A/N: For jennytork, whose fault it still is, especially since part of the plot for this story fills a prompt she left eons ago on a hoodie_time comment-fic meme. The beginning overlaps somewhat with the end of "Still, Still, Still."
Silence Is Golden
By San Antonio Rose
Samuel finishes testing and exorcising the last of the extended family, to Mark and Gwen's relief, and heads back to his office to make a phone call. He's been trying for days now to get in touch with Crowley and find out what the game is, why so many of his family members have been possessed. Granted, he knows what Crowley is and always has, but his only reason for working with the creep is his promise to bring Mary back as soon as he's found Purgatory. That ought to be incentive enough; Crowley shouldn't need henchdemons on the inside keeping tabs on Samuel.
But as it has since three days before Christmas, the call goes straight to voice mail.
Samuel's just hung up when a male voice with an upper-class New England accent says, "He won't answer."
He looks up and frowns at the tall black man standing in front of his desk. "Why not?"
"He's dead. Your grandsons caught up with him."
Samuel's frown deepens. "And just who the hell are you?"
The stranger chuckles. "Oh, no, Samuel. Quite the opposite. My name is Raphael. I am an angel of the Lord."
There's no such thing, Samuel wants to say, but for some reason he can believe it. Too many weird things have surfaced lately, and apparently things he thought were extinct had only been in hiding. "Why are you here?"
"I came to tell you that there has been a change in... your sponsorship. You now work for me."
"Exactly what you were doing for Crowley. Find Purgatory."
"And if... if I do that, will you honor the terms of Crowley's deal?"
Raphael smiles coldly. "We will discuss reward when you have something to tell me." And he vanishes as suddenly as he had appeared.
Samuel sighs heavily. Apparently supernatural politics have changed a lot more than he'd realized.
When the time finally comes to leave London, Sam and Lisa manage to smuggle enough cold meds on the plane to keep Dean's coughing to a minimum. They're upgraded to business class for free, too, which means the seats recline better, and Dean's able to find an angle that helps him breathe better. So all in all, the flight home's not too much of a pain, though Dean's none too happy about having to leave Sam in charge of making sure nobody blows up the plane by natural or supernatural means.
But no sooner do they pull into Lisa's driveway than Dean gets hit with serious chills and a coughing spell that leaves him red in the face and wheezing audibly. By the time it's over, Lisa's doing as much soothing rubbing of back and head as she can from the back seat and Sam's pulling up beside the ER.
It's acute bronchitis, they finally learn, probably some virus Dean picked up in the UK. Nothing much to worry about, but Dean's going to be off his feet for at least two weeks, and Lisa's worried about whether or not it's contagious enough that Ben could get it.
Sam takes Lisa out into the hall. "Hey, um... I don't want you to think I'm tryin' to take Dean away from you or anything, but... maybe we should set up a kind of quarantine."
Lisa frowns. "How do you mean?"
"I'd been thinkin' about tryin' to find my own place here in town anyway, so... why don't I do that, and we can move Dean in with me until he's better. That way he doesn't have to stay in the hospital, and you and Ben won't be exposed to him unless you want to come visit, and you won't have to miss work to take care of him or anything. I'll... I'll get a job at a bar or somethin'."
"You don't have to do this, Sam. I really don't mind if you need to go back to hunting."
"That's just it. I don't. I mean, yeah, that's what we do—what I do; Dean can't—shouldn't—anyway, if there's one thing we've both learned, it's that family needs to come first. So I just... I need to know that he's okay. I'm gonna be too worried to hunt much until I know he's getting better."
Lisa nods slowly. "Okay. Do you need help with furniture or anything?"
Sam shakes his head. "I'll try to find someplace that's furnished. Although... maybe dishes and such?"
Lisa nods more vigorously now. "Sure. I've got some spare kitchen stuff."
And so it's settled.
As soon as Dean's well enough to be bored, he starts researching loose nukes for Cas. He finds a couple of suspicious cases within a week, and Cas drops in long enough to get the information from them and then returns long enough to warn them to be wary because it looks like a rogue angel has decided to move in on the Crossroads Demons. He looks irritated when he realizes that Dean's too sick to even consider helping hunt down the rogue, but he agrees with Sam that it's probably better for him to get a recommendation from Bobby if the case is urgent. Lisa comes over every day for at least an hour, and Dean talks to Ben on Skype every night even when he hasn't had much of a voice. Good thing we know Sign, they all say at one point or another. Saves talking.
