He meets Dean's gaze just as it comes into being, poised to lay down the crop, and what he sees there almost makes him shiver with its power. Fear. Need. Other things he doubts either of them could name. And he thinks all at once that this is a dark moment but in some way this is also a sacred moment.

What he's being allowed to see. To do.

He picks up the smaller knife - Neil's gift, he thinks with some wry humor - and slides it out of its leather sheath, holding it up to the faint light and turning it this way and that, letting the blade gleam. One side is serrated, good - in his experience - for light scratches, sensation play. And then there's the other side.

His gaze is still locked on Dean's as he steps forward. He's not asking for permission. Not asking for anything as he presses the edge of the blade against the base of Dean's throat.