Bad Timing
Your breathing was becoming labored and you were sweating. Both negative signs when it comes to wounds. Dean noticed and ran a hand down his stubble, an action you connected with his frustration and uncertainty. "We're like sitting ducks in here." He warned. "I know." You responded. "Would it kill these cops to bring us a snack?!" He yelled, nudging you and sending shooting pain through your shoulder. You bit back a hiss. You all had returned to a sitting position, as it was easier for Sam to keep pressure on your injury from half his lap.
"How many you think are out there?" Sam questioned. "I don't know." Enough to blow a copter and possess a fed. "However many there are, they could be possessing anyone. Anyone could just walk right in."
"It's kind of wild, right?" Dean interrupted. "I mean, it's like they're coming right for us. They've never done that before." You silently gave him kudos for picking up on the changed M.O. "It's like we got a contract on us. Think it's because we're so awesome? I think it's cause we're so awesome." You looked at the older Winchester, amusement the last thing on your face. His smile faltered.
More footsteps alerted you to your next visitor. "Well, howdy, there, Sheriff." Dean greeted, still on the high of feeling like a badass. The Sheriff unlocked the cell to your surprise. The three of you stood slowly, assessing the situation. A slight dew on his forehead and a stubborn set in his eyes. He's scared. Scared usually means impulsive. Risky. "Uh, Sheriff?" Sam started. "It's time to go." He entered the cell and you all backed away, Dean voicing his concerns, "Uh…You know what? We're just comfy right here. But thank you." You snapped your head once again to the sound originating from the hall door. Henriksen's silhouette blocked it. "What do you think you're doing?" Huh, he seems pretty calm. No trace of sweat on him. "We're not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We're gonna make a run for it." Impulsive move. Bingo. "It's safer here."
"There's a swat facility in boulder."
"We're not going anywhere."
"The hell we're not."
BANG!
The three of you sprung into action, having just witnessed Henriksen shoot the Sheriff. The boys linked an arm around each of his sides and dunked his head in the toilet, recently blessed with the rosary. You sat close by and started reciting the exorcism. The deputy ran in with his rifle and motioned to Dean, who responded with a, "Stay back!" threatening with Henriksen's gun. Sam lost his grip for a moment as the demon screamed and pulled away. He managed to reach a hand out and grab your shoulder, his thumb digging inside the recent bullet cavity. You couldn't hold in your scream as Sam once again pushed his head down into the bowl. "Hurry up!" Dean pleaded, seeing your blood ooze through Henriksen's fingers. "It's too late. I already called them. They're already coming." He threatened as Sam finished the last of the exorcism for you. Henriksen's hand fell limp onto your lap, and he rolled over, lifeless.
The room was silent, apart from heavy breathing. I should've been the one to do the hold up, not a scratch on Dean. Nancy broke the silence, "Is he…Is he dead?" As if in response, Henriksen coughed himself back into the world of the living. "Henriksen." Sam commanded. "Hey. Is that you in there?" He lifted up to sit on the cot, panic, confusion, and mostly regret coursing through his face. "I…I shot the Sheriff."
"But you didn't shoot the Deputy." Dean quipped. You closed your eyes, appalled at his bad timing. "Five minutes ago, I was fine. And then…"
"Let me guess—some nasty black smoke jammed itself down your throat?" The silence that followed answered that question. "You were possessed." You clarified. "Possessed like…possessed."
"That's what it feels like. Now you know." Your smugness was in part of him eating his own words from earlier, but also in remembering your first case with the guys…aka…your first (and hopefully last) possession. Dean cut in, "I owe you the biggest 'I told you so' ever." You waited for the violence, at least a slap for the previous Daddy comment, but instead, Dean held out Henriksen's gun as a peace offering. You were considerably shocked. "Officer Amici. Keys."
Nothing had ever sounded so beautiful compared to the chains hitting the floor, officially disconnecting you from Scooby and Shaggy. "All right." Henriksen started. "So, how do we survive?"