Bronchitis turns into viral pneumonia, however, and the garage technically lets Dean go, though the owner promises to rehire him as soon as he's back on his feet. Dean gets all his favorite soups and a pie for his birthday meals and spends Valentine's Day curled up on Sam's couch with Lisa, watching sappy romantic movies with the closed captioning on and wearing a red bandana over his nose and mouth so he won't cough on her. He starts to perk up some after that and starts talking about trying to go back to work, but by Presidents' Day he's still got no stamina, so Sam takes him back to the doctor and finds out that the poor guy's had mono incubating this whole time as well.
Sam refuses to translate for Ben when Dean rants later. There are some signs not even eleven-year-olds need to know.
But the mono is relatively mild and doesn't get passed on to Lisa or to Sam, and Dean finally starts to bounce back around Ben's Spring Break. So he insists on taking Ben on a boys-only road trip down to Central Texas. In the Impala.
Sam can't think of any better medicine, so they go. He even lets Dean drive when there's a long stretch of highway with very little traffic ahead of them. Ben calls Lisa every night and does all the talking, and Dean always has him close with "Dean says 'I love you.'" It does all of them a world of good.
They're just about ready to head back to Indiana when the Austin news starts running stories that look like a classic werewolf attack... except for the not-so-minor detail that it's only the half moon.
Sam hasn't completely lost touch with the Campbells, but he's still surprised when Samuel calls and tells Sam to meet him in Austin. "I can't," Sam objects, making sure Dean can follow his side of the conversation. "We've only got one car, and Ben's with us."
"It'll only take a day, Sam. I promise."
Sam looks helplessly at Dean, who sighs and holds up a brochure for the Bob Bullock Museum of Texas History. Sam sighs in turn. "Okay, um... how 'bout you meet us at the Bullock Museum?"
"Fine. How soon can you get here?"
Dean signs Two, and Sam nods. "Two hours."
"Good. See you then."
Sam sighs again as he pockets his phone. Then he looks at Dean. You are NOT driving.
Dean grumbles but doesn't argue. They both know Austin traffic is insane even for drivers who aren't deaf. There's no sense taking chances in the Impala with a driver who can't hear a warning honk.
They take half an hour to putter around downtown Austin before heading to the Bullock Museum, and in the process they locate a park not far from the museum. Sam and Dean don't even have to sign to each other to agree that Sam will take Samuel to the park to keep him as far away from Ben as reasonable.
Samuel's waiting out front when they get to the museum, and he looks surprised, as if he didn't expect Sam to have told the truth about Dean and Ben. After a minor exchange of pleasantries, Dean and Ben go on into the museum, leaving Sam to steer Samuel back to the park.
Once they're seated, Samuel brings Sam up to speed on the current case, though he doesn't have much more information than was in the news reports aside from the fact that the victim's heart was missing.
Sam sighs. "How sure are you that this isn't a skinwalker? The moon's wrong."
"There is that chance," Samuel concedes. "But look at this." He pulls out another folder. "There's been a string of deaths in that same area for years, always on the full moon. It's a classic werewolf pattern, but it's been kept on the downlow until now."
Sam flips through the folder and frowns. "These are all animal deaths."
Sam gets to the back of the folder and finds three assault reports, one month apart from each other. In all three cases, the assailant was shot and disabled long enough for the victim to get away.
"Looks to me," Samuel continues, "as though our werewolf got turned, went out to hunt its first full moon, and got a shattered pelvis for its trouble. Next month, same thing. Third month, same thing. Weres aren't stupid. After that, it'd be conditioned to go after smaller prey. Everyone thinks it's a coyote making off with the pets, and it doesn't get shot anymore."
Sam shakes his head and smiles. "God bless Texas." He reads more, enough to make him think Samuel has a point about the trend to date, then shuts the folder with a sigh. "That still doesn't explain how a werewolf could change on the half moon, never mind why."
Samuel grimaces. "There's been weird stuff coming out of the woodwork for about a month now. We grabbed an ookami last week up in Denver; they've never been seen outside Japan before now. Something's up; we just can't tell what."
Sam frowns and leans back to ponder that statement. Nothing odd has happened in the last month, to his knowledge, not on a cosmic scale. Cas would have warned them if something was on his radar. It's been almost a year since they averted the Apocalypse. There are the loose nukes, sure, but Sam can't think of any reason why Heaven would have a weapon that causes early transformation in werewolves.
