Addendum

by SergeantPixie

When Dean shows up to ask Sam to help him find their father, he isn't alone. (aka Elena in season one of Supernatural)

18. There's Blood in the Water

AN: As I mentioned in Outtakes, I've only recently recovered from reoccurring migraines every time I looked at computer screens. But I'm good now! If you aren't reading Addendum: Outtakes, I highly recommend it, specifically for this chapter, because the next outtake will be for this chapter and it will include 3 scenes from this, 2 of which are...very relevant. Reading it will make everything make better sense. This chapter was over 22K words with them, so I had to do something to get it down, but yeah, reading it will help, lol.

Anyway, here it is, enjoy!

Addendum

(n.)

A thing to be added; an addition.

Chapter Eighteen

Shadow

aka

There's Blood in the Water

Chicago, Illinois: June 2018

"We can't go to Chicago," is Dean's immediate response to Sam's explanation of a potential hunt in the Windy City.

They're in a diner at two in the morning, sequestered in the far corner with newspapers covering the table.

Sam looks up from the article that caught his attention and frowns in confusion.

"We were in Rockford in April, that's only two months, Elena can't go back to Illinois yet," Dean reminds him, perusing his own paper.

Sam exhales, disappointed in himself for forgetting that not-so-minor detail. "Oh yeah, sorry, Elena."

Elena looks lost in thought, newspaper spread out in front of her, but she hasn't paid attention to it since Sam mentioned Chicago.

"You should take it," she says absentmindedly.

They both look at her sharply.

She looks up at them, slightly unfocused.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, looking at her warily.

"You can do a case without me, you're both more than capable," she says, sounding perfectly reasonable, but still clearly distracted.

"Are you going to go see Jeremy?" Sam asks. Since her last visit had been cut short because of Dean's near-death experience, maybe she wants to go again sooner than usual.

She shakes her head.

"Do you have to babysit again?" Dean asks, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

Again, she shakes her head.

"No, I'm going to Chicago too," she says decisively.

They both stare at her baffled.

She chews on her lower lip, trying to think of a way to explain without really explaining. "Elena Gilbert was in Illinois two months ago, and she never goes to the same state twice in a six-month period, at least. So, if I go again now, it stands to reason: I'm not Elena Gilbert." She says all of this like it's perfectly logical and not at all insane.

She focuses on Dean with such intensity that it's like Sam isn't there.

"If I go, I'll finally know for sure if I'm being followed by…" she trails off. "Someone," she finishes grimly.

"You're going to go to Chicago and pretend you're someone else?" Dean asks bluntly.

Something sharpens in her expression, she nods decisively.

"Yes," she says with finality.

---

Elena has them drop her off in a suburb of Chicago with some vague comment about finding her own way into the city.

"Who I'm pretending to be would never be seen with hunters," she says almost apologetically.

Dean gives her yet another troubled look and Sam tries to pretend he understands what's happening.

She's been on her phone non-stop since the idea occurred to her, the one peek of her screen that Sam had gotten was a real estate listing of all things.

"Call me immediately if you even think someone is following you, okay?" Dean tries to frame this like a request instead of an order only because it's Elena, but no one is fooled.

She nods, gives him a reassuring smile.

"I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

They say their goodbyes. Dean can't bring himself to start the car, he just continues to look at Elena with deep-seated concern.

Elena leaves first, disappearing down a street with purposeful strides. All her stuff is still in the car, she's leaving with just the clothes on her back and her phone in her pocket.

Sam looks over at Dean, but he keeps watching Elena until he can no longer see the blue plaid of his shirt hugging her shoulders reassuringly.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Sam asks finally.

"She's pretending to be the other girl, her doppelganger," Dean says. "No idea why, though."

Sam shakes his head in amazement. Sometimes Elena frightens him with the complexity of her strategizing. It would never occur to him to pretend to be someone else, but then again, he doesn't have a doppelganger.

Then again, he isn't running from anyone.

---

Dean can't stop glancing at his phone on the dashboard as they navigate their way into the city.

"It hasn't even been hour, Dean," Sam says, trying not to laugh at him.

"Yeah, and she could already be gone for all I know," Dean snaps tensely.

Sam sobers immediately.

Dean glances over at him seriously. "We're completely helpless here, Sam. We have no idea what's going on except that someone might be following her and that's not a lot. Remember before Iowa and the Hook Man? She said that one way or another she'd be absolutely safe or dead. So which way is this gonna end?"

This is the first time Sam has realized how deeply upset Dean is about the unknown danger following Elena.

"You don't really think…?" He can't finish his thought.

"I have no idea," Dean answers honestly.

Sam marinates in this for a moment. Some part of him recognizes that the fear he feels for Elena can't begin to touch what Dean must feel – what Elena herself must feel to come up with a plan this complex.

"She said the other girl would never hang out with hunters, what do you think that means?" Sam asks, hoping to distract him even a little bit.

Dean only seems to grow tenser.

"That she's not human," he says immediately.

That statement feels like a blow to the face to Sam.

"Oh," he says dumbly. "Then what is she?" he finally asks.

"I've got ideas," Dean says tersely.

"Well?" Sam asks when he doesn't continue his thought. "I'm waiting? What do you think the other girl is?"

"Ask me when Elena's back," Dean replies bluntly.

Sam stares at him in disbelief until he realizes Dean is serious. He opens his mouth to argue, but it hits him out of nowhere exactly how upset Dean is about Elena taking off on her own. He closes his mouth.

The silence stretches on as the suburbs turn industrial.

"You wouldn't have gone to Missouri if Elena was with us," Sam says suddenly, recalling their conversation in the diner and how quickly Dean had vetoed the idea of going back to Illinois before Elena had revealed her plan.

Dean glances over at him, clearly caught up in his worries. "What?"

Sam looks at him steadily. "If Elena hadn't gone to New Orleans and Cassie still called for help, you would've said no, because we were in St. Louis at the end of February, too soon for Elena to go back. You wouldn't have gone without her."

Dean answers tersely. "I wouldn't have. So?"

Sam smiles somewhat smugly, shrugs. "Nothing. Just thought it was an interesting thought, so I decided to share."

---

Elena carefully separates a section of her hair, pulling it taut, she wraps it tightly around the curling iron.

"One, two, three, four, five…" she counts, avoiding her own gaze in the gilded bathroom mirror. She hits eight then releases the curl, cupping it in her hand.

"One, two, three…" she counts to five then releases the curl. Shiny and perfect, it joins the others.

Sectioning out another part, she starts again.

"One, two, three, four, five…"

Naturally, Elena's hair falls somewhere between curly and wavy. Perfectly wild, perfect for playing mermaids as a little girl. At some point during middle school, her mermaid hair was pronounced babyish, and she became enamored with the straightening iron.

"One, two, three…"

Bonnie experimented with a wide range of hairstyles, avoiding her natural hair above all, while Caroline went for blowouts and retro curls, always trying to look older and more sophisticated. Elena kept her hair perfectly straight, a ritual that went from simple vanity to an act of control.

"One, two, three, four, five…"

Elena had only lasted a few weeks on the road with Dean before she ditched her straightening iron in a motel bathroom and never looked back. Hunting doesn't leave a lot of time for primping, but Elena is used to it by now.

"One, two, three…"

A dab of concealer where the nightmares leave shadows imprinted under her eyes, a pound of cover-up when the monsters leave their marks in all too visible places, a coat or two of mascara to pry open her eyes after six hours of running and two hours of sleep.

"One, two, three, four, five…"

Makeup stopped being fun and became an act of camouflage. Just another mask for her to wear, just as flawless as the one she's built into her skin to hide away all her secrets.

"One, two, three…"

Now, shiny, brand new makeup products spill across the marble countertop of the bathroom she's in. Her lashes, long and curled naturally as Tatia blessed her with, are longer and darker and thicker still. Seductive, smoky eyes, perfectly glowing tan skin, and her mouth, vamp red and curved into an all-too familiar smirk.

She drops the last curl, looks Katherine head on in the mirror, all alone in the bathroom. Alone in the foreclosed mansion that denotates Katherine's signature taste for decadence and glamour. Katherine herself has already been filled in on the plan. Her biggest complaint is that she's missing the show.

Reaching for the hairspray, she considers her flawless disguise, and recognizes the need for backup. Sure, she can look and act like Katherine, but she's not a vampire. There are some things Katherine can do that she can't, and in order to keep the illusion alive, she'll need someone who can do those things.

So, she finishes with the hairspray, picks up her phone, and calls a friend.

"Hey Ty, I need a favor."

---

They're in a club and the bass is vibrating in Elena's ribcage and she's not Elena, she's Katherine and not-Dean – Ryan, his name is Ryan, she reminds herself – is whispering something in her ear and she's smiling wickedly but she hears absolutely nothing.

Her dress is short and screaming red, and every time Ryan's hands drift too low on her spine, she pictures what it would feel like to stab the spiky heel of her shoe into his neck. The smile on her face grows bloodthirsty and she lets it. Katherine would do it just for the hell of it.

She's wearing fishnets over skin-colored tights and yes, Katherine would have her legs bare, but Katherine doesn't have a ten-inch scar on the inside of her thigh. Nor the sharp curve of the Hook Man's blade imbedded into her forearm, or the pattern of barbed-wire carved into the palm of her hand from one too many hastily scaled fences, all of the little ways Elena has been marked Hunter – marked Human. But the most obvious scar is hidden, and she knows how to make the others fade into the background with one of Katherine's charmingly vain smiles.

She's switched the chain she keeps her parents' wedding rings on to something longer, long enough to tuck into her cleavage so it could theoretically be Katherine's daylight necklace.

It's Schrödinger's pendant: is it a lapis lazuli stone to keep her from burning in the sun or is it the sentimental token of her loss, the symbol of her parents' union, not even parted in death? Theoretically, it's both at the same time – she's both girls at same time. The only way to find out is to be lucky enough to be there when the dress comes off.

She has Dean's witch chain wrapped around her wrist three times because she can't just not wear it, not when he gave it to her, not when she's worn it every day since the moment he clasped it around her neck. Every time it brushes against Ryan's bare skin as he's pawing at her, he flinches and withdraws, burned by the vervaine-infused metal, and it never fails to bring a satisfied smirk to her face.

Even when Dean isn't around, he's still keeping an over-eager guy from getting too close. But that thought is too Elena, too fond, too full of longing, too much like one of their shared glances full of meaning only the other will understand – and she needs to stop thinking about him because this feeling is not something Katherine would ever be stupid enough to indulge in.

I will always look out for myself. Better you die than I. I didn't let love get in the way.

Katherine, she's Katherine, not Elena. Nothing about Dean Winchester would make Katherine act sappy. Wary? Definitely. Horny? Undoubtedly, but she's never met him, so she'd never miss him, not like Elena. And she's Katherine right now, not Elena.

Ryan is looking at her expectantly and even though she didn't hear a thing he said she's sure he wants her to leave with him now, back to the empty, foreclosed mansion where no one can hear her scream.

She runs her tongue over her teeth, gives him a smile that's too acidic even for Katherine – Katherine loves beautiful boys and Katherine would think it was hilarious to fuck a guy who looks just like Elena's partner and if he puts his hands on her one more time she's going to – and says, "The night is young. I'll leave when I'm good and ready."

And then some club girl is barreling into their private booth, too drunk to recognize the danger she's in, demanding that Elena – Katherine, Katherine, she's Katherine – dance with her.

