Back inside the lobby, Ronald giggles as he turns a corner with Dean. Dean halts in his tracks to spin around and demand, "Are you nuts?" "That's just it!" Ronald replies with a genuinely happy grin plastered across his face. "I'm not nuts! I mean, I was so scared that I was losing my marbles, but this is real! I was right!" "Except for the mandroid thing," he hastily amends. "Thank you," he offers most sincerely. Dean, wigged by all that sincerity crap, bitch, simply mutters, "Don't mention it," before continuing on his way through the lobby. It's then, of course, that the power shuts off throughout the building. "Dammit!" Dean grumbles, instantly realizing what's happened as Ronald freaks out. When Ronald goes so far as to express surprise at the fact the police even know something's amiss inside the bank, Dean's forced to remind him, "You weren't exactly a smooth criminal about this, Ron. I mean, you didn't even secure the security guard! He probably called them." Ron rather endearingly starts babbling out excuses, but Dean orders him to calm down and zip it so they can strategize, and quickly arrives at the conclusion that things are looking pretty bleak. An unexpected noise raises their hackles, and both gentlemen squint into the surrounding darkness, Ron with his ridiculously large semiautomatic at the ready.
Down in the vault, Blondie's gushing to Darling Sammy, "Has your brother always been so, um, wonderful? I mean, staring down that gun, and the way he played right into that psycho's crazy head, telling him what he wanted to hear? I mean, he's, like, a real hero, or something!" Sam looks for all the world like he wishes he still had that cast on his arm, so he might beat this giggly wretch senseless. Whatever, dude. You think a half hour in the bank vault with Blondie here is taxing? Try attempting to moderate the Deangirls on the forum boards for a couple of days, and then we can talk. But my special hell is not the issue at the moment, for Dean's just now arrived to draw open the vault's door. Blondie, of course, goes near-ultrasonic with the squealing and such, all, "OMG! You saved us! You saved us!" Until she notices the revolver in his hand, of course. D'OH! He waves a few of the hostages out of the vault, Sam among them, before almost apologetically shutting Blondie and the rest back in.
After Dean -- now up in the lobby -- fills Sam in on recent shifter-related developments, Sam snorts, "Great. You know, Dean, you are wanted by the police. So, even if we do find this damn thing, how the hell are we gonna get out of here?" Dean's all, "We'll fall off that bridge when we get to it," and proposes he himself sweep the entire building to corral the remaining stragglers into one place. He passes Sam another silver letter opener and instructs his younger brother to remain with Ronald to help the latter "manage the situation." "Are you insane?" Sam spits, his voice rising to uncomfortable levels. Dean pauses to give a nervous Ronald a couple of thumbs up before whispering, "Look, I know this isn't going the way we wanted." "Understatement!" Sam duhs. Heh. Dean starts babbling about their crappy options until Sam notices Ron doing something particularly stupid and, with yet another massive bitchface, impatiently gestures in their hefty friend's direction. "Ron!" Dean blurts immediately. "Out of the light!" Dim Ron, you see, had been standing with gun aloft right in the helicopter's spotlight, presumably in full view of the SWAT snipers. Ron obediently scurries into the shadows as Sam pitches a mighty little hissyfit over in the boys' corner of the lobby. Dean acknowledges that Ron's bungled plan was more than a little crazy, "but right now, crazy's all we got." And with that, he biffs Sam in the shoulder with a "buck up, little camper" shrug and darts off in search of the missing bank employees. Sam squirms his gigantic, fifteen-foot-tall frame around for an uncomfortable moment before swinging his head over in Ron's direction and grudgingly offering the guy a "Hi, Ronald" that's accompanied by more than a hint of an eye-roll. He is so seven years old at this moment. Ronald, oblivious, grins back. Hee.