He's still trying to figure out what and how much to say when he hears Ben yelling, "Sam! SAM!"
Something's wrong. Sam stands and turns to see Ben running toward them full tilt—alone. He takes off to meet Ben halfway, barely aware of Samuel following. "What?" he asks as they run up to each other. "What is it?"
"Dean," Ben pants. "Went to the bathroom—didn't come out. I looked. He's gone."
Sam's gut twists. "Was there another exit?"
Ben shakes his head.
Sam swears with his hands. Something's grabbed Dean, and Sam doesn't have the first clue where to start looking.
When Dean comes to, his first instinct is to panic. He has no damn clue where he is or what's happened, and he can't see. But gasping takes the distinctive form of dragging air in through damp fabric, which means he's gagged, and he belatedly recognizes the pressure at the corners of his mouth where the gag rests. Only then does he realize that his arms are bound behind him. And then he notices the pressure across his nose and behind his ears.
He takes another deep breath through his nose and lets it out again. Not blind, just blindfolded. Okay. He can work with this.
First he takes stock of himself. Whoever grabbed him didn't rough him up, evidently; he doesn't feel injured. He's sitting in a chair. His jacket and overshirt are off. His wrists are tied together; each leg is tied to a leg of the chair. Slight motion reveals that the bonds are well tied, not painfully tight but not loose enough to just slip out of. He can't quite reach his back pocket on the first try, but even if he could, he can tell from shifting his weight that his knife and wallet are gone.
Another deep breath, released in a huff. This could take a while.
Next he concentrates on what he can sense about his surroundings. Being deaf, of course, he can't hear anything like another person breathing, so he can't tell for sure if Ben is there or whether the kidnappers also grabbed Sam and Samuel. It feels, though, as if he's alone in the center of an empty space—how large, he can't be sure. Indoors, given the cooled air. No distinctive scents. Not particularly dry, not particularly humid.
Another deep breath, released slowly. All right, then. The first order of business is getting his arms free and getting this blindfold off. Once he has his eyes back, he can figure out what to do next, whether he's alone and how to get out of here.
Whoever tied him up did a good job of making sure his fingers can't reach the rope. So much for Plan B. But the rope is scratchy like natural fiber, and the chair feels like it has a wooden back and seat attached to a metal frame. Hardly daring to hope, he carefully slides his arms up along the back uprights... and finds one bolt that's not completely blunt at the end. In fact, the end is sharp enough to scratch.
That's not much, but it's a start. It takes some maneuvering to get the rope in the right position, but as soon as he does, he starts rubbing the rope against that sharp bolt end so fast he thinks he smells the fibers start to smolder a little from the friction. He feels the tension give a little at a time as threads break. But the bolt's not nearly as sharp as a knife, and this is a lot more physical exertion than he's been used to for the last few months, so he's barely gotten through two strands when he has to pause to rest his shoulders and catch his breath.
In that pause, something puts him on alert. He's not sure what, only that it's probably a feeling he wouldn't have registered a year ago. Now that he has to rely on four—well, three at the moment—senses rather than five, he's more attuned to what those senses are telling him. He's not close enough to being through the rope to be able to break it, so once he's pressed the frayed part of the rope against the small of his back to hide it, he forces himself to relax his muscles and slow his breathing. That's a trick Lisa taught him, and he intends to thank her as soon as he gets home.
Seconds later, the air displaces the way it does when Cas arrives, only that sensation isn't accompanied by the indefinite smell Dean has come to associate with Cas. Whatever just zapped into the room smells faintly of ozone and disinfectants. Dean's smelled that before, but he doesn't try too hard to place it at the moment, since it seems like there are two figures in front of him. He has no idea how he can tell. The only consolation is that he doesn't smell sulfur.
Not being able to hear right now is highly annoying, because he suspects the two figures are discussing him or maybe trying to talk to him. He thinks he senses one of them walking around him slowly, but he's not Pamela, dammit. He can't be sure of anything. All he can do is stay calm and still and focus all his attention on tracking what he can with the senses he has.
Ozone-and-Cleanser makes its (his?) circuit and stops in front of Dean again. Dean can feel contempt and judgment rolling off the being like heat waves off a sidewalk in an Arizona summer. He forces himself not to react... there's nothing he can do anyway, and he's not going to give whatever this is the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. After a long moment of what's probably conversation, the air shifts again, and Ozone-and-Cleanser is gone. Dean stays still for a while longer, unsure if he's really alone, and finally the second being leaves as well.