So, she takes her hand – takes her hand like she fucking owns it, like this girl is a toy she's been waiting to play with since the bouncer let them cut the line and walk through the velvet ropes without so much as a hint of reluctance – and leads her to the dance floor.

And he watches her like she's dancing for him, because Elena is here out of desperation, brought him here out of desperation – she's using him to compel the people Katherine would compel and leave the lust-bites Katherine would leave – but Ryan is here because he wants to be. This is where Elena is, after all.

---

There's something depressing to Sam about Dean being too worried to even flirt with the hot bartender. It's so out of character, but Dean really seems intent on simply questioning the girl about Meredith's behavior before her death.

In the time it takes Dean to cross the bar to where Sam is sitting, he checks his phone twice. When he reaches Sam, he's all business.

"Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she died, so—what about that symbol, you find anything?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nope, nothing. It wasn't in Dad's journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess."

Dean checks his phone again, clears his throat at the screen empty of notifications. "Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?"

"Right. Yeah," Sam looks through his papers for the right news clipping. "His name was, uh—his name was Ben Swardstrom. Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal—the door was locked; the alarm was on."

"Is there any connection between the two of them?" Dean asks, one eye on the paper, the other on his phone.

"Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet at least. Ben was a banker; Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds."

Dean is blatantly staring at his phone now.

"So, to recap, we've exactly zero intel and I'm about to lose my damn mind if Elena doesn't call or text or send a damn smoke signal so I know she isn't dead or being held against her will by some unknown monster that even Dad thinks is too much for us to handle." Dean stops, catching his breath, wondering if his word vomit is gonna turn into actual vomit at the thought of Elena's prolonged silence.

It's only when Sam doesn't respond that Dean looks up to find him fixated on something or someone behind Dean. He looks behind himself, then back to Sam after seeing nothing out of the ordinary. "What?"

Without a word, Sam gets up and leaves the table. "Sam?"

Meanwhile, Sam dodges through people to the blonde sitting at a table by herself.

He touches her shoulder, and she turns to look at him. "Meg."

She smiles, looking thrilled to see him. "Sam!"

---

Dean bitches about Meg on the way to the car for a bit, but Sam is able to give him a sincere apology and explain the circumstances under which he met her.

"She kept questioning me about Elena after you left," he says grimly.

Dean gives him an alarmed look.

"She really wanted to know where she was and why we weren't with her."

"What did you say?" Dean sounds deadly serious.

"That she's in New Orleans and her family isn't crazy about our Midwestern asses."

Dean snorts. "Good one, nothing like classic southern scorn for any outsiders to put a strain on things."

"Yeah, she dropped it after that."

Dean glances at his phone again. "Good."

"You think she has anything to do with whatever's after Elena?"

Sam shakes his head. "I just don't know, man. We don't know enough about Elena's shit to say. It is weird running into her in the same bar where a waitress was murdered by something supernatural."

Dean nods in agreement. "It's gotta be one or the other."

If it had just been about their current case, Sam's sure that Dean would have all kinds of jokes about Sam's interest in Meg, but nothing makes Dean more serious or focused than the possibility of Elena being in danger.

Sam explains his intent to follow Meg and asks him to check into the vague backstory Meg had given him about herself.

Dean manages to step outside of his Elena-induced panic long enough to make fun of him for planning on watching Meg.

"Better safe than sorry," Sam says somewhat stiffly.

Dean grins at him. "All right, you little pervert."

Sam gives him a look. "Maybe you should call Elena?"

Dean sobers immediately.

"Mention Meg to her, see if there's anything to it."

---

Alone in the motel room, Dean gives into the temptation to call Elena now that he has an actual reason to call. The phone rings for so long that he thinks she might not answer.

"You shouldn't be calling," is her greeting. Her voice sounds strange, lower, huskier, a seductive drawl that she's never hit, not even when he's seen her con men out of their life's savings.

"Elena?" he asks, unsure for the first time who he is talking to.

"No," she reminds him bluntly. "I'm not. Not right now, which is why you should not be calling."

He scowls. "Like hell I'm not gonna call," he responds fiercely.

"I'm fine," she retorts.

"You sound like you're sick," he says bluntly.

"I've never been sick a day in my life," is her reply. "This is what I sound like when I'm…when I'm someone else."

"Yeah well, she sounds like a phone sex operator." He's not sure if he's trying to rile her up or get her to laugh. Mostly, he just wants her to sound like herself.

"Don't be gross," she says.

He can hear the laughter creeping into her voice. For the first time since they parted ways, he feels himself relaxing.

"I have to go," she says with reluctance.

"Where are you?" he asks, knowing he sounds like he's issuing a command.

"Chicago," she says archly. "Don't you have a case you should be working on?"

He rolls his eyes. "It's all dead ends so far, Gilbert. The most exciting thing that's happened since you took off is Sam running into some girl he met when he tried to run off to California."

"That's a weird coincidence."

He can hear the caution and curiosity in her voice.

"That's what Sam said, which is why he's stalking her now."

A pause, and then, voice full of affection and dismay. "Oh, Sam."

Dean laughs. "Yeah, my sentiments exactly." He continues reluctantly, "I'm not calling just to check up on you. Sam says after I went back to the bar, she kept asking him about you, where you were, why we weren't with you, that kind of thing."

He describes Meg to her to see if any of it rings any alarms.

"A blonde girl around my age named Meg?"

"Yeah," Dean says, nodding the affirmative.

"That's not…" she pauses like she's considering how to word it. "She's not someone I'm specifically running from. She could be working for someone, I guess. Did she seem kind of robotic about her questions? Scripted maybe? Like someone told her exactly how to ask the questions?"

It's a marvel, the way talking about a case seems to pull the other girl from her voice. She sounds like herself, like his partner, Elena.

"No, mostly she just seemed irritated with me. I wasn't there for some of it though, so I'll have to ask Sam."

She takes it all in. "I don't think she has anything to do with any of it, but I'll be on the lookout."

There is a burst of sound from her end of the line, shattering their shared illusion.

"I really do have to go now," she says, already sounding like the other girl again.

"Call me tomorrow," he requests, knowing he's just this side of begging.

"That's not a good idea," she replies, voice husky and low and not at all her own except, except, except, there's this hint of longing laced through this stranger's voice that is pure Elena. It's the way she leans into him whenever they're standing side by side, like she just can't help it, how she always gives in and melts into his embrace after a nightmare, and maybe he should let her play it safe, but that seems to be all they do. Playing it safe is starting to feel overrated.

"Do it anyway," is his response, fully aware of the shared longing in his own voice. It's his fingers in her belt loop, pulling her closer, hands tugging her wild girl curls, eyes tracing the manticore scar, the mottled skin from the press of his heated blade to her poisoned flesh, the memory of her near death more overwhelming than any dirty thought he's ever had about her.

"Fuck off, Winchester," and she hangs up.

He knows she'll call.

---

Elena enters the club from the back door, tucking her phone into her clutch, trying to leave herself behind in the alleyway. That girl, with the sound of Dean's voice in her ear and the knowledge that as much as it goes against every careful plan she's made, she's going to call, just like he asked. That girl who has no place in this club, playing monsters when hunting them is what she does best.

She tries to fixate on the blonde, Meg, who asked too many questions about her. Tries to let the worry eat her whole because that will keep her focused. That will smack her out of this daze and just how much she wishes she were with Dean instead of pretending to be Katherine in a club with a hybrid who will never live up to him no matter how hard he tries.

She goes straight for the bar, straight for the top shelf bourbon and the action figure of a bartender who's already told her when his shift ends.

The alcohol is still coating the roof of her mouth, numb and burning all at once, when she feels his hand at the base of her spine, fingers splayed across the rise of her flesh, thumb positioned too close to the closure of her dress to be a coincidence.

"Where did you go?" His voice whispering directly into her ear.

"Back alley," she answers honestly. "I had to take a call."

"Was it him?" Ryan asks, ever curious about the reason he's relevant to anyone in their world.

"Who?" she asks, playing dumb, wondering if he's naïve enough to believe it.

"Your partner," he replies.

She doesn't look at him, never wants to.

"Sam?" she asks, deliberately misunderstanding him. Sure, Sam is as central to every hunt as Dean is, but she's never called him her partner, and she's sure he'd never call her his. But Ryan doesn't know anything about how the three of them work, their separate and combined dynamics. "No."

"Not Sam, his brother, Dean," Ryan says, his voice bordering on a whine, and incapable of keeping the timbre of his voice low enough to remind her of the man he's asking about. Which is unfortunate for him because it's what he wants.

"Oh," she says like she's surprised, her voice still Katherine's husky drawl. "Of course, it was."

He strokes his thumb across the slider of her zipper, deliberately reminding her of who is standing next to her, his agitation clear and nothing but an annoyance to her.

"What did he want?" he asks, his jealousy clear.

She smirks, hiding her disgust. He doesn't even know her. He only wants her for her face. For the dirty fantasy he's spun out in his head about how she'll want him because of who he looks like. He can't know how spending years wondering if people want her for who she is or who she resembles has turned her off from the idea. His resemblance to Dean makes him repulsive to her, not attractive.

So, she turns her head to face him, lets him see the disgust in her eyes until he flinches. Then and only then does she hide it behind Katherine's mischievous eyes and teasing pout.

"I thought we were supposed to be having fun," she says, Katherine's purr rolling off her tongue.

He gives the slider a light tug, not enough to unzip her, but enough to make her cleavage bounce, eyes darting down and back up to her face, to her red, pouting lips and her dark, alluring eyes.

"Yeah, sure, we can have fun, baby," he agrees, smirking sleazily at her.

Something snaps inside of her at the sound of that particular pet name. She sighs, casually undoing the clasp on her witch chain, unwinding it from her wrist. She grasps each end, raising it like she's about to put it back on her neck. At the last moment, she swings it over his hand, stop right at his knuckles. Without hesitancy, she pulls it tight, the vervain-infused metal slicing through his skin and bones with ease. She never loses Katherine's face as her fingers move with practiced accuracy.

There is a wet noise, like a knife slicing through a carrot, and then Ryan is on his knees, clutching his fingerless hand to his chest and swearing.

The club-goers around them are riveted. The bartender approaches, clearly now terrified of her.

Katherine's voice is firmly in place. "Don't call me that," she says, ignoring the bartender in favor of the hybrid she just injured.

He stares up at her in disbelief. "You just cut off my fingers, you crazy bitch."

She rolls her eyes. "They'll grow back."

He shakes with rage, eyes flashing hybrid yellow. "Everyone saw you do it."

She shrugs. "Make them forget."

She turns back to the bartender. "I think he'll keep his hands to himself from now on."

He nods, his face white with fear. She watches him scurry away, annoyed that Ryan made this more difficult than it was supposed to be. She picks up her clutch, wondering what kind of havoc all of this has wreaked on Katherine's face.

"Start with the bartender, okay?" she says to Ryan. "He's supposed to meet me out back in ten, but I have a feeling he's not so crazy about the crazy bitch who just cut off some casual groper's fingers." She gives him an acid sweet grin.

He glares at her, but she can see a hint of respect and fear that wasn't there before. He nods, jaw clenched in pain.

She ignores the terrified stares as she disappears into the bathroom, fingers clenched around her blood-coated witch-chain.

---

Dean picks up his phone to call Sam, who unlike some people, picks up his call on the first ring.

"Hey," Sam greets him, sounding distracted.

