Dean would show him, if they had time. Later - much later, when whatever glow this is has worn off them both - he'll be frustrated that they didn't get that time, as much as he'll be grateful that they got what they did. He knows where his favorite spots in this country are, and he knows how to get there quickest, knows how to just pick up and go wherever he wants. That's the best part about his lifestyle. That's the part he feels itching under his skin sometimes that nothing else will soothe.

Not that he's thinking about any of that right this second.

"Well for one, it's raw," Dean replies with mock consideration, like he has to think about it. "For two, it's fish. So. That's two strikes already."

He wrinkles his nose, hamming up the face he pulls just because he can. He knows. He's not really fighting the decision. "Don't tell me you're gonna make us eat with sticks, too."