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An hour outside Lebanon, Toni's headache has finally subsided. Ketch was probably being optimistic when he said there might be three days left of oxygen in the bunker; it took them two days to get out and she's fairly certain that for most of day two, half of what she was breathing was carbon dioxide.
But that's all behind them. The Winchesters figured out how to escape, and couldn't have done it without her - neither of them would have fit in the ductwork she had to shimmy through - and though their alliance sits uneasy in the pit of her stomach, it is what it is. They're speeding toward the BMoL compound, and they've contacted a few surviving American hunters to join them. Once Ketch and his reprobate crew are dispatched, she'll be in a good position to take care of the remaining Americans, by persuasion or by other means, and claim her rightful spot as the head of the new American Men of Letters.
Sam Winchester turns from the front seat to look at her. He's no longer wearing the pinched expression, no longer rubbing his forehead, so his headache must have eased as well. Time to make her pitch. "Well," she smiles. "I suppose we're even, now that I've helped save your lives. Let's wipe the slate clean then, shall we? Start from scratch, as allies, and figure out how the British Men of Letters can guide you Americans into the future of monster control."
Sam's mouth twists into something that's not quite a smile. He doesn't reply to her, but taps his brother on the shoulder and points to the left. Dean pulls onto a rutted dirt road that leads to an old farmhouse. It seems abandoned, with peeling paint and overgrown shrubs surrounding it, but there are two cars parked outside. One is marked Sioux Falls Sheriff's Department, and she sighs with relief. Looks like Jody Mills hasn't been taken out just yet, which is in her favor if she wants to keep the Winchesters in her back pocket for any length of time. She doesn't recognize the other car.
Dean pulls up next to the house, and she waits in the car until he opens her door. "The hunters are gathering here?" she asks.
"Yeah. We'll meet here before we go take care of things." But instead of taking the steps up to the porch, he steers her toward a cellar door against the foundation. He pulls the heavy door open and motions her down the steps.
"Ah. Secretive, aren't we?" She hesitates.
Sam rolls his eyes at her and pushes past her to go down the stairs. "Jesus," he says. "What happened to us being even? Have a little faith." He pulls the chain dangling from a bare bulb on the ceiling, and she sees the cellar, spare and fairly clean, with a circle of chairs set up in preparation for a meeting of hunters.
"You know we don't kill people if we can help it," Dean says. "We're too sentimental, remember? So come on." He heads down the stairs himself, and if he's willing to do that, willing to turn his back on her and leave her the opportunity to run... well, that's promising. She follows him down.
It's cool, and musty smelling, and she shudders at a sudden memory of the cellar in that farmhouse where she'd held Sam for questioning. But there is no single chair already fitted with handcuffs here, no icy shower, no table of implements. No reason for her to be afraid.
Until she turns around and sees Sam Winchester across the room, pointing his gun in her direction. Not at her head, or her heart. She throws up a hand and cries "no!" and her right knee explodes in agony. She falls to the ground, screaming. Through a haze of pain and terror, she sees Dean standing over her, pointing his gun at her other knee. "No, God, please," she sobs.
"Whaddya think, Sammy?" Dean says, never taking his eyes off her face, or his gun off its target.
Sam walks over and stands at his brother's side. "Nah. One's good. We're done."
The Winchesters turn for the stairs out of the cellar. As Dean goes up, Sam grasps the chain to the light. He turns to her and smiles. "Now we're even," he says. As she howls in pain, he puts out the light and heads up the stairs, locking the cellar door behind him.