Jus In Bello (Part I)

Faith groaned, dropping her face back into the carpet. "I hate you," she muttered at Henriksen and Dean both, because she wasn't sure who she was more frustrated with in the moment.

"This isn't my fault," snapped Dean.

Faith scowled at him as the officer manhandled her to her feet. She bit back a yelp of pain when he wrenched her arms back a little too forcefully, instead glaring at Dean. "Come along for a ride, he said," she sang. "We'll take care of you, he said."

"Oh, real mature," Dean growled.

"You two: save your lovers' spat for when we don't have to hear about it," snapped the officer holding Dean.

Dean snorted. "You're way off-base, buddy."

The officer shoved Dean forwards with more force than necessary. "Sure, pal. Walk."

Faith decided it wasn't worth the effort to keep bickering, so bit back her retort and allowed the officer to guide her out of Bela's hotel room. They passed Henriksen on the way, and the look on his face was so unbearably smug that Faith's first instinct was to fix a pretty smile onto her face, smiling at him like she was exactly, without question, where she wanted to be.

Which was, of course, a complete lie. But she liked the way it made his dark eyes tighten with frustration.

Back on the ground level, there were people in the lobby, staring at the three cuffed hunters like they were something at the zoo. Faith ground her teeth to stubs and kept walking, ignoring the too-tight grip of the officer behind her.

They ended up shoving her and Sam into the back of one cop car, and Dean alone into the back of another.

"Don't be too hard on him," said Sam as the doors were shut and locked after them, their hands pressed into the seats behind them. "Bela – she's clever. We couldn't have predicted this."

Faith sighed. "Gotta admit, it's fun to bust his balls, though."

Sam chuckled without humour just as the officers got back in the front of the car. The one on the left slammed a hand against the safety divider separating them as if they were monkeys misbehaving in their enclosure. Faith barely refrained from curling her lip and showing them what a real animal looked like.

They didn't speak any more on their way to the station, Faith staring out at the town as it blurred by them. Once they reached their destination, the officers tugged them out of the car. Dean was wrenched out of his own, and he caught her eye with a raised brow. She nodded once, assuring him she wasn't hurt.

The deputy closest to Dean pulled out more shackles, and so the brothers were cuffed together like the most dangerous of criminals. "Where're her ankle cuffs?" Dean demanded hotly when Faith was guided towards the door independently of the two of them. "She's just as dangerous as we are, you know? Even more so. It's all in the eyes, Henriksen."

Everybody ignored him.

The local Sheriff's station was modest, and certainly not Fort Knox. She'd escaped Henriksen once before; she was more than sure she could do it again. Besides, the imagined look on Dean's face as she rescued him was so sweet, she nearly grinned on the spot.

Inside the building was a small handful of deputies, Henriksen, and a secretary with wide, innocent eyes. Faith smiled at her as kindly as she could, and the secretary – whose nameplate read 'Nancy' – looked away uncomfortably.

"Why all the sourpusses?" Dean drawled as the three of them were stared at warily, like they were time bombs just waiting to explode. She supposed after what she'd heard that afternoon, that in Dean's case, it was actually closer to the truth.

"I'll show you to the cells," said the officer next to Faith, reaching out and roughly grabbing her arm. She grunted as he wrenched her violently in the direction of the cells, nearly stumbling at the treatment.

"Watch it!" snapped Dean, an edge of warning to his voice as he glared at the officer with such burning ire that the man actually flinched and loosened his hold on Faith. "Better," grumbled Dean, then caught the secretary's eye, noting that she was watching the interaction with interest. "We're not the ones you should be scared of, Nancy."

There were only two cells. Sam and Dean were pushed into one while Faith was guided – suspiciously gently – into the other. Then the officers were gone, as if just standing in the criminals' line of sight would put them at risk.

Faith sat down on the small bed provided, then just as quickly stood up again. The raggedy old sheets reeked of alcohol, sweat and piss, and there was a suspicious stain on the pillow that she didn't even want to think about.

Sam and Dean rattled their chains noisily in the cell across from her before finally falling quiet. A long moment of silence passed, then Dean murmured, "How we gonna Houdini out of this one?"

Sam sighed. "Good question."

The guards were gone and there were windows towards the back of the cell block. Faith didn't know how strong she was exactly – but she knew she had to try. Breaking out of cuffs was relatively simple – after all, she'd done it once before – but was she strong enough to literally bend the steel bars of a jail cell open with her bare hands?

She had no doubt that Henriksen was calling in reinforcements, pulling out all the stops to make sure the three of them never saw the light of day again. They only had a small window – this small window – to escape. The alternative was … unpleasant.

She wandered to the bars, trying to look subtle about it as she grabbed either side of each and pulled. Nothing happened, so she shut her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to fight past her own consciousness, digging deep to find the part of herself filled to the brim with inhuman strength.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked drily. Faith opened her eyes to find him peering at her through the bars of his own cell, incredulous. "This ain't an episode of Scooby-Doo, sweetheart. The bars aren't going to magically bend to your will."

Faith opened her mouth to retort, but everything she could possibly say was off-limits. He had secrets, and so did she. Nothing came free.

"Worth a try," she muttered lamely, letting go of the bars and shaking out her cramping hands. "Think they'll give us a phone call?"

Sam snorted. "We weren't picked up for shoplifting, Faith. They think we're murderers."

