"You killed it with your bare hands?"

"It would've gotten away if I'd stopped to get something to kill it with." He squirted a little soap into his palm and began to scrub.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that."

"Kill them?" He stuck his hands under the stream of hot water.

"Can't you just live and let live?"

"It's us or them, Sam, you know that. There's no choice." Twisting the faucet to the off position, he turned around, scrubbing his palms on his jeans to dry them.

"You make it sound like a war. They're just roaches."

"This is war." Dean's voice and expression, when he turned them on his brother, were serious. "And we're heavily outnumbered."