Even before he starts speaking, Dean knows it's not John Winchester he's looking at; the words he says next definitely cement that particular fact, though. His eyes widen, and, Christ, he's going to need to bleach his brain for the mental imagery this asshole's conjured. He returns that expression of 'what the actual fuck' with one of his own.

"Uh, no?" He downs the rest of his whiskey to help. "I meant 'dad' as in, actual, biological father. You and him are the spittin' image of each other."

"Why is it always a kink thing when someone mentions 'dad' these days, anyway?"

He orders another shot, vodka, this time, and downs it. He feels similarly flayed emotionally in the way he just recently was physically, as if this man's words just peeled back layers of Dean to poke and prod at his myriad number of daddy issues underneath; he feels exposed, and now his hackles are raised.