Let’s face it: as a hunter, you’ve stayed in many interesting motels across the country. Most of which are of the type that don’t ask about your bloodstains and bogus credit card names, as long as you don’t mind weird smells and hair in the drain. A few more motels stand out in your mind for having beds with magic fingers (Dean’s favorite) to cowboy-themed towns and seventies furniture.

As soon as you flip on the lights, old road signs and license plates decorate the walls, and Sam’s eye roll. And then… you spot two bright red, shiny, race car shaped beds, complete with fake wheels and burnt-out lights. It’s like a middle-school boy’s wet dream… but hell, if it’s comfortable.

Dean’s eyes comically bulge out of his head. “Babe! We’re sleeping in the race car bed tonight!” He bellows with all the enthusiasm of an eight year old boy. His duffel hits the thin carpet with a thwump! as he runs and leaps into said bed. He’s a dork, alright… except now he’s your dork.