cas’s family’s house and pulling them from their beds one by one.
They knelt in the living room, arms bound behind their backs with zip-ties like the worthless shitheads they were. The woman was silently crying, tears staining her nightgown in pitiful puddles. The three men in the room were stoic, masks on their faces refusing to break.
The eldest man, Cas’s father, spoke first. “I don’t think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, kidnapping us like this. People will come looking.”
“Oh there are so many things wrong in that sentence,” Dean responded comically. “Would you like me to tell you exactly why you’re wrong?”
The man tried to lash out at him.
“Oh, no, no, no. You’re not going anywhere. Now first of all, kidnapping usually implies being taken from the house you’re in. And that you’re a kid. The word you’re looking for is ‘abduction.’ Second of all, you’re not going anywhere. You, all of you, are going to die in this house tonight. And no one is gonna come looking for you because no one cares. Because you’re a bunch of lowlife degenerates and rapists and you don’t deserve the air you’re breathing.” Dean was in his face now. “So I’m gonna take care of that for you, okay?” he finished calmly.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh but I would. ‘Cause, ya see, I’m good at it; really, really good at it.”
The color drained from the man’s face.
“There it is! Now who wants to go first?” Dean stood up and surveyed his victims. His eyes fell on the woman who had dared call herself a mother. “Why don’t we start with you, little lady? You seem like you know what you did wrong.”
Dean knelt in front of her, eyes boring into hers. “Oh don’t cry, it’ll all be over soon, I promise.” He caressed her cheek and she flinched away. “You’re the lucky one. You won’t have to watch me mutilate your boys here. Your death…” he pulled his knife out of his jacket pocket “… will be nice and quick.” He drove the knife into her heart and her eyes went wide, pain evident on her face. “I know it hurts, but it will all be over soon.” He twisted the blade before he pulled it out, letting her body slump to the floor.
“Pity she didn’t scream. I love it when they scream,” Sam chimed in from his corner of the room.
“You’re a monster!” The man on the end had finally spoken up.
Dean turned to glare at him. “Oh cause you’re so innocent? At least I never raped my own little brother. Our kinky incest has been completely consensual. Hasn’t it, Sammy?” Dean stabbed the blade into the man’s shoulder and got a scream out of him. Perfect.
“And your little brother? He’s mine now too. All that pale flesh and sinewy muscle and unbridled wrath is mine. And I don’t like knowing that there are people who have hurt what’s mine now. So people who have hurt what’s mine get put down like the dogs they are, capiche?”
Dean twisted the blade and watched the pain erupt across the man’s face. “…what’s your name?” he asked, stilling the blade in the shoulder.
“L-Lucifer,” he hissed out.
“Oh, perfect. Well, Lucifer, I am going to have a grand old time killing you, I can tell already.” He ripped the knife out, dragging tip across Lucifer’s shoulder, drawing a line of blood to the surface as the sharp edge split open rough skin. He received a hiss for his work and relished in it. He turned his attention to the silent man next to Lucifer.
“What’s your name, Quiet? You haven’t made a peep this whole time. Maybe I should sic Sammy on you? He’s really good at getting people to talk. He does this thing with a blade that’s so much pain it’s almost pleasure. He could have you crying out his name in minutes, I promise.”
“His name is Michael.” The old man spoke up again.
Dean laughed out loud. “Michael and Lucifer? Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. This is good, really good. And let me guess, you’re God?”
“No, Zachariah.”
“Well that’s a letdown. I was hoping for something better. Oh well.” Dean knelt in front of him. “Are you a religious man, Zachariah?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that men who rape their children get to spend eternity in the lowest layers of hell?”
“I’ve made peace with my lord.”
Dean scoffed. “Oh I doubt that, because ya see I think God has a sense of decency really. And men like you don’t get to enjoy his heaven. So I hope you enjoy the absolute lowest layers of hell. Because you’re gonna be spending a lot of time there.
“Now, Michael. How would you like to see your father’s insides on the floor in front of him?”
Michael whimpered. Lucifer growled.
“Oh speak up, Michael! Be vocal! It’s the last time you’re going to get to.”
Michael stayed resolute.
“Well, your choice I suppose.” A quick slice across Michael’s throat and he lay twitching on the floor, blood pooling thickly beneath him. “Well that was no fun. Guess I’ll have to make up for it. Let’s say we split Zach here wide open. I like that plan. What about you, Sam?” He called over his shoulder.
“I like that plan very much, Dean. Make it happen,” commanded Sam from his corner.
“Of course, baby.”
