With a nod, Sam pours her another glass, glad for something to focus on in the awkward stretch of silence. It's not completely unlike talking with Neil, though Neil he's grown used to. Neil he knows. Even trusts, almost.

He still has no idea what to make of this woman.

Sliding the glass to her, Sam arches an eyebrow and wipes his hand dry again. "About five months," he says, seeing no need to lie about it. "Dean's been here about four." He doesn't mention Ruby. For all he knows, this woman doesn't know her or know about her and Sam sure as hell isn't about to bring it up.