"And what, murderers don't have rights?"

Sam didn't bother to respond, which she supposed was fair. She began to pace the cramped length of cell, a tiger trapped in its cage. She felt that way, too. An animal behind bars, just dying to tear free and rip her captors to shreds.

There were so many reasons she didn't want to be locked in a cage. They'd taken all her weapons, down to the butterfly knife she kept strapped to the inside of her ankle. Faith was under no illusions; she had more than one demon chomping at the bit to see her in the ground. Demons could infiltrate anywhere, but a prison easiest of all. She wouldn't last a week.

Footsteps sounded on the concrete floor, and Faith looked up to see Henriksen strolling leisurely towards them. He still looked unbearably smug; Faith couldn't wait until she was free of these goddamn chains, just so she could sock him across his stupid, self-righteous face.

He leant against the doorframe, where he had a perfect view of the entire, small cellblock, the three of them stuck like mice under his wolflike stare.

For a long moment he said nothing, that cocky smirk never leaving his lips. His eyes danced over Faith, and her patience snapped in two. "Something funny, Victor?" she snarled.

His smirk only widened. "You know what I'm trying to decide?"

"I don't know. What?" asked Dean drily. "Whether Cialis will help you with your little condition?"

"What to have for dinner tonight," he said, not taking the bait. "Steak or lobster … what the hell, surf and turf." Faith rolled her eyes and resumed her pacing – because no matter how weak it made her look; it was better than sitting still. "I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing the three of you in chains…" Henriksen's smirk bloomed into a grin.

Dean only smirked. "You kinky son of a bitch. We don't swing that way," he drawled, unbothered. His green eyes darted to Faith a moment before he said, slyly, "I'd direct you to the woman over there – but man, a word of advice? I know her pretty well, and she'll eat you alive."

Henriksen glanced at Faith and her smile was a flash of pointed teeth. If the agent was disturbed, he didn't show it. "I don't doubt she'd try," he replied calmly. Irritated, Faith turned away, pacing the length of her cell with her head held high.

The spot where the officer's knee had dug into Faith spine had started to bruise, muscles throbbing and jaw sore where it had scraped against the carpet of Bela's hotel room. But she let not an ounce of her pain show.

"You know, I wouldn't bust out the melted butter just yet," Dean continued. "You couldn't catch us at the bank … couldn't keep us in that jail…"

"You're right," nodded Henriksen. "I screwed up. I underestimated you. I didn't count on you being that smart; or having a little sidekick, working for you on the outside."

"Sidekick?" grumbled Faith, her fingers curling into talons, the urge to scratch out an eye bubbling inside of her, along with a string of sharp and unkind words she knew Dean, at least, would appreciate.

Henriksen either didn't hear her or just didn't care. "But now? I'm ready."

Dean was unbothered. "Ready to lose us again?"

"Ready like a court order to keep you in a Super-maximum prison in Nevada until trial," said Henriksen without missing a beat. "Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell so small that, between you and me … it's probably unconstitutional. How's that for ready?" Dean said nothing. "Take a good look at Sam and Faith, Dean, because after tonight, you'll never see either of them again."

That, more so than anything else Henriksen had said, seemed to spook Dean. He dragged a hand down the length of his face, eyes just a little haunted, a little guilty, a little pained. Faith tried to catch his gaze through the bars, but he was determined not to meet her stare.

"Where's that smug smile, Dean?" Henriksen all but purred. "I want to see it."

Dean scoffed and shook his head. "You've got the wrong people."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You fight monsters. Sorry, Dean. Truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place. That's all. That's reality."

Even Faith stood straighter at that. She hadn't known John very well – or at all, really – but he got points just for fathering Sam and Dean. For making them who they were. And she knew what he meant – what his memory meant – to the both of them. She refused to watch it get soiled.

"Why don't you shut your mouth?" Dean snapped, deathly cool.

Faith grabbed either side of the bars, pulling herself close enough to them to glare at Henriksen through the gap. "Or better yet, come a little closer and I'll do it for you," she offered in the kind of sweet, saccharine voice that was the thing of men's nightmares.

Henriksen shook his head like a disappointed parent. "Still protecting them … even now," he hummed sadly. "I told you last time we met, Faith: Dean Winchester's nothing more than a murderer and a con artist. You know he killed Nathan, and yet you're still on his side?"

Faith didn't rise to the bait; not even to that dreaded pity in his eyes. "He didn't kill Nate," she said calmly. "And he's right, you've got the wrong people."

"Oh yeah, how's that?" asked Henriksen, taking a confident step forwards.

"You think you know this world? You think you know who we are?" Faith laughed once. "Henriksen, you haven't got a goddamn clue."

Henriksen turned away from her, dismissive. Faith gritted her teeth and tried to think of a way out of this mess. One that didn't involve somehow breaking out of this cell and killing herself a path from the building.

"Guess what? Everybody's got a sob story," snapped Henriksen, casting his dark eyes between her and the brothers. "But not everybody becomes a killer."

The dark windows were suddenly pierced by light, and Faith winced against the unmistakable sound of a helicopter landing somewhere nearby. Faith tugged anxiously at her cuffs and listened to the mental gently creak.

"And now I have three less to worry about," Henriksen continued happily. He tapped his watch, grinning toothily, and all but whistled as he skipped away, far too chipper for Faith's liking. She watched him disappear around the corner and yanked at her cuffs again.

