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Dead bird in hand

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The red nest of scars across her hands twist and writhe as she clears the sawed off with smooth efficiency. If Victor didn't know better, he'd think she had been doing this all her life. But he does know better, knows almost everything and nothing at all.

"I'm sorry," he says, makes himself look at her face, ruined and lovely and fierce. "I-"

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter." She smirks, the scars making it look sinister and strange. "I probably would have thought the same thing honestly. They look really bad on paper and all the other stuff..." Her hand flutters above the gun like a broken bird, the gesture somehow perfectly encompassing the fundamental reordering of Victor's universe. "Well, no one would believe it."

The laugh is bitter and makes his throat hurt. "I do."

"Yeah, well, nothing like fighting off a demon horde to make a believer out of anyone. Being pinned to the ceiling and lit on fire also works pretty well, too, in case you were wondering." She throws him a wink.

He's not quite sure how to respond to that, so he keeps his mouth shut and allows the moment to slide pass. She lets him.

Down the hall, someone starts wailing. Victor reaches for his gun, then makes himself stop. It's just the coccoon of shock wearing off for some poor soul out there, the horror finally starting to sink in. Dean's voice rumbles underneath the crying for a moment and things go quiet again after a few minutes.

Victor's usually not around anymore this long after things go down; he's never had any patience for it, dealing with the emotional detritus left in the wake of trauma. It's something best left in the hands of professionals he's always believed. But here, with this? The professionals will land you in the nut house.

"Most of them will convince themselves that something else happened," Jess says suddenly. He starts, a little freaked out by how closely she responded to his thoughts until he realizes he's been staring at the wall separating them from the rest of the victims for the past five minutes. The files may have been wrong about a lot of things, but not about her intelligence.

"Really? I can't imagine how," Victor says after a moment. He'll never forget feel of the demon wrapped around his soul. Never.

"I know." She opens the duffle and starts putting the guns inside. "That's why you should come with us when we leave."

He opens his mouth automatically to protest but she cuts him off.

"It's not that complicated, Victor. Nancy and the rest will cover for you, say you died in the chopper with the rest of us. You said it yourself, to Dean. You'll never be satisfied at the FBI again. Not after this." She zips up the bag and slings it over her shoulder. "You'll never get a better chance."

He looks at her, tries to find the trick or the lie in her calm blue eyes. There's none. Just the promise of something horrible and terrifying and so much more alive and real then the desk he should return to.

"They won't mind?" he asks finally.

"You leave the boys to me," Jess says with a wicked smirk as she hefts the guns over her shoulder. She heads for the door, makes it about two steps before abruptly pivoting back around and striding towards him until they are toe to toe.

She leans forward and presses her lips against his cheek. It's so unexpected Victor isn't quite convinced it happened, wonders if the universe has rearranged itself on him again today and thinks maybe it has.

"Welcome to the family, Victor," Jess says, stepping out of his personal space. And despite the scars twisting on her cheeks, her smile is the most beautiful thing he's seen in years.