Dean blows out a breath around the gag. Cas, buddy, I need you, he prays. And no sooner does the thought leave his mind than he realizes where he knows that smell from.
Raphael grabbed me out of Austin, he thinks Cas-ward, shifting to start fraying the rope some more as he does so. Pretty sure Sam's still there with Ben and Samuel, unless Raphael grabbed them, too. I don't know where the hell I am, but I'm tied up and blindfolded, so the sooner you can get me out of here, the better.
Cas doesn't show before Dean's adrenaline-fueled efforts get the rope frayed enough to break. As soon as his hands are free, he rips off the blindfold to find that his initial assessment of the space was correct. It's a bare, industrial-looking room with no windows and one door, possibly in an abandoned factory or hospital, or else one that hasn't been moved into yet. None of the others are there. Relieved and hoping that they haven't just all been put in separate 'cells,' Dean gets the gag off, prays the details quietly to Cas as he unties his legs, and sets about trying to find a way out of the room.
Sam's about ready to pull his hair out. His fake FBI badge was enough to get the museum's security team to help search as if Dean had been taken by human kidnappers, but they haven't turned up even a whiff of sulfur. No fingerprints, no video gone to snow, nothing. He and Ben have just finished going over every inch of the bathroom; there's no trace of Dean and no sign of what might have him.
Cas, help, he prays silently. Something's got Dean, and I don't have a clue as to what or why.
He and Ben are just about to the bathroom door when he hears Samuel snarling quietly at someone. Sam slows down to listen.
"This wasn't part of the deal," Samuel growls.
Sam shoves Ben behind him and flattens them both against the wall so he can listen. He can feel Ben's heart hammering under his hand, but he doesn't have time to explain.
"You've got to be kidding—that could take weeks! ... No, I don't think it is. The pattern... ... Why the hell are Alphas so important?"
"Sam," Cas whispers right in Sam's ear.
Ben's shock at having the angel appear in such close quarters is palpable, but Sam only holds up one finger to tell Cas to wait while he strains to hear Samuel.
Cas puts a hand on his shoulder and rapid-fire thoughts in his head. I've heard from Dean. He's alive and unhurt. Raphael has him. I'm on my way to retrieve him, but I knew you'd want to know. And Cas is gone.
"Look," says Samuel, "Dean's got nothing to do with any of this. You don't need him for leverage. Let him go—or so help me, my next hunt's going to be for you." And Sam hears the beep of Samuel hanging up his ancient cell phone.
Sam heaves a silent sigh and finally turns back to Ben, who's gone milk-white. He moves his hand from Ben's chest to his shoulder and pulls him into a brief hug. Dean okay, he signs. Cas will get him.
Ben's shudder of relief, briefly-escaped tear, and quick scrub to get said tear off his cheek are so Dean-like it's scary. Sam gives Ben's shoulder a squeeze and wonders what the hell to do with what he's just heard Samuel say.
Dean, meanwhile, having made his escape thanks to Raphael not having searched his front pockets, eases down the hall, sneaking a look in every room he passes. They're all empty so far, and as his 'cell' was at the far end of the hall, he's not going to have to double back to make sure he hasn't missed Ben or Sam. There's an intersection just ahead and what looks like an office beyond it, and the office has enough windows that if he hides behind the pillar that's nearby, he should be able to do some spying.
No sooner is he in position than Raphael walks out of the back office, talking with another angel. The angle's wrong for Dean to be able to read their lips well, but he thinks he sees Raphael tell the other angel to "find sustenance for the human." The other angel bows and leaves. Then Raphael goes to a desk—why the hell is that room furnished when none of the others are?—and picks up a phone.
"Relax," Dean can now see Raphael say. "He is safe and unharmed."
What. The. Hell?!
"Insurance. I will release him when you bring me an Alpha." Raphael pauses. "What about the hunt you're on now? Is that not one? ... Don't bore me with details. Just bring me an Alpha, and you may have your grandson. ... That's none of your concern, Campbell. You have your orders. Obey them."
That odd sense of something coming puts Dean on alert, but somehow he knows it's not danger this time. So he puts up a hand just in time for it to smack into Cas' chest. Cas gets the message and slides over behind him, looking past his shoulder into the office.
