You’re a hunter who’s part of the team with the Winchester brothers and Castiel. And while, honestly, Dean and Sam don’t have the best track record for keeping themselves clean (“We’re hunters,” Dean says, “we don’t need to smell like roses all the time.” Sam protested, but who listens to him?), you’re definitely the worst offender on that front. And Cas has had enough.

In that jump scare-esque way he does, Castiel teleports into your room in a rustle of feathers, and ignores your startled yelp as he picks you up like you weigh as much as a kitten and teleports to the nearest bathroom in the bunker, where he sets you on the counter and holds you there with one firm hand as the other starts the tap in the bathtub.

“I am tired of you hunters smelling like beer-soaked raccoons.” He says firmly in that parental-scolding tone that he’s so good at. “You three might be content to sit in the filth of various monsters and your own bodily fluids, but this has gone on long enough. All three of you are going to be bathed, because a shower won’t be enough. You’ll just do a poor job cleaning yourselves, as usual.”

As Castiel talks and the bathtub fills, he’s working on efficiently undressing you, uncaring of your modesty or your protests. “I have taken care of literal children over the millennia that have had better hygiene habits than you three. By my Father, I sometimes feel more like a babysitter than a guardian angel. Oh- stop fussing, even fledglings protest less!” He says with a touch of fond exasperation as he rolls up the sleeves of his trench coat and turns off the water.