Dean has no mercy, like any true older sibling. "Let me guess. You're lurkin' outside that poor girl's apartment, aren't you?"

Sam answers instantly, sounding indignant. "No." There's a pause and then, "Yes."

Dean is merciless. "You've got a funny way of showin' your affection."

Sam cuts him off, embarrassed. "Did you find anything on her or what?"

"Sorry, man, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters from Andover on Facebook," he tells him, then adds. "it's the same girl in her pictures," for good measure. "Now, look, why don't you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?"

Dean sounds so patronizing that it makes Sam feel even more defensive.

"Elena likes poetry readings too," he reminds him, as if that somehow makes it off-limits for Dean to tease him about.

"No, Elena likes poems so old that you can argue they're all about sex," Dean corrects him.

Sam snorts, but only because it's true. Being in a lit class with Elena analyzing a poem would probably be too much fun.

"Did you call Elena?" he asks. "See if she had anything to say about Meg asking so many questions about her whereabouts?"

"Yeah." Dean nods. "She said she didn't sound familiar and then asked if she was robotic or scripted about asking the questions. I said I'd ask you."

Sam considers this description and rejects it, shaking his head decisively. "No, if anything she sounded curious, but like, super intent on knowing the answer. She tried to play it cool, but she kinda struck me as nervous until I made it clear Elena wasn't around."

Dean takes this all in. "Weird."

Sam hesitates then asks. "Did she sound okay?"

Dean considers the question, unsure how to respond.

"She didn't sound like herself at all," he finally says, since it's the honest truth. "I guess that's a good thing."

"Yeah," Sam says for lack of a proper response. He switches topics, as he is wont to do. "What about the symbol? Any luck?"

Dean responds positively. "Yeah, that I did have some luck with. It's, uh—turns out it's Zoroastrian," he pronounces carefully. "Very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."

Sam's frown is obvious even through the phone. "What's a Daeva?"

"It translates to "demon of darkness". Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, you know, nasty attitudes—kind of like, uh, demonic honey badgers."

Sam laughs.

"You laugh, dude, but honey badgers are nasty little bastards," Dean reminds him.

Towards the end of Elena's post-vampire blood confinement in Michigan she had resorted to annoying them with nature documentaries, which only sort of worked. Sam found them to be soothing background noise and Dean developed an intense fear of honey badgers.

Sam swallows his laughter. "How'd you figure that out?" he asks, surprised that Dean had finally cracked their unsolvable case.

Dean is indignant. "Give me some credit, man. You don't have a corner on paper chasin' around here."

Sam snorts. "Oh, yeah? Name the last book you read."

"Dracula," Dean says instantly.

Sam blinks. "Seriously?"

"Elena reads that book like monthly. It lives in my car. At one point she had three copies. Three different copies of the same book in one car, Sammy. So yeah, I've read Dracula. Once. It was pretty funny. Not entirely sure that Stoker dude wasn't high when he wrote it – seriously, a Texas cowboy chasing vampires down the river on horseback? Only someone higher than a kite could come up with that – but I read it."

Sam doesn't bother suppressing his smile. His brother can be surprisingly thoughtful when it comes to Elena.

"Okay. So, you read Elena's favorite book." Sam corrects himself. "I still wanna know how you figured out it's a Daeva."

Dean sighs and finally relents. "I called Dad's friend, Caleb. He told me, all right?"

Sam snorts. "Yeah." That sounds more like Dean.

"Anyway, here's the thing—these Daevas, they have to be summoned, conjured," Dean explains.

Sam glances over at Meg's darkened window. "So, someone's controlling it?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. And, from what I gather, it's pretty risky business, too. These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them." Dean pauses briefly, then adds, "And, uh, the arms, and torsos," for good measure, in case Sam didn't get it the first time.

"So, what do they look like?" Sam asks.

"Well, nobody knows, but nobody's seen 'em for a couple of millennia. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? Someone really knows their stuff. I think we've got a major player in town." Dean can only take being mature and on topic for so long. "Now, why don't you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Bite me."

Dean corrects him with older sibling patience. "No, bite her. Don't leave teeth marks, though—" There is silence.

"Sam?" Dean asks. No answer. "Are you—?" He cuts himself off, realizing that Sam hung up on him.

Dean drops his phone onto the table, shaking his head.

---

The slamming of the bathroom door wakes Dean up. Sam was still out when he fell asleep, and it's a terrible way for his brother to announce his return. It's almost four in the morning and he's left the motel room door gaping open. Dean grumbles at the cold seeping in, getting up to close it.

He's about to dive back into bed, saving telling Sam off for the morning, when a noise from the bathroom catches his attention. It's the hitch of a breath between sobs, but it's too high-pitched for Sam. The noise starts to repeat faster and faster and the sleepy fog on Dean's brain finally clears enough for him to realize that it's not Sam in the bathroom, but Elena, and she's on the verge of a panic attack.

He's across the room in a flash, throwing open the door and barreling in.

"Elena, what's wrong?" he asks hurriedly. He's assuming the worst, her unexpected presence and the beginnings of a panic attack instantly putting him on the alert for trouble.

He takes in her appearance in pieces, the spiraling curls, the blood red mouth and dark, smoky eyes in the bathroom mirror, tears streaming down her face as she sobs. She has her hip propped against the sink counter, keeping her upright despite her teetering heels. The fishnet tights that somehow obscure her manticore scar completely.

She's facing away from him as she tugs desperately at the stuck slider of the zipper of her skintight, siren red dress, a dark stain spread across her right side from some unidentifiable liquid. The chain around her neck disappears below the neckline of her dress, pendant tucked away from view.

She looks like a stranger. It would be inaccurate to say he wouldn't have looked twice at her if he'd seen her out like this, but he certainly wouldn't have recognized her. He catalogs the physical evidence that it is Elena: her witch-chain, wrapped three times around her wrist, the curved scar on her forearm from the Hook Man.

She's so caught up in her spiraling panic and her struggle with her dress that she barely seems to register his presence. Her body strains against the confines of her dress in distress.

"Here," he says after a moment, stepping closer, grasping the stuck slider in his hands. "Let me help."

Her shoulders heave and jump with every desperate breath.

He grasps the zipper with his other hand, tugs the slider up then down, unsticking it in a moment. The dress peels off her like fallen petals from a flower, drooping dangerously before she catches it, hugging it to her chest. The movement dislodges her necklace, the rings striking against each other and jingling quietly.

"Are you all right?" Dean asks, ignoring anything that isn't her well-being.

Her shoulders heave twice.

He strokes her back, pushing her hair out of the way. She leans back, sagging against him. He catches her hip in his hand, holding her steady in her stilt-like heels.

It's only when he strokes her curls off her back and over her shoulder that he discovers the stain on her dress is blood. It coats his fingers, sending him into a panic. He grabs her shoulders, spinning her around to look at her properly. The blood is smeared all down the right side of her, starting at her neck, hidden by her hair, stopping just below her hip.

"Are you hurt?" he asks tensely.

She shakes her head, then laughs. It isn't her laugh at all, and it crawls across his skin, the knowledge that she can change everything about herself like this, can really become the other girl.

"It's not my blood," she says, her voice husky and drawling and utterly terrifying.

"What the hell happened?" he asks.

She ignores his question, turning around to face the mirror and check her makeup. It's all perfectly in place, she keeps one hand crossed over her chest, holding her dress in place as she uses the other to swipe the tears from her cheeks carefully.

With a few careful movements, her mask is restored, and Dean is alone in a motel bathroom with a perfect stranger.

She meets his eyes in the bathroom mirror.

"I always thought you were the kinda guy to ask before he gets a girl out of her dress," she says dryly.

He flinches, looking incredulous and wounded. Without a word he turns on his heels, stalking out of the bathroom and back into the darkened motel room, leaving her alone.

---

He's painfully awake when she climbs into bed with him, face scrubbed free of makeup, blood washed away, and wearing one of his shirts and not much else.

She's crying again and he doesn't hesitate to open his arms to her. She melts into his embrace, sobbing quietly into his neck. He holds her, waiting for her to finish wrestling with her emotions. Minutes pass and then she is moving back, looking up at him.

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have said that," she says, sounding quietly horrified with herself. "I didn't mean it. I'm not myself."

He nods. "It's okay, Elena. I know," he says soothingly.

Yeah, it had stung that she could so casually throw that kind of accusation at him, but she hadn't even sounded like herself, still clearly some other girl speaking for her. It's hard to be properly hurt by it when it's a stranger hurling insults.

"To tell you the truth I'm a bit more worried about the blood and the panic attack. You wanna tell me about it?"

She shakes her head. "I can't. You know I can't."

He sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's bullshit. But I know."

He rolls over on his back, tucking her under his arm, her head on his chest.

"Just go to sleep, Elena, okay? We'll fight about it in the morning."

"I should go," she says reluctantly.

"Nah, go to sleep. In the morning you can tell me how you figured out which motel we're at."

---

Dean wakes up alone in bed, with dried blood on his hand and his shirt folded at the end of the bed, smelling of some other girl who isn't Elena Gilbert. Which frankly makes his head hurt, because that's the girl he slept face to face with all night long. That's the girl he wants to wake up to every single morning. But she's left no trace of herself behind, the blood under his nails doesn't belong to her any more than the perfume clinging to his sheets does.

So yeah, now seems like a good time to dive deep into the other victims in their Daeva case.

By the time Sam is back Dean has stuffed the offending shirt deep into his bag to be washed as soon as possible, carefully scrubbed the blood off his hand, and found a recognizable pattern amongst the Daeva's victims.

Sam has some news too.

---

"So, mean girl Meg is summoning the Daeva?" Dean sounds less surprised and more grim.

They're standing in the middle of their motel room.

Sam nods. "Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing."

Dean gives him a sideways look. "So, Sammy's got a thing for the bad girls."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Elena possibly helped create actual monsters," he retorts.

Dean glares at him. "We don't know that she had any choice in that," he reminds him. Before Sam can retort Dean changes the topic of conversation. "And what's the deal with that bowl again?"

Sam makes a face. "She was talking into it. The way witches used to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone."

"With who? With the Daeva?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head decisively. "No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who's giving her orders. Someone who's comin' to that warehouse."

Dean gets a strange look on his face before moving over towards the table piled with research. He flips through one of the files.

"Holy crap," he says.

"What?" Sam asks.

"What I was gonna tell you earlier—I took a field trip to the police department this morning – early this morning. I picked up the complete records of the two victims—we missed something the first time."

Sam sits down across from him. "What?"

"The first victim, the old man—he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn't born here." Dean holds the file out to Sam. "Look where he was born."

Sam looks where Dean is pointing. For just a moment the world tilts sideways. "Lawrence, Kansas."

Dean nods grimly. "Mmhmm." He swiftly closes the file and opens the other one. "Meredith, second victim—turns out she was adopted. And guess where she's from."

Sam looks at the file, already knowing what it says, but still needing to see it. "Holy shit."

Dean's response is succinct. "Yeah."

Sam's brain is working in overdrive. "I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That's where everything started. So, you think Meg's tied up with the demon?" Sam asks.

Dean nods. "I think it's a definite possibility."

Sam frowns in confusion. "But I don't understand. What's the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?"

Dean shrugs. "Beats me. But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation." The look on his face is deadly serious.

Sam shakes his head immediately. "No, we can't. We shouldn't tip her off. We've gotta stake out that warehouse. We've gotta see who, or what, is showin' up to meet her."

Dean nods in reluctant agreement.