"Rest assured that I mean Dean no harm," Raphael continues. "I have my own reasons for desiring his well-being. But these common-or-garden monsters you have been catching are useless. Bring an Alpha to me, or forget seeing either your grandson or your daughter again." The archangel scowls as Samuel apparently says something unpleasant, and then he starts and looks at the handset before hanging up. Dean guesses Samuel must have hung up on Raphael.
Dean turns a puzzled frown to Cas, who looks ready to kill Raphael. But Cas only puts a hand on Dean's shoulder and pulls him away to the museum, where Samuel also looks like murder and Sam and Ben are just coming out of the bathroom. And then it's a race to see who hugs who first.
Sam notices the rope burn on Dean's wrists before anyone else does. You okay? he signs.
Dean nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. But we need to get out of here. Through the front door," he adds, looking pointedly at Cas.
Cas doesn't look any less grim. "All right, but we need to hurry. I don't know how long it will take Raphael to learn that you're gone."
They hurry out of the museum, stopping just long enough at the front desk to let the security people know that he's been found. At Sam's suggestion, they duck behind a building and have Cas zap them to an Irish pub Sam knows of on 4th Street. Once they're seated and have their drink orders put in, Cas raises wards around the booth where they're sitting, and Samuel finds himself on the receiving end of four pointed stares.
Samuel sighs heavily. "I didn't sell you out, Dean."
"Then how the hell did Raphael know where I was?" Dean counters. "And how the hell did you know enough to call him?"
"I don't know how he knew you were here. He must have had me watched."
"But you're working for him."
"You don't understand."
The conversation pauses as the drinks arrive and they place their meal orders. When the waitress is gone again, Samuel doesn't look inclined to continue, but Sam leans forward. "So all this time, all those monsters you had Mark and Gwen and me capture instead of kill—you were turning them over to Raphael?"
"Not at first, no," Samuel reluctantly confesses. "Crowley found me when I woke up on Elton Ridge. He said he brought me back for a reason, wanted me to round up as many monsters as I could, especially Alphas."
"And you agreed?!"
"Sam, he promised to bring Mary back if I helped him find what he was looking for. It's my fault she's dead. I'm the one who got himself possessed; I'm the one who wouldn't listen to Dean's warnings. I had to set things right!"
"By working for a demon?" Ben asks before either Dean or Sam can. He's sitting next to Dean, but he signs the question as well as speaking it—must be habit by now—and Dean catches the motion in his peripheral vision.
Samuel grimaces. "Look, I knew I couldn't be resurrected without some consequences. If the only damage was to monsters, it seemed like a small price to pay. And it did have some benefits; being on the alert for anything unusual meant we got back to Lawrence not long after Sam came back."
Sam is Not Pleased at this news. "So what, did Crowley bring me back, too?" Dean can almost hear Sam's tone of voice.
Samuel shakes his head. "Not that we know of. He said he did, but it wasn't very convincing."
"Oh, and the promise to bring Mom back was?"
"So when did Raphael take over?" Dean interrupts. So much lip-reading is starting to give him a headache; the sooner he gets the full story, the sooner he can quit paying attention to anything but food.
Samuel flinches, and Dean's not sure whether it's at his volume or his tone. "Right around New Year's. I couldn't get hold of Crowley to ask why there were so many demons hiding in the family. Raphael told me Crowley was dead."
Samuel's eyes then shift to Cas, who's sitting at the end of the table, but Dean doesn't turn fast enough to catch the first part of what Cas says. Cas continues, "But you're not telling the whole truth. Did either of them say why they want to find Purgatory?"
Dean's eyes snap to Samuel, who's gone pale and wide-eyed. "How the hell did you know about that?"
"Crowley offered me a deal," says Cas, now feeding his words into Dean's mind as he says them so Dean won't have to work so hard to keep up. "He intended to expand Hell into Purgatory's dimension and use the souls in Purgatory as a power source to solidify his position as King of Hell. He knew of the trouble I was having with Raphael and offered me half of the souls if I would help him find the spell to open a door into Purgatory. His theory was that monsters, and especially Alphas, would know that spell and would reveal it under torture. Alphas," he adds for Dean and Ben's benefit, "are the first of their kind, direct children of the Mother of All. She's been in Purgatory for ten thousand years. Crowley thought the Alphas, at least, would know how to find her and possibly how to release her."
Dean looks at his friend's face. "But you didn't take that deal... right?"
