"Dude," Chrys said breathily. "Ricardo."

"Suicidio," Dean agreed, his voice thick with emotion that his face hid well.

Chrys watched raptly as the woman on screen cry dramatically over her dead lover's body. She knew it was ridiculous, but she was pretty swept up in the storyline, too. It wasn't like they had anything better to do while Dean's leg healed.

She heard Sam scoff behind them, but paid him no mind as she watched the Spanish soap opera that she and Dean had become addicted to in the last three weeks. They were all suffering from a bit of cabin fever, but there wasn't much to do for it. She couldn't actually keep Sam in the bedroom all day, as much as she wanted to. They had to eat every once in a while.

When Bobby came in, she barely looked up at all. "Adios, ese," she said mournfully to the dead character.

"Uh-huh," Bobby said slowly. He tossed the keys to the Impala to Dean. "This oughta cheer you up.

True to form, Dean's face lit up and he caught them easily. "My baby!" He paused, then glared down at the cast on his leg. "Now I just gotta get this stupid thing off and I can drive again."

Sam came to stand next to where Chrys was sitting on the couch. He leaned against the arm, and she tilted her head to rest against his hip as he spoke. "So how is it out there?" he asked Bobby.

The older hunter sighed as he sat down. "Weird, with a side order of bloody. Talked to a few hunters. They're running into the same kind of thing that set up shop at that hospital."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, and don't forget tried to kill us at your place." He gestured toward his cast bitterly.

"Well, consensus is they're, um, they're shapeshifters, only a lot more into eating folk. And nothing can kill them."

"Good times. Anything else?"

"Yep. They bleed black goo."

"Like that stuff that came out of Cas. Those things from purgatory," Sam said eagerly.

"Leviathans," Chrys purred, triumphant. She turned and stuck her tongue out at Dean. "Told ya."

Dean ignored her to look at Bobby. "What about those chompers that you guys saw at the hospital? They still making spleenburgers?"

"Made some calls. That doctor never showed back up to work. Ditto a nurse and some administrator."

In the very middle of Bobby's explanation, Chrys felt Sam tense against her. She denied the urge to sigh, but sat up and slipped her hand into his, holding tightly.

He'd been handling the hallucinations just fine, but they were always vivid, and just as difficult for him to separate from reality as they had been the first few times. Always Lucifer, always saying the same thing.

This isn't real. You're still in hell with me.

She had exhausted her ideas on how to help him. Tiring him out with sex had worked for a time, but they couldn't keep that pace up. Neither of them were nineteen anymore (not that she'd been having sex at nineteen, but she'd wanted to). He could only sleep so much, so that was out. He said that trying to distract himself with books and movies wasn't working, so they were left with very few options.

The only one that seemed to have any sort of long-term effect was using Chrys' hand in his injured one as a touchstone. It was able to bring him back most of the time.

"So they could be at any hospital in America," Dean was saying.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah."

"What do you think, Sam?" As soon as Dean realized that Sam wasn't exactly paying attention, Chrys watched with dread as his face darkened with irritation and suspicion. "Sammy? Sam!" When there was no response, "Hey! Ground control!"

Sam gave a full body jerk, then blinked in confusion for a moment before his eyes cleared. "Sorry, yeah. What? I'm right here."

"You okay?" Dean's voice was heavy with doubt.

"I'm fine."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause while everyone reflected on how not true that was before Bobby spoke again.

"Well. All righty then. We gotta hit the books again."

"Here, I'll help you," Sam said as Bobby rose to retrieve the research material they'd left stashed upstairs. He followed the older hunter after squeezing Chrys' hand once, hard.

"So," Dean said as soon as they were out of earshot. "What do you think about Girl, Interrupted over there?"

Chrys braced herself for the argument she was about to have. "I think he's getting better, to be honest."

"Better?" he spluttered. "What do you mean, better? You just saw him!"

"He checked out once, Dean. That's progress."

"You're kidding!"

"Look, everyone heals at their own rate. He's dealing with a lot."

"He's not 'healing at his own rate,' Chrys, he's a fucking time bomb."

Chrys stood and ran her fingers through her hair, wildly frustrated. "At least he's finally talking to us! What you see is what you get now. What's so crazy about calling this a good thing?"

"Because that's not how it works!" Dean shouted. "All right? Especially not with Sam. The other shoe is gonna drop, it's just a matter of when."

"Look," she snapped. "How about we worry about what's happening right now? Today, right now, we need intel. And Sammy's good at intel, and research. So when they get back down here, you're gonna sit down, you're gonna shut up, and you're gonna let Sam have this, or I swear to God, Winchester, I will break your other leg."

He grumbled but relented, slumping back on the couch when Sam and Bobby came back into the room. He didn't say anything as Sam handed him one of the books, but Chrys kept a wary eye on him, anyway.

She trusted the Winchesters with her life, but she couldn't win for losing as far as getting either of them to do what she'd told them to.


Sam wandered into the gas station, glad to be out of the cabin, out from Dean's watchful, suspicious eyes.

He knew that Dean thought he was about to break, or freak out, or something, and he knew it was a legitimate worry. He'd done it before. Hell, he would have followed that hallucination of Dean right out of Bobby's house if it hadn't been for Chrys stopping him. He didn't resent Dean for it, but it was exhausting to be under constant scrutiny like that. He was grateful for Chrys insisting that she had to go to town for cigarettes, at least it got him out of the house.

