Dean rises from a crouch beside her, gun lowered. He's oddly quiet, a bit shell-shocked from the explosion but those birds... what they said got under his skin. His gaze drifts up to Integra, and a faint echo of his usual cocky grin turns his lips.
"Nicely done. Badass, in fact. I didn't have anything magical on me but they didn't seem to like rock salt or silver either."
He tucks away his gun and goes to pick up his shotgun, reloading it with another pair of rock salt shells as he comes back. He also pauses long enough to scoop up a couple of the things that had fallen as they'd shot the crows. He can see now they're like small, black pearls.
"What do you make of these?" he says, holding them up. "Every time I shot one of those sons of bitches, one of these came down."
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Dean rises from a crouch beside her, gun lowered. He's oddly quiet, a bit shell-shocked from the explosion but those birds... what they said got under his skin. His gaze drifts up to Integra, and a faint echo of his usual cocky grin turns his lips.
"Nicely done. Badass, in fact. I didn't have anything magical on me but they didn't seem to like rock salt or silver either."
He tucks away his gun and goes to pick up his shotgun, reloading it with another pair of rock salt shells as he comes back. He also pauses long enough to scoop up a couple of the things that had fallen as they'd shot the crows. He can see now they're like small, black pearls.
"What do you make of these?" he says, holding them up. "Every time I shot one of those sons of bitches, one of these came down."