Cas looks at him, a little ashamed. "I was tempted. I couldn't let Raphael restart the Apocalypse, after all you've done, and I thought I would be able to outsmart Crowley and turn the deal to my advantage. I... told him I'd think about it. But then Sam found you again, and you began hunting Crowley. So I chose not to give him an answer."
"So what, you think he made Raphael the same offer?"
"He might have. I am no match for Raphael on my own, but I have been leading the search for the stolen weapons. Raphael may have feared that with their power, I would be able to stop him."
"Swell." Dean scrubs wearily at his eyes and winces when the motion makes the rope burn smart. Cas touches his shoulder, and the pain in his wrists vanishes.
Sam waits until Dean's eyes are open again to address Samuel. "So why did Raphael grab Dean?"
Samuel sighs. "We haven't been getting anywhere. Nothing in the States seems to know the right spell. Raphael evidently thought he needed to raise the stakes."
"So he kidnapped me," Dean growls. "And the ransom was an Alpha."
Samuel frowns. "How the hell do you know that?"
Dean looks at Sam, who shrugs tiredly. Then Dean sighs and looks at Samuel again. "I'm deaf, Samuel. Took a pretty bad beating about a year ago, cost me my ears. The one advantage is that I've had to learn to read lips. I'd already gotten loose and was trying to find my way out when I found Raphael's office, just about the time you called."
Samuel sits back and stares at Dean, puzzle pieces apparently slotting into place. "Son, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I'm not your son," Dean snarls. "I'm not even sure I want to be your grandson. And I sure as hell don't want my son around you after today."
He doesn't realize what he's said until Ben reaches over to squeeze his hand. But he's not going to take it back, whether it's true or not. No matter what the future holds for him and Lisa, he loves Ben like his own. And that won't change. So he squeezes Ben's hand back.
Samuel flinches like he's been burned. "Dean, I didn't know this was going to happen. I was trying to bring your mother back! I thought you'd want that!"
"Dammit, I have learned my lesson about that kind of deal. Yes, I did try everything I knew to bring Sam back this time, but I drew the line at demons. I've already been to Hell once. And last time the world almost ended as a result." Samuel flinches harder, but Dean keeps going. "Yes, I want to see Mom again, and Dad, too, but not at that price. They're in Heaven; they need to stay there."
"I didn't think—"
"Exactly. You didn't think."
The food arrives as if on cue, and Dean makes a point of ignoring everyone for the rest of the meal.
That doesn't mean he's wholly oblivious. He's about three-fourths of the way through his fish and chips when he glances up in time to see Samuel take a relatively new phone out of his pocket and pass it to Sam. When he glances up again, Sam's using that phone to text. Sam catches his eye and gives him the Wait look, then goes back to texting. Dean's puzzled, but there wasn't anything plainly secretive about that look, so he goes back to eating.
A minute or so later, Sam slides the phone over to show Dean the message, addressed to "All": Change of plans. End live capture and liquidate inventory. Return to SOP. SC
Surprised, Dean looks up at Samuel, who's asking Sam a question Dean can't quite catch. Then, making sure Dean can see what he's doing, Samuel reaches across the table and hits Send.
"You serious?" Dean asks.
Samuel nods. "John and Avery are on their way. We'll take care of the were. You boys go before Raphael comes after you."
"And when he comes after you?"
"Sam mentioned a fellow named Ash."
Dean blinks and looks at Sam. "You're sending him to Harvelle's? Seriously?"
Sam shrugs and signs, It's a place to start.
"I thought he said..."
May be different now, with Z gone. Then Sam points toward Cas.
When Dean turns to him, Cas signs, I take you three home now, then denounce Raphael to the Host. May help prevent him from killing Samuel.
Dean huffs in relief. "Awesome. Thanks, Cas." Then he thinks of something and raises a finger.
And the car, Cas signs with a slight smile before Dean can voice his thought.
Dean nods once in satisfaction and smiles back at him.
It doesn't take very much longer for everyone to finish eating. But in that time, Cas senses Raphael and his goons arriving at the museum, so as soon as they're done, the Winchesters bid Samuel farewell and have Cas zap them and the Impala back to Cicero. Then, with a quick exchange of looks, Sam agrees to take Ben back to the apartment for the night so Dean can show Lisa just exactly how much he appreciates the help she doesn't yet know she's given him.
Hell, maybe he'll even wear the kilt this time...