"Sit. We're going to talk."

Before you can complain, or groan, or say anything to try and get away from him, Dean pushes one of the motel room's chairs towards you with his foot, so you sit across from him at the table. His gaze is stern, voice gravelly, arms crossed.

"If you think I haven't noticed your bullshit, you're wrong." Dean adds. "So, you're going to sit your ass there and tell me why you've been acting up."