Oh, Dean wished he had some holy water on him. He was pretty sure this was no god he was dealing with, but some low-level, black-eyed demonic son of a bitch who thought he was some big badass. Demons? He'd learned after the crossroads bitch that demons were big gossips - they talked and she'd known all about him and his family before he'd even tried to trap her that time. Still, just because Slappy knew his name wasn't exactly hard proof he was a demon for sure, not like getting flashed those black eyes by Punk-Ass the other night. He had to find out what this guy knew for sure and what he was pulling out of his ass, no doubt hoping Dean would fall for his bluff. Dean had grown up learning how to pull the wool over people's eyes - being a con man kinda went hand in hand with being a hunter - and he knew better than to just go around blabbing sensitive information like where his usual partner in crime was.

While he didn't need much of an excuse to go staking or exorcising this guy - or whatever it took to kill him - Dean did need to get more information, get a better feel for how much he knew and how much he was pulling out of his ass.

Dean pretended to pick at the knee of his uniform gray pants, flicking off an almost invisible piece of loose thread. "Try me."