Things happen in this chapter. Risky things. But no risks, no rewards. It's a long chapter; almost TWENTY PAGES. Basically like two in one. I tried to shorten it as much as possible, but I failed considerably. But I DO suggest finishing it until the end! I have never in all my life worked so hard on something as I did with this chapter. This includes all college work, of course.
So find a comfy seat, grab a fatty snack, and ready your attention span 'cause it's gonna be one long roller coaster of emotions.
THIRTY-SIX: Now
Three Days Later
Greenwood, Mississippi
"Uh, guys, we have a small problem," said Sam slowly from the table by the motel room window. I was lounging on one of the beds, looking up from my iPod on which I had been playing Solitaire, and Dean materialized from the bathroom, his face half-covered in shaving cream with razor in hand.
"Unless we're out of beer, I don't want to know," he said, disappearing back into the bathroom.
"Yeah? Well, get this; looks like they finally dusted for fingerprints in Karen's house," continued Sam, "so much for low profile." He turned the screen of his laptop to show a mugshot picture of Dean and my eyes narrowed just as Dean reappeared again, half of his jaw still covered in white cream. He squinted at the screen. "Kat's mentioned in there two, but there's only a description."
Dean cracked a grin at me. "We're like Bonnie and Clyde or somethin'."
"It's not funny, Dean," scorned Sam. "It's gonna make our job a whole lot harder. You have a warrant in St. Louis and now you're both officially in the Fed's database. We're going to have to be really careful from now on."
"Meaning no more murdering people unless we really have to," I put in helpfully.
Dean chuckled as he reentered the bathroom for a third time. "We'll just keep our heads low with our tails between our legs. What've they got on you, anyway, Sammy?"
"I'm sure they just haven't posted it yet," Sam muttered. Dean's head poked around the door frame, now looking nothing short of ridiculous with nothing left but a shaving cream mustache.
"No accessory, no nothin'?"
"Shut up."
Dean chortled, "You're jealous."
"No I'm not!" Sam retorted.
"Uh-huh. Well, what do you got on that case you innocent, harmless man, you?"
Sam shut his computer irritably, pulling out a few pages from his bag. "Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed."
"He built a house and then jumped off of it?" I questioned.
"That's classy," Dean snorted, walking back into the bedroom and dabbing his now clean face with a towel. "You mentioned before he called animal control? What for?"
I hopped off the bed to start shifting through the pages, looking over the photos and list of phone numbers.
"He called two days earlier, claiming to see a vicious, wild, black dog but the authorities couldn't find it," said Sam, his eyebrows raising a little. "No one else saw it; in fact, the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, and two days later he takes a swan dive."
"And what are the chances of us dealing with an actual Black Dog?" I asked, pulling out an old fashioned-looking picture of a huge black hound dog. "Aren't they supposed to be death omens of sorts?"
"People also say they're animal spirits that only near-dead people can see, hence getting the death omen reputation. But whatever they are, they're big and they're nasty," said Sam, leaning further back into his chair and crossing his arms.
"Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg," said Dean with a smirk, taking the picture from my hand and holding it up for Sam's examination. Sam's expression turned stony and Dean's grin slipped a little. "What, they could."
.
Sam had been waiting at the bar counter for almost thirty minutes, waving down the bartender when he asked if he wanted another beer. Although the establishment was dimly lit, vaguely crowded, and the overwhelming scent of cheap cologne was enough to make his eyes water, the ambiance was rather cheerful as laughter rattled off the wooden walls.
Almost fifteen minutes later with his irritation running high, he sat in one of the booths, and she was there sitting opposite him, presumably fixing her eyes on him with her usual sardonic stare; it was hard to tell seeing as she was wearing a pair of Aviator sunglasses.
"Out of all the places you want to meet with me in the dead of night, it's the bar beside the crossroads."
Her hair was pulled back in a very messy bun, but her even bangs laid loose just under her dark brows. She lifted one of them.
"I wasn't even sure you were going to come," said Sam slowly, smiling uncertainly.
She leaned back in the seat, crossing her arms so the leather of her jacket squeaked. The left corner of her lips twitched.
"And here I am," she said. "I'm curious what you would want with little old me, and more so why it's so important to keep it from the other two. Anything that dirty and I just have to be involved." She leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at him steadily. "So what is it?"
Sam glanced down at his fingers for a moment, then at the patrons that crowded around them, but no one seemed to be listening in. He looked back at her.
"Cor Comedenti's can only feed from humans," he started slowly, "what happens if they don't?"
She had no reaction to his words. "Think of it like trying to keep a lion in your basement in check; if you don't feed it, it's gonna go wild. Kitten would probably start losing the already little amount of human instincts she has, which can make traveling with humans a real bite in the ass. Literally."
"What if the blood is given willingly?"
This certainly piqued her interest. She cocked her head. "Being around you three just keeps on getting more interesting by the day. Why on earth would you like to know that?" But by her mock-baby voice, something told Sam she knew exactly what he was getting at. Sam just stared at her with a straight face, heaving a tight breath. She gave out a large snort, shaking her head and smirking ear to ear. "You're asking me what the consequences of letting little sis take a chomp outta you, aren't 'cha? Oh, this is interesting."
Trying to ignore how her smug behavior was nudging his irritable bone, he pressed on, "The research I've been doing hasn't been able to tell me much and there's nothing written down about a human offering themselves to a Cor. I thought you would know."
"I'll give you my time of day seeing as I like you more than your brother. But," she added, sliding her long white nails gently across the wood of the table, "I'm not talking until my stomach's happy."
"What?"
"They've got this weird onion thing," she said, shifting a glance over her shoulder at the kitchen and then looking back at him with a sanctimoniously raised brows. "They douse it in batter then fry it in a big pan of oil. It's delicious."
There was a small beat.
"Onion rings?" he said slowly. He noticed a dimple in her left cheek as she smiled.
"Order me a basket of those and I'll help you—from the goody blackness of my heart. And a chocolate milkshake. Extra whip cream."
"You don't even need to eat, do you?"
"Be glad it's all I'm asking for; usually these days to get a demon talking you have to sacrifice a goat to Satan or get naked and sit in a barrel of eel's eyes under the light of the moon. Lucky for you, I'm just feeling peckish. Though I wouldn't completely rule out the option of getting naked," she added.
Sam wasn't sure whether to laugh or be distraught. He blinked several times, looking at her steadily before clearing his throat and waving down a waiter.
"You know, I'm wondering something, sasquatch," she started after Sam was done ordering and sliding out from the booth, "do you think what you're considering doing is the right thing?"
"Yeah," he said earnestly with a heavy breath. She didn't look very impressed by his answer.
"Your intentions are fine, I know," she simpered, "yet there's a reason why you're meeting me at a bar at one in the morning without alerting Nancy and Joe over there, and I think that that reason may be is that you know they don't trust me, so you think they would assume this meet up a bad idea."
Sam sighed out his nose, looking right up in to her eyes, shrugging before saying, "I just want to help her. She's been looking not-so-good lately and you're the only one I can think of who would know anything about this." Except maybe Jack, but suggesting the idea of letting his daughter feed from him was a bit like asking Dean if he could repaint the Impala Barbie pink.
