The Donovans have cabins and hideaways nestled all around the country for friends looking to lay low or the family itself seeking refuge.

After the fire, Katherine Louise would drive around and check the ones east of the Mississippi, looking for the survivors of that house fire. Pennsylvania, Ohio, Illinois, South Carolina. She'd check in with Haley's police department. They even programmed her number into the call log after she'd called so many times.

They've done composites of what Olivia and Dylan would look like now, at ages eleven and nine, respectively. 

She knows she's grasping at straws. It's been seven years.

Dean went to the police station with her anyway...he quickly figured out it was the primary reason she wanted to go home so urgently.

They met a contact in the back of the place who knows of her hunting roots. Revisiting the fact that all of Katherine's family was either dead or missing raised several questions, like where is her father, Clay? He's hardly been a blip on anyone's radar.

After checking Illinois, they head back south for Katherine's birthday. They went to that whiskey bar across town. Dean had to look away every time Katherine was near Charlie. Especially when they kissed.

Eugh.

Even just thinking about it now, sitting at the bartop in Harvelle's, it made his stomach turn. 

He'd never been thrown for a loop before...not by a woman, anyway. And here he was...looping. Staring. Pining. Wondering. 

What the fuck was he supposed to do now, when she's leant against the pool table, sullen and love-sick? What was he supposed to do? He'd made it clear he wasn't moving on. She's hinted at what she wants...or at least he thought. Maybe she did, he just interpreted it as with him.

Really, she's just...sick. Worry-sick. Ever since Charlie picked up that stupid penny, it's all she could do to worry about him. When they weren't hunting, she was worrying about Charlie. Every. Waking. Moment.

That's not how it's supposed to be, right? He knows not to pick up pennies in parking lots now. He lines his windows and his doors with salt...he wears that protection amulet Katherine gave him when she first left.

He's fine.

Jo notices the younger girl's deflated aura. She was usually a ball of positive energy, smirking or toying...generally becoming the bane of every man's existence. But Katherine is quietly toying with her polaroid camera, resting her elbows on the pool table and curling her spine to get just the right light on the ball. Preoccupied. Obviously looking for a distraction.

"What's wrong with Katherine Louise?" Jo asks, leaning up against the bar beside Dean.

"She's goin' through some stuff," Dean answers with a shrug.

Jo looks at him with raised eyebrows. "Existential crisis?"

"More like a festival of self-loathing."

"Why?"

Dean shrugs. "Her boyfriend picked up a penny last month. She's been wacky every since."

Jo's brows knit together. "A penny?"

Dean makes a face and amends, "A not-penny."

She shrugs. "What the hell is a not-penny?"

Dean blinks. "You know...a not penny. A penny that isn't a penny." Jo grimaces. Dean sighs. "Never mind. The point is, he got messed with by a little ghost and she's all out of sorts and always worrying about him."

"He's a hunter?"

"No."

"Oh." Jo chuckles a little. "Weird."

"Yeah, I know. Exactly." Dean takes a swig of his beer. "She almost got herself killed last week because he called her in the middle of a hunt."

So maybe Dean was mad at Charlie.

Jo winces. After a long few moments, she asks, "How's her shoulder healing up?"

"Oh. Oh, good. Yeah. We forget about it a lot." Dean shrugs.

"And yours?"

"Hmm?" He frowns. Jo's dark eyes slide to his shoulder, back to his face. Dean follows her gaze before starting in realization. "Oh. 'M fine. It aches every now and again, but...nothing we can't take care of."

We. Jo spared herself the mental image of hand-feeding Dean Tylenol. 

The younger blonde lets out a long sigh, pushing herself away from the bar, and pulls her cleaning tray with her. Jo's gaze flits to Katherine as she starts over towards them, looking a bit disgruntled. She slides onto the stool beside Dean and leans towards him.

"I need you to be my champion," she says. Jo's brow quirks, and Dean is puzzled.

"I—what are you—"

"I just got challenged to a game of poker. Problem is, I have no idea how to play it."

"You don't know how to play poker?" Dean and Jo chorus. Katherine's brow furrows.

"No," she says, sitting up, and crosses her arms. "But I need someone to fill in for me. This guy won't shut the fuck up." She jabs her thumb over her shoulder and grabs Dean's shot of whiskey. He sits up tall, looking over her shoulder, almost ignoring his empty shot glass. 

The guy is much older than the two of them; tall, with a round belly and a scruffy beard, a worn, fraying hat. He notices Dean's gaze and narrows his eyes.

"Is he bothering you?"

Katherine's eyes gleam a little, and she smirks crookedly at him, resting her weight on her elbow. "If I say yes, will you be my knight in shining armor?"

"Oh, hell yeah."

Something pulled at his gut, the way she smiled at him.

The game attracts the attention of many in the roadhouse. Katherine sits at Dean's side, staring at his hand and glancing to the chips in the middle of the table. If the guys wanted another beer, they'd nod their head at Jo. No speaking. Lots of glaring.

