He's been moving, because staying still is difficult. Making slow, wide sweeps around the edge of the chapel, watching everything, feeling the hum in the air, the potential release of energy. But there's a center that always draws him back and it does now, and it's not Dean.

He stops in front of Neil, drops into a crouch and lays his hands over the knife. He doesn't say anything. There's only so much he could say.