"There's gotta be a way outta here," she muttered. She lifted her hands, running her fingers through her hair on the very, very slim chance that there was a bobby-pin she'd forgotten to remove at some point. But her fingertips met only smooth hair pulled back into a loose braid, no pins to be found.

"Do you think they'll bring us some food?" Dean wondered. Both Sam and Faith stopped their fretting to glare at him. "What? I'm hungry. Sue me."

Faith had to take a breath and pray to the heavens for patience. Sam seemed to feel the same. "Dean, do you have any idea how royally screwed we are?"

"Oh, come on," he batted away his brother's concerns like they were nothing. "We'll get out of this."

"How?"

"I dunno yet. But we'll think of something."

Faith growled. "Has it occurred to you, Dean, to think about how high I am on the demons' shit-list? That every second spent in this cell is another second I'm dangled out in front of them like a piece of fucking meat?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Dean shot back. "We've all got enemies, Bueller."

"I'm not being dramatic, you dick," she snapped. "My enemies just so happen to be of the demonic cult kind. So, you'll have to forgive me when I say I need to get the fuck out of Dodge."

"We'll be fine," Dean insisted.

Faith hung her head. "I'm going to murder you," she warned him calmly, steepling her hands and pressing the tips to the spot between her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose.

"When we're in the clear, I'll even give you a free swing," Dean offered, standing to his feet and walking towards the front of his cell – as close as they were going to be able to get with the bars separating them and the chains still linking him to Sam. "Will that make us even?"

She glared up at him darkly. "Not even close, Winchester."

Dean gave a roguish grin. "Come on, sweetheart, you don't have to drive such a hard bargain…"

Sam's exasperated groan cut through the noise of their petty squabbling. "Jesus Christ, would the two of you please stop flirting for two goddamn minutes?"

Faith and Dean stared at him in bald surprise, falling silent in their shock. Sam sighed into the quiet he'd created, rubbing his temples with relief.

"Thank you."

Before Faith could think of what to say next, more footsteps hit the concrete outside their cells, and she turned to see a man in a finely pressed suit and shiny shoes striding confidently towards them. He was tall, but not overly so, with a square jaw and slicked back hair. Faith's skin prickled at the sight of him.

He paused in the gap between their cells, beady eyes darting between them hungrily. Faith had the terrible sense she was looking at a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," the man said smoothly. Neither Sam nor Dean reacted, and he turned to appraise Faith like she was a prize mare at auction. "Which makes you Faith," he said slickly, inky eyes full of hunger. "I'm Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure."

Dean grunted. "Well, glad one of us feels that way."

The Deputy Director was unbothered by the hostility. "I've been waiting a long time for you to come out of the woodwork."

Then, without so much as a beat of warning, there was the sharp whistle of a gun with a silencer being fired. Faith watched in abject horror as Dean jerked backwards and blood splattered across the wall behind him.

The sound that left her mouth would have stunned her, were her hearing not muffled by her own panic. She lunged forwards at the same time as Sam, who grabbed the man's wrist and angled the gun away from them; Faith was just thin enough to throw a leg out through the gap in the bars and take the man's knees out from beneath him.

He collapsed to his knees, an inhuman hiss leaving his mouth, and Faith was acting on new instinct as she shouted, "Christo!"

The man's eyes must have flashed black, because in an instant Sam was blurting a clumsy exorcism. The man – demon's – head whipped from left to right, the thing inside the meat suit wrenching and twisting in an attempt to escape its fate.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it was finished. "Sorry, I've gotta cut this short," it sneered. "It's gonna be a long night, kids."

The Deputy Director's head was thrown back as the demon escaped, a large mass of sentient cloud pouring like sewage from his mouth in a roar. Faith ducked away from the swirling demon, watching as it escaped up through an air vent, gone in the time it took her heart to beat thrice.

The moment it was gone, Faith lunged against the edge of her cell, hands wrapping around the icy bars, leaning as close to Dean as she physically could – which, admittedly, wasn't much. "Dean!" she cried, but the sound of it was lost over the sound of the door being kicked open.

Police flooded the room, guns raised aloft. Then everyone was shouting at each other, the police ordering them to the floor, Sam insisting they hadn't hurt anyone, Dean groaning as he held a hand to his bleeding shoulder. One of the officers aimed his gun at her, despite the fact she was weaponless, and she obediently fell to her knees, cuffed hands held behind her head.

"We didn't shoot him," Sam was insisting once the gun was taken away and everyone was a fair deal calmer. "Check the body. There's no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him."

The other Fed – probably Henriksen's partner – leant down to run his hands over the dead body, checking for a wound. Faith saw the moment the truth of that hit the Fed, who looked up at Henriksen with wide eyes. "Vic, there's no bullet wound."

Dean sat up from the bed with a groan, red spilling out over the hand he had clamped over his wound. "He's probably been dead for months."

"What did you do to him?" barked Henriksen.

"We didn't do anything!"

"Talk or I shoot."

"You won't believe us."

Henriksen shifted his weight, and slowly the angle of his gun began to shift. It seemed to take a small eternity, but together the room watched in silence as the barrel of his gun inched its way from one end of the room to the other, starting at Dean, and ending its journey between Faith's eyes. Still crouched on her knees, cuffed and without anywhere to hide, Faith could only glower at Henriksen darkly, her eyes promising painful retribution.

