Henry pulled up the diner footage himself, leaning slightly forward as he replayed the moment frame by frame.
Dean sat at the table on screen, relaxed—
and completely distracted.
The waitress moved past him, smooth and deliberate, her timing perfect. As she passed behind him, her hand slipped near his jacket pocket, quick and precise.
The rabbit's foot was gone before Dean even shifted in his seat.
Henry paused the footage right there.
For a second, nothing was said.
Then Sam slowly turned his head.
Henry followed.
Both of them looked at Dean.
Dean stared at the screen, then at them, already knowing exactly what they were thinking. "Okay," he said, raising a hand slightly, "in my defense—she was good."
Sam didn't look convinced. "You didn't even blink," he said.
Henry leaned back a little, expression flat. "She emptied your pocket while you were sitting right there," he said. "That's not just skill. That's you not paying attention."
Dean exhaled, running a hand over his face. "Alright, fine," he muttered. "Maybe I was… a little distracted."
Sam shook his head slightly, while Henry just looked back at the screen, already connecting the next piece.
It didn't take Henry long to find her. A few searches, a narrowed filter, and the waitress wasn't just a face on a screen anymore—she had an address.
"Queens," Henry said, turning the laptop slightly so the others could see.
Dean was already moving. "Alright, let's go," he said, heading straight for the Impala.
They got in, Dean starting the engine like nothing had changed.
For a moment, everything seemed normal.
Then the hood slammed upward with a loud metallic bang.
All three of them froze, staring through the windshield at the raised hood blocking their view.
Dean gripped the wheel, jaw tightening. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
Sam slowly turned toward him, expression flat. "Dean…"
Dean didn't look back. "Don't," he said.
Sam ignored that, his tone firm now. "You're not driving."
Dean finally glanced at him, annoyed. "It's fine," he said. "I've handled worse."
Henry leaned forward slightly from the back seat, his voice calm but direct. "Yeah, and we're not risking it," he said. "Your luck's gone. That means everything around you starts going wrong."
Sam nodded in agreement. "We'll go," he added. "You stay here."
Dean frowned, clearly not liking it. "It's just the hood," he said, trying to brush it off.
Sam shook his head. "It's not just the hood," he replied. "It's a sign."
Henry leaned back again, folding his arms. "If you drive like this, we don't make it to Queens," he said. "We end up in a ditch somewhere before that."
Dean exhaled sharply, frustration clear, but he didn't argue further.
"Fine," he said finally. "Take the car. Just don't wreck it."
Sam stepped out, already moving.
Henry followed, leaving Dean behind with the hood still blocking his view.
They reached Queens fast, the kind of building that didn't match the usual mess they dealt with. Clean, expensive, quiet.
Henry didn't wait at the door.
He kicked it open and stepped in first, gun already up, sweeping the room in one clean motion. Sam followed, covering the other side.
The apartment was bigger than expected. Clean lines, expensive furniture, everything in place. Someone lived here who knew exactly what they were doing.
Henry's eyes moved once across the room. "Yeah… stealing pays well," he muttered.
"Boys," a calm English voice cut in from behind them, "you've come to the wrong house."
They turned instantly.
Bela stood near the center of the room.
Blonde hair, neat and controlled, falling over her shoulders. Sharp features, composed expression, dressed like she belonged somewhere better than this.
And she had a gun in her hand.
Already raised.
Aimed at them.
Sam and Henry didn't lower theirs.
For a second, no one moved.
"Drop it," Sam said.
Bela's lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. "You first," she replied.
Henry didn't lower his gun, expression flat but eyes sharp. "Why would we?" he said. "There are two guns here, and you've got one. If anything, you're the one in trouble, so how about you be a good girl, drop the gun, and we'll just take what we came for."
Sam didn't react, but he didn't disagree either.
Bela's smile widened just a little, her gaze shifting fully onto Henry now, amused more than threatened. "Oh?" she said softly. "And what would you do, big boy? Something to poor little me?"
Henry tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. "Depends," he said. "You planning to keep pointing that thing, or are we done pretending you've got the upper hand?"
Bela's smile didn't fade. If anything, it shifted—softer, almost fragile, like she was switching roles mid-scene.
"Wow," she said, lowering her voice just enough to sound smaller than she actually was. "Two armed men breaking into my apartment, pointing guns at me… and now I'm being told to 'be a good girl.'"
"That's a bit much, don't you think?" she added, glancing between them like she was the one cornered.
Henry didn't move.
Didn't blink.
"Nice try," he said, tone completely flat. "You're not the victim here."
Bela gave a faint, almost offended look. "Really?" she said. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I'm about to be robbed by two very aggressive men."
Sam shifted slightly, clearly not buying it either, but he kept his focus on her gun.
Henry let out a quiet breath, eyes still locked on hers. "You picked his pocket in a diner," he said. "You knew exactly what you were taking."
Bela's expression flickered for just a second—then smoothed right back into that same composed look.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said lightly.
"Yeah," Henry said. "And I'm sure the innocent act works great on normal people."
Bela's lips curved again, the act slipping just enough to show she was enjoying this.
"Usually does," she admitted.
*****
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