"Not-so-good," she echoed, picking up a cue stick from the pool table and looking at him. "You would too if you spent a whole year eating grass, which is basically the Cor equivalent of drinking animal blood. No, you're right, sasquatch; she needs human blood and before the full moon next week."
Stopping a few feet away, she leaned on the cue with her palms flat on the tip, looking down at him placidly. His gaze momentarily fluttered to the ground before returning to stare back up at her. He got to his feet, watching as the waiter delivered Bree her onion rings and milkshake and she released a triumphant sigh.
"What should I be expecting?" he asked.
She waggled her eyebrows, a single onion ring hanging from her lower lip and bumping into him as she strode past, picking up another one of the long cues and tossing it at him. He caught it uncertainly; he didn't want to let himself be thread along in any of her games, but he also wanted to be out of here quick as possible.
She seemed to take his lack of rejection as approval, positioning the pool balls before picking up her own stick and leaning on it, nodding her head for him to make the first move.
"Play with me," she said He raised his eyebrows, half-thinking of backing out just because he felt like he was being toyed with, but he let out a very dry chuckle, not paying much attention but still managing to get two balls in.
"I'm not sure how willing you would be to be Kat's personal drinking fountain if you knew what the experience was like," said Bree, circulating around the table to get a better angle.
"Why?"
"In the fangs of our species, there's a poison called Anleen, which not only make our bites, even to our own race, permanent, but into an open wound they release endorphins into the bloodstream. Kind of like a shot of Ecstasy. Henceforth, making the victim's blood race, heart pound, and lower regions tend to get a bit more—"
"Just—stop there," interrupted Sam as he watched three balls she hit roll over the green surface and into two different pockets. "Why is it so necessary to be built that way?"
"Easier way of feeding," she said, seeming to take great amusement in his incredulity. "We're built to survive, and delivering pure bliss to the humans we bite into is a lot easier than having them scream in agony. I'm not sure how kitten's father being human affects the level of high you receive when bitten, but I know it's there; I can smell it."
"You—bit into Dean," he said, frowning. "Do you—"
"Good Lord, no," she said, looking offended. "It takes a bit more than that; the bite only lasted a second. It takes at least ten for it to kick in. Anywho, it's my turn to ask you a question; if you're willing to go so far as to let the redhead drink your blood, I must ask why exactly are you so eager to do this? Sure, I get that you want to help her, but is that all?"
Eager was definitely the wrong word.
"What are you implying?"
"Nothing," she shrugged. "Or maybe I am. If both of you have it for her, bring Dean-o along and make something useful of your trio. Hell, invite me in too. It's been awhile since I've tasted sibling blood at the same time. What, too dirty for you?" she added at his expression.
"I don't think of her that way," he said in a very low tone, preferring not to comment on her implication of him and Dean.
"Maybe not now, but if you're not careful, receiving that feeling of pure, unadulterated bliss from Kat will alter how you think and feel, and not in the whole lovey dovey sort of way, either. If it becomes a regular thing, any minute she's not leeching on you will seem like a minute wasted. In other words, it can be addictive, depending on your level of willpower. And like I said, her dad bein' human could change its level of effectiveness. So, s'long as you don't do it every day, should be fine."
In the light of Sam's plan he wasn't sure how much confidence he had in it anymore. Thinking of Kat in that regard made him feel sick, just because it seemed this entire thing would make their relationship very twisted, and he didn't want his feelings for her to be tainted. Not to mention Dean's reaction.
"Second guessing it?" Bree said abruptly. He turned to face her. Her sunglasses were off and she was looking up at him with an expressionless face. "I would too unless that is the kind of craziness you're into." She breathed in deeply, eyelids sliding half-closed as she continued to stare up at him. "But come to think of it . . . maybe you are."
Sam looked down at her, his fingers tightening over the cue, but he didn't move.
"You don't smell like other humans. You don't even smell fullyhuman. No, you're a lot different than your brother; maybe that's why I can stand to be in a room with you for longer than five minutes."
Her eyes glowed with a cat-like quality in the darkness of the building, a very pronounced predator feel to them. Sam felt his skin begin to crawl, his lips exceeding to a very firm straight line, and yet found himself unable to move.
"I didn't come here for this," he said.
"No, you didn't." She broke their gaze and he found he had control of his limbs again, looking briefly into the darkened shadows of the bar as she circled behind him. "I can't see this blood exchange working out, but I'm half-hoping you will do it anyway; I'd be interested in seeing the other sides you have besides the tender gentleman you claim to be."
Sam frowned at her left cheek so as to avoid direct eye-contact, a strange ringing in his ears. He could find nothing to say but nor did he have strong desire to continue this conversation.
Her eyes found his again and he sucked in a tight breath, his chest rising and falling as he strained to keep the stare. It was very disturbing; the yellow glow of her eyes seemed to be prodding him, loosening him to reveal himself plainly before her, and he couldn't find out why this was hard to resist.
"But when I smell your blood . . ." She gave a lopsided grin. "Do you think you're even human enough to donate it to Kitty Kat? Mm?"
Within a prolonging moment, their eyes wandered each other's faces. He cleared his throat.
"I think we're done here," he told her, dropping the cue back onto the pool table and at last taking a step backward so that the heat of her body no longer met his. Her gaze wavered over his for at least five more seconds, then blinked and looked away.
"Done," she repeated slowly. "Yes. Done is something I wish we could be."
.
"And where the hell have you been?" Dean said just as the door opened. Sam jumped, not looking at all like he expected for his brother to be waiting for him.
"I was—" Sam chuckled nervously, shrugging his shoulders in a manner of one getting caught red-handed and realizing they had no other option but to confess. "I had—well, I just saw Bree."
They stared at each other, Dean rolling his tongue over his front teeth as he surveyed Sam, clearing his throat lightly.
"O-kay," said Dean, glancing very briefly at Kat who was nestled so tightly within the blankets of the nearest bed that it looked like she was entrapped within a cocoon, sleeping soundly. "Remember how there's kinda an oath between us not to go meet up with crazy demons at two in the mornin'?"
Sam also peered at Kat who had shifted onto her stomach, but her soft breathing indicated she was still fast asleep. He met Dean's eyes.
"I can't be the only one to notice how Kat's been doing lately," he said quietly. "She's been doing nothing but sleep the past three days and she won't eat anything." He paused as Dean folded his arms, giving a curt nod before looking up again.
"So you . . . went on an adventure to visit sister dearest to see what to do about it? I hate to bring up awkward topics but, uh, there a reason you had to go off and do this on your own?"
"I've been—well, you know, reading," Sam said with a small cough.
"Like the little nerd you are," Dean nodded.
Sam frowned a little but he overlooked the comment. "And everything that Bree has been telling us—it's important that Kat . . . feeds before the full moon next week, otherwise we might end up with something like a feral tiger, even if she drinks that concoction that woman made."
"Alright," Dean shrugged, "well, we just go into the woods an' shoot us down a black bear, don't we?"
Sam watched him with a heavy stare, brows actually narrowing this time. "But Kat told you, right? About it only being human?"