"Talk," said Henriksen slyly, "or I shoot her."

Faith's eyes snapped to Dean in the same moment his snapped to her. Their stares clashed through the bars of their cells, coffee brown meeting forest green. She could see panic in those eyes; a panic she wasn't sure she'd seen before, except maybe when Sam had died, all those months ago.

Dean's tongue dashed out to wet his lips and Faith shook her head once, the communication silent but clear. Dean ignored her as he always did, tearing his stare away and looking up at Henriksen, saying in a clear, confident voice, "He was possessed by a demon."

A beat, Henriksen's silence all-consuming, then he rolled his eyes and said over his shoulder to the other officers, "Right, that's it – fire up the chopper! We're taking them out of here now."

"Yeah! You do that!" Dean agreed eagerly, breathing a sigh of relief when Henriksen lowered his gun, so it was no longer aimed between Faith's eyes. Faith let her rigid spine relax a little, shutting her eyes a moment and enjoying the feeling of still being alive.

But any feeling of relief didn't last long. The men outside wouldn't respond over the comms. Henriksen got his partner to go check on the situation, but Faith already knew what he would find. She threw out an arm before she could think to stop herself, thin hand slipping through the bars, fisting in the back of Henriksen's shirt.

He whirled around, eyes dark with anger, and she pulled her hands back to hold them up in surrender. "Listen to me, Henriksen," she said seriously, a last-ditch effort to save some lives – even the people responsible for this whole mess. "We need to get out of here. All of us. Right now."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

"No, you don't understand," she snapped. "We're all in danger here."

Henriksen ignored her, lifting his walkie-talkie to say his partner's name. But his partner didn't respond, and seconds later there came a massive explosion of noise and light and heat. It poured violently through the small cell windows, glass shattering inwards. Faith ducked her head to save her face from the shards, eyes shut tight.

"What the hell was that?!" Henriksen demanded, but nobody knew. He and the rest of the officers left the cells, shouting over one another in their panic. Faith simply lifted her head to look at Sam and Dean.

The floor was covered by tiny shards of glass that cracked and crumbled under her shoes, but she was oblivious to it all. Grabbing the cold cell bars, Faith peered at Dean, who remained crouched by the bed of his cell, hand pressed to the bullet wound in his shoulder.

Sam's attention was on his brother, peeling back his jacket to get a look at the wound. "Was it straight through?" Faith asked anxiously.

Sam nodded. "He was lucky."

Dean scoffed sceptically. "Lucky ain't exactly how I feel right now, Sammy."

"It could've been worse," was all Sam said. Faith watched with a racing heart, eyes darting down to the dead body on the floor between their cells, forgotten by the others in the panic of the night.

The lights went out. There was no warning – one moment the cells were lit, and the next, they were plunged into darkness. The emergency power kicked in, but those lights were low and sad in comparison.

Faith looked up at the ceiling as though it might hold the answers.

"Oh, that can't be good," muttered Dean, wincing when Sam grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the cell's lacklustre facilities, pressing it hard over his bleeding wound.

"Does anyone else have a really bad feeling about this?" Faith wondered quietly, as though whatever power cut the lights might also be listening in, just waiting for them to admit to their fear.

"We'd be idiots not to," rasped Dean, flinching back and scowling at Sam when he pressed down a little too hard.

"Don't be such a wuss," Sam chided without looking up from his task.

The door opened with a bang, and Faith spun to see Henriksen storming into the room, gun in hand, a wild look to his eye. "What's the plan?" he demanded. "Kill everyone in the station, bust you three out?"

Dean scowled at him, the last person they wanted to deal with right now. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your psycho friends," snarled Henriksen. "I'm talking about a blood bath."

"Okay, I promise you," Dean began roughly, "whoever's out there? They're not here to help us."

"They're more likely here to kill us," Faith added, still gripping the bars like she might find that hidden surge of strength and pull them magically apart. She wondered, distantly, what would happen to Henriksen's expression if he saw such a feat.

"Look, you've got to believe us," Sam implored him. "Everyone here is in terrible danger."

Henriksen snorted bitterly. "You think?"

"Not from us, asshole," snapped Faith, having had just about enough of his sanctimonious bullshit.

"Why don't you let us out of here so we can save your asses?" Dean added.

"From what?" Henriksen asked.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then just as quickly shut it again. The truth wasn't really an option. They could be honest, sure, but it wasn't going to win them any points. Not unless they had proof. And proof of demons wasn't such an easy thing to come by. They'd spent an eternity in the shadows. They weren't going to come out of the woodwork now, just to prove the three of them right.

"You gonna say demons? Don't you dare say demons," snarled the Fed before them, raising his gun so they all had a good view, a silent but very real warning. "Let me tell you something. You should be a lot more scared of me."

Then, without nothing left to say, Henriksen left the room as angrily as he'd entered it. Faith pressed her forehead to the cool metal of the bars, staring into empty space, wondering if after everything she'd been through – all of it – this was how she was going to die.

"Goddammit," muttered Dean, hanging his head.

"How's the shoulder?" Sam clucked quietly.

"It's awesome," drawled Dean, utterly sarcastic. "But I'll live. You know, if we get out of here alive."

