The bunker door groans open above, boots thudding down the iron staircase. Dean leads, jacket dusted with dirt, a shallow cut on his cheek he hasn't bothered to clean up yet.
Dean: Next time I say we don't need backup, remind me that I said that.
Cas descends behind him, impassive, trenchcoat pristine despite whatever they just walked through.
You didn't say that. You said, and I quote, I've got this, Cas, go wait in the car.
Dean: Yeah, well. I didn't have it.
Dean drops into a chair at the war room table, wincing. Cas stops at the bottom of the stairs and his gaze sweeps the room — finds Elaine. His expression doesn't change much. It never does. But his shoulders drop a fraction, his eyes settle on her face, and something quiet and steady moves through him. He crosses the room toward her, unhurried, deliberate.
Elaine. We're back.