"Might've mentioned it."
"Well, we can't exactly go around hand-picking pedestrians off the sidewalk, can we?"
Dean tightened his folded arms, grazing his front teeth shortly over his lower lip and lifting his brows. "What are you getting at, Sam?"
Sam didn't look pleased at his brother's lack of comprehension. "Well, it's sort of the whole reason I called Bree in the first place; 'cause she's the only one I can think of who would know what to do in this situation. Maybe if we—she's been having having humans voluntarily give her blood for years, so—" Sam cut himself short, watching as Dean's eyes flickered to the different shadowed corners of the room, only lifting his gaze back to Sam's when he finally got what he was getting at.
"You want us to—with Kat?"
"I don't know, Dean," said Sam morosely. "I don't know if it'd be for better or worse, it's just that Kat hasn't had—y'know, human blood for over a year, probably not at all, and the full moon's next week."
The brothers stared at each other for awhile in the darkness, but there was enough light for both to see the uncertainty flickering in the other's gaze. Dean's dry lips stuck together a little as he opened them to speak, but he ended up turning briefly away from Sam to wipe his hand down his face, breathing out heavily into his fingers.
"Well, what did she say?" asked Dean slowly, standing up straighter and looking back at Sam. "Bree; what'd she say?"
"She—well," Sam sighed just as heavily as Dean had with a small shake of his head, "I don't know. I get the feeling she kind of expected this of us before we even met her. Remember what she was saying before about being surprised that Kat never—off of either of us?"
Dean was starting to get very uncomfortable now. "So what exactly are you suggesting? For us to give the green light for Kat to go Dracula's Bride on us? Because I'm not really one for playing the part of Johnathan Harker."
Sam's shoulders drooped in a hopeless shrug. "I don't think it'd be best to put it so bluntly when we talk to her, but what else are we going to do, Dean? I'm not so sure of what to think of it either, but we can't just ignore it."
Dean began chewing on his lip again, leaning against the wall and staring at the ground, a severe frown on his face. Ignoring it would be stupid, yeah, but somehow he couldn't imagine Kat being over the moon about them bringing up a suggestion like this. He wasn't particularly happy about it either; this was adding one too many things they had on their already full plate, and who would know what this type of thing would do to Kat? What if something like 'once you had one taste, all you want is more' occurred? Yet what if they did ignore it and she became . . . inhumane, or something?
Sure while the fathers were out, it had been his job to clothe Sam and Kat, bathe them, feed them, even change their diapers, but donating blood was a whole 'nother level, maybe even a step too high for Dean. Yet if it did come down to it, what would he do? Let Sam be the one to volunteer, or would he step up instead?
Things are getting way too fuckin' crazy . . .
"We have the case to work on tomorrow," said Sam unexpectedly, mercifully dragging Dean away from his thoughts. "That guy that we talked to yesterday, George Darrow, he mentioned another man who made a pact with the Crossroads Demon."
"Evan Hudson," nodded Dean. "And by the look of things he made that deal almost ten years ago. The sand's drainin'."
"We can talk to Kat afterward."
Dean did not respond. How would they even approach her with this? How would it even happen? Would it just be fangs on skin, or by other means? Thinking about it made Dean feel strangely dirty, as though he were thinking about something very indecent or way too out-of-wack kinky.
"I do not like the sound of this," Dean murmured.
"Dean," said Sam very slowly and not continuing until his brother met his eye again, "you know that we can't just sit back and let whatever's happening happen. If it comes down to it I'll—I'll do it." There was something flickering across Sam's expression, that made Dean furrow his brows. It was almost shame, or embarrassment.
"What else did Bree mention?" asked Dean edgily.
"Not—much," said Sam, but something about the pause between the two words told Dean otherwise. He raised his eyebrows and Sam sighed, "She was just worried about—well, about Kat not being able to stop."
"Yeah, right," sneered Dean. "Bree caring about what happens to us? I call bullshit."
"I'm not sure if she's the person you're making her out to be, Dean."
Dean raised his brows yet again. "Alright, and since when did you two become such tight pals?"
"We didn't, we just . . . talked."
Dean let out a derisive snort. "Well, since you know her so well now that just makes all the waters clear, huh? God, you got to be kiddin' me, Sammy. We are not demon sympathizers. We're hunters."
"Kat—"
"Was brought up alongside with you and me. We don't know Bree; we don't know where she comes from and we sure as hell don't know what her real intentions might be."
"What exactly do you think she might do to us? What could she want?"
"I dunno!" said Dean impatiently. "Do demons need a reason for most of the shit they do? I don't trust her, I don't, and I don't advise you getting overly friendly with her, either."
"Dean, no one's getting friendly, but you've seen how Kat has been doing and judging on a scale on who knows more about Cor Comedenti's, Bree's knowledge outweighs ours, don't you think?" Sam scowled at Dean's stubborn silence. "If you can't bring yourself to trust her, then at least let her try to help Kat. If you're so stuck on the viewpoint that 'a demon's a demon' and push Bree away, we might be trapped in some situation with Kat and not know who to turn to."
They glared at each other, but a raging, stubborn piece of Dean was silently breaking away. He wet his lips, his frown dispersing but shaking his head slowly.
"I have a feeling in my gut," he told Sam quietly, "that Bree's just bad news, but hell, I'm not exactly a running candidate for 'Year's Most Intuitive Individual' award, am I?"
Sam's expression softened, his lips tightening. "Dean . . ."
"Whatever. We'll talk to Kat tomorrow. Should be a cheery conversation," he added bitterly with an eye-roll. "But I'm not trusting Bree. Not yet. Not until she gives me good reason to."
Sam opened his mouth, faltered a bit, and then closed it. He nodded.
.
It was dark out by the time we reached Evan's house. A droplet of rain landed perfectly on the tip of my nose as Sam knocked three times on the front door of the modest home. A short, small boned, graying haired man opened the door a few short moments later, his gray eyes swiveling anxiously from side to side before surveying the three of us carefully.
"Yes?" he said slowly. "Can I help you?"
"Evan Hudson?" inquired Sam.
His thin lips, wet with saliva, twitched nervously. His stare trailed from Sam, Dean, and then to myself, anchoring on my eyes. His features were stricken with fear and slammed the door so fiercely that a small barrel of wind swept across my face. There was a click of a latch.
Dean frowned at me, then directed at the door, "C'mon! We're not demons!"
"The yellow eyes are a giveaway," I said dully, ending my sentence with a throaty cough.
"Any other bright ideas?" said Sam.
Dean took a couple steps backward, readied himself, and then hurled his heel at the door, right next to the knob. It swung open cleanly and rebounded against the wall. Inside, the lack of lights gave off the impression of vacancy, but I could clearly catch the whiff of terrified sweat from Evan hiding away in his office. I nodded my head toward it and Dean prepared to kick that door in too, but Sam raised up a quick hand to stop his leg.
"Dude . . ." he said, giving his brother a pointed look. He took hold of the doorknob turned it, and the door opened gently. "Evan?"