"You know what I can't figure out?" Sam asks.

"What?"

"She was so intent on knowing where Elena is and why she isn't with us," Sam says.

"Yeah, I'm frankly not comfortable with that," Dean says roughly.

Sam nods in agreement. "Yeah, but that's the thing, Dean. Whoever she was talking to with that bowl, she never mentioned Elena once. Why did she need to know so badly if she wasn't even gonna mention it to them?"

Dean considers this. "It's a good question. Hopefully, your stalker plan answers it-"

Sam is about to retort until he sees the serious look on Dean's face.

"Otherwise, I'm gonna have to insist on that interrogation."

It takes Sam a moment to process what he said, but in the end he can only nod grimly. Their dad gave Dean a direct order after all: keep Elena safe. If some girl who's mixed up with demons wants so badly to know where Elena is, they need to know why.

Dean is speaking again. "I'll tell you one thing. I don't think we should do this alone."

---

Sam gets back from the car to hear the tail end of what Dean is saying into his phone.

"We think we've got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse—it's 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can."

Dean hangs up.

"Voicemail?" Sam asks.

Dean nods. "I couldn't get ahold of Elena either, her phone is off."

"Well, that's not good." Sam drops his bag onto the bed. "Did you leave her a voicemail at least?"

He nods again. "Yeah. Sent her a text, too." He is extremely conscious of the fact that he hasn't told Sam about Elena's visit the previous night, and he's not really planning to. He can't explain seeing her like that – seeing her as someone else.

All he can think of is how badly she'd wanted to shed the other girl's skin and how hard it had been for her. He can't help but want to protect her from Sam's scrutiny.

He takes a look inside of Sam's duffle, hastening to distract him from noticing his internal conflict. "Jesus, what'd you get?"

Sam moves his shoulder, wincing a little from the weight of the bag after his free climbing expedition the night before.

"I ransacked that trunk," he says, somewhat sheepishly. "Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I'm not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything, huh?"

Dean checks the shotgun for rounds, finding it empty he holds up a hand to Sam, who tosses him a couple of rounds. Sam checks his own gun. Dean loads it on autopilot, other things on his mind.

"Big night," he says finally.

Sam nods. "Yeah." He looks down and then back up at his brother. "You nervous?"

Dean looks back at him, shaking his head. "No. Why, are you?"

Sam responds immediately. "No. No way."

Dean nods, goes back to his shotgun.

They are silent for a few minutes, taking stock of their weapons, of their emotions.

Sam can't hold it back; it bursts out of him. "God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?"

Dean gives him a leveling look. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, all right?"

Sam nods. "I know. I'm just sayin', what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I'd sleep for a month. Go back to school—be a person again."

Sam is so caught up in his fantasy of normal life, he fails to register the flash of hurt that crosses his brother's face.

Dean looks at him, surprised. "You wanna go back to school?" he asks.

"Yeah, once we're done huntin' the thing," Sam replies.

Dean's response is guarded. "Huh."

Sam is instantly on the defense. "Why, is there somethin' wrong with that?"

Dean is non-committal. "No. No, it's, uh, great. Good for you."

"I mean, what are you gonna do when it's all over?" Sam asks, still caught up in his own fantasies.

Dean replies instantly. "Keep Elena safe. As long as it's not over for her, it's not over for me."

Sam winces. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

Dean glares at him. "Well, I can't," he says shortly.

"It would be a lot easier to keep her safe if we knew what was going on," Sam says tentatively.

The truth is, as much as Sam likes Elena, her secrets are a distraction for him. He's been on the road for one reason alone: to find the thing that killed Jessica and kill it. Wondering about Elena and her mysterious doppelganger and fear of sacrifice has become a way to step away from his reality. It seems cruel to confront in the light of day, when Sam knows how kind Elena is and how often she puts aside her own problems to save other people. Or hell, the countless nights she's run him into the ground so he can sleep without nightmares.

"Every job starts that way," Dean says, surprising him. "We don't know what's going on, we figure it out, we solve the problem, it's what we do. Only this time, this isn't some random girl we're helping, she's-" he cuts himself off. "She's my best friend. Dad loves her like she's his own daughter. He's not gonna give up on her any more than I am."

"I'm not giving up, Dean. I just wish I knew what was happening," Sam says defensively. "Look, you're right. She's not just anyone, she's my friend, too, and I will help her too." And even as he says it, Sam realizes he means it. He might've started obsessing over her secrets as a way to cope with his own problems, but he wants her to be safe too. He wants his brother to be happy, too.

"But Dean, someday, eventually, there will be an after. Elena's going to be able to stop running, it really will be over. Are you gonna wait that long to tell her how you feel?"

Sam holds his breath, waiting for a reply, but Dean just shakes his head.

"It's never gonna be over. There's gonna be others. There's always gonna be somethin' to hunt." Dean looks matter of fact.

"You didn't answer my question," Sam says pointedly.

"We need to focus, Sam." Dean doesn't even pretend that he isn't dodging the question.

Sam can't help but push. "But there's got to be somethin' that you want for yourself-"

Dean surprises him, answering honestly, but not in the way he's intimating.

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam."

Dean turns away, walking over towards the dresser to take a moment for himself.

Sam responds without thinking. "Dude, what's your problem?"

Dean whirls around. "Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? I have a partner, it's not like I was ever gonna be in this alone. I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?"

Dean is asking some very good questions, and Sam suddenly can't figure out why he hasn't asked these questions himself. Still, he goes for the obvious answer.

"'Cause Dad was in trouble. 'Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom," Sam says, only just realizing how much it sounds like he's reciting a script.

Dean shakes his head. "Yes, that, but it's more than that, man. You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us…I want us to be together again." He takes a deep breath and tells the truth. "I want us to be a family again."

Sam sighs, somewhat impatiently. "Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before." Before Dean can reply, Sam adds, "Elena's presence alone proves that. We're not the only people in your life anymore."

The look Dean gives him is unreadable.

Sam sits down abruptly. "Just…" he trails off, caught in thought. "Why is it so hard for you talk about how you feel about Elena?" he asks. "I mean, everyone sees it. You don't even try to hide it. So why can't you just admit that you love her. It's not like her feelings are some big mystery. Yeah, she's good at hiding a lot of stuff, but she can't hide that. Not from anyone who really knows her."

Dean is silent at first, but Sam is determined to wait him out.

"I don't think it matters how I feel," he admits finally. "I don't think it matters how she feels, either. Elena is always gonna do what she thinks will keep everyone safe. I don't understand why she thinks-" He cuts himself off here, but then finishes the thought anyway. "I don't know why she thinks us being together would be dangerous, but that's what it's gotta be. That's how she thinks."

Sam looks at him, slightly stunned, and more than a little troubled. A question occurs to him.

"What do you think Elena wants when all of this is over?" Sam asks.

Dean considers his question for a moment. "I don't think she's ever thought about it, Sammy. She just gets used to the way she has to live and never lets herself remember anything else. It's Elena survival skills 101."

Sam lets out a disbelieving huff, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. "That's depressing," he says finally.

Dean nods. "Tell me about it." He sounds grim. He sounds like he knows exactly how it feels to live like that.

He turns back to their arsenal, intent on pretending like the conversation never happened, but Sam still has more to say.

"And for the record Dean, I don't want things to be like the way they were. And I don't think you do either, because that means Elena wouldn't be with you.

"I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."

---

The indulgence of being Katherine and not Elena is that there is no research to do, no leads to track down, nor miles to run or books to read. When she gets out of the shower she puts on Dean's shirt, one of the few pieces of her own clothing that she has with her and climbs into the big bed. It's mostly dry, Ryan having taken the brunt of her vervaine assault, and it's easy to avoid any damp spots on a California King.

Her clutch is at the end of the bed, so she pulls out her phone and turns it off, not even bothering to check her messages. She's too on edge, too between girls – she's wearing Katherine's façade like it's made of paper and seconds from ripping because Elena can't stop thinking about Dean – and she needs to concentrate. She can't focus if she's only thinking of him, of calling him, of seeing him. Katherine never thinks of Dean Winchester at all. So, Elena gives herself some time to recoup. Time to remember how to be Katherine.

Shoving her phone back in her clutch, she deposits it onto the bedside table and then tucks herself back into bed. Pulling the sheets up over her head, she closes her eyes, and waits for nighttime. For Katherine's time.

Elena always has something to do, a monster to hunt down, a witness to chat up, a problem of Sam's or Dean's to solve. Katherine only has to wait until it's dark enough to play.

---

Tonight, Katherine's dress is black lace, and her lipstick is a shade of red so dark that in the low lights of the club it looks black. Every curl is perfect, her fishnets-and-opaque-tights combo firmly in place.

She keeps her phone off for good measure, whatever it takes to keep the façade in place. In the V.I.P. booth she drinks red wine and ignores Ryan flirting with the female bartender in a sad attempt at making her jealous.

She takes a sip of her wine, grimacing as it goes down sickeningly sweet. She let the bartender choose the wine, and she regrets it. Tilting her head up, she gazes at the mirrorball, refracting light and casting pretty shadows. For a moment she lets her mind wander.

She finds herself wondering if Katherine ever gets tired of her skintight dresses and bloody symbolism – drink wine, paint your mouth red, tap a vein – does she ever drop the act? Not with an audience present, she doesn't.

Dean crosses her mind, and she ponders how the case is going, if Sam's friend has asked any more questions about her. It crosses her mind to turn her phone back on, just to see if either of them sent her anything.

Before it becomes a fully formed thought she registers the feeling of being watched again. She tilts her head back down, discovering that Ryan has joined her in the booth.

In contrast to the previous night, he's seated on the opposite end of the booth from her. She smirks in recognition of his fear, and he scowls in return. He reaches across the table for her wine glass. He tosses it back, draining the glass.

Her smirk widens as his face contorts in distaste as the taste hits.

"That is sickening," he says.

"The bartender picked it out," she says with significant amusement.

"Huh, well she deserves to get eaten," is his response.

She glares him down. "No," she says flatly. "You can't bite her."

He sneers but doesn't put up a fight.

She waves down a waitress and asks for a red wine with a bit more bite. Ryan orders scotch on the rocks and she tries not to grimace.

Once the waitress is gone, she turns her attention back to him.

"Besides, I've already started laying groundwork with that bouncer." She points her chin towards the intimidating man at the door.

Ryan glances back at him. He doesn't look pleased when he looks at her, but he nods.

"Whatever you say, boss."

She nods. "Yes, that's right: whatever I say." She shows him her teeth, blinding white between her garnet lips.

He stares at her, entranced. "God, you are wasted on him," he blurts out suddenly.

She looks at him sharply. "Excuse me?"

"You're fucking fearless, and more than a little crazy, and you want some boring, strait-laced hunter? It just doesn't make any sense."

Elena sighs, putting down her drink.

---

"You wanna know how I outsmart you at every turn?" Elena asks, not waiting for his response. "You aren't very smart. You're impulsive, and self-indulgent, and you don't realize that you're in the middle of a game that has been set for hundreds of years and will continue to be played regardless of your presence."

She leans back again. "Oh, and in case you were wondering, Dean is the person who taught me everything I know about hunting. So, any time I've cornered you or made your big bad hybrid-self feel weak and vulnerable, like prey? It's because of him. I wouldn't exactly call that" she raises her fingers into air quotes. "Wasted on him."

For a moment he looks conflicted, unable to meet her gaze.

