Dean doesn't stop to ask how Castiel's brainwave reception is, barreling through the underbrush just outside the line of trees and stalking into the woods on a mission from God. He pauses a few yards in, listening.

At first, there's just outside noise. A couple birds, maybe some bugs. A mosquito buzzing by his ear. But the sounds aren't coming from every direction. They stop in one area. It's quiet. The woods here have the uncanny ability to know what's wrong, and while Dean would normally bolt in the opposite direction - Operator vibes, and all that - he gestures that Castiel follow him towards the silence. Lowering his shotgun and shifting the bag of ammunition on his shoulder, Dean cocks it and steps carefully through the dead leaves, stopping by a tree to listen again.

Voices.

"...if you'd just listened to Clarence and gave the wheel to somebody who knows where he's driving."

Oh, Hell no. Dean looks to Cas and starts making military hand gestures before realizing that Cas doesn't know what he means. Rolling his eyes, he thinks really loudly instead, Circle around to the other side. We'll pincer him. Get Phil. I'll distract the dick.

Dean is good at that.

Making obscenely loud crunching noise with his boots, he tromps right into a moderate clearing to see Philip wrestled to the ground by his Shadow, the thing pressing a pickaxe handle against his windpipe. Dean levels his gun at the Shadow's head, smile tight. he knows the stakes. He knows very well that the Shadow could snap Philip's neck in less than a second.

"It just ain't your lucky day, is it, douchebag?"