"Please, don't hurt me! Who are you!?" Evan demanded, reappearing from behind a bookcase, his chest heaving and face shining with sweat. His eyes landed on me as he said this but I had no energy to summon even a reassuring smile.
Sam held up two hands in surrender. "We're not here to hurt you, alright?"
"We know all about this genius deal you made," said Dean.
"H-huh?" he stammered. "How?"
"Doesn't matter," dismissed Sam. "All that matters is that we're going to try and stop it."
Evan raised a slightly shaking finger to me. "You can't tell me that—that she's not a demon."
"Halloween's around the corner," I said, flinching as my stomach gave a jerk, as if it was trying to rip from my body. Christ.
"She's with us," Sam reassured him, eying me closely for a few seconds. "We're all here to help you."
"How do I know you're not lying?" Evan demanded shrewdly.
"Well, you don't, but seems to me like you're runnin' a little low on options here, buddy-boy," said Dean.
Evan swallowed, his eyes bulging slightly before starting a quick pace. "Can you stop it?"
"We can try," I said.
His eyes scanned over me again, licking his lips again. "I don't want to die."
"Of course you don't," said Dean. "Not now, anyhow."
"Dean, stop," murmured Sam.
"What'd you ask for anyway, Evan? Huh? Never have to use Viagra? Bowl a perfect game? What?"
Sam's scrutinizing gaze softened as he looked from Dean to Evan, who seemed nothing short of horrified at this point. "My wife," he said silently.
"Right," said Dean, laughing. "Anything to get the girl, eh? Sure worth the trip to Hell."
"Dean," I said in the same tone as Sam.
"No. He's right," said Evan in a tremulous voice, "I made the deal. Nobody twisted my arm, that . . . woman, or whatever she was, at the bar? She said I could have anything I wanted. I thought she was nuts at first, but . . . I don't know how to—I was desperate."
My brows furrowed. "Desperate . . . ?"
"Julie—my wife—she was dying." He swallowed again.
I felt Dean stiffen next to me, almost in comprehension. "You did it to save her?"
Evan gave one, shaky nod.
"She had cancer, they'd stopped treatment, they were moving her into hospice, they kept saying . . . a matter of days. So yeah, I made the deal. And I'd do it again. I'd have died for her on the spot."
"And did you even think of her in all this?" Dean demanded sharply.
"I did this for her."
Dean advanced upon the elder man, his expression set and fingers curling oddly as if about to bawl in a fist."You sure about that? I think you did it for yourself. So you wouldn't have to live without her. But guess what? She's going to have to live without you now. But what if she knew how much it cost? What if she knew it cost your soul? How d'you think she'd feel?"
John . . . The name fluttered through my brain and I closed my eyes briefly, opening them to look over at Sam who was peering at me very nervously.
"Dean, let's talk, okay?" I said. His lips twitched at my voice, his jaw locking and frowning at the floor.
"Just sit tight, okay? We're going to figure this out," Sam told Evan as he pressed a hand to Dean's chest, willing him to follow us out into the hallway. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" said Dean shortly, patting the pockets of his jacket as if looking for something. "Hey, I've got an idea." He pulled out a pouch of what I recognized to be the thing called 'Goofer dust' that the man George had given us, saying it wards off Hellhounds. He tossed it to Sam. "You two throw George's hoodoo pixie dust at that Hellhound, keep it away from Evan as long a you can. I'm gonna go summon the demon."
"Summon—are you nuts?" said Sam sharply and my eyes hardened.
"Maybe. I can trap it, exorcise it, and that'll buy us time to think of somethin' more permanent."
"Yeah, but how much time?" asked Sam warily.
"I don't know. A while. I mean, it can't be easy for those suckers to claw their way back from hell and into the sunshine."
"I don't want to be the downer on this plan, but if it came to fangs on fangs, I'm not ready for any fight with a hound from Hell," I said, proving my statement as I temporarily lost my footing owing to my hazy vision. The brothers looked at me carefully.
"The more people we have by Evan's side, the better," Dean said. "Think you can pull your own weight?"
My shoulders stiffened and my expression turned stony. "Dean, I am not following up on this plan. No way."
"We're not letting you summon this demon!" Sam insisted.
"You're not allowed to say no, not unless you broads got a better idea."
"Dean, you can forget it, alright? We're not going to let you summon that thing!"
"Why not?"
"Because I don't like where this is heading; you've been on edge ever since we found that crossroads yesterday and I think I know why."
"What are you talking about?" said Dean, brushing past Sam and me, but he was stopped by one word.
"John," I said. "This is all about John, isn't it? The fact that he made one of these deals. What are you planning on asking the Crossroads Demon, Dean?"
Dean did not respond and I stared at his back with my head fluttering, throat throbbing, and chest heaving a little. Sam's eyes flickered between us. Dean looked at us over his shoulder.
"Try and keep him alive, alright?"
"It's coming!" Evan shouted suddenly from the other room.
"Dean . . ." said Sam.
"Go!"
Dean exited out the front door and Sam and I stared at each other.
"Damn it," Sam swore loudly, readjusting the pouch in his hand and shaking his head. "Kat—"
I was running into the other room where Evan was, blinking rapidly to keep my vision straight.
"Mr. Hudson, I have a really important question to ask you," I said.
"W-what!?" he said incredulously, clearly indicating the situation and that now was not the time for questions.
"I need the keys to your car; where are they?"
"Can—can it wait?"
"It can't, Evan, I'm sorry. I really need to borrow your car. Please."
Evan released a trembling breath. "In—the kitchen. Why do you have to—"
But I was already running in the other direction.
"Kat, what are you—" Sam began as he followed me.
"No way in hell I'm letting Dean go off and do this thing on his own, whether or not he wants me there," I said, finding a pair of keys that looked most car-like and faced Sam. "You protect Evan as long as you can and I'm going to—make sure whatever Dean's doing goes smoothly, or that he . . . doesn't do anything stupid."
Sam's jaw tightened. He nodded.
"How are you planning on tracking him down?"
"I've got a nose like Old Yeller," I said with a frail smile. "I'll find him."
"Alright. Be careful."
"You don't have to tell me twice."
.
I parked the suburban in the folds of overgrown grass, a good distance away from where the crossroads was positioned. I gently turned off the engine, listening to the hum of crickets and loons, swallowing hot bile as I strained my ear muscles to hear anything that broke the thread of almost-silence.
It shouldn't take him that long to summon this thing . . . they should already be out here.
This factor was proved moments later when I heard an unfamiliar female voice conversing with Dean's. She sounded angry,
" . . . Trying to trap me in a Devil's Trap—I should rip you limb from limb."
"Take your best shot," said Dean and my heart jumped, mainly because his tone was more pleading than defiant. I fingered the shift, a sweat picking up on the nape of my neck but I continued to listen.
"No, I don't think so," sneered the demon. "Your misery's the whole point; it's too much fun to watch. Knowing your daddy died for you, that he sold his soul—it's all you ever think about. You wake up and your first thought is 'I can't do this anymore'. You're all lit up with pain. I mean, you loved him so much and it's all your fault. You blew it, Dean. I could have offered so much more than you even asked for, all that you need. Lucky for you, I have a soft spot for puppies with long faces; I can't leave you like this. You didn't really come here to bargain for Evan, did you?"