She takes another sip of her wine, looking relaxed, but tense to her core – like Katherine would be. One hand rests on her thigh, the tips of her fingers just curled under the hem of her skirt, cold metal within her grasp.

Finally, he meets her gaze, a look of resolve stealing over his features.

"Well, maybe I won't squander every chance for leverage that comes my way then."

He's just starting to move towards her, not even at vampire speed yet, when a force slams him back into his seat.

"What the-"

Klaus flashes a reassuring smile at Elena. "Hello, darling."

Before Ryan can finish his exclamation, Klaus slams his head into the table, knocking him out.

Elena's hand unfurls from the knife strapped to her thigh.

"Seriously, Klaus?"

---

Elena explodes out of the back door of the club and is halfway down the alley when Klaus appears in front of her. She bumps into him, stumbling in her too tall heels.

He grabs her elbows, holding her steady until she regains her balance. She shakes off his hands, glaring up at him.

"What are you doing here, Klaus?" she asks, her tone sharp.

He shrugs evasively. "You know I love Chicago, darling."

She scoffs in disbelief. "Right." She nods. "You love Chicago," she says derisively, despite the truth in his statement, they both know that isn't why he is here. She shakes her head.

"Yes," he says stubbornly.

"You would never show up to save Katherine," she says this accusingly, still glaring.

There is a shift in his expression that tells her she's made him uncomfortable. Anything that gets too close to vulnerability is uncomfortable to him; and she resents it, that anything about her makes him vulnerable.

"That is correct," he says, an undercurrent of tension in his tone that wasn't there before. "However, I did not show up to save Katerina, as she is not here."

She cocks her head to the side, every mannerism flawlessly Katherine –

Isn't it terrible? He thinks, how she can do that, move her body in a way that does not belong to her, abandon herself to the point where a motion he has seen her, the real her, Elena Gilbert, do countless times, suddenly belongs to someone else.

"Isn't she?" she asks, in Katherine's husky drawl instead of her own dulcet, alto tones.

He reaches out, finds the curve of her neck under the mass of Katherine's swirling curls, traces certain fingers along the shape of his teeth, still carved into her neck all these years later, still marked.

She jerks back, turning away and fumbling to remove her phone from her clutch.

"You ruined everything by coming here," she says harshly, keeping her back to him, and her hands shake as she powers on her phone. She's intent on finding a ride and getting away from him, back to the mansion to regroup and try to figure out she's going to fix this.

His voice is low and furious behind her. "So, I was just supposed to leave you here, alone, and vulnerable, with that petulant child?"

She rolls her eyes towards the gloomy night sky.

"Please, every near-death experience from these past few days have been strictly his." She gives him a sardonic look over her shoulder, absolutely lethal.

His face twitches, something dark in his gaze. Reminding him of what she is – what she's made herself into – is never the best way to court his favor, but she's sick of denying it.

"How long was he following you?" he demands to know instead.

"You don't know?" she asks.

He glares. "I didn't send him if that's what you're inferring."

Finally, she turns to face him again. "I know," she says begrudgingly. "And it doesn't matter. I asked him for help, I asked him to be here."

"What possessed you to do that?"

Her phone vibrates in her hand, alerting her the presence of awaiting messages, but she ignores it for the time being.

"It's not like I can compel people on my own, Klaus. If I was going to be Katherine it had to be believable." She can see the quarrelsome look on his face, so she cuts off his argument before he can make it. "There isn't a vampire or hybrid that I know who would hang out with Katherine, except for him. I couldn't call you; you know that."

He gives a begrudging nod. "I suppose I see your logic."

"So why are you here?" she says, her voice raw.

"Regardless of your logic for this insane ruse, he is young and dangerous, and you have no one watching your back."

There is a growing sense of understanding – if this had been an ordinary case, with Dean at her side and watching her back, Klaus would not be here – but it doesn't detract from her fury.

"It doesn't matter. I had to take that risk. I need to know what Alaric knows and this is the best way to find out. I can handle Ryan."

Klaus scoffs. "It was hardly the best way. It's bordering on insanity, and frankly I'm concerned. Does your partner even know what you're doing?"

She exhales through her nose, slow and impatient. "Yes, of course. He doesn't know exactly why, but of course Dean knows."

Klaus looks infuriated that she told Dean and not him.

"Well clearly his judgement is impaired as well-"

She doesn't wait for him to finish. "No, actually he just trusts me."

Klaus falls silent, giving her a moody look. "I trust you," he says quietly.

It's an uncomfortable truth for both of them. Klaus trusts her as much as he is capable of trusting anyone.

"Then why are you here?" her voice is hoarse, and she sounds far more tired than she realized she is.

He falls silent, only looking at her in response.

She shakes her head vehemently. "No," she says, shocking even herself with the venom in her tone. "It can't be like that, and you know it."

The look he gives her is far too close to wounded for her liking.

"It's not like I can control it," he says tightly. "I'm only thinking of your safety, that's all," he hastens to add, defensive.

"You can't think of me at all," she says bluntly. "I'm expendable. That's the way it has to be. Otherwise, I'm just one more thing that can be used against you – against Hope!"

She knows she is far too accusing, on the verge of hysteria, but she thought he had better control than this. She could ignore it – the way he looks at her, the unnecessary touches, the thinly disguised jealousy – as long as he kept it under control.

He very nearly growls at her. "Can't you see I'm trying?"

"You're not trying hard enough," she spits, striding away from him.

"You would never say that to him," he says, finally and truly losing his patience.

She looks back at him, and just for a moment, she does not hide. There is so much in her face, full to the brim, overflowing and raw, enough to force him to look away.

"Of course not," her voice is hoarse, overcome by emotion. "But you're not him." She is surprised by the gentleness of her own voice. Despite everything, she doesn't want to hurt him with this.

Regardless of her attempt to soften the blow, her words still make him flinch.

Before he can respond, her phone starts buzzing, alerting her to an incoming phone call. She glances down at it, then blinks in surprise.

She answers right away, not wasting a moment.

"John? What's wrong?"

---

Standing outside the warehouse his sons are surely in, John Winchester takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Elena's number.

She answers immediately. "John? What's wrong?"

"Elena," John says, his tone guarded. "Dean said in his message that you weren't with them. I got a bad feeling about this one, kid. Where are you?"

"What are you talking about?" She sounds alarmed. "What happened?"

"You don't know? I thought Dean would've told you."

He can hear her catch her breath. "My phone was off. I only just turned it on, I haven't had a chance to check my messages or anything. I've been pretending to be Katherine," she says in a rush.

"Excuse me?" he says, momentarily distracted.

She sighs. "It's a long story, what's this about Dean?"

Despite wanting to know more, he feels a sense of urgency to get her up to speed, so he obliges, telling her about how his sons think they have found the demon that killed their mother.

"This whole thing reeks of a trap. I'd feel better if you were here to watch my back, how fast can you get here?"

There is a pause, longer than he anticipates, then she speaks.

"Actually, I have a better idea. I'm not exactly alone here. A friend stopped by to check up on me."

John considers her careful wording and casual tone.

"Please tell me that friend is an Original."

She doesn't answer, knowing that in itself is an answer. Her silence is a detailed answer in fact because John knows immediately that the Original in town is Klaus.

"We'll be there before you know it."

John hangs up, his feelings mixed. He's never going to pretend he's crazy about any monster that preys on innocents, but he can't bring himself to regret that Elena seems to attract them like a garden attracting bees – ancient, homicidal bees. Not right now, not with his boys at risk.

---

Elena doesn't take her eyes off of Klaus even once throughout the phone call with John, so she knows he is listening intently. They hang up and she does not bother with pretenses.

"What do you want?" she asks bluntly. "A favor? A contract signed in blood?" She cocks her head to the side, distracted, but still manages to quip, "A kiss? Don't limit yourself, Mikaelson. You've got me on the ropes. You can have anything you want from me right now. Anything at all, as long as you save them."

Klaus simply smirks at her and holds out his hand.

She takes it, surprised when he doesn't start to move immediately. He holds her hand fast, stepping closer, into her personal space until they are close enough for that kiss she so jokingly offered only moments ago. He holds her gaze, dead on.

"Anything you want," she repeats, refusing to flinch.

---

Dean is disgruntled to find himself strapped to a chair for the second time in as many weeks.

Sam begins to stir from his place across the room. He flinches when he realizes Meg is watching him with a gleefully deranged grin on her face.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean speaks calmly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend…is a bitch."

Meg gives him an amused look before countering. "At least I'm not the most seductive woman in the world, unlike your girlfriend."

Sam stirs, something about that description of Elena striking him as disconcertingly true. Dean stares at her with no expression on his face.

She cocks her head to the side, staring back at him, eyes exaggeratedly widened to emphasize her point. "How do you even know anything she says or does is real when she can become anything she needs to?"

Dean ignores her attempt at sowing doubt into his trust in Elena, more intent on asking his own questions than listening to her. "That reminds me, why in the hell are you so interested in Elena in the first place?"

She shakes her head. "Don't be jealous, I'm not interested in your girl. I just needed to make sure she wasn't around."

She is clearly intent on offering no further explanation, but Dean isn't satisfied.

He shrugs carefully, aware of every injury. "You've clearly got us on the ropes, so why not tell us why?" he sounds matter of fact, like he isn't at all upset about being held captive, just curious about why she wants Elena far away.

Meg seems to agree with his point because she answers his question. "Your partner has some very dangerous friends. I'd prefer to keep out of their way."

There is an undercurrent of wariness in her tone that makes Dean believe she is telling the truth.

Sam, finding his voice, interrupts. "This…"

A single word from his mouth and Meg's attention snaps to him.

"The whole thing was a trap." He shakes his head, disgusted with himself for not seeing through her sooner. "Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearin' what you had to say. It was all a set-up, wasn't it?"

She giggles, looking at him coyly.

He gives her a disgusted look in return. "And that the victims were from Lawrence?"

"It doesn't mean anything," she admits freely with a delighted grin. "It was just to draw you in, that's all," she adds.

"You killed those two people for nothin'," he says with significant revulsion.

Meg is unphased. "Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less." She shows him her teeth, unrepentant.

Dean, growing bored of their conversation and Meg's flippancy, interrupts their debate on ethics.

"You trapped us. Good for you," he says flatly. "It's Miller time. Why don't you kill us already?"

Dean has never really enjoyed being toyed with, and it shows.

Meg sneers at him. "Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" She leans in, like she's telling a secret. "This trap isn't for you."

The brothers understand in an instant.

"Dad," Sam utters in a horrified whisper. "It's a trap for Dad."

Sam and Dean exchange a quick, worried look.

Dean looks back at Meg, and smirks, always quick to save face, present a confident front.

"Oh, sweetheart—you're dumber than you look. 'Cause even if Dad was in town, which he's not, he wouldn't walk into something like this. He's too good."

Dean sounds so sure that Sam can't help but believe him. Meg, on the other hand, isn't convinced.

She nods. "He is pretty good. I'll give you that." She stands, walking over to crouch down in front of Dean. "But you see, he has one weakness."

"What's that?" Dean asks, clearly in disagreement.

"You." Her declaration is like a gunshot in the quiet of the room, shadows hovering menacingly just out of view. "He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment." She shakes her head like she's actually sorry. "I happen to know he is in town," she adds, delighting in their shared look of horror. "And he'll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody—nice and slow and messy."

She looks over at Sam with a grin.

