They park their cars side by side to compare arsenals, filling the tourist parking lot with weapons. They have a veritable army of hunters, drawn to the cause through John, or Dean, or even Marie. Ellen and Jo, Ash, Missouri, and many more are there; they are ready to support the Winchesters and their witch. They're all exchanging ammunition, fitting packs, belts, and holsters, and one of Marie's friends who makes bulletproof vests is handing them out, complete with supernatural modifications. Marie's is laced with a few thin sheets of rock on one side and gently warming heat packs on the other to represent earth and fire, while her arms are exposed to the air and a bottle of water strapped to her side. Equipped with each element, giving her a larger range of magic, she pins her hair up with an elaborate series of cedar and mahogany pins to establish the channel through which her energy will flow. Holy water is everywhere, lining coats and jackets and clothing so that when the vials are broken the demons will be injured. To the side, Sam is commanding a handful of psychics about their powers, and on the other side Dean is explaining that the majority of the opposing fighters will not be demons, but turned humans. It is a bizarre sort of base camp, but it suits.

Marie searches out and packs in her pockets little tidbits of jerky and hard candies, trying to give herself reserves of energy. She asks Sam to find some more for her if he has the time, but it is Dean who pulls up beside her with bags in his hands.

"Marie?" She whirls, surprised to see him.

"Dean? I didn't expect to see you – Sam said he'd – "

"I had him stay back. I brought two kinds, if you wanted to choose." She smiles and takes the bags, pushing the jerky into the pockets all over her vest. He grabs her hands and holds her still, something urgent in his green eyes. "I have to talk to you." She looks a little worried, but stops all preparation for the moment; he looks like he's about to fall over.

"Okay, what can I do for you?" Her concern is palpable, but not overwhelming.

"Sam says you don't hate me." She's taken by surprise that he even had to ask Sam.

"Dean, good – of course I don't hate you. What I hate are yellow-eyed demons who kill parents needlessly. That's what I hate. Hell, I don't even dislike you." She smiles a little wistfully. "I had just assumed your perception of me was totally ruined from the start. Giving you the news about Cassie, acting the hero on the boat, nearly getting you killed afterwards – I sort of set myself up for you disliking me. It's not a big deal, really." She tries to go back to secreting away the food, but he stills her arms again, pulls her almost flush against him.

"Yes, yes it is a big deal. It is a very big deal. I don't want you thinking you can't count on me, especially when we're out there in the middle of it all. This is a big deal because it's a big goddamn war." She smiles, and he can see the tears in her eyes. Then she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and lifts up onto the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek with all the tenderness she's shown Sam since the beginning. She pats him on the chest twice and looks down at her feet, clean scent of her hair wafting towards Dean's nose.

"I know, Dean." She looks up at him, blue eyes almost too beautiful, and tries to smile. "I've always known that."

They lock eyes and Dean forgets to breathe, slowly losing control until he is dizzied by the power of her trust. When did she stop being a nuisance? When did she start being a friend? And what will happen if he loses her?

The Dark Knight's appearance breaks their concentration.

"You called," he says softly, and Marie's attention slides to him. He is as lovely as ever, and Dean can hear her breath catch in her throat. He pulls away. Perhaps this is for the best.

She watches the fey warily, drinking in the armor and the aura alike. He gives an elaborate bow and she nods, silently thanking him.

"I have gifts for you," he announces suddenly, taking careful, deliberate steps towards her, his golden eyes searing into her skin. "Something to keep you sharp. Wars like these used to have many wizards among their fighters. It is that power I have brought you." He holds up two arm cuffs, one silver and one gold. He slides up near her, too close for comfort, painfully reminiscent of when she was his captive. The cuffs slide up her arms to where they rest between tricep and bicep, the cool metal skimming over goose-bumpy skin. "They have the power to concentrate your energy and direct it to where it truly needs to go." She shivers under his touch. "And this," he adds, pulling a silver necklace out of the air, "is so I can always find you."

Marie gasps. On the chain dangles her mother's cross – the one lost when she died.

The last time she saw the Knight his eyes were green.

The Dark Knight grins ferally, and she knows he's not really her Dark Knight. The battle begins.