"Of course we're getting out of here alive," said Faith, bumping her forehead softly against the bars, as if she might jolt herself into coming up with a brilliant escape plan. "I'm not dying in this jail cell."

"We don't get to choose where we die," Dean countered grimly.

"No. But we get to choose when we don't," she replied. Dean rolled his eyes at her argument, but didn't have a good answer, returning his attention to his bleeding wound. "Either of you got a plan? Because so far, I've got nothin'."

"Maybe you could try to bend the bars again, Charles Rigoulot," drawled Dean scornfully.

Faith sighed. "Could you not be a prick, for like, five minutes?"

"I've been shot," was all Dean said in reply. She made a face but refused to engage. They weren't going to get anywhere like this.

"Hey," said Sam suddenly, spying something around the corner. From Faith's cell, she couldn't see who was there, but Sam pressed on, a gentle, hopeful smile on his face. "Please. We need your help. It's Nancy, right? Nancy, my… my brother's been shot. He's bleeding really bad. You think maybe you could get us a towel? Please? Just one clean towel?"

Nancy, the secretary, said nothing, but Faith could feel her there, wavering and uncertain.

"Look at us," Sam pleaded. "We're not the bad guys. I swear."

Dean smiled at her, but Faith quickly heard footsteps on the concrete as Nancy scampered away. Faith couldn't really blame her – were their positions reversed, she wasn't so sure she'd do anything to help the supposed-murderers in the cellblock of the sheriff's station.

Dean sighed. "Nice try."

But, to all of their surprise, Nancy returned. She approached the brothers' cell warily, gingerly handing a clean white towel through the bars to Sam. Faith watched on, thinking idly that compassion wasn't completely dead in this world, when Sam latched onto Nancy's arm like a crazy person. Nancy began to scream, and even Faith jolted back in alarm.

"Sam, what the fuck?!" Faith shouted, half convinced he'd somehow gotten himself possessed.

One of the deputies burst into the cell block, a rifle aimed at Sam's head. "Let her go!" he roared, the rifle cocking with a sound like a gunshot in itself. "Let her go!"

Sam abruptly let the poor girl go, holding up his hands in surrender. After a lacklustre warning, the deputy and the girl disappeared around the corner, and Dean used his good arm to slap his brother across the shoulder. "What the hell was that?"

Sam's only answer was to hold up a small, beaded rosary for them to see. A smile overtook Dean's face, but Faith scowled. "Jesus Christ, Sam," she snapped. "You could have just asked her for it."

"She might not have given it to me," Sam shrugged. "I couldn't take that chance."

Faith pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to curse. "Goddamned men."

Dean chuckled bitterly. "Sweetheart, if I'm anything at all, I'm certainly damned."

Sam didn't so much as smile, and neither did Faith. She stared at Dean through the bars, sadness glowing in her eyes as they met his. She realised then that any anger she might have felt towards him for before – it was gone. Now, she just wanted him to be okay again.

Sam stood to his feet and Dean broke her stare to look up at his brother in confusion. "What're you doing?" he asked, looking disgusted as Sam paced across their small cell to the metal toilet in the corner. "Oh God, tell me you don't need to use that thing."

The look Sam shot Dean in response could only possibly be called a 'bitch face'. "I'm making holy water, dumbass," he shot back.

"With toilet water?"

"Do you see any other water source around here?"

Dean begrudgingly fell silent, and Faith finally took a seat, but not on the bed. Dean shot her a strange look when she sank down on the hard concrete floor, keeping her back to the wall so that every entrance into the room was in sight.

"Not a fan of beds?" Dean wondered.

"Not beds that smell like a homeless man took a golden shower on the sheets," she replied. Dean snorted loudly; the sound pulled from him unexpectedly. Even he looked surprised by his own reaction. "Keep pressure on that wound," Faith ordered him, because suddenly the idea of silence was too much to bear.

"Yeah, thanks," drawled Dean, barely casting her a glance. Faith swallowed back a retort and focused on the situation they'd found themselves in.

Stuck in a jail cell, cuffed and pretty much helpless, while demons surrounded them in every way possible, cornering them in like lambs at a slaughter. And that was exactly what this would be: a slaughter. Exempting a miracle, she was likely the only person who was going to get out of this mess alive, and even then, it was only because the demons needed her to break their stupid little curse.

Sam, apparently, was thinking along the same lines. "We're sitting ducks in here," he muttered once the toilet-holy-water was finished, fussing with Dean's wound.

"Yeah, I know," Dean agreed heavily. "And would it kill these cops to bring us a snack?!" he added, shouting it into the station beyond the cells.

"Oh yes, glad your priorities are in order," Faith muttered. Dean ignored her.

"How many you figure are out there?" Sam wondered.

Faith stared at the blown-out windows, heart like a stone in her chest. "Too many for my liking," she said. Sam heaved a sigh.

"However many they are, they could be possessing anyone," he pointed out grimly. "Anyone could just walk right in."

"It's kind of wild, right? I mean it's like they're coming for us. They've never done that before," mused Dean. "It's like we got a contract on us. Think it's because we're so awesome?"

"You're probably just too annoying to be allowed to live," sniped Faith.

"Hey, they could be here for you," Dean pointed out.

Faith didn't rise to the bait, sighing heavily. "Unfortunately, the thought did cross my mind."

