Disclaimer: For those who have read my Dick Roman story this is from the point of view of the Leviathan who takes on the "shape" of Kate. She was intended to be a very small part but as time went on and her character developed I became more and more excited with her and where her story was going. It contains scenes that take place in between my Dick Roman chapters to fill in some more blanks and then continues from there and after the Dick Roman story ends. So with no further adieu. Enjoy!

I turned the knife back and forth in my hands as the blood chipped off on my fingers and staining them red. Red. Such an odd color for blood.
"Who was he?"
My voice sounded loud and echoed in the stone room like I was the only one there and talking to myself. She slowly lifted her head from where she settled against the corner to meet my eyes, the shape to them hollow and pale as was the skin underneath the blood that had twisted into her hair and staining her cheeks.
"Who?"
Her voice was quiet and rasped, the work of lack of use and water but maybe underneath that reluctance to answer the question. I couldn't tell.
"The man. Bobby."
I stumbled on the name and the memory of the way she had clutched her head and sobbed it over and over like it was a prayer going unanswered. But humans prayed to God. What use did they have to pray to other humans? If that had been what she had done. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, her chest falling in her breath and I waited for it to rise again.
"A friend."
Friend. Not God. Friend. I turned the knife again, the tip of it wedging under my nail and turning. I didn't feel it go into my skin and only noticed from the dotting of black blood on the edge. How strange it must be for her to have her hands wielding the knife that hurt her with the blood of a Leviathan pulsing underneath. No stranger then calling out to a friend though. A friend that was already dead.
"A good friend?"
What was the difference? A good friend to one without the distinction. Was there a difference? I hated asking these questions even to myself and I knew that brother would tease me if I pressed them to him. My stupid little sister, he'd say and raise my chin so I could meet his eyes and the coldness in them. To some it might have been an endearment but I heard the hatred underneath it and the thin patience that covered it.
"What do you care?"
She swallowed after the question and readjusted her arms over her knees so I could see the bruises down them from the chains that we'd used to suspend her from the ceiling. The individual links were no longer visible but the purpose still remained.
"I don't."
I didn't. Or I did. I was curious. And I wanted to know. Friend. Good Friend. Prayer. Sadness. They were words lost from definition and I was left to my own devices to piece them together. Centuries upon centuries in a pit of torment and action and I had forgotten the meaning of words. What they could mean and why people inflicted them on one another. That they hurt and they healed and that they could do both in one stroke. How was that possible? I did not understand.
"Your son ... what was his name?"
I was asking again. Making conversation as I called it. Wasting time as Dick would. I wasn't supposed to ask questions. Not to him or anyone else. Questions implied a lack of knowledge and a lack of knowledge implied stupidity which boiled down to a lack of worth. That's what he had told me. And so I had stopped asking questions.
"Robert."
She said the name tenderly, cradling it to her chest and barely letting me see it enough to wonder. Robert. It seemed similar to Bobby. Was that intentional? Or had I again made the wrong connection to leave me stranded in understanding. I didn't know.
"You named him after Bobby?"
It had to be. It was too similar. Coincidences like that didn't happen – no matter how minor. When God – Our Father – had locked us in Purgatory and a man who called himself a better one had let us out. It hadn't been coincidence. Or that is what Dick said.
"Yes."
Quiet. A gentle submission. A tired one. She was tired of fighting, of holding on and not giving up when we had piece by piece taken away what she could grip to. Sam and Dean thought she was dead. Bobby himself was. Her child was gone and her friend – Good Friend? – who had let us out was gone as well. What did she have left?
"What was he like?"
I had seen him. Fragments of him in the memories I had gotten when I had touched her cheek and taken on her shape. A future that would no longer happen that had found itself in her worst memory. A child she'd never have killed in a place she would never reach. Small. But strong. He had had her eyes and her smile – uncertain like the reason for it might be gone before it could be formed. But he had looked like his father. Too much. And that's why it hurt her to remember.
"He was my son. Isn't that enough?"
That anger was back. That agony. The loss of everything you held dear and being reminded of it over and over. She didn't think I knew that. That I could ever understand. Could I? I had been damned by a father who didn't know me from the one next and had cursed us all to our personal hell because of the mistake of several over thousands. I had been raised by a brother who had loved me once but grew to hate me once I was no longer his shadow. Once I could no longer follow his actions as soon as I had made them. And now I was here.
"No. It isn't."
Child. Son. Friend. Good Friend. Father. Names to faces and definitions to all. And then emotions to tie them after. Strings to an idea and cut when they were lost. But they weren't lost. She still held the names and drew pain from them. Why? They were dead. The lesson ended there. But it didn't. And I didn't understand it.
"We're done for the day."
I tossed the bloody knife onto the tray of other tools that I had used – the place where Dick had allowed me creativity to inflict pain where I wanted and I had happily agreed. Pain I could understand. Blood I could understand. Even when the pain came with a name as a prayer and the blood ran red instead of black.
"But you didn't do anything."
She looked up at me, confused and with no fear that should come with it. I hadn't hurt her today. No twisting of the knife in the stomach or nails screwed to bone. No salt water to the cuts or taunts that she was ours to play with. Not today. Today I was tired.
"You should rest."
Stupid thing to say. Rest. Like she could find any in stone and her own blood with the prayers of those she lost muttered on her breath. There was no rest. I did not need rest and I had taken away her chance of it herself. But she had learned to live on that. Little to no sleep where less of it was welcome. Another detail – or fragment I had received from her memory that came when it was useful and was quiet when it wasn't.
"I'll be back tomorrow."
A promise. A cold one. Today you rest and tomorrow we start again. Tomorrow I won't be weak or forgiving. I will try to make you scream and I will smile when you do it. Dick will be proud of me and maybe he won't call me names or persist that I was worthless and he should have found a way to damn me below and away from all the rest. Tomorrow I would ask questions and tomorrow she wouldn't answer them. She would bleed and I wouldn't comment on the color and she would prayer and I wouldn't question who to. I nodded as a dismissal and pulled open the heavy door that worked on our strength alone but she could never open. I heard it shut with satisfaction behind me and turned the lock so it spun and clanked the pieces together so she'd know there was no way out. I started to walk down the pristine hallways as one or two of our own passed and barely glanced my way as they did. I froze my steps and stopped, thinking back to my questions and how now they seemed even louder and more persistent when I wasn't present to a force to answer them. I could ask. And she would answer. Through blood or pain she would answer and I would be satisfied. But asking questions meant a lack of knowledge and that meant stupidity and lack of worth. Stupid little sister, he'd say. But he was wrong. I wasn't stupid.