He knew that word. He wasn't estupido. And the only person who got to call him anything like that was Bobby Fucking Singer.
And then... with the love of a pirate stuff... Whoa.
Dean shook his head, a serious look of disbelief on his face. Was she bipolar?
"Can you, like, focus on one thing at a time? I'm sure the love of a pirate's great but we sort of have to look at the bigger picture, here."
Also, Jo. But he didn't want to start that with the crazy lady who didn't know why water came out of the wall.
Tell me what is going on, then.
"Fine."
Dean walked out of the bathroom and into a hallway, looking around. The house was normal. Or seemed to be. If he'd ended up here, he had to guess that his things had, too. Right?
If they hadn't, and the Impala was somewhere else, heads were gonna roll.
"Come with me. I'm looking for my stuff, okay?
He'd like to have clothes on, too.
And as he ducked around the house looking, he kept talking.
"My best guess is that something took us and brought us here. I don't know what. If I can find my stuff, that might help. We don't remember anything... I feel fine... do you feel weird or anything?"
He ducked into another room.
"And time travel's totally possible. I've done it a bunch of times. The dying thing, too." He couldn't help but chuckle and smile on the last sentence.