Agatha had her folksy bullshit down pat.

If it weren't for the bedlam black eyes gleaming at him and the fact that she'd tied him to a chair, Dean would have thought she was a nice old bat.

"Would you like a macaroon with your tea? They're quite tasty." Agatha held the plate out to him, ignoring the fact that his arms were secured to the chair.

"No, thanks." Dean eyed the screwdriver sitting next to the cookies. "What's that for?"

She looked at it, then back up at him, and chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure we can think of something."