[Dean's seen worse. And been worse. Remember for a moment that you're talking to someone who's died multiple times. Of course this wouldn't matter to Philip, who appears to have an aversion to being vulnerable even in front of friends - although Dean can relate entirely - but still. Still.

It shouldn't matter. Dean raises an eyebrow.]

Expensive? What the Hell are you talking abou-? Oh. Oh, shit, right. That rave from Hell. [Sighing, Dean rakes a hand through his hair.] Sonsabitches jacked up their prices.

[Slumping back in his chair, Dean laces his fingers together and rests his hands on his stomach. That "neon party" is something that Dean is still trying to forget. After getting hopped up on candy and suffering from horrendous withdrawal (He actually spent a lot of time curled up on his bed, clutching a pillow and shaking it all out of his system), he decided that lime green is a sinful color and pounding bass beats should only be relegated to Metallica riffs.]

I think the prices've changed since then, dude.