Sam and Dean carefully do not look at each other. Meg thinks she has the upper hand, but there is still a proverbial ace up their sleeve: Elena. John is sure to find her first, knowing that she isn't with them, so regardless of if she got Dean's messages or not; John will not be alone when he comes for them.

Dean speaks, more out of a need to prevent her from realizing they are not as hopeless as she thinks they are than him having something to say, "Well, I've got news for ya. It's gonna take a lot more than some…shadow to kill him," he says scornfully.

She smirks, clearly thinking it's a weak comeback instead of a desperate misdirection. "Oh, the Daevas are in the room here—they're invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see."

Sam pipes up, helping to distract her. "Why you doin' this, Meg? What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?" he asks.

Something he says must strike a chord with her, because she raises her voice, clearly upset by what he's implying. "I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do—loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy—and Jess."

"Go to hell," Sam says, his voice an enraged whisper.

"Baby, I'm already there."

She grins, leaning forward on her hands to crawl across the floor to him in some bizarre attempt at seduction.

"Come on, Sam. There's no need to be nasty." She rises up on her knees, leaning in to speak into his ear. "I think we both know how you really feel about me." She moves back to meet his eye. "You know, I saw you watching me—changing in my apartment."

Sam pointedly ignores the bewildered look Dean throws his way.

She's whispering in his ear again. "It turned you on, didn't it?"

Sam stares straight ahead, stone-faced. A thought passes through his mind of what Elena has taught him about authenticity – after all, he's never been anything less than fascinated, watching her spin people around her fingers – but it's fleeting compared to the rage he feels at Meg's taunting.

Dean rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Get a room, you two."

Meg pointedly ignores him, continuing to speak into Sam's ear. "I didn't mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun." She bites his ear, sending shivers of revulsion through him.

Sam speaks between clenched teeth as she kisses down his neck. "You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I'm a little tied up right now."

She raises her head, grins at him. She's moving in for a kiss when a stranger breezes into the room.

Meg stops short at the sight of him. He's all gold and light, as blond-haired and blue-eyed as any cathedral angel, but something about the curl of his red mouth promises horror.

He grins at her. "Hello, naughty girl. I thought I made it very clear to your father how I felt about the lot of you playing with my toys."

Meg looks terrified. "I thought you said Elena wasn't here!" she hisses between clenched teeth.

Dean shrugs, still confused by the presence of the stranger, but he answers her anyway. "Technically she's not. It's the other one – or so she says."

A look crosses her face like she understands what it means even though Dean barely understands himself. Before she has a chance to respond, the stranger seems to disappear and reappear beside the altar, upending it with a carefully flick of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Meg shrieks, outraged.

The stranger is suddenly in front of her, ripping a necklace from her neck and tossing it across the room. The shadows break free, heading straight towards her.

She lets out a scream, but it's too late. The shadows engulf her, sending her through the window like a rag doll, shattering glass in every direction. There is the sound of her body making impact, and then silence.

For a moment, Dean ignores the stranger, focusing on his brother. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam asks, clearly distracted by the stranger's presence.

"Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that's not so buckets-o'-crazy, huh?"

Sam rolls his eyes, but the stranger surprises them both by laughing.

"Not to be ungrateful, but who the hell are you?" Dean asks bluntly.

The stranger strides over, ignoring the question and meaning to set them free, but is met with both of them nearly free, ropes frayed and knives in hand.

He shakes his head and surprises them with a fond grin. "Elena did say you could handle yourselves."

"So you are a friend of Elena's?" Sam asks as he gets to his feet.

The stranger cants his head to the side, considering his words. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"She got my messages, then," Dean says, following Sam's example, getting to his feet.

He shakes his head. "No, she was a bit preoccupied. Your father called her and requested back up." He grins beatifically at them. "I happened to be in the neighborhood, and Elena knows how I loathe demons."

"Our dad is here?" Sam asks, surprised despite the fact that they were the ones who called him.

"Who are you?" Dean asks, clearly annoyed that he has to ask again.

He ignores both of their questions, surveying them, circling around to stand behind them, and seemingly finding them to be generally in one piece. "Just a moment." He reaches out, grabbing them each by their collars, and before they can protest, he begins to move, taking them with him.

---

Dean has never moved faster in his life – or rather, Dean has never been moved faster in his life. It's a nauseating blur of motion and then he collides with something both solid and malleable at the same time. Familiar arms wrap around him, bringing him to a stop as they sway together. The perfume is still wrong, just like the perfect, spiraling curls, but his thumb brushes against the scar on her forearm and his little finger is tangled in her witch-chain, and the way she holds him is undeniably the way only she has ever held him.

She is taller, no longer the perfect height to tuck under his chin, his lips ghosting across her forehead without meaning to. It's a disorienting moment, until he remembers the towering high heels she wore the last time he saw her. For a moment he sags against her, face pressed into her neck, one hand still wrapped around her forearm, the other arm circling her waist. Her fingernails dig into elbow where she clasps him tightly, and she has an anchoring hand at his lower back.

"Elena," he sighs.

"Are you okay?" she asks into his ear.

Before he can respond, Sam interrupts them.

"Dad!"

Dean pulls away from Elena, turning at his exclamation to find Sam being held up by their father and their savior nowhere in sight.

"Boys," he says smiling at them as he perfunctorily checks Sam over for injury.

There is a hint of wariness in his eyes when he sees how tangled in Elena his eldest son is. Almost as if he'd been issued a verbal command, Dean steps out of her embrace entirely, moving closer to his Dad. Elena steps back, away from them, wrapping her empty arms around herself.

John keeps one arm on Sam's shoulder and reaches the other out to his eldest, checking him over for injury with far more tenderness than the stranger had.

"You okay, boys?" he asks them.

Both nod dutifully, still shellshocked by his presence and their abrupt rescue.

"Who was that?" Sam asks bluntly.

John hesitates, but answers truthfully. "A friend of Elena's."

Dean follows up with a question of his own. "Where did he go?"

John looks to Elena.

She looks back out of a stranger's eyes. Dean can't tell if the surge of nausea in his throat is from that look or their speeding escape.

"He'll be back," she says, the other girl's voice more prominent than her own.

John gives her an expectant look, so she elaborates.

"He's probably just checking out the neighborhood to see who else is here," she says.

John nods, accepting this answer, so Dean does too, turning back to his father.

"Dad, I didn't know it was a trap, I'm sorry."

John's hand comes to a resting stop at the base of his skull, cradling his neck. He shakes his head.

"It's all right. I thought it might've been. That's why I called Elena." He glances over at her, the unease flitting across his face revealing something to Sam that he never thought possible. "Luckily, her friend was there when she answered."

Elena shrugs, speaking distantly. "He lives for this kind of dramatic rescue," she says dryly. "Trust me when I say he's enjoying this far too much for someone who insisted on a favor to be here."

John gives her a sharp look. "What favor?"

She waves him off. "Nothing you have to worry about." Seeing that he isn't appeased, she reassures him. "Really, it's the least dramatic thing he's asked of me in years."

Sam frowns, cutting in. "I don't like the thought of you owing someone for us, Elena."

She smiles at him, almost herself. "It's okay, Sam. It's not a big deal, I promise."

Dean still watches her, troubled and more than curious to know what she promised the other man in exchange for their rescue. Seeing his unease, Elena smiles at him, fully herself.

"The girl who got thrown out that window, she was the bad guy, right?" John is asking them.

Dean reluctantly tears his gaze away from her and nods. "Yes, sir."

He nods. "It doesn't surprise me. It's tried to stop me before."

"The demon has?" Sam asks.

John nods sharply. "It knows I'm close. It knows I'm gonna kill it." He lets his words sink in. "Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell—actually kill it."

"How?" Dean asks.

"I'm workin' on that," John says, smiling at his oldest son.

Elena has been silent through all of this, eyes roving, waiting. As John is the only one facing her, he is the first to know when Klaus returns. Elena stills, muscles not exactly tensed, but every part of her sharper than it was a minute ago.

"Well, do let me know if you're in need of some assistance," a carefully-accented voice says from behind her. "As Elena knows well," he has the careful hands of an artists, hands that are now settling on Elena's shoulders, gently pulling her well-coifed curls over one shoulder, leaving her throat bared. "I'm always happy to help."

John tenses. "Thank you for the offer," he says, well-guarded.

Sam and Dean both turn away from their father to face the two of them, already tensed.

Elena relaxes, looking like she might lean back into his chest, into his embrace, at any moment. She rolls her eyes, looking over her shoulder back at him.

"Well?" she asks expectantly. "Any more demons hanging around?"

Elena's comfort – affected or not – with the stranger seems to put John more on edge. Sam can't help but wonder why when he is the one who called him Elena's friend.

"All gone," the stranger confirms. "I guess they didn't want to play."

He lets go of her arm a second before she turns to face him.

"How disappointing for you," she says lightly.

Dean glances between the two of them, confused.

Everything about the stranger makes his skin crawl, and his dad looks like he wants to haul Elena away from him and across state lines, but here Elena is, teasing him like they're, well, friends.

"Not that we're not grateful," Dean starts, "but who the hell are you?"

The stranger reluctantly tears his eyes away from Elena to look at him. Mostly he seems to study him, expression unreadable, but there is a flash of something that Dean files away for later. Now, he watches the way Elena tenses, and how before she can even hold her breath the man turns his attention back to her.

"I'll leave introductions to you, my dear," he tells her easily. "Preferably after I've gone." A look of satisfaction crosses his face as she relaxes again at his words.

Sam notices as his father visibly eases at his words too, and Sam instantly knows that Elena will not tell them who her mysterious friend is. He can guess, too, that his father does know who he is.

"Now, don't go forgetting my reward for helping rescue your companions, darling," the stranger is saying.

Elena looks at him dead on. "Anytime, anywhere."

John tenses again.

The man nods, satisfied with her willingness. He reaches up a hand, smoothing his palm along her cheek. "Now, here." He holds her there with the gentlest of touches, like he is the sculpture who crafted the high arch of her brow, the dramatic sweep of her cheekbones, the rosebud pout of her mouth.

Dean goes rigid beside Sam, his father still tensed for whatever the stranger might mean by reward. Sam feels like he's standing between the statue of his family, they are so tense and still.

Elena, on the other hand, lacks all tension, seemingly without a care in the world. She flicks her hair to the side, smiling charmingly at him.

"I never knew you were so impatient," she teases archly.

He raises his other hand to cup her other cheek, framing her face – there's no other word for it – lovingly.

"I waited a thousand years for you," he reminds her gently, and she shivers. "I think I've had my fill of romantic gestures."

She snorts. "Yeah, it was all so romantic. The stalking, the blood sacrifice, the-"

"What the hell did you ask her for?" Dean asks, cutting her off.

The man looks at him again, pulling a hand away from her face to raise his pointer finger for him, asking for a moment. Without a word, he returns his hand to her cheek, and his gaze to her face.

"Nothing she didn't offer me herself," he says, keeping his gaze on her.

She shrugs. "I was joking," she says like she's still in disbelief that he's asked for whatever it is he asked for.

"I'm not," he replies.

"I know," she says, some complicated emotion catching in her throat. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asks, sounding concerned.

There is so much that is left unsaid between them, Sam can't figure out what the stranger wants from Elena or why she seems almost afraid to give it to him. It's almost like she thinks she might hurt him if she gives him what he wants.

"I created suns and moons and curses in the pursuit of you, darling," the stranger reminds her.

Elena surprises them by laughing. "It was a hell of a trick, getting them all in on finding me."

