After that Dean picked up the rabbit's foot and visibly relaxed for the first time in hours.
"At least don't lose it this time, Dean," Sam said as they headed out of the motel.
Before they left Henry stopped at the front desk and used the phone. He gave the police an anonymous tip — people with illegal firearms, a trailer that was likely packed with weapons. He kept it simple and hung up.
Kubrick and Creedy were arrested before they hit the highway.
Dean glanced at Henry in the rearview mirror as they pulled onto the road.
"I still can't figure you out," he said. "You've been in this life for what, a few months? And you already know how to burn someone without getting your hands dirty."
"Quick learner," Henry said from the backseat.
"And Dean," Sam said, "we should lie low until Bobby finds a way to destroy the foot. We already lost it once and you nearly ended up—"
"I know."
"If we'd been five minutes later—"
"Sam. I know."
"Before we lie low," Dean said, already turning toward the nearest gas station, "I'm getting lottery tickets."
Sam looked at him.
"My luck is literally supernatural right now. It would be irresponsible not to."
Henry said nothing. His gaze dropped to the rabbit's foot tucked in Dean's jacket pocket—he really wanted to keep it, especially for pulling gacha, but it was a double-edged sword.
The luck it gave wasn't clean; it came with a cost that showed up sideways when you least expected it.
It had to go.
That night they found an open field off a back road near the treeline. Sam built the fire while Dean spread the ritual items out. Bobby had come through with the right burn — specific wood, specific order, nothing improvised.
Sam fed the items into the fire one by one.
Then he held out his hand toward Dean.
Dean was scratching a lottery ticket.
"Dean."
"One second."
"Dean, throw it in."
Dean scratched the last panel, looked at it, and his face split into a grin.
"Seventy grand," he said. He held it up. "Can we keep it? Just — hypothetically."
Sam gave him a look that required no words.
"Okay, no need to look at me like that," Dean said, and moved to throw it into the fire.
"Hands off it."
Dean and Sam turned.
Bela stood at the edge of the firelight, gun leveled, expression completely composed, like she'd been there the whole time and had simply chosen now to make herself known.
"Give me the rabbit's foot," she said. "Or I put a bullet in you. Your choice, but I'd make it quickly."
Dean stared at her. "Who the hell is she?"
"Bela," Sam said. "She's the one who stole it from you in the first place."
Dean took a step forward. Bela's gun moved to Sam.
"Take another step and he gets it," she said, pointing at Sam.
Dean stopped.
"Good. Now put it on the ground."
"You know it'll kill me if I hand that over," Dean said. "Curse doesn't lift unless it burns."
"Not my problem," Bela said simply.
She kept the gun level and scanned the firelight.
Then her eyes moved across the field.
"Where's the third one?"
Dean and Sam smiled.
Bela had one second to register that before a hand clamped onto her shoulder from behind, fingers gripping hard, and yanked her backward and around.
She spun on her heel, already reaching — but Henry stepped into her, chest to chest, and got both arms around her before she could level the gun. He locked his hands behind her back and pulled her in tight, pinning her arms between them.
She drove her elbow back. No room. She tried to twist her wrist to get the gun angle. His grip shifted and closed it off.
"Bela," Henry said quietly into her ear, completely unbothered as she worked against him. "Didn't you learn your lesson the first time? Stay out of our business."
"Let go of me," she said through her teeth.
He didn't move.
"So did anything happen between you two?" Dean asked, looking between them with open interest. "Because this feels like there's a history here."
"Dean," Henry said. "Burn the thing."
Dean looked at the rabbit's foot in his hand, then back at them, clearly in no hurry.
"Right, yeah," he said, not moving. "Burning it."
"Is this some sort of hobby?" Bela said, still locked in Henry's grip. "Manhandling women to prove a point?"
"You had a gun on my family," Henry said. "You'll forgive me if I'm not too concerned about your comfort right now."
"Let go and we can have a civilized conversation."
"You don't do civilized," Henry said. "You do angles. You do leverage. The second I let go that hand goes for whatever backup piece you have on your ankle."
Bela said nothing.
Which was more or less a confirmation.
"Yeah," Henry said. "Bear with it a little longer."
After that Henry let go and they walked back to the Impala. Bela stood at the edge of the road, arms crossed, watching Henry with a look that could have started a fire on its own.
Henry glanced back at her from the door, then dropped into the backseat.
"I like that look," he said, settling in. "Genuinely flattered someone makes a face like that over me."
Dean started the engine.
"And hopefully next time we meet we can have that civilized conversation you wanted," Henry called out the window as the Impala pulled away.
Bela didn't respond.
She just watched the car go.
*****
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