That smile was like finally coming home for John. He wanted to believe her. Everything that was John in him was straining to just believe, but everything that was a hunter in him was screaming to exercise caution, to not let his guard down no matter what or he'd end up dead.
In a concession – though, in all honesty, because he couldn't bear to aim a gun at her – the gun was pointed off to the side as he slid his hand into the inside pocket of the light jacket he wore, withdrawing a small bottle of holy water. After letting her see the bottle, he tossed it to her, then tried to find the words to explain what part of him realized she would likely recognize.