Hostility's got nothing on Dean, right here and right now.

Well, hostility and a metric fuckton of creeped the hell out.

Because --

Look. Dean doesn't back down from shit. Demons, shapeshifters, pissed-off gods -- been there, done that, bought the frickin' T-shirt.

But this guy.

This guy's something else, Dean knows that to his bones. He'd have known it even without what happened to Pamela, but that just makes him doubly sure.

But burning eye-sockets or no, his only job now is to make sure this meeting doesn't end well, not for either of 'em.

You know.

If he can.

"Who the hell are you?"