He wandered the little store as she went up to talk to the clerk. He was idly looking around, no real goal in mind, when his eyes landed on a newspaper with a bold headline.

ICE PICK KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

Shaken, he took a copy of the paper and hurried to the front, knocking into Chrys a little when he got there. She squeaked, then glared up at him.

"The hell?"

He looked up at the clerk, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and handed him one of their fake credit cards. "This, too, thanks."


Chrys was staring, she knew, but she couldn't help it. "A kitsune."

"Yep."

"From twenty years ago."

"I mean, not twenty exactly. More like fifteen."

"And why do you think it's the same person?"

"I mean, it's around the same area. And she…" He swallowed hard. "She meant a lot to me, Chrys."

He'd already told her about the kitsune, a girl who was his first kiss (and no, she was not jealous, goddammit), who he'd let go because she'd saved his life. She'd killed her own mother for him.

"If she's the same girl, why would she be killing people now?"

"I don't know," he said slowly, his focus far away as he thought. "I want to say she has a good reason, but I just don't know. And if she doesn't have a good reason, this is my mess, my fault. I have to go take care of it."

As much as she didn't like it when he blamed himself for shit he couldn't help, the way he was talking thrilled her. He was sharper than he'd been in days, and this was the longest they'd gone without him being overwhelmed by hallucinations since he'd started having them. It was almost like having her lover back, like it had been before he went to hell. It was intoxicating enough for her next words to slip out without her consent.

"Yeah, Sammy, okay. Let's go track us down a kitsune."


It was about six hours before her phone rang. She checked the name, glanced at Sam, and answered.

"Heya, Dean."

"Chrys." His voice was low and dangerous. "Where the hell are you?"

"Well, I'm afraid I'm not gonna tell you that."

"Chrys."

"Look, I get it, I do, but I'm handling this. I'm with him, we're just going on a hunt."

"I-"

"I already turned off the GPS on our phones, and this is only staying on long enough to finish this conversation with you. After that, I'm turning it off until we're done with this case." She sighed and lowered her voice. "Can you try to just trust me?"

"Chrys, it's Sam."

"Oh, fuck you, I know who it is," she said easily. "I want to take care of him just as much as you do, Dean."

The man on the other end heaved a sigh. "Fine. But you'd better be back in a few days, hear me? Or I'm sawing this cast off myself and coming up there."

Chrys narrowed her eyes. "That cast had best stay on exactly as long as it's supposed to, Winchester."

"Yeah, yeah." The call disconnected.

Sam looked over from where he was driving. "What's the verdict?"

Chrys turned the phone off. "I say he'll give us about twelve hours before he heads this way."

"That should be plenty of time."


Chrys was, once again, rethinking her stance on underwear. She shifted subtly, trying to get more comfortable in her Fed suit. When Sam shot her a warning look, she realized she wasn't being quite as inconspicuous as she'd been hoping and scowled.

Luckily, the coroner had been gone, and was just walking back into the room at that moment. "We don't get too many murders out this way," he was saying, "much less serial."

Chrys followed Sam when he stood on the other side of the coroner's table. "So what did you find?"

"It's what we didn't find. Let me show you." He pulled the sheet covering the body back. "Big chunk of mid-brain went missing."

"Mid-brain like the pituitary gland?" Chrys asked, peeking around Sam at the body.

"Actually, their pituitaries were clear gone. How'd you know that?"

She smiled tightly. "Educated guess."


Sam was wound tight as they waited in the Impala that night for the kitsune, Amy, to show up.

He knew that this was… Weird, but he couldn't help but feel responsible for the deaths Amy had caused. He'd chosen to let her go as a kid, for more reasons than he'd told Chrys.

It wasn't just that she'd been his first kiss, or that she'd killed her own mother to save him. It was more that Amy had been the first person to get it. To get why he'd been so fucking miserable, following his dad and brother around the country. To understand that he'd wanted a normal life, and why he couldn't have it yet. To understand that he was going to get it, whether his family liked it or not. She'd understood because she had been the same way. It was kind of devastating that she was killing, if she was, in fact, the reason behind the deaths (and kitsune were rare enough that he kind of had to assume that she was) because they had connected so quickly.

When he saw her walk down the wooded path, he knew. "Shit."

"I know," Chrys said, soft and unassuming beside him. She opened the passenger side door quietly. "Let's go."

He got out of the car and quickly led the way down the path, knife held at the ready. They followed Amy down to another opening in the woods, where she was standing just inside the tree line. There was a man fumbling with his keys in a nearby parking lot. She had to be waiting for him to drop them.

Sam came up quickly behind her and wrapped his arm around her midsection, holding the knife to her chest. "Hi, Amy."

She stiffened, then started to turn. He relaxed his hold enough to let her move just enough to be able to see him in the darkness before he pressed the knife to her chest again, a warning. "Sam, wow," she breathed.

"Yeah."

"I just…" She chuckled a little. "Never thought I'd see you again. What are you doing here?"

"I think you know."

Amy swallowed hard. "So, you got tall, huh?" she said weakly. Chrys chuckled.