Footsteps outside the cell, then the sheriff scampered into the room, sweat beading on his forehead, skin a blotchy red from the stress of the situation. "Well, howdy, there, Sheriff," drawled Dean. The sheriff said nothing, just pulling a ring of keys from his pocket and using them to unlock Faith's cell door, followed quickly by Sam and Dean's.

"Sheriff?" Faith asked warily, staying exactly where she was. Even if she did want to try to run, where would she go? She couldn't possibly get out under the demons' radar. Not even they would be stupid enough to let her go now.

"It's time to go, you three," the sheriff said, reaching up to mop at the sweat on his brow. He looked the type of nervous that made Faith want to subtly take his sidearm, just so it wasn't within reach.

When not one of them moved, the sheriff took a step towards Sam and Dean, who took a calculated step backwards. Faith could see them noticing what she had, spotting the glaring red flags being all but thrown in their faces.

"You know what?" said Dean slowly. "We're, uh, we're comfy right here. But thank you."

Henriksen appeared, haloed by the light above. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded of the sheriff.

"We're not just gonna sit around here and wait to die," the sheriff said without looking away from Dean and Sam. "We're gonna make a run for it."

Henriksen did not look amused. "It's safer here."

"There's a SWAT facility in Boulder."

"We're not going anywhere," said Henriksen, no give to his voice.

"The hell we're not—"

Faith didn't see it coming – none of them did. All they knew was the reverberating bang of a gun being fired, and then the messy red splatter of the sheriff's brains, blown out of his skull. Faith lifted her hands over her mouth in shock, but the brothers weren't so slow to react.

They moved like a well-oiled machine, throwing themselves at Henriksen – or rather, whatever was inside him – wrenching the gun from his hand, and seeing them move yanked Faith into action. Her cell unlocked, she darted through the gap and landed a strong kick between Henriksen's legs. He went down like a pile of bricks and Sam was instantly there, grabbing the back of his head and thrusting it into the toilet full of holy water.

The gunshot had sent the rest of the cavalry running, and the deputy skidded into the room, a rifle held in unsteady hands. Faith was there before he had time to properly take in the situation. It wasn't strictly warranted, but she threw her elbow into his face anyway, stunning him long enough to wrench the rifle from his trembling grip and aim the barrel at his head.

The poor deputy looked stricken, and the secretary behind him had tears glittering in her big, round eyes. They held their hands up obediently all the same, and Faith shifted between them and where Sam was shouting an exorcism over the demon currently possessing Henriksen.

"Hurry up!" Dean shouted roughly. His brother's chanting never ceased.

"It's too late," snarled the demon when Sam lifted its head to let it breathe. "I already called them. They're already coming."

Sam doubled his efforts, and it wasn't long before the demon was forced out of Henriksen's body, his head thrown back as inky smoke poured from his mouth. The demon disappeared up into an air vent, escaping a deservedly grim fate at the hand of the Winchesters.

Faith looked away from the deputy in time to see Henriksen's limp body collapse to the floor, little more than a rag doll at this point. He didn't even appear to be breathing. Comparatively, Sam was panting for air, shaking toilet water off his hands and using his elbow to wipe at his face.

All of them stared down at Henriksen, but it was Nancy who said, tentatively, "Is he … is he dead?"

As if summoned, Henriksen shot upright with a noisy gasp. "Henriksen!" cried Dean, and it was definitely relief Faith heard in his husky voice. "Hey. Is that you in there?"

Henriksen looked dazed, stumbling upright only to collapse back against the cell's bed, blinking up at them all, toilet water still dripping from his face. His eyes swung wildly between all of them, and despite the fact that she'd seen the demon leave him, Faith still gripped her rifle tightly, because she wasn't going to be taking any chances.

"I…" Henriksen began, blinking away the confusion and clearing his throat, "I shot the sheriff."

A beat, then Dean's voice impishly saying, "But you didn't shoot the deputy."

When Faith looked up at him, he had a shit-eating grin on his face. "So not the time."

"Oh, come on. Lighten up, Bueller," Dean drawled.

"Christ, you're such a—"

a

Sam noisily cleared his throat and Faith realised their usual, senseless bickering was helping no one. She pressed her lips into a thin line and kept the gun trained on Henriksen, who was still dazed and confused, barely processing the fact he had the barrel of a shotgun in his face.

"Five minutes ago, I was fine," Henriksen breathed, reaching up unconsciously to rub at the hollow of his throat, "and then…"

"Let me guess," said Dean. "Some nasty black smoke jammed itself down your throat?"

Henriksen looked appropriately spooked, and Faith had to admit that it was nice to see him taken down a few pegs, even if it was by something as terrible as a possession.

"You were possessed," Sam told him quietly.

Henriksen swallowed. "Possessed, like… possessed?"

"That's what it feels like," Sam confirmed grimly. "Now you know."

Dean held out the gun he'd taken from Henriksen earlier, the grip facing him, an offering of peace. "I owe you the biggest 'I told you so' ever," he said, because he just couldn't help himself. But really, on that count, not even Faith could blame him.

Henriksen took the gun, staring down at it, the look in his dark eyes haunted, then he pushed himself up onto his feet. "Officer Amici," he said shortly. "Keys."

The remaining deputy warily handed over the keys, and Henriksen took them, turning first to unlock Sam and Dean's chains, followed quickly by Faith's. The steel chains fell to the floor with a loud clatter and Faith handed her stolen rifle back to the deputy, then rubbed at her sore wrists, flexing her fingers to get some of the feeling back into them.

