Ruby's knife is near the bottom, carefully placed as to appear perfectly ordinary. Not that Sam's under any delusions that any demon worth his inky fucking eyes wouldn't know just exactly what it is. But at least some extremely lucky intruder who happened to find his way back here might not have any idea.

Sam grabs it first, along with a pistol and a container of rock salt buck shots.

"He wanted you to find me," Sam says, lips drawn in a thin line as he gives Mike another quick glance. "Or Castiel. He's counting on you to spill the beans."

After tucking one more gun under his arm, Sam shuts the door back in place, locks it with a quick flick of his wrist. "Demons have a flair for the dramatic," he explains. There's absolute no humor in his tone, nothing but maybe a bite of sarcasm. "It's one of their more appealing attributes."