Dean grabbed Zachariah by the back of the head, dragged him onto the small coffee table nearby and forcefully threw him onto his back on the table. “You stay here. I have something I want to grab.”
Dean scanned the room for Cas, who he found crouched in a corner of the room.
“Cas, come here. I want to show you something.”
Cas hesitated before leaving his corner and walking toward Dean.
“It’s okay, Cas. He can’t hurt you now. Won’t be able to ever again when we’re done with him. But I want you to be able to do something before we kill him okay?” Cas nodded when he came to a stop behind Dean. “Take my knife,” he commanded, holding it out for Cas to take. Cas wrapped shaky fingers around the handle and slowly took it from Dean. Dean leaned in to whisper in Cas’s ear. “Now take that knife and drive it into his stomach. Don’t kill him right off, make him suffer. He deserves.” Cas nodded before he knelt down next to the man who had caused him so much anguish over the past few years.
Cas put all of his anger and sadness and guilt and frustration into the motion, bringing both hands above his head before sinking the blade Zachariah’s torso. And he did it again and again until he was stabbing nothing but the lifeless body of a man who’d tortured him for years. There was blood flying across the carpet and the walls and Cas was nearly bathed in it. Eventually Dean had to intervene, stopping him before he did more damage to himself than the body. Cas felt good though. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt okay.
“Cas, we still have Lucifer to take care of. Do you want me to do it?”
Cas nodded shakily, extending the knife toward Dean.
“Thank you, babe. I’ll make it a good one, I promise.”
Lucifer was pale and cold from blood loss but still alive - barely. He was slumped against the couch behind him, too weak to move, or too scared (it didn’t matter), just that he was still there. Dean knelt in front of him, eyes shining with the thrill of one last kill, pulled on his neck sharply, holding it back at a rough angle and slid the knife across his throat, digging in deeply, blood spraying across his arm. Dean savored the moment, watching with glee as the light left Lucifer’s eyes.
He dropped the body to the floor and stood; wiped the blade on his jeans and slid the knife safely back into his jacket.
*
The scent of blood running down the walls was more intoxicating than the hardest drug. Dean had missed that scent. He’d missed the screams of his victims and the struggle they put up. He’d missed the sticky warmth of the blood soaking into his clothes.
The bodies on the floor around him were a beautiful picture, lifeless and cold, terror permanently etched on their faces.
He’d gotten what he’d been craving for months and now Cas’s nightmares would go away. It was a win/win situation.
Sam watched him from the corner of the room, eyes locked on Dean’s every movement, waiting for a moment when he could step in and bring Dean back to him.
Cas, still on the floor near Dean’s feet, was caught between awe, relief, and terror. Watching Dean work had been beautiful, a ballet almost in the way he sliced and carved at Cas’s family. Realizing what it all meant now sent relief flooding through his system. He would never be chased by a family bent on terrifying him and ruining his life. He wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder all the time anymore.
Dean stood in the middle of the room, blood pooling at his feet, trying to bring himself under control. Sam reached out to him, fingers grazing his arm lightly, mouth against his ear, and whispered “come back to me, Dean. Come back to me.”
Dean slumped into Sam’s arms, energy leaving him. He didn’t have a voice for normal conversation, could hardly think straight. Sam waved Cas over and he came, falling into them and burying his head in Dean’s chest.
“Thank you,” whispered Cas before silent sobs wracked his frame.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”
And for the first time in his life, Cas felt like it actually might.
“I hate to burst our little bubble of affection but we have to go. Someone will call the cops soon and we don’t want to be here when they do,” mumbled Sam before grabbing Cas’s hand and pulling them all towards the door.
It was still dark as they clambered in to the Impala, dawn barely peaking over the horizon. Cas huddled against Dean in the front seat as Sam peeled away from the curb.
“Thank you for this, both of you. You don’t know what it means to me. Thank you,” Cas sobbed. Sam reached out and squeezed his leg as Dean held him tighter.
--
Henriksen stepped over the line of police tape blocking off the property. He could smell the carnage from here. Four dead bodies; an entire family wiped out. He stepped over the threshold and surveyed the completely wrecked living room.
The woman lay abandoned near one end of the couch, a hole in her chest where a blade had been torn through her. The two younger men with slits throats were abandoned next to her. The older man lay sprawled across the coffee table, hands behind his back and a chest that looked like it had been attacked by a tiger.
“What’s the news?” Henriksen asked the M.E. kneeling by the woman.