"All right," said Henriksen bracingly, finally seeming to realise the three of them were an asset in this scenario, and should be treated as such, "So, how do we survive?"

The three hunters glanced between each other, and it was Sam who spoke up. "We need weapons, first of all. Everything you can find. And we need something to draw with – chalk, or paint?"

"Why?" demanded Henriksen.

Dean's expression turned sour. "You want us to take the time to go into the lore, or do you wanna live to see the sun come up?"

A moment of uncomfortable silence.

"We confiscated some spray paint from a bunch of kids the other week," offered the deputy quickly. "Will that work?"

"Perfect," nodded Sam. "Show me."

The deputy left the room with Sam in tow. Dean turned to Henriksen. "We need the floor plans to the building—" he began, but Faith interjected.

"I'll handle those," she said firmly, glancing at Henriksen, then Nancy, who looked afraid but still determined. Faith hoped that would be enough to see her through the night. "In the meantime, do you have a first aid kit? Someone needs to take a look at his wound," she said, because Dean might not care very much about his own wellbeing, but hell if Faith wasn't going to make sure he didn't die of an infection after all they'd been through.

Nancy was quick to nod. "Of course," she said, glancing shyly at Dean. "Um, this way."

Dean cast Faith a frustrated look, but thankfully didn't argue as he followed the young secretary out of the cell block and into the main office of the station.

Faith and Henriksen were left in uncomfortable silence, and Faith stopped distractedly rubbing her sore wrists, crossing her arms over her chest and looked at the FBI agent expectedly. "I don't work here, but I assume the floor plans'll be in the records room," he said, just a little to the left of awkward.

Faith followed him into the records room – little more than a closet stuffed full to the brim with metal filing cabinets. They got to work without a word, digging through the station's files.

"I guess, uh, I guess I owe you an … apology," said Henriksen out of the blue. Faith's fingers paused on the files she was scouring through, unsure what to do with his tentative offering. Thankfully, Henriksen wasn't quite so stiff. "It's real, and all you were doing, all this time, was fighting the good fight."

She had no idea what to say, but she managed to blurt, "There was a spirit in the prison."

Henriksen glanced up in confusion and Faith snapped back into action, fingering through the files, searching for the floor plans as she spoke.

"When Sam and Dean were arrested that time, and I was playing lawyer," she explained tersely. "There was a spirit in the prison. It was killing people. The guys, they got themselves arrested on purpose, so they could hunt the thing and kill it before it hurt anyone else. If you look into the deaths at the prison… Well, it'll all match up. They'll have stopped once they escaped."

Henriksen was stunned. "They got themselves arrested on purpose?" he asked like it was the most batshit thing he'd ever heard in his life.

Faith shrugged. "We go where the job takes us."

They went back to searching in silence. "And how to do you fit into all of this?" he wondered after a few moments of quiet. "Was I right, about you being the Bonnie to his Clyde?"

Faith's smile was wry. "I'm a hunter, like them. I've got my own partner, but he's away on personal business, so I'm just tagging along until he gets back. Us and the boys, we help each other out, now and then. I'm told that's what friends are for… Anyway, this isn't the sort of job a person should ever try to do alone."

"There are lots of you, then? Hunters?"

"A couple hundred spread across the States; give or take," she shrugged. "But we're all over the world. Long as there's been monsters, there's been people to fight them."

"How d'you even get into it?" Henriksen wondered, his curiosity officially uncorked. "Was there some ad in the classifieds I missed?"

Faith's chuckle was husky. "Most of us are born into it. A family business. But for those of us who aren't – well, let's just say revenge is a powerful motivator."

"And which one are you?"

The question brought Faith up short. "A little of both, I guess."

They found the plans rolled up at the back of one of the storage cupboards. Carrying it out into the main area, Faith placed it on an empty table and unfurled it, placing pairs of scissors and paper weights in the corners to keep it from rolling up again. Dean was sat at one of the deputy's desks, Nancy working diligently to patch him up.

"Sam still working on the devil's traps?" Faith asked, peering down at the plans with a critical eye.

"He's finishing up the last one now," Dean replied.

"What's a devil's trap?" Henriksen asked.

"Basically, it's a circle – sort of a rune – that once entered, a demon can't step out of," Faith explained, grabbing a red marker from a nearby pen holder and beginning to draw the symbol at each entrance to the building, marking out their meagre defences. "Go find the deputy," Faith added in Henriksen's direction. "Nobody should be doing anything alone right now."

It was a borderline miracle that Henriksen didn't argue, just picked up his gun and left the room. Faith abandoned the plans and padded across the room to where Dean was still being patched up by Nancy.

"How is he?" Faith asked the secretary quietly.

"He'll be fine," said Nancy in her sweet, unobtrusive voice. She glanced up at Dean from the corner of her eye, and her pale cheeks flushed with pink.

An unpleasant feeling clawed its way up Faith's throat, and before she knew what she was doing, her mouth was saying, "Mind if I take a look?"

The secretary's mouth formed a small 'o', but she didn't argue, scrambling back and away without a word. Faith approached Dean, who was looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite describe, reaching for the covering Nancy had laid over his wound, prodding at it cautiously. It seemed a little loose, so Faith reached for the nearby tape and began to secure it as best she could.