"Elena," John says urgently, clearly as much in the dark about their deal as the rest of them.

Neither of them seem to have heard him.

Distantly, Sam is aware that their near embrace makes them look very much like a couple, but there is something off about the two of them standing together, though he can't quite place what it is. The stranger is as golden as Elena is dark, the two of them utterly lovely to look at together.

The stranger frowns. "Are you stalling?" he asks directly.

She shakes her head, never quite shaking his grip on her off. "Of course not," she says determinedly. "What are you waiting for?"

This seems to be all he needs because without further ado, he leans down, capturing her lips with his own in a searing kiss.

There is a pained intake of breath from his left. Sam cannot bear to look at his brother as he witnesses this. He doesn't want to see the hurt on his face.

At last, the stranger pulls back. He licks his lips, almost instinctively leaning back down like he's going to kiss her again, but Elena pulls back so he reluctantly steps away, removing his hands from her face.

"I thought-" she sounds breathless, stopping and starting again. "I thought you'd take more liberties than that," she says, framing it as primly as possible in attempt to make light of the situation.

The stranger gives her a chiding look. "We do have an audience, Elena."

Despite his teasing, he sounds distracted. He is searching her face, like he is looking for something, like he expected his kiss to change something in her.

With her back to them, none of the Winchesters can see her face and whatever it is he might be looking for.

"That's exactly what I mean," she says.

"I'm proving a point," he tells her, and for the first time since their kiss, his eyes flick passed her to the three men behind her, landing on Dean briefly before returning to her.

That glance is all Sam needs to understand that as much as he wanted her kiss, it had been chosen as his payment for Dean's benefit alone.

"To who?" Elena asks him, sounding genuinely confused.

"If you have to ask, dearest, then you'll never know," he says gently.

Instead of puzzling over his words, Elena responds without thinking. "I am not your dearest," she reminds him.

He nods. "Yes, you've made that abundantly clear," he says bitterly.

"I can think of someone who is much dearer," she says, clearly chastising.

It seems to work. "Yes," he nods, clearing his throat and taking another step away from her. "Well, I'll expect you soon, darling."

She nods. "And I'll be there."

He reaches out a hand, touching her bared throat, tracing his fingers down it, then pressing his palm to where her pulse would be, fingers lost in the mane of her curls.

Dean tenses again beside him, like this means as much as the kiss they'd just witnessed.

The man drops his hand, turning to leave, but stopping just short to turn back to her again.

He tucks his fingers beneath her chin, raising her face to his, causing Sam to tense, expecting another kiss.

Instead, he speaks. "For the record, darling, any time I might have compared you to the others in the past, they're the ones who came up lacking, not you. None of them ever compare to you."

"You don't have to say such sweet things, I'm not going to cut you off," Elena responds archly, unable to resist despite the obvious tenderness of his words, or perhaps because of it.

He snorts in spite of himself. "You're very clever, Elena Gilbert."

Gently, she grasps his wrist, tugging it away from her face and stepping back, away from him and closer to the Winchesters.

He lets her, watching her with no small amount of reluctance.

"Goodbye," she says firmly, making it clear that it's well past time for him to go.

He nods in understanding. "Goodbye." He pauses again. "Don't worry about our what happened at the club, I'll take care of it."

She heaves a great sigh of relief. "Thank you."

He smiles, pleased to have relieved her of one of her burdens, and then he is gone, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

Elena turns back to them, seemingly unaffected by everything that had just passed between the two of them, almost like it meant nothing to her.

She offers them a rough grimace. "Sorry about that, he's always been dramatic," she says lightly.

Almost.

John looks at her warily. "That's it? That's all he asked for?"

She nods. "A kiss. That's all."

"Really?" he asks again, clearing not fully believing it.

"I offered him anything he wanted from me, John," she says flatly. "That's all he asked for."

John considers this. "I guess we got off easy," he says finally. "Don't make it habit of offering him whatever he wants from you, though."

She nods, not saying anything.

John looks doubtful.

She rolls her eyes. "He won't, I know him."

"Yeah, speaking of, didn't he say you'd explain who he was once he was gone?" Dean reminds her.

She purses her lips, then shrugs. "A friend," she says flatly.

Dean snorts impatiently. "Oh yeah, he seems real friendly."

"And really not human," Sam adds.

"Boys," John cuts in. "Elena doesn't have to tell you anything she doesn't want to," he reminds them.

"Yeah, but the thing is, maybe she does want to," Dean says, surprising Sam with the hardness of his tone as he turns to look at their father. "Maybe you're the one who doesn't want us to know."

John frowns, clearly displeased with Dean's tone, and more than a little surprised by it. Sam is surprised too, Dean has always been the obedient son, accepting their father's rule as law with very little complaint or resistance.

Before John can say anything, Elena beats him to it.

"Actually, Elena wants to get the hell out of this creepy parking lot and finish what I started here so I can take these shoes off and feel my feet again," she says flatly.

John nods, still watching Dean warily.

Dean rolls his eyes but nods as well, reaching out a hand to her. "C'mon, I'll carry you to the car."

She shakes her head. "Dean, I have to go back to what I was doing before, I have no idea how much of a mess my guest just made of all of this."

Sam frowns. "What do you mean?"

She looks distinctly uncomfortable, but she answers anyway. "Let's just say he doesn't exactly get along with her, so him showing up to help pretty much confirmed to anyone who might be following me that I'm me and this whole thing was a ruse."

John shakes his head. "I still don't understand how you came up with this idea in the first place."

Elena shrugs delicately. "It makes sense if you're me."

It makes sense if you're a doppelganger, Sam silently translates in his head.

John still looks confused. "You can ride with me and explain it to me properly," he suggests.

Dean surprises them all by shaking his head.

"Dad, you can't come with us," he says, the words dragging out of him directly.

"What?" Sam asks, heart pounding. "What are you talking about?" They've waited so long to find their dad; Sam can't understand why Dean would say this. "Dean, we should stick together."

Dean shakes his head.

"Sam, listen to me," he says. "We almost got Dad killed."

"Dad didn't even see the demons, Dean," Sam protests. "Elena-"

Dean cuts him off. "Exactly, Sam. Elena's the one who pulled off the rescue. We're the ones who practically walked Dad into a trap." He shakes his head. "If Elena's friend wasn't here, we could all be dead right now."

He looks over at Elena, giving her a wry grin. "I guess sometimes it's good to have a little competition."

John shifts uncomfortably.

Elena surprises them all by rolling her eyes. "Please, Winchester. Let's be honest for once: you don't have any competition."

The smile Dean gives her is unlike anything Sam has ever seen before. It's the most straightforward she's ever been about her feelings for Dean, and for a moment Sam thinks Dean might be too stunned – and happy – to continue explaining why he thinks their dad shouldn't go with them. But once she returns his smile, Dean turns back to him.

"They're not gonna stop. They're gonna try again." He gestures to himself and Sam. "They're gonna use us to get to him." He shakes his head. "I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He…" he has to stop himself here.

Bravely, he starts again. "He's stronger without us around."

Sam shakes his head, in denial, turning away from his brother. "Dad," he reaches out, putting his hand on his shoulder. "No. After everything," John reaches up, clasping his son's wrist. "After all the time we spent looking for you, please," Sam begs. "I've got to be part of this fight."

John shakes his head. "Sammy, this fight is just starting, and we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you gotta trust me, son."

Sam shakes his head, unconsciously mirroring his father.

"Okay? You gotta let me go."

Sam looks at his dad for a long time before finally, reluctantly, nodding in agreement.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," John echoes in agreement. "Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight." A myriad of emotions plays across his face.

"Yes, sir," Sam says guardedly.

"It was good to see you again. It's been a long time," John says emotively.

Sam nods in agreement, understanding that this is the closest he'll get to an apology, and wondering suddenly if he ever really needed one. "Too long," says.

With that, father and son embrace. John hugs Dean too, and then turns to Elena.

"Elena, we've got a lot to catch up on," he begins. "Like what happened in New Orleans, and frankly, what happened here," he says, pausing.

She nods in agreement. "A lot has happened," she says cryptically.

Sam understands where this is going a moment before his father says it.

"I think it might be best if you come with me."

Sam tenses. He should be jealous, he should be resentful of Elena being the special one, the one John needs to have long, private talks with. Instead, Sam is angry at his dad because he knows that this is not about Elena's secrets, this is about Dean and Elena's relationship. He thought earlier, when he didn't interject when Elena all but admitted that Dean is the only one she wants, that John might prove him wrong. That John might keep the peace about Dean and Elena and everything they are to each other and everything they are not yet to each other but could be – should be. That he might let them be without interfering. But clearly, he was wrong.

He opens his mouth to protest, unsure what he is going to say, but knowing that he's not gonna let their dad dictate Dean's entire life, but Elena beats him to the punch.

"No," she says decisively. "I'm staying with the boys." She takes a step closer to Dean, all but shouting what she really means with that single step: I'm staying with Dean.

Before John can protest, she continues. "I do have a lot to tell you, but it's nothing I can't handle on my own. And as far as I can tell, despite the disaster that this little experiment was, I think it proves that no one is following me."

John nods reluctantly. "Well, you're gonna have to tell me how in the hell you impersonated that other girl someday, I'm sure it's a hell of a story."

Sam is surprised, again, when his father's face softens into something that resembles fondness.

"She doesn't suit you," John tells Elena seriously.

She nods in agreement. ]

"You see anything unusual; you call me right away, okay?"

"I will," she says.

He looks away, then looks at her again. "That kiss, that's the worst it's ever been?"

Elena rolls her eyes. "Please, he's had like a thousand years of practice, it's not like he sucks at it."

"Elena," John says, a warning note in his tone. "I'm serious, if he's ever-"

"He hasn't," she says, cutting him off. "Really, it was just a kiss. Easiest deal I've ever made with him."

Dean narrows his gaze at Elena, and Sam wonders if there's more to the story.

John nods, still looking troubled, but turns to say goodbye to his sons once last time before leaving.

Elena, teetering in her heels, sighs deeply once his car is out of the parking lot. Dean reaches his hand out, lacing their fingers together as he guides her over to the Impala.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," he says.

Elena steps back reluctantly. "I can't, I have to finish what I started," she reminds him.

"Didn't your friend say he was going to take care of it?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, but that's mostly the mess he made at the club, there's still so much to wrap up, it's going to take a day at least."

"And it has to be you that takes care of it?" Dean asks.

She looks at confused. "Well, who else?"

Dean shrugs. "I dunno, you've been that other girl this whole time, so technically it's her mess to clean up."

Elena considers his words. "I mean, I guess I could call her."

"Call her," the boys chorus together.

Without a word, Dean boosts her up onto the hood of the car, pulling off her shoes for her. She wriggles her toes gratefully.

Sam opens the front door for her, and Dean reaches out to swoop her into his arms and tuck her into the front seat, but she stops him.

"Wait, I still look like her," she reminds him. "I can't just drive through Chicago with two hunters as her. Plus, Elena Gilbert can't be in Illinois."

Dean considers this while Sam whips out his phone.

"We're an hour from Genoa City, Wisconsin," Sam announces. "Elena Gilbert hasn't been to Wisconsin since November, that seems long enough to me."

Dean nods in agreement. "Hold on," he says to Elena, heading back to rummage through the trunk before she can protest.

"You should text her now," Sam reminds her, not leaving any room for disagreeing.

Elena obediently pulls out her phone but doesn't start typing.