"Can you really bring my dad back?" Dean asked throatily.
My fingers shot to the door handle but the demon's next words made me stop, from fear or curiosity, I didn't know.
"Your dad and more," said the demon. "I'll even add in Kat's humanity if you want, too. Even after the number is up John'd live the long, happy life he was meant to live and Katarina would live the rest of her years as a normal, ninety-eight point six blood temperatured human. I could give you ten years with your father and the normal, hazel-eyed girl of your dreams. You could all be a family again. You, John, Sammy, Jack, and Kit-Kat. Ten years. That's a lifetime."
Don't dream on it, Dean.
I exited the car, closing the door noiselessly behind me. The light of the waxing moon hit my eyes, almost mockingly. My sneakers sunk a few centimeters into the marshy terrain, making my socks cold and soggy. Through a clearing in the grass, I got a clear view of Dean walking under a tall wooden structure, a dark-haired, young woman in a black dress following closely behind.
Dean continued to walk until he was almost ten feet away, facing me and eyes searching the distance, hovering over the area that I stood. His eyes met mine. His expression hardened, but he swallowed, closed his eyes briefly, and then turned back to the demon.
"Could you—throw in a pair of steak knives?"
The demon growled. "You know, this smart-ass, self-defense mechanism of yours . . ."
The demon stopped just under the wooden structure, looking up at the ceiling where it didn't take me long to realize that Dean had taken an extra precaution and painted another Devil's Trap.
"Now you're really trapped. That's gotta hurt," said Dean.
"Tough nuts," I said, at last making my way around the marsh and stopping a few feet from where they stood. They both looked at me, Dean mouthing the words 'tough nuts'.
"You know, I don't seem to remember sending you out an invitation," Dean told me.
"I'm a party crasher."
The demon glared at me.
"The day I'm taunted by a drag-meat Cor hound I'll make sure and make you see what you're mocking. It must be interesting; to be face-to-face with something almost as heinous as yourself?"
"She's talking too much."
"So let's finally wrap this up," said Dean, wary eyes flickering from me back onto the demon. "Break the contract with Evan, and I'll let you go."
"I can't break a binding contract."
"Hmm. By 'can't, you mean 'don't want to?' Last chance. Evan and his wife get to live a ripe old age. Going, going . . ."
"Let's talk about this . . ."
"Gone," said Dean sharply, bringing out his father's journal, along with a rosary in the other hand.
"What are you doing?" the demon demanded fearfully.
"Oh, you're goin' on a little trip. Way down South," he said.
"Forget Evan. Think about your father."
"Regna terrae, cantate Deo . . ."
I watched as the demon started to convulse, flinching severely as if under the control of a particularly adamant seizure.
"Wait!"
Her shout rattled my fragile ear drums and I blinked, looking at Dean who had stopped the exorcism. The demon lunged forward, and to my great astonishment and rising rage, the demon kissed him right before me. Her eyes opened within the second her lips were still on his, landing on me and she smiled. He withdrew as if just bitten by a snake.
"What was that?" he asked in a savage voice.
"Sealing the deal. Evan Hudson and his wife will live long lives."
"Why should we trust you on just your word?" I asked, forcing myself to recover.
"My word is my bond."
"Oh, really?" said Dean.
"It is when I make a deal; it's the rules. Evan is safe, now let me go."
Dean and I glanced at each other and I watched him finger the rosemary, his lower lip tucking under his front teeth. The demon met my eyes yet again.
"Are you really going to double-cross me? Funny how I'm the trustworthy one." Dean just shrugged. "You know what? Send me to Hell. Eventually I'll climb out and skinning Evan Hudson will be the first thing I do."
Dean smiled, stashed both the rosemary and journal away, and then climbed up the structure to scratch at the symbol. She stepped out a couple feet from me and we both stared at each other, seizing each other with violent glares. She turned back to Dean.
"I gotta tell you; you wouldn't have pulled that stunt if you knew."
"Knew what?"
"Where your dad is," she grinned. "You should have made that deal, Winchester. See, people talk about Hell, but it's just a word. It doesn't even come close to the real thing."
A strike of electric immobility scattered across Dean's face and a marginal amount of color suffered in his features.
"Shut your mouth, bitch."
"If you could see your poor daddy? Hear the sounds he makes 'cause he can't even scream?"
"How 'bout I send you back there?" Dean shouted and I jumped, either in fright of his tone or in half-attempt to run to him. Either way, before he could even summon the use of another muscle, the demon's head was thrown back as if being hit by a violent punch. Black ichor, seeming to be neither gas nor liquid, poured from her mouth, her scream interrupting the mute music of the night. Dean backed up into me, and without even thinking of it, I took his arm tightly in mine, watching as the now demonless girl fell to the ground, her face transfixed with dubiety.
"What . . ." she said, "how . . . how did I get here? Who are you?"
.
The Impala hit a bump in the road with such force, that for a moment Dean's and Kat's bodies were a couple inches airborne from the leather interior. They landed with a painful thump and he watched as Kat's head jerked forward.
"Dean; slow down," Kat ordered fiercely, rubbing her neck.
Dean did not respond and nor did he even care to pretend that he did not hear. His only answer was stepping a little harder on the gas pedal.
"What are you hoping to do!?" she said, "crash on our way back and show up as a couple of boneless corpses on Evan's doorstep?"
"Maybe," he uttered.
Her silence was very thick.
"Stop the car, Dean."
"No."
"Stop. The. Fucking. Car."
The tires screeched in an ear-tearing shrilling way as he jammed his foot on the brake, and he could actually see from the rear-view mirror small tendrils of smoke rising from the road. Their bodies were restrained so fiercely from their seat belts that Dean could feel his spine jerk back and almost touch the back of his seat. He put the car in park fiercely, his hand planting on his forehead as the silence etched in.
"What?" he demanded. "What the hell could you have to say!?"
"Don't you dare take your anger out on me, Dean. I was there; I heard what she said so don't act like you're the only one who gets to react over this. I need to ask you something."
"The only one who gets to—" Dean spluttered, turning to look at her with his face burning so fiercely with anger that he was surprised steam wasn't blowing out of his ears. "We are not doing this now! How am I supposed to live with this? How can I go day in, day out knowing my dad is in—"
"Dean!" she shouted as he made to put the keys back in the ignition. It was amazing at how weak she looked, how much her eyes sagged with tiredness or how her skin was so pale that it seemed to be drinking in the light of the moon, that her eyes could still flash in that maddeningly defiant way. Once upon a time, she would have used that look to convince Dean for him to give her an extra cookie behind Jack and John's back, but her intentions had evolved it seemed.
"Dean, look at me."
No, he didn't want to. He didn't want to have to meet that weary yellow-eyed stare and have to be told that it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. His father was gone, dead, in Hell because of him, and blaming himself, feeling this petrifying guilt and pain was the only sting reminding him he was alive.
Her fingers caught his jaw, not at all gently, but with a ferocity that did not meet her half-gentle tone. She forced him to look at her, her face close to his and staring at him intently with her chapped lips parted. He looked hazily back at her, his jaw slackening slightly as he swallowed.
