[ and so cas stands there, stalwart, as an entire ass bucket of sea water (plus one crab who's just vibing, having a good time, living his best life), splatters across his person. he's silent, eyes closed, lips pressed. said crab slaps him in the forehead, before tumbling back down into the water with it's asshole brethren.

castiel was an angel once. he was a seraph. he had a garrison, soldiers, respect. and now he's here, being crab-slapped by some manchild who thinks dicks come from a factory. ]

All phalluses are custom made for the individual, there's no factory.

[ Cas reaches up, patiently swipes the water and various sea gunk from his eyes. ]

If one were to be mangled by a fork, there'd be no available replacement.

[ to the tune of "i will fork you right in the dick, dean winchester, fuckin try me bitch". ]