"Quit poutin'."

Dean sighs, crossing his arms and looking down at you as you sit on the couch, indeed pouting.

You just wanna go out with your friends. Live like a normal damn person but no. Your daddy wants you home. Because he's hunting. And until he's back, Dean's word is law.

You're 23 years old. It's not like you need a damn babysitter.

Damn your pops for being a good person and wanting you safe. And damn Dean for owing him a favor.

"Look, sweetheart. I'm sorry. But I owe your dad. And I ain't letting you out of this house."

Not that the view is all that terrible.