Summary: Why do I love the fact Dean calls Ciel a tiny Crowley?

The doors slammed open.
“Sebastian,” a sharp, irritated voice snapped, “why does it sound like livestock has been released into the manor—”
Ciel Phantomhive stopped dead.
He took in the scene in exactly three seconds:
Salt all over the floor
Dean Winchester holding an iron rod like it might betray him
Sam Winchester awkwardly standing in a half-apology posture
Sebastian, perfectly composed, already holding a broom
Ciel’s eye twitched.
“…Explain.”
Sebastian bowed. “Young master. These gentlemen attempted to exorcise me.”
Ciel stared.
Then, slowly, he turned to the Winchesters.
“You,” he said flatly, “barged into my home, vandalized my floors, assaulted my butler with kitchen condiments, and failed.”
Dean opened his mouth. “Okay, when you say it like that—”
Ciel cut him off instantly. “I don’t care how you say it.”
Sam stepped forward politely. “We thought there was a demon.”
“There is a demon,” Ciel snapped. “I’m well aware. He answers to me.”
Dean blinked. “The kid owns the demon.”
Ciel glared at him. “I am not a child.”
Dean glanced at Sam. “He’s like a tiny Crowley.”
Sebastian coughed. “Master, may I dispose of them?”
Ciel didn’t even look at him. “Not yet.”
He marched forward, cane tapping sharply against the floor, stopped directly in front of Dean, and looked up at him with pure, simmering disdain.
“Do you have any idea,” Ciel said, “how exhausting it is to manage an estate, political intrigue, assassination attempts, and an immortal demon—butler—only to come home and find two American idiots trying to salt the furniture?”
Dean frowned. “We didn’t salt the furniture.”
Ciel’s eye twitched again. “You thought about it.”
Sam cleared his throat. “We usually don’t get yelled at by… twelve-year-olds.”
Ciel spun on him. “I am the Queen’s Watchdog.”
Dean leaned in. “Told you. Tiny Crowley.”
Ciel pointed his cane at Dean. “If you throw one more household item at my butler, I will have him throw you out the window.”
Sebastian smiled. “With pleasure.”
Dean raised both hands. “Okay! Okay. No more throwing.”
Ciel sniffed, turned on his heel, and walked toward the table.
“Sebastian. Tea.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ciel glanced back over his shoulder.
“And make a separate pot,” he added sharply, “in case they’ve somehow contaminated the first one with holy water.”
Dean muttered, “I kinda like him.”
Ciel froze.
Slowly turned.
“…I don’t care.”
Sebastian poured tea flawlessly, hiding his amusement behind a perfect smile.