"Sam, I still look like her, and believe me when I say it takes a while to undo all of this," she says, gesturing at her hair and full face of makeup.

Dean comes back, holding his hoodie. Sam plucks Elena's phone out of her hands while Dean hurries her into the hoodie, zipping it up over her dress and pulling the hood up over her flawless curls.

"There, you'll keep the hood up until we hit Wisconsin," Dean says with satisfaction.

This time, Elena lets him scoop her up and put her in the front seat of his car, still barefooted and utterly bemused.

Sam closes the door for her and hands her back her phone. "Text her," he says, picking her shoes up from the ground to throw into the trunk of the car.

Elena surrenders, pulling up Katherine's contact on her phone as Dean starts the car.

As they pull out of the parking lot, eyes watch them leave.

---

"Hey Dean." Elena's voice is low, aware of Sam asleep in the backseat.

"Yeah?" he replies, glancing over at her in the passenger seat.

She has her legs tucked underneath her, her fingers tugging at the cuffs of his hoodie, curls trying desperately to escape the hood keeping them at bay.

They're still half an hour away from the Wisconsin border, it's been a mostly silent drive, Dean thinking of his father and Elena contemplating her failed attempt at impersonating Katherine. It had been the memory of her last conversation with Ryan that had prompted her to speak.

"You know, if there was another you, I'd still like you better," she tells him seriously. She's well aware of how her comment is practically nonsensical without the proper context that she can't give him, but she needs him to know.

He gives her a confused look. "What do you mean?" he asks.

She turns her head to the side, propping her chin on her own shoulder to look at him.

"I mean, if there was someone else who looked like you, you'd still be my favorite," she says, explaining as best she can without giving away the truth.

"Are you talking about that shapeshifter?" he asks, lost without context. "I already know you like me better than that creep."

She laughs, humming in agreement. "That's a given." She traces his profile in the low light, content to just look at him. "I just mean…if there was someone else who looked like you that wanted me too, I wouldn't."

"Oh," Dean says, arriving at some kind of understanding. He might not know about Ryan, but it's easy to guess why lookalikes would bother her, why she would feel the need to assure him that she has no interest in a replacement. "Me too."

He grins over at her suddenly. "So, what you're saying is that you want me for more than my body."

She snorts, shaking her head fondly. "Incorrigible."

He shrugs again, eyes back on the road. "If you say so."

They lapse into easy silence again.

Dean remembers suddenly the parting words between Elena and the stranger, how he'd seemed to admit he'd known and maybe even loved the other girls – the other doppelgangers, and doppelgangers plural is a hell of a thing to contemplate – but none of them had compared to her. Well, he's certainly not gonna let that guy have the last word on that.

"Hey Elena," he says.

She looks over at him. "Yeah?"

"I wouldn't want any other girl that looks like you," he says seriously. "You're always gonna be my favorite."

She smiles at him, unbuckling her seatbelt to slide over to the middle seat, tucking herself in against his side.

"Elena?" Dean asks.

She hums inquisitively.

"This has really been bothering me," he begins.

She looks at him warily, wondering if he's going to ask about Klaus or worse, Katherine. "What is it?"

He sighs. "How in the hell did you hide your manticore scar?"

She lets out a startled laugh at his unexpected question.

"It's been bothering me for days, Elena," he says in reproach.

Guiltily, she glances back to make sure Sam is still asleep. Seeing that she is, she turns back to answer Dean.

"I'm wearing two pairs of stockings, Dean," she explains. "Underneath the fishnets is a pair that's solid but the same color as my skin."

He nods. "Huh, that sounds pretty uncomfortable."

She snorts. "You have no idea."

He grins at her again. "Maybe you should take 'em off."

She gives him a scolding look for his blatant flirting, but she can't quite pull it off.

"Maybe later," she says archly.

"Promise?" he asks, dead serious.

"Oh my god." Seeing a gleam in his eyes she rushes to cut him off before he can say anything. "Don't you dare."

He shrugs. "As long as you know."

---

Dean turns into the first motel parking lot they come across after crossing the border into Wisconsin.

He goes to get them a room while Elena wakes Sam up. When Dean comes back with their room keys, Sam carries their bags and Dean carries Elena.

Sam crashes again almost immediately, but Dean shoos Elena into the bathroom to remove her stockings, not even taking the time to tease her.

When she is done, he leads he to the end of the bed. Sitting himself on the corner of the bed, he settles her between his legs, pulling the hood off her somewhat-crushed curls. One by one, he takes every curl, sliding his fingers through each one carefully, unravelling their perfect spirals. He only moves onto the next when he is satisfied that it more closely resembles Elena's natural hair than the perfect spiral curls she's been sporting as her doppelganger.

He tactfully ignores their closeness and the goosebumps his gentle ministrations raise on the delicate skin at the back of her neck. The longer he works, the more relaxed she becomes, until she is nearly boneless with relief, resting her back against his front.

"All done," he says finally.

"Thank you," she replies quietly, suddenly electrically aware that she's much too close to him, all but sitting in his lap, his thighs bracketing her own. She can feel his every breath, and the steady beat of his heart through her back.

"Anytime," he says lightly. "You need help with your dress?"

Reluctantly, she stands, still facing away from him. "Please." She takes off his hoodie, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

He makes quick work of the zipper, and then she disappears into the bathroom to change and remove her makeup, discarding the last piece of her disguise.

She doesn't miss Katherine's pouting mouth, nearly black, like dried blood, or her flirtatious, dark eyes. She's happy to see herself again when she looks in the mirror, fresh-faced and tired. It's the first time Katherine's specter hasn't haunted her in days.

Wearing sleep shorts and another of Dean's shirt, dress in hand, she exits the bathroom to find Dean still awake, sitting on the end of their bed.

She places the dress on the back of one of the chairs.

Dean makes a face. "Throw it away," he suggests.

She looks at him, surprised. "You didn't like it?"

She comes over to sit next to him.

He shrugs. "If it was really what you'd wear, sure, I'd like it. Since it's what you wore as that other girl, I didn't," he says simply.

She looks at him, unbearably soft, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling too wide.

"That's actually incredibly sweet," she says, both because it's true and because she knows it will bother him.

He winces, giving her a rueful look. She grins back at him, unrepentant. When he gets a particular gleam in his eye, she stops grinning. Warily, she waits for his response.

"Sure, I'm sweet," he begins, grimacing at the thought, "And I don't have any competition, right?" he asks, knowing the answer, full well. "That's what you said."

She rolls her eyes, smiling at him indulgently. "You already knew it before I said it," she reminds him.

He shrugs. "It's nice to hear sometimes."

She leans against him, and he lifts an arm to drop over her shoulders. She cuddles into the curve of his neck, sending shivers through him.

"Everyone knows," she murmurs against his neck. "There's no point in not admitting it," she says freely.

He presses his cheek to her hair. "Yeah?"

She nods sleepily. Seeing that she would be perfectly content to fall asleep against him right there, he rouses her, leading her over to her preferred side of the bed, tucking her in. When he climbs in beside her, she doesn't waste any time tucking herself back into his arms.

"Elena?" he whispers.

She hums in response.

"You've got so much explaining to do," he says seriously, grinning into the dark despite himself.

"Sure, sure," she mumbles, rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt, nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

Dean stays awake for awhile longer. There's a lot to consider, the demons, Elena's strange friend and the kiss and every word before and after it that they'd exchanged, everything his father had said, but at the moment, he makes a decision. He could spend the rest of his life letting Elena dance around the subject of the two of them – or he could give her some encouragement. He grins again, kissing the top of her head.

Elena Gilbert isn't gonna know what hit her.

AN: Chapter title is from Blood / Water by grandson. "Blood in the water" is one of my favorite lyrical motifs, it's just such a visceral image, but also an appropriate one for this chapter for a few reasons: blood in the water as a phrase implies revealing weakness, and everyone from John to Klaus displayed some kind of weakness this chapter.

Notes/References:

Elena told Tyler last chapter that she wanted to find out if Alaric knew her pattern, so here we are.

lol Sam for thinking he really did smth there with pointing out that Dean wouldn't have gone to Missouri if Elena was there. To Dean's credit, I'm sure he would've called Bobby or some other hunter to help Cassie.

So I know that in tvd canon they went out of their way to give each of the Petrova doppelgangers a different hairstyle - which was pretty great for three out of four, yikes Tatia's crimping mess - but I choose to believe that they all naturally have curly hair - and there is canon evidence that Elena's hair is naturally curly, in 3.02 Damon throws Elena into the water and later when she's talking with Alaric in the car her hair has dried into curls - and Katherine's the only one who leans into the aesthetic. Elena kinda does in later tvd so I don't think it's wildly out of character for her to not straightening her hair anymore. Also it's like really bad for your hair, that's why Nina Dobrev had to chop off all of her hair after she left the show. Oh and also the actual reason Elena gives in the story, she's a hunter now, she doesn't have time for a three hour hair and makeup routine.

In the episode, Dean originally says that Daevas are like demonic pitbulls, I took it out on purpose, there will be no pitbull slander on my watch. Honey badgers have infamously bad attitudes. :)

If someone wants to start keeping track of how many times I mention Dracula in this story, be my guest. I imagine it will be about once a chapter until the end of the story. I read it like six times last year so…it's fresh.

I was not just spinning elaborate metaphors for a good time, there's a reason the narrative specifically says the only way to tell if it's Elena or Katherine is to be there when the dress comes off to see if it's Katherine's daylight necklace or Grayson and Miranda Gilberts' wedding rings. Well Dean was there when the dress came off and he did see the rings - saw that it's Elena, not Katherine. I feel like if I say anymore I'll just be spoon feeding it to ya'll.

"It's Miller Time" = Things are getting hot. Dean Winchester uses too much slang and sometimes I hate him for it, but thanks google!

…I'm sorry, how was I supposed to resist bringing Klaus in when they're in Chicago? Also you guys are always asking for more TVD characters so here you go. Originally Klaus was not supposed to stick around but…that was just not realistic! Klaus would never miss an opportunity to meet Dean if he had a legitimate reason to and saving him from a demon at John's request is honestly better than Klaus could've planned himself.

Did Klaus just imply that he considers Dean and Sam off limits because they're Elena's friends? Yes, yes he did. He really doesn't like it when other people play with his toys.

So this is the first of a few times that Sam and Dean misunderstand information about Elena. They think Meg might be after Elena, when in reality, Meg kept asking questions about Elena's whereabouts because she wanted to make sure there was no way that Klaus would show up. They are good hunters, but nobody's perfect (sorry for the Hannah Montana flashbacks).

To be clear, I don't think just any vampire could take a demon in a fight, I think any of the Originals could square up against a demon like Meg and have a good chance at winning. Klaus, of course, is the only one who could take on a Prince of Hell. Not that he's usually down for that, he's got other things to do, as long as demons keep out of the Quarter I don't think he cares…unless Elena does, of course.

…Come on, can you really expect Klaus to not take advantage of being presented with the opportunity to kiss Elena in front of Dean? He lives for this type of shit. Also obligatory reminder that this is Deanlena all the way, it's just a kiss, and even Klaus knows that.

Dean just declared a flirting war and I'm truly excited for ya'll, you don't even know.

So that's it. I should say that I have terrible internet in my new apartment - I've been going to my grandpa's in order to post - so until that's fixed I won't be reliable about answering messages or replying to reviews, but I will as soon as I can!

Questions? Thoughts? Comments? Please leave a review!

xoxo

-Pixie