Dean: Whoa, easy, tiger.
Sam: Dean? (Dean laughs)
Sam: (breathing heavily) You scared the crap out of me.
Dean: That's because you're out of practice. (Sam retaliates, pinning Dean down)
Dean: (laughs) Or not. Get off me.
Sam: What the hell are you doing here?
Dean: I was looking for a beer.
Sam: ...What the hell are you doing here?
Dean: Okay, alright. We gotta talk.
Sam: Um...the phone?
Dean: If I had called, would you have picked up?
(Jess in a tight blue Smurf shirt and short white panties) Dean: I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league.
Jess: Just let me put something on.
Dean: No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it...seriously.
Sam: No. No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it in front of her.
Dean: Okay...um...Dad hasn't been home in a few days.
Sam: So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later.
Dean: Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days.
Sam: ...Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside.
Sam: I mean, come on, you can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you.
Dean: You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him.
Sam: I swore I was done hunting for good.
Dean: Come on, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad.
Sam: Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45.
Dean: Well, what was he supposed to do?
Sam: I was nine years old. He was supposed to say, "Don't be afraid of the dark."
Dean: Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!
Sam: Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?
Dean: I'm twenty-six, dude.
Dean: So what are you gonna do? Just live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?
Sam: No. Not normal. Safe.
Dean: And that's why you ran away? (sounds disgusted)
Sam: I was just going to college. It was dad who said if I was gonna go, I should stay gone, and that's what I'm doing.
Dean: I can't do this alone.
Sam: Yes, you can.
Dean: (looks down and away) Well, I don't want to.
Dean: In almost two years I never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.
Jess: Wait, you're taking off? Is this about your dad? Is he alright?
Sam: Yeah, you know, just a little family drama.
Jess: Your brother said he's on some kind of hunting trip?
Sam: Oh, yeah. He's just deer hunting up at the cabin. He's probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose along with him. We're just going to go and bring him back.
Sam: So how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?
Dean: Well, yeah. Hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career. Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards.
Sam: Dude, you gotta update your cassette tape collection.
Dean: Why?
Sam: Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two, Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica?! It's the greatest hits of mullet rock.
Dean: House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cake hole.
Sam: You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam, okay?
Dean: Sorry, can't hear you. The music's too loud.
Sam: So what's the theory?
Ranger Wilkinson: Seriously? We don't know. Serial murder, kidnapping ring...
Dean: Well, that's exactly the kinda crack police work I'd expect outta you guys.
Dean: (nodding at two agents) Agent Mulder, Agent Scully.
(after falling over the bridge)
Sam: Dean! Dean!
Dean: What?!
Sam: You alright?!
Dean: (waves up), yeh
Sam: Car alright?
Dean: Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems alright now. That Constance chick - what a bitch!
Sam: You smell like a toilet!
Sam: Hey, Dean. What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry.
Dean: (holds up hand to stop Sam) No chick flick moments.
Sam: Alright...jerk.
Dean: Bitch.
Officer: So, fake U.S. Marshall. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?
Dean: My boots.
Policeman: I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here.
Dean: We talking, like, misdemeanor kind of trouble? Or, uh... "squeal like a pig" kind of trouble?
Policeman: You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall. Along with a whole lot of satanic mumbo jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect.
Dean: That makes sense. 'Cause when the first one went missing in '82, I was three.
Dean: Nice work, Sammy.
Sam: (painful laughing) Yeah, wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?
Dean: Hey, saved your ass! (looks at his car) I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car, I'll kill you.
Sam: We got work to do.