Meg stood as well, facing herself and feeling rather keen to get back “home,” all things considered. She wanted to talk to Dean about this, to make sure she wasn’t crazy for one thing. She wasn’t sure how much she’d really want to tell him about what this other version of herself had been through. She hadn’t yet figured out what it said about her…either version of her…and she didn’t like not understanding. She wanted to sort through that in her own time before she opened up even a little bit to him. That wasn’t their dynamic. Comrades in arms they might be. A friendship of necessity, maybe. Sure she enjoyed his company and sure she got more than a little entertainment out of their constant banter, but that didn’t make them some kind of sharing friends. No, she had a feeling she’d be keeping most of this conversation from him.
“I’ll be around,” she said vaguely, not willing to give up the exact location of her “safe house,” though she knew it wouldn’t be that hard to find if anyone came looking. Not with the Impala parked right out front. She was obscurely glad to have it, but she also hated that it was so recognizable.
Nodding once, Meg turned her back on the other woman and began walking away. It was the clearest message she could send. She’d turn her back on her showing that she didn’t consider her a threat, that she didn’t fear her. While it might have been seen as an insult at the start of their conversation, she hoped the gesture would say what she wanted it to. She didn’t trust this other woman, which was a whole pile of psychological bullshit that she’d probably have to deal with at some point, after all…it meant she didn’t trust herself. But she also didn’t think she was about to stab her in the back. It was the most she could give in meeting her half way. She didn’t look back as she walked down the street.