“They’ve been dead probably twelve hours. Same knife killed them all from what I can tell, about twelve inches long, straight on one side, saw-toothed on the other. It’s really interesting how different the deaths are but similar at the same time. These two,” he pointed at the brothers, “one was made to suffer but the other one wasn’t. Now she died quickly, probably didn’t even have time to realize what was happening. But this guy,” he pointed to Zachariah’s body, “he was mutilated. It wasn’t just a crime of passion, it was personal, likely revenge of some sort. These guys back here, they weren’t the targets like he was.”
“M'kay. Well why am I here?”
“Because one of the neighbors saw a black Impala pulling away from the house this morning. She thought that well kempt classic car looked very out of place in this neighborhood,” chimed in one of the female detectives.
“A ’67?”
“Of course.”
“So you’re thinking it was one of my boys?”
“Both of them actually. And one more if what the witness told us was right.”
The detective in question was a local; her long brunette hair in loose waves around her face paired with the three inch heels she was wearing gave her an air of femininity only ruined by the look on her face and the shoulder holster strapped across her chest.
“You’re familiar with the case then?” asked Henriksen.
“Very,” she deadpanned.
“Then this should make things quick, right?”
“Absolutely. Thing is, with these deaths being so recent, your boys might still be in town. If you wanted we could check around…”
She was cut off by Henriksen’s phone ringing.
“Agent Henriksen, go ahead.”
“We just received a call about three men climbing out of a black Impala down at the Inn on the highway. Owner called us because ‘they looked like they were trouble now,’” clarified the dispatch agent.
“Perfect, thank you.” He turned to the detective next to him. “I think we just found them,” he smiled. “By the way, what’s your name?”
“Beckett.”
“Well, Beckett, welcome to the case.”
“Happy to be here, Sir.”
“Now, you ready to take those bastards down?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That’s my kind of girl.”
I hope you boys know what you’re doing. She thought to herself. Get out while you still can.
--
Dean’s first thought when he woke up wedged behind Cas was ‘ice.’ He was sore and overheated due to the extra body in the bed - because two months with Cas still hadn’t gotten them all used to the puppy pile they created - and he knew that only one thing would help. He rolled out of bed quietly so he wouldn’t disturb his bed partners, threw on some pants, grabbed the ice bucket, and left the room, bound for the ice machine at the end of the hall.
He only made it halfway there.
There was SWAT coming at him from both ends of the hallway and he was not awake enough for this shit. He would jump over the balcony fencing but that was a three story drop and he was not even about to attempt that on a good day. So he ‘surrendered;’ dropped to his knees set the ice bucket on the ground, and threw his hands up. They went to cuff him and that was when his fun began.
An elbow to the face, a stolen knife, a couple kicks to random chests, some slices there as well and Dean was feeling pretty good about his odds… until he saw a man in a suit breakdown the door to their room and he was frozen, couldn’t believe he left them unguarded like that, stupid, stupid. And he was shouting “Sam, Cas, no! FUCK. RUN!” and then he was being tackled to the ground, heavy body holding him to the floor, arms manhandled into a suitable cuffing position. He tried to buck the guy off him and got smacked upside the head for his trouble. His head was ringing and he lost orientation and he could tell he was fading fast. Fuck, what’d they do to him? He didn’t have time to answer his own question before he was out like a light.
Sam was a little quicker on the uptake. The loud crack of splintering wood jarred him from his sleep faster than anything. He was grabbing the closest knife - the one from last night as far as he can tell - reaching for a gun and he had it trained on the intruder in the doorway faster than his mind could realize what was happening.
Cas was still in bed, scrambling to consciousness in the sheets and didn’t know what was happening but he heard Sam’s voice scream “run!” and he had no problem following that order. The doorway was blocked but he knew there was a bathroom window. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing his pants and darting away. He’d forgotten it was a three story drop until he was in the air, bracing for impact. He hit the ground, legs jarring, a bit dazed, but there was no sudden rush of pain so maybe there were no broken bones. Or maybe the adrenaline had kicked in. Either way, he was taking off across the highway, avoiding cars, and trying to get as far away from the motel as possible. He didn’t stop running until he was out of breath and his lungs were burning and he was pretty sure he was okay.
Sam watched Cas leap out the window from the corner of his eye. He prayed to whoever was still listening that Cas would be okay. His gun was leveled at the intruder in his doorway, knife held out ready.
“Well, hello, Sam Winchester.” They knew his name. Why did they know his name?
“Hello, Agent…?”
“Henriksen. Victor Henriksen.”
“Henriksen, of course. So nice of you to drop by but you see, you came by at a very inappropriate time. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to wake a sleeping man?”