"I want you to picture me back in that hospital, when Angel ran me off the road," she told him, squeezing his jaw more firmly as his gaze began to loll again. "Sam told me you sat by my bed for three days without eating, without changing. You just sat there and stared at the Kat you still thought was human. It was stupid, but you did it because I know that you love me. I know that a part of you was convinced I was going to die in there because how could one, frail, weak human girl get alive out of an accident that bad? One part, probably one you didn't even recognize at the time, was prepared to do a lot to keep it from happening, wasn't it?"
Dean's tongue lacked any moisture. The corners of his eyes began to sting. He blinked and then looked at the ceiling, but she made him meet her eyes again.
"You would have, just like I would have for you or Sammy. If given the choice, if you had the opportunity to meet up with one of those red-eyed bitches if you knew I wouldn't live past it, you would have given your soul and you wouldn't have given a second thought about how I would feel, just like Evan with his wife. So I have to ask you; would you blame me for the loss of your soul because of the decision you made?"
Not once did her eyes vacate his. He swallowed again.
"If you want to talk to someone about self-loathing, talk to the girl who woke up on a deer carcass last year and found out she was a heart-eating demon. I fought my own war of love for myself, I had to stare each morning in the mirror and try to remember how to smile. I didn't think that I deserved it. But you know what? Every time I cursed my name or wished to die alone, I thought back to you and Sam. Arrogant, cocky, Dean with a head too big for his shoulders who always used to pull my ponytail when I wouldn't put stupid Peter Pan on the television, but always knew how to put that smile I didn't think I deserved back on my face.
And innocent Sammy, eyes of the puppy dog and face stuffed in a book since age five who never gave anyone a reason to think themselves lesser a person then they really were. You both, since my childhood, were my my friends, my brothers, and my heroes, and the memory of both of you broke through any hatred I had for myself. The mere thought of you kept me alive because I could just imagine you ruffling my hair, smile down at me and say, 'Hang in there, Kit-Kat, because when you show weakness to your enemies, you're making yourself believe it, too.' You used to say that to me all the time because you were an amazing person, because you are, and there should be nothing any hell bitch says that should make you feel otherwise."
Dean hadn't even realized that rain was now tapping loudly on the windshield; opposed to the feeling of not wanting to look her in the eyes at all, now he couldn't look away. It felt as though someone had stuck a helium balloon in the center of his throat and his wide eyes were burning from not closing them within her whole speech.
"You think that beating yourself up, that causing yourself as much pain as possible will somehow compensate for John's situation, but he wouldn't want that, Sam wouldn't, and I sure as hell don't. So listen to me, Dean; do not put this on your shoulders, because over the ten thousand weights you already bear, you're going to sink into the ground soon. I love you, just like you deserve it, like I deserve to be happy, like we all do."
Her grip on him loosened, instead using her hand to hold the side of his face, a smile so faint on her lips that he wasn't even sure if she was smiling at all. The windows were fogging up, the rain pounding hard on the roof of the car and a clap of thunder roaring above.
The irony of the situation was that Kat used to have a great fear of thunder and she would always end up climbing into bed with him to crawl under his comforting arm, and now the tables had turned whilst on the edge of a storm as she comforted him.
He allowed himself to lean a little into her burning hand, closing his eyes painfully and swallowing a lump in his throat.
He heard the leather seat squeak as Kat positioned herself more upright, firmly holding the sides of his head until she planted a long kiss to his forehead. She stayed there awhile, and Dean's eyes clenched tighter, only opening when she withdrew.
"Do you want to go back now?" she asked.
And face Sammy? Dean wasn't prepared for it.
He shook his head gently. Kat understood.
.
Dean turned the shower tap all the way to the left where the scalding water hit his skin until turning red, so hot it was itchy. He leaned his forehead on the tiled wall, closing his eyes and allowing the shower's beam to run fully down his naked body. He scrubbed the Dove shampoo through his hair just to have something to do with his hands. The smell of the brand, which was mainly all they put in cheap motels, was so horribly familiar that he actually felt a little nauseous.
The steam rolled out in generous clouds from behind the white plastic curtain, staining the mirror and so that the room was almost stifling. He only exited when the water showed its first signs of cooling down. With a towel around his waist, he reentered the motel room, followed closely by the thick barrels of steam.
Kat looked to have only just reentered as well; she was just closing the front door, looking a little surprised to see him standing there but gave him a frail smile. Her wet hair, no doubt from the rain outside, was dark brown in its sodden state, drying in waves above her ribs. She was wearing nothing but an overlarge, plain black T-shirt that fell all the way down to her mid-thighs like a dress.
"How was your shower?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said without thinking, suddenly shaking his head and adding, "it was fine."
"You look like a tomato."
Something like a snort escaped through his nostrils, but it came out breathy and more like a sigh. He scratched a spot behind his ear.
"I need to, uh, change," he said. Kat nodded at once and he noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly, and he was no fool to assume it was because of the cold.
She sat on the corner of the bed with her back to him, allowing him his privacy as he pulled on some underwear and his jeans. He didn't tell her to turn around at once, but stared at the back of her head for a few moments, watching her part her hair to one side of her shoulder and wring it out. Apparently sensing his stare, she hesitantly looked back at him but his eyes immediately cast down to his T-shirt in his hands, fondling it gently. He pulled it on and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Though he knew with a dull feeling hovering in his gut that he was nowhere near as tired as Kat looked; she appeared as though she had been deprived several weeks of sleep or as though she was about to vomit all over the floor, yet she smiled at him.
He liked that she wasn't asking if he was alright, or if he needed anything, wanted to be left alone, or telling him that everything was going to be okay.
Kat had been quick to call Sam and let him know that everything was okay(for the most part)and that her and Dean were going to find a motel to stay at until the storm mulled over.
It was raining harder than when they had been in the Impala, but Dean was grateful there was some noise to fill in the condensed silence that next ensued. There was only one bed, so he sat on the end of it, a little distance from Kat.
He noticed that her eyes were slowly going in and out of focus, her eyelids drooping every so often. Her knees were pressed against her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them, glancing around at Dean and catching his eye.
"Everything working okay?" she asked.
"Fine."
She rubbed her throat absently, coughing again in such a fierce manner, it was like she was trying to get a train out of it.
Maybe a time long, long ago he would have pretended not to know what these symptoms meant, but it was certainly clear to him now and nor did he have any intention of pretending anything. In any case, she looked as though she was about to drop dead any second.
He needed to do something useful, help someone, he needed to feel something.
"Kat . . ." he started leisurely, a small quiver of hesitance in his tone. She looked at him. "How are you doing?"
"Good," she said at once in the same tone he had just replied 'fine.' He frowned.
"Yeah, right," he said, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and staring at the ground, then lifting his eyes to meet hers directly.
"Once we get back into town and get that duffel bag everything—I mean, I'll be good to go." She swallowed. "Too much is going on right now for you to be worried about me."
"Is that so?" he said. "Not how I remember it; no matter what I always seemed to have to look after you regardless of what was going on."
