Well, this, if nothing else, jolts him out of his stupor.

Piped in music, the smell of ginger and fried dough, paper lanterns, and a Year of the Rabbit place mat. Castiel isn't sure whether to laugh or immediately whisk himself off to the Ukraine just on principle.

"Your timing was coming dangerously close to failing to be Providential," he says, pushing his menu aside.

"Or were you waiting to see if I would compromise myself to save my own life?"