“Oh! Oh, is that so? My bad. I’m sorry, but you know what else is rude? Killing people. Which is something you and your brother seem very adept at. And that little boyfriend of yours as well if I’m not mistaken. What is going on between you three anyway? Some kinky, ménage a trois, heavy on the incest, heavy on the all-out gay?”
Sam’s lip twitched into a sneer. “Wouldn’t change a thing if we were. But can you prove any of that, Agent?”
“Well in order to answer that question,” Henriksen pulled out a set of handcuffs, “I’m gonna need you to come with me.”
--
Cops have this horrible habit of manhandling even the most compliant of criminals. No one knows why, maybe they get a kick out of it. But Dean hated it. It made him want to punch them all in their smug little faces, knock them down a peg. He’d come to in the back of the transport van, strapped in tight, Sam right next to him.
“So, Sammy, looks like we got ourselves in real deep this time,” said Dean, still groggy.
“Dean, don’t start.”
“Sam, let me finish. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we ever started. That’s on me okay. This whole thing is on me.”
“Stop, Dean, just stop. Don’t say that okay. I was just as much a part of it as you, hell I’m probably guiltier than you. I just wanted to make you happy, and you want to know something? I don’t regret it. Any of it, okay?” He laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, the small amount of contact comforting them both. “So don’t say you’re sorry. We both know you’re not. And we’re going to be fine ‘cause we have Cas now and he needs us just as much as we need him. He’s not gonna let anything bad happen to us.”
“Did he… Did he get away okay?”
“I think so. Pretty sure of it. He jumped out the window like it was nothing. Gotta give the boy some props really.”
“Good. He’ll come for us then. He spent almost two years tracking us, right? He’s not about to let us get away now.” Dean leaned his head against Sam’s, closed his eyes and breathed. “Cas won’t let anything bad happen to us.”
--
Cas couldn’t breathe. They’d taken them, those bastards, they’d taken his boys. How dare they?! He had to get them back, they were his to protect now after all and it was his fault they’d gotten caught. Well… that last bit he wasn’t sure on, but he had a strong suspicion it was true. He had to get them back, couldn’t let anything bad happen to them, not now, not sine he finally felt whole and good and love and wanted.
He had to have a plan; he couldn’t just go in guns blazing. Well he could but that might be more counterproductive that helpful really. Then again…
First, he had to get back to the motel, to the clothing, to the weapons. When he got there, he expected it to still be swarming with SWAT. He was wrong. He guessed they’d gotten what they had come for. They didn’t realize how big of a mistake they’d made, leaving him behind.
He broke into the room, flimsily replaced lock and crime scene tape be damned. He found it pretty much how he left it. He darted in, grabbed only the things he’d need: his duffel for clothing, a holster here, a gun there, a few knives, throw on a shirt and a jacket and he was all set. He grabbed the car keys and bolted out the door.
That police station wouldn’t even know what hit it.
---
They separated Sam and Dean as soon as they were in the building, tossing Sam into an interrogation room and Dean into a cell. The brothers didn’t panic, too confident in their lover to come save them.
Henriksen followed Sam into the interrogation room after letting him sit for a while; Dean sat in the cell and stewed, waited patiently for someone to come along that he could hit or beat or kill if opportunity arose.
“You know it’s not really necessary to handcuff me to the table, right Agent Henriksen?”
“I’ve seen what you can do; I’d rather you be strapped down. And I’ve been looking for you for far too long to let you slip now.”
“Suit yourself then.” Sam was relaxed, confident, and Henriksen couldn’t figure out why. He leaned down, shut off the recorder set up on the table. Sam tensed a little, apprehension visible in his taught skin.
“All right, Sam. Here’s the thing. I just want you to tell me why. Why do you have a body count higher than the higher than the distance from here to the moon? Why did you have to do it with your brother? And why are you sitting there relaxed as can be, looking like you just won the goddamn lottery?”
Sam smirked, mouthing curling into a smile small. “Because it was fun. Because he’s my brother and I love him and I will do anything to keep him happy. And because you have no idea what you unleashed trapping the both of us in a building like this.”
“I’m gonna need a bit more detail on those last two.”
“That would require time we don’t have, Agent.” His face grew serious, mouth thin and white.
“As long as you’re chained to that desk, we have all the time in the world.”
Then there was a commotion outside that caught both of their attentions: a loud crash, two shots, and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the floor. A slow smile spread across Sam’s face.
“Agent Henriksen? Meet the cavalry.”
--
The first gunshot knocked Dean out of his placid state. A murderous smile spread across his face. The second gunshot got him in to action. He slammed against his cell bars, creating a distraction and signaling to Cas where he was.
