Were Dean aware of the conversations that Castiel and Clarence could potentially have thanks to their uncanny ability to project their respective consciousnesses to sensitive minds, the chances of embarrassment would be...extremely high. It's fortunate for everyone else, then, that Dean continues blissfully walking along, boots crunching the underbrush, one hand shoved in his pocket, whistling something that is probably Led Zeppelin.

At the very least, no one can hear his thoughts - Except maybe Castiel, but they haven't ironed the kinks out concerning mental messages and subconscious voicemail.

It's probably complicated.

When they finally break out of the forest, back in the startlingly-manicured field, Dean takes a deep breath of relief and cracks his neck. "Remind me to not go so long in between hunts," He says dryly, to no one in particular, and re-adjusts the shotgun over his shoulder.

The silence is a little too awkward.

"So, uh...I take it...you guys met, already?"