Cas stiffens next to Geralt, an absolutely fucking not, over my dead energy wave caught in his throat, but Geralt was right in that it's Dean's call, and Dean's alone.

The fidgeting and anxious darting of eyes between Dean and Geralt doesn't do well to hide it, the angel looking like he's ready to crawl out of not-his skin and wave a giant STOP sign between the whole assembled party.

With great effort, he remains silent. Just being the squirmiest angel in existence and staring lasers at Dean.