More gunshots, the sounds of blade ripping through fabric and flesh and Cas was in the doorway, blood dripping from the blade in one hand, gun barrel still smoking in the other. Dean sighed, small amount of relief flooding his system at the knowledge that at least one of them was okay.
“Cas! Get me out of here!” He reached through the bars, hands clawing at the air to get to Cas. Cas reached for a set of keys he must have pulled off the dead cell guard. He wrenched the door open and Dean practically tackled him to the floor in a hug.
“You came,” he sobbed into Cas’s shoulder. “You came.”
“Of course I came. There isn’t a force in the word that could keep me from you two.”
“Sam! We have to get Sam!”
“Sam’s fine, he’s grabbing the car as we speak, which means we have got to go!”
--
The cavalry happened to be 6’ and had come bursting through the door with nothing more than a pistol and blade. Henriksen was on the floor with a bullet in his chest before he could blink. Sam shook his handcuffs impatiently and Cas broke them off with a warm bullet from the barrel against the metal and then his arms and mouth were full of Sam.
Cas pushed Sam off gently, stroking his face, “There’ll be plenty of time for that in a minute. Right now, you have to grab the car and I have to grab Dean.” He shoved the keys into Sam’s hand. “Car’s out back.”
Sam nodded and took off towards the door.
Cas leaned down and grabbed the keys off the dead - or at the least unconscious - agent before taking off in the direction of the cell.
--
Sam was in the car, foot heavy on the brake, desperate for the moment he could peel out of there. Fuckers thought they could separate them? Pff. Cas would show them, Dean would make them pay. And Sam? Sam would get to enjoy the high those two would be on after they got to destroy everything. Sam couldn’t fucking wait.
--
“If Sam’s fine then I don’t wanna go yet.” Dean stopped and tugged on Cas’s wrist like a child. “I wanna make these fuckers pay for ever thinking they could separate us. Whadya say, Cas?”
“What’d you have in mind?”
--
When Sam saw the first hints of smoke curl against the window and seep through the cracks under the door, he knew he was gonna have a good night. It was Cas who had shown Dean how much fun it was to burn things that weren’t bones. It made sense that they would use that advantage now. Those fuckers better hurry though Sam thought to himself. He was anxious and starting to sweat and he was anticipating the arrival of more cops soon, especially in a city this size. He honked the horn and someone opened the door, shoved a hand out in the universal ‘fuck off’ manor and Sam was getting pissed ‘cause those assholes were in there having fun without him. So he revved the engine once, twice, fully intent on driving away just to piss them off and then they were stumbling out the door, clinging to each other like a couple of drunks. Sam pulled up to the exit, reached behind to throw open the back door and they tumbled in, both men panting and laughing, and Sam stepped on it.
“I almost thought you were gonna leave us, Sammy.”
“I almost did leave you assholes though. I should teach you better than that.”
“Uh-oh. I think Sam’s a little upset, Dean.” Cas was wrapped around Dean, face buried in his neck, nuzzling and laughing.
“Maybe we should show him how sorry we are, Cas?” Sam looked in the rearview mirror and the glint he saw in Dean’s eyes was mischievous and full of promises of such delicious things that Sam really wasn’t about to say no because when Dean decided to put on a show? Well, he really puts on a show.
Sam turned on to the highway then, no sign of new cops but a great cloud of black smoke behind them and he knew the faster he went, the better the show would be so he pushed the needle further, car screaming down the empty road.
The grunts and whimpers from the backseat drew his attention and he focused on the two in the rearview mirror going at it like rabbits that had just got out of jail - which was technically true for one of them. Dean was pinned on his back in the seat, pants barely clinging to his hips at that point and Cas’s mouth was around his cock, and Dean looked like he was going to fucking die it was that good. His mouth fell open, silent screams of pleasure and Cas looked up at him like he was afraid he might break Dean.
Sam palmed the bulge currently growing in his own jeans and told Cas to keep going. He kept is eyes open for any break in the interstate, a safe place for them to pullover and hide out for a moment or several. He heard a hand slap the leather seat and checked the mirror to see Dean’s head thrown back in pleasure, Cas’s mouth and throat still locked around him.
“Jesus… fuck… Cas, I’m gonna…” but he couldn’t finish his sentence before he was coming down Cas’s throat, hips stuttering with orgasm, Cas trying to swallow everything Dean was giving him.
“I don’t know who taught you to do that but it sure as hell wasn’t me. But I think… I want to send them… a gift basket…” Dean left out between heavy pants.
“I’ll be sure to let them know you appreciate my skills, Dean.”
“You… you do that.”