It was all too a little intense for Katherine. It made her uncomfortable, restless in her own skin.

Everything was making her fidgety. It was like sensory overload, like some sort of premonition was coming. A hidden harbinger. But there was nothing but radio silence in her head. Nothing seemed off about the congregation of hunters at that poker table. But something was off. She was never this restless if there wasn't. The good thing, she supposes, is Dean swiped two hundred bucks in pool and poker. With their earnings, he decided they'd spend the night in comfort, and asked Ash for one of the better hotels within twenty-five miles—three and a half stars and up, preferably.

The room is large, with two beds and a pull-out sofa. The bathroom is polished, with a large mirror spanning the width of the wall, lighting all around the frame, a deep sink, a large shower head with more than decent pressure. No mold spots or bugs, mildew smells. No questionable stains. The windows overlook the Platte river, and the city lights on the other side glisten and ripple on the black water, lit with the white glow of the moon.

Sam's been complaining about his back lately, so of course his older brother forced him to take one of the two queens while he crashed on the sofa.

It's the middle of the night and he's still awake. Unbenknownst to Katherine, she shuffles from the bathroom quietly, carefully navigating the pitch black, until she hits a bag and trips. Only when she's muttering curses under her breath does Dean turn his head, staring off into the blackness until Katherine's general figure is even darker than the night. Then she sits on the floor, right in the moonlight, and squints down at the floor, trying to recover what she kicked over.

Quietly, blindly, Katherine's hands fumble along the carpet for personal items. A toiletry bag, a bottle of cologne, a heavier bag...Dean's clippers.

Katherine zips the bag up and nudges it to where nobody will trip over it again and sits on her legs for a moment, staring at Dean. She doesn't know his eyes are open, gazing at her, though she suspects. He's usually a light sleeper.

Katherine gets to her feet and moves to the other side of the pull-out and slides underneath the woven blanket with him.

"Hey," he murmurs. She settles on her stomach, arms shoved underneath the spare pillow, and stares at Dean with a furrowed brow. "Can't sleep?" Katherine shakes her head. "Yeah. Me either."

"Anything felt off to you today?" She asks him. Her voice is soft, as to not rouse Sam.

Slowly, Dean shakes his head. "Besides you, no. Anything you wanna talk about?"

Katherine lets out a heavy breath and shakes her head. "Not really. I just..don't know what's wrong with me today. I feel restless."

"Well you're legal in all applications of the word now," Dean says, smirking a bit. "You could get yourself into a lot of trouble at twenty-one."

"Me?" She snorts. "I'm an angel."

"Yeah, an angel with a machete at her thigh at a .45 at her hip," Dean retorts. Katherine lets out a quiet chuckle.

"I never said I was conventional." She sits up after a moment, pulling her knees to her chest, and rests her chin on her knees.

"It's probably because you haven't been on a hunt in, like, two weeks. Ya got the jitters or somethin'." Dean tucks his arms behind his head and watches her in the moonlight. Then he sighs. "You're still worrying about Charlie, aren't you?"

"No," she quickly replies, defensive. Then she grasps at her throat, probably searching for that pendant. "Yeah," she finally admits. Quiet. In defeat. She takes a deep breath and turns towards Dean, whose face is becoming easier to see now. Not that she needed to see him to remember his face. Every feature of his. "I worry about everything now," she whispers. "It makes me restless."

"You haven't slept in two days," Dean murmurs. 

"Yeah, I know. I can't just lie down anymore. Wishful thinking doesn't work." Katherine lets out a low breath and rakes her fingers over her scalp. "Maybe I'll go for a walk."

Dean's brow furrows. "At two in the morning?"

"Just in the hallways," Katherine quietly tells him, pulling her long legs from the bed. Dean props himself up on his elbows.

"Want me to come with?"

"No, it's fine. I probably woke you up with my klutz move anyway." She smiles and rocks to her feet. In the darkness, she exchanges her pajamas for a t-shirt and jeans from the day. Boots and her jacket. She slips out of the door with the room key in her back pocket.

The hallways are wide and quiet. The lighting is warm. The carpet is plush and red with gold threading weaving floral patterns. The foyer by the elevators is made of granite, with wooden tables and bases and floral arrangements. The air is still...doesn't smell like anything but hotel.

Katherine doesn't remember the last time she was in a decent hotel. She and her father certainly never stayed in one.

She swings down the stairs and moves down to the third floor. The hallway looks the exact same as the one above, smells just the same.

On the first floor is the gym. It's a large, mirrored room, wooden floorboards and stationary bikes, ergs, yoga mats.

Katherine flips one of the lights on and wanders into the gym. Her fingers wriggle into the back pockets of her Levis as she starts forward, looking around at all of the equipment. There's a sauna in the back. Curiously, she starts towards it, and the lights shut off. The door shuts. And she hears it lock.

With panic radiating from her belly to her chest, white hot and heavy, she turns around.

Two yellow eyes stare back at her.