All is dark again, black and blank and silent. The only movement is their three pairs of feet, and the crunch of broken glass under her boots. Shepard holds her hand up, focusing, and a point of light blooms at her fingertips— more native magic.

It's a mess; two display-cases are frames without glass, there's a pile of wax figures crowded in the doorway and against the wall, slumped over each other and over the other displays. They seem mostly intact, except for the one Shepard had dismembered, and the one with the crossbow bolt sprouting from its head like a macabre unicorn's horn. Shepard laughs, regarding the chaos.

"Well, that could've gone worse," She decides, turning to face Dean— and smirks to see the look on his face, "Keeping it together back there, Winchester? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She thinks she's funny, bless her heart.