She narrowed her eyes a bit at his strange reply. "I guess . . ." she said slowly, "maybe some sleep would help."
In Dean's honest opinion it seemed to him if she let herself even go into any level of unconsciousness, she might never wake up again. He ran his tongue over his front teeth, gaze involuntarily flickering to Kat's parted lips where just the very tip of one of her canines was visible, not as sharp as Bree's, but looking just as capable and strong. She was eying him warily now.
"Dean, are you . . . what's up with you?"
Sammy and I never got our chance to talk to her. Please God in heaven tell me I'm not goin' fuckin' wacko.
He sucked on his left cheek, nodding his head softly as if in answer to her question. His gaze wandered the ceiling for a brief moment before looking back at her.
"Sam talked with Bree, and I know you have, too," he said. "She said something along the lines of animal blood having as much use as a toadstool—that it has to be human."
Kat's expression darkened, her body turning unusually still as she stared at Dean with those eyes that had little to no hazel left in them.
"Uh-huh," she said slowly. "And—why are you bringing this . . ." She paused, studying his straight face very thoroughly, her own lighting in sudden comprehension. "You can't be saying what I think you're saying," she said lowly. "Especially after what just happened—hours ago . . . are you nuts?"
"People keep asking me that and I'm gonna give you the same answer I gave Sammy; maybe, but I don't think you have much longer to wait. I'd rather deal with this sooner rather than later. And the hell would it matter—what just happened? This doesn't seem to be something that we can put on hold."
"You have to understand, Dean, that I've never done this before," she said, a bite of fear in her voice. "I've never even had human blood. I don't know if I would be able to stop."
"I'm not too worried about that, strangely."
"You're not," she said, actually laughing,"you're not the one who's in danger of losing control. What if I can't stop myself? . . . Is this some death wish or something? After what happened?"
Dean chose not to answer the latter directly. "The past few days you've barely been able to pull your own weight and every friggin' minute I look at you you just look like you've had another portion of your life drained away. I've always watched after you, right? You and my pain in the ass little brother? It's how it goes and I'm not willing to risk you . . . erm . . ."
"Giving the slip?" she said, her eyebrows raising. "Losing my humanity?"
"Yeah, that."
She got gingerly to her feet, staring down at him with impending uncertainty. As far as Dean was concerned, this was the last arrow he had in his quiver and if he didn't do something fast, Kat would either collapse from lack of energy, or go completely feral in a week's time. So if this wasn't the time, he might as well go out now and buy a spiked collar and dog dish with Kat's name on it.
"If I ever hurt you—" she began.
"What, like I'm a stranger to pain?" he interrupted pointedly.
She glared at him. "That's beside the point. If I held on for too long, I wouldn't be able to—I don't even know how it works."
"You're kidding, right?" he snorted. "Even as a kid you were a huge geek over those cheesy horror films; you know how this shit works." His smile vanished under the look she gave him, and he suddenly wished he had come up with a better term rather than 'this shit.' He paused, trying to think of what Sam would say in a situation like this. "Look, obviously I'm not going to force you into anything, but, uh, I'm not seeing a wide variety of options here. Are you?" He found no alleviation in her silence that proved she had no retorts to throw at him. "Bree must have told you something."
"She told me a lot of things."
"Anythin' on the—um, feeding process?"
Her gaze rose slowly to his. "Yes."
"And?"
"Just—well, obviously doing the actual thing is going to be harder than doing what I was told to do. I don't even know if they're . . . sharp enough."
She had sat next to him again and she was looking at him with those all-too-tired eyes. His brows furrowed, scooching an inch or so closer to examine her canines, all four of them. They looked a bit like dog teeth, but not as conspicuously so. It wasn't as if they were something you might see in a vampire flick; they were not technically fangs, just irregularly sharp and a little longer, enough to pass as normal. Her tongue flicked nervously.
"They seem to be in fine working condition to me," he told her.
"That doesn't change my mind."
"Yeah, well, I'd really like to hear what other ideas you've got stashed up your sleeves, because I'm clean outta them. Would you rather go down to the bar and shake your tits at the first guy you see and wait to get him alone?"
She looked a little hurt. "No."
"Then what are you waiting for? Hell, maybe I'll like it," he added as last attempt to lighten the air, which he failed at considerably.
"It isn't funny."
"Do you see me crackin' a laugh?"
Her eyes seemed to shake with the pressure of the situation. She breathed out her nostrils, looking instead the fold of his throat and swallowing.
She licked her lips and Dean watched, feeling a little bump in his chest as she raised the tips of her fingers uncertainly to his throat. She smoothed her hand across the area her eyes had just been feeding from and he sat stock-still within those few seconds, feeling her heat, which never failed to surprise him, pool like spilled liquid over his flesh.
Her expression was written clearly with dubiety and concern, but he didn't know how else to give her the thumbs up.
There was a clap of thunder, a few moments later the flash of white lightning following in suit.
They stared at each other for another few beats and he was sure she was about to say something when she inched even nearer, delicately resting her hand on his knee. He looked down at it, half-thinking of giving it a reassuring squeeze, but he didn't want to break her apparent concentration.
Her breath hitched slightly as she drew closer, and Dean knew without a second thought that no matter how many times she rejected this, it was very hard for her to conceal how much she wanted it, especially after being denied it since her second birth as a Cor.
A sudden, slightly daunting realization occurred to him; He was offering something to her of which he had never offered to another individual; a part of him, a part of his life force to ensure that she survived. On some level, she needed Dean, and he embraced that feeling with open arms.
Her lips drew so near to the crook of his neck that he had to swallow from the intimacy of it. He strained to keep her in his vision, but her mouth had already come in contact with his skin and he felt as if his lungs had been wrung out, leaving him breathless. She kissed a small patch of his skin and Dean shivered, her touch so light that it was in danger of tickling him.
"I could never imagine leaving any kind of mark on you," she whispered solemnly. She lifted her head, their faces so close that the tip of her nose brushed his. Instinctively, his eyes slid half-closed, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. "You have too many. After everything that happened tonight—it doesn't feel right."
"This ain't really 'bout me here," he breathed back, fearing that if he moved his lips too much that they might meet hers since they were so close. Though he didn't really fear it.
Her head inclined a bit and her eyes closed gently. His heart was pounding so hard now that he knew she could hear it. Even as he thought this, she placed a firm hand on his chest, directly over his heart. She took in every beat to her open palm as though she worshiped it, applying the same amount of gentleness to him that one might to a newborn child; ginger, soft, and showing a display of painfully restrained affection.
Her face became level with his again.
"Dean," she mouthed against his open lips. Even her breath tasted like a pine forest after a rain storm. "I'm not going to do this; not tonight. You strike a point in saying that you've always taken care of me, but for once, just let me be the one to take care of you."
Dean blinked, and even he was surprised to feel something—disappointment?—sink slowly in his stomach. He had been so adamant about making sure that Kat was taken care of, that she got what she needed, that he didn't even realize how much he was counting on the bite. He felt a little sickened with himself, as if he had just caught himself in the act of wishing something very abnormally dirty.
