Sam: Hey, stop pushing at my ankles! I'm following you, I swear.

*determined chittering*

Does protecting me from getting kidnapped by squirrels fall under that "I've got to keep you safe" policy of yours?"

Dean: We're hallucinating. Gotta be. I mean... squirrels?

Sam: Maybe they're rabid? I'm trying to keep them from biting me.

Dean: Actually I think they're drunk. They smell like cheap rum.

Sam: Oh, come on. Drunk? Have you ever heard of alcoholic squirrels? Ooh, maybe someone spilled the rum on them, poor things.

*chittering interrupted by a loud squirrel burp*

Dean: I rest my case.

Sam: That was disgusting. And I'm only mildly surprised that you can recognize drunkenness in squirrels. Why do you think that is?

Dean: A keen eye for noticing details, Sammy, my boy. You should try it.

Sam: It's Sam. And my eye for details is fine. I think.

Dean: Fine, then. With your eye for detail can you figure out why we've been kidnapped by drunken squirrels to a radio station?

Sam: Well, there's a stack of papers there. Maybe they want us to read them?

Dean: *sound of papers rustling* Dude, you've got to be joking. You brought us here to read the news?

*chittering*

Sam: I think that was squirrel for yes. Here, since you're supposedly older, you can start.

( Oh, the talky joys of plot weekends. )

And holy crap, I think that's the end of the pile.

Dean: Thank god. So can we go now?

*chittering*

Sam: I don't care what that was squirrel for, I'm saying the answer was yes. Want to see if Caritas is still open?

Dean: Absolutely.

Sam: Awesome. Let's get out of here before the squirrels attack. Good night, Fandom!