𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

"Everybody okay?"

Agent Henriksen scoffs. "Define 'okay'."

The swarm of demons vanished, and moonlight once again streamed into the police station. The lights came back on, the foundation stopped shaking.

"They left," Nancy states, large dark eyes flitting across the cleared windows. 

"They'll be back," Katherine promises. Her blue eyes dart to the bag Dean brought in from the Impala's trunk, and she sets her saw-off down before moving towards it, hands sifting through the bag of weapons with purpose. "Everyone needs to put these on." Dean's eyes catch the little brown leather bag she uprooted from the bottom of the duffle, and one by one, she pulls out anti-possession charms strung by leather cords. "They'll keep you from being possessed." Nancy carefully analyzed the symbol. Katherine notices and stares, extending another necklace by her long fingers to Agent Henriksen. "It's not a pentagram," she says. "I mean, it is, but not the kind all the idiots in the world use for all that dark and twisty shit."

"What about you three?" Amici asks.

Sam and Dean tug down on the collars of their shirts. By the way Nancy blushed and looked away, you would've thought they started unbuckling their belts. Everyone looks to Katherine. She rolls her eyes and pulls her shirt up, exposing the left side of her ribcage, to show off the same anti-possession tattoo the Winchesters have.

"Smart," Henriksen compliments.

"I know," Katherine tuts. "It was my idea."

"How long you had those?"

Dean can see the memories of her possession haunt Katherine's light eyes. "Not long enough," she murmurs, eyes briefly sweeping the floor, before she looks to the Winchesters. "Let's do a damage check, see if any of the salt lines were disturbed."

Dean sidles up beside Katherine, and curiously she glances at him. "You okay?"

She nods. "Yeah, I'm fine." Her eyes sweep across the windows of the jail cells. Dean notes the bruise-like shading underneath her eyes, which seem more gray than blue. He's never seen them that color, and he can't help but think the past nine months drained the life from her. She's almost twenty-two, and her eyes look like she's seen double those. She's tired and world-weary and angry and dark and twisty...and it's all his fault. He should've stayed gone, he should've been more careful, should've known if she got even a whiff that he was checking in on her she'd come snooping around.

"I'm worried about you," Dean murmurs, watching her retreat back into the reception area of the sheriff's station, but she didn't hear him. Then she stops, turns around, and holds her hands behind her back with a smile. A simpering expression, soft and reminiscent of her old self. His brows furrow.

"D'ya wanna make some salt bullets with me?"

Dean chuckles. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." Katherine extends her hand in his direction, wiggling her fingers, and he starts forward. "Just when I thought you were getting too dark and twisty."

Her brows furrow. Still smiling, though. "Dark and twisty?" She asks.

"Yeah, too much like me." He squeezes her fingers and starts back with her.

In the sheriff's office, they sit on the sofa, her feet propped up in his lap, the two of them taking shotgun shells apart and filling them with salt and dropping them back into an ammo box. Henriksen watches them, the two psychos, quietly telling jokes and snorting and smiling and nudging each other and—

"Salt bullets," he says. Katherine looks up to him.

"Fighting off monsters with condiments," she hums, nodding. "Whatever works, right?"