"What the hell happened to you? How the hell did you get covered in blue paint?" Sam hands Dean a towel, and Dean does his best to scrub the paint off his face. There's paint crusted in his eyebrows.

"I have a confession to make, Sam."

Sam raises his eyebrow, and looks askance at his brother.

"Well?"

"Certain things just don't friggin' mix."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like oil and water, fire and ice, David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar…" he pauses, still trying to scrub the paint off his face.

"And?"

"And what?"

"What else doesn't mix?"

"Poltergeists and Home Depot."

"Um. That's not really a confession. That's more like, I don't know, an observation."

Dean shakes his head, and glares at Sam.

"Fine. You want a confession? An actual bona fide friggin' confession?"

Sam sighs and hands Dean another towel.

"Sure Dean. Let's have a bona fide confession."

Dean stands and crosses the motel room, heading for the shower. He flips on the water, and sticks his head back out of the bathroom, and Sam bites his tongue to keep from laughing hysterically at the artfully sculpted blue spikes that are his brother's hair.

"Here's a confession. You suck, bitch!"