"I don't think you have any idea what you just offered me," she continued, "but I'll have to—think about it, these next coupla days . . . I think it'd be best to take a small break from everything. Together, I mean." She swallowed and Dean just continued to stare down at her, drinking in the scene of her until his chest felt expanded, even more so as she moved her hand to hold the side of his face, her fingers gently caressing his cheekbone.
"What, d'you think I'm too weak to take it?" he said, not much sincerity in his voice.
"I think you're anything but weak, but that's not the point I'm trying to address. Don't throw me out the window or anything but I feel like you kind of look for—compensation, when you're feeling something like this. Another pain to replace the one you're feeling now? I don't want to start something unhealthy."
His mouth twitched angrily, but his body did not consist of enough energy to support an irritable retort. He looked away, sighing out a very dry laugh.
"You're startin' to sound way too much like Sammy," he said. "I'm a little disappointed."
"Maybe he just sounds like me."
"Maybe," he said, looking at her again. "Don't look at me like some addict who needs AA meetings; I was just tryin' to help."
"I know you were and me giving a simple 'thank you' is way too disproportionate. It means a lot to me, it really does. I . . ." She evidently bit back on the words, maybe for some reason thinking she might accidentally dig another hole.
Dean's gaze flickered from feature to feature on her face; her straight nose, sleek cheekbones, the heavy lashes that bordered her intense eyes . . . Just staring at her was a comfort to him, sick as she looked. He could do it all night if he really wanted to.
Jesus Christ, lookin' as sick as a dog an' I still want to—what the hell's wrong with me? I shouldn't be thinkin' this . . .
The shadow of Kat's eyelashes on her cheeks elongated slightly as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and her lids slid closed suddenly as if ashamed. She opened them to find Dean continuing to be merciless with his stare and she raised her hand up to his face again, once more erasing the space between them as she moved forward, their noses and foreheads touching as she continued to hold him. Her breath was just as ragged as his and his lips departed and parted, almost pleadingly reaching for hers.
He clenched his eyes shut, waiting for an explosion, hoping for one. Good God give him something to feel, let him be real again, give him a sense of touch and love. Fucking Christ, he couldn't hold on for much longer.
Her thumb found his jawline, sliding it upward until her nail nudged his earlobe. Her fingers moved instead to the side of his neck, placing them just over his fluttering pulse. She was so close he could hear her swallow.
Another infinite bellow of angry thunder.
All it took was for him to open his mouth to speak. This small, innocent action caused his lower lip to caress hers and he felt the moistness of her hot breath hit his tongue like a firecracker. The strain in his clenched eyelids ceased, as well as all of his other muscles which he didn't even realize he was tightening until he released them. Very gently, with tenderness that almost petrified Dean to the bone, her lips moved more deeply into his, ignited by the first touch. Dean was so taken aback, almost so scared that he forgot to react.
Oh, dear God; he had desired this for too long, imagined it at every angle and situation, tried to think of a reasonable comparison to the way it felt in his dreams, and now he was freezing up. Kat evidently sensed this. With a very frightened breath, she pulled a few inches away, enough so that her eyes could search his questioningly. The second she did, something like a monster within Dean's chest began to roar in white fury.
"Maybe I shouldn't have—" she began.
Dean kissed her—hard. He latched his fingers around her neck, pulling her into him until her front teeth quite accidentally grazed his lower lip. Now it was her turn to be taken aback, but it only lasted half the amount of time that Dean had. Her hand slipped down to his shoulder, squeezing it with the same equal desire he felt as he planted bruising kiss after bruising kiss to her fuckin' amazing lips.
He breathed her in, soaking himself in her scent and aura until he felt raw and unraveled, and completely blissfully so.
The force of his mouth opened hers momentarily, just enough for her hot breath to greet every nerve and corner that his mouth contained until she was leaning into him, and he was combing his fingers through her rain-kissed locks of hair. She was kissing him with the fervor of one who had been denied affection for many years, both of them long outrunning any thoughts of doubt or uncertainty.
God, he needed this; he needed to do something he remembered how to do and he definitely needed Kat. Every time he had repressed from thinking of her in this manner, every time he poisoned himself with thoughts that it wasn't right or just couldn't be done; everything was being released from his lips to hers and it was like dropping the weight of the world.
There was a small amount of pressure Kat applied to his shoulder blades, and whether she did it intentionally or accidentally, he found himself bowing to it. Her body fell softly into the mattress as he hovered gently over her, only taking seconds to reclaim his breath. His hand moved to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. His face was transfixed as though he were about to cry, despite that at least ten pounds of joy clung to him with every kiss that she delivered.
God dammit, Kat . . . I fucking love you . . .
He tread his fingers very lightly up her bare arm and he felt her quiver beneath them, sucking a margin of breath through his mouth. He tread his lips to her chin, down the dip of her throat, until he pressed them softly to her pulse where it pumped strongly against his mouth. There was a moment that it skipped, but rallied up almost at once.
She used one finger to place under his chin to lift his face so his eyes could meet hers. She was watching him very carefully, her exhausted gaze still twinkling just for him. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him, he wanted to spill every emotion he had for her so that he was completely bare and there wasn't a piece of him that she didn't know. He had never wanted that from anyone before.
Instead, he found himself stating the obvious; "You're amazing, Kat."
Her hand fell softly down his arm again, her fingers retracing shapes on his forearm without breaking eye-contact. She was giving a small smile, but she looked rather sad for some reason.
"Come here, Dean."
She needn't wait long; Dean only held their stare a moment longer before his lips found their way to hers again. Her mouth opened just enough for his tongue to slide past it and meet hers, her leg lifting slightly with only the mere suggestion of tightening around his waist. A groan was stuck behind a wall in the back of his throat, his eyes clenching tightly shut again.
His hand found her waist, soon smoothing over her stomach just to feel her, to get the full sense of her, like he was afraid she might disappear if he didn't keep checking that she was really here with him.
He must have been getting too needy with his hands because she was suddenly whispering against his lips, "I'm right here, Dean; I'm not going anywhere."
Please don't . . .
"I don't think we should go any farther tonight," she confided in him and he practically felt his heart soar in agreement. He didn't want to; he just wanted to feel Kat, be with her, run his fingers through her hair, and kiss her, of course.
He kissed her to show his submission, and she smiled. She sat upright, locking her arms around his neck and continuing that harmonious rhythm with her lips against his. She pulled to get him to follow her to the head of the bed, and only reluctantly did he let the kiss break in order for him to get the thin sheet over their bodies. She turned off the light, turning to roll back into his waiting arms. He gently ordered for the return of her kiss and she obeyed with evident willingness, just as there was another clap of thunder.
After a while, or maybe it wasn't long at all, or maybe it was for several sunlit days, they broke apart. Kat positioned her left ear over his chest, most likely listening closely to his heart, her nose nuzzling his neck. He cradled the heat of her body, staring out the window where the street light was visible, illuminating the rain drops slipping down the glass.
His eyes itched with tiredness but he didn't close them. He didn't want to lose consciousness; he wanted to be bathed in the feeling he was enduring forever. 'Tomorrow' was such an ugly word. He preferred 'now'.
Now was . . . just fine.