She did all this without meeting Dean's eyes once.

"How's Henriksen handling his induction into the real world?" Dean asked quietly. She was glad he'd said something, because anything she'd tried to say first had tangled messily on her tongue.

"Surprisingly well," she hummed, eyes focused on her task. "He hasn't cried yet, though; disappointing."

"Well," smirked Dean, "the night's still young."

It was enough to draw a smile out of her, and she looked up with a slash of a grin. When he grinned back, she quickly looked away again, focusing on her task with single-minded intent.

"You play nurse often?" Dean asked as if he wanted to keep talking her talking. As if more often than not their conversations didn't devolve into petty arguments and sniping retorts. If she was honest with herself, Faith didn't hate when that happened. It was even nice, sometimes; like a way to vent the stress of their typical day-to-day lives.

But this was nice too, she decided. The times when they didn't argue or bicker. The times when they just were, and it felt like coming up for air after being submerged in an ocean of tension.

"Not really. I'm much better at making the wound than patching it up," she confessed.

Dean hummed and said nothing, his gaze a buzzing sensation on her face. Heavy footsteps appeared, along with a loud rattle, noisily announcing Henriksen and the deputy's return. Faith looked up from Dean's shoulder, eyeing the small arsenal they hauled between them, such confident looks on their faces that she almost didn't want to tell them it was useless.

Dean, however, had no such reluctance. "Well, that's nice," he drawled. "But it's not gonna do much good."

The deputy looked offended. "We got an arsenal here."

"You don't poke a bear with BB gun," said Dean. "That's just gonna make them mad."

The deputy looked like he wanted to respond with something scathing, but Henriksen interjected before he could manage it. "What do you need?" he asked, simple and matter of fact. They had one job to do here, and that was to survive. Everything else – hubris, pride – it was all secondary.

"We need salt," said Faith, returning her attention to Dean's bandage. His skin was warm under her fingertips, but she ignored it, taping down the bloodied gauze that would hopefully keep it from getting infected.

"Lots and lots of salt," Dean agreed.

The deputy frowned. "Salt?"

"What, is there an echo in here?"

Nancy looked up from the first aid kit she was still neatly packing away. "There's road salt in the storeroom," she offered quietly, hesitantly.

Dean smiled, and Faith stubbornly did not look. "Perfect," he said warmly. "We need salt at every window and every door."

If they thought the order was a strange one, they didn't say anything about it, turning to complete their task with determination. There was only two ways this ended, survival or death. And it was clear whose orders they needed to follow to come out the other end of this in one piece.

Dean surprised her when he addressed Nancy, voice quiet and uncharacteristically gentle. "How you holdin' up, Nancy?"

She looked up from her work with a tentative smile. "When I was little, I would come home from church and start to talk about the devil," she said. "My parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?"

She was putting on a brave front, but Faith could see the fear in her eyes, hear it in the tremble in her voice. Faith pressed the last piece of tape to Dean's bandages, then slowly rolled his shirt sleeve back over the gauze.

"We're gonna get you through this, Nancy," Faith promised her, turning away from Dean and wiping her hands on her jeans. "It's nothing we haven't done before."

"You've faced this sort of thing before?" Nancy wondered, torn between shock and horror.

"Well, not quite," said Dean, hopping down off the desk he'd been perched upon, experimentally rolling his shoulder, testing his limits. "But situations like it, sure. We've survived worse," he added with a lazy grin thrown in for effect. Faith wondered if that wasn't entirely true.

The deputy returned, then, a large bag of road salt held in each hand.

"Hey, where's my car?" Dean asked as he carefully shrugged on his jacket.

The deputy frowned. "Impound lot out back."

"Okay."

"Wait," said the deputy, looking horrified. "You're not going out there?"

Dean hesitated, then said simply, "I've got to get something out of my trunk."

"But they'll kill you," said Nancy quietly.

"Nah," Dean smirked woodenly. "I'll be fine."

"Besides," said Faith, swiping a rifle from where it was laid forgotten across a nearby desk and cocking it with its own momentum, "he won't be alone."

Dean turned to glare at her. "No way, Bueller."

"You're wounded," she reminded him curtly, fire burning in her eyes. "Sam's busy, and you've got one hunter spare." He still didn't look convinced. "You're the one who invited me along while Toby's away. You've got me now, Winchester. So shut up for once and lead the way."

Not even he could argue with that. There was an odd gleam to his eye as he nodded, and Faith turned her attention to the gun she held. The bullets weren't salt rounds, and they'd do more to piss a demon off than to inflict any damage, but it was still better than going out with no weapon at all.

"Well, if you're sure," said the deputy warily, digging in a nearby drawer and producing a key ring that he threw at them hastily. Dean used his good arm to snatch it from the air, and without another word he and Faith headed for the doors.

A/N: Hey guys. Hope you enjoyed - a little more episode-follow-y than my usual stuff, but stick with me, it all has a purpose!

Sorry it's a little later than usual. Wedding planning is kicking my arse! So much to do and even though it's still a few months away, time is slipping through my fingers. These really do be the days of our lives, folks. Like sands through the goddamn hourglass.

Anyways! I'll try to upload the next one sooner than usual since it's a 2-parter! Also, if you wanna keep up with my writing/reading going-ons, you can follow my socials arrianereads on insta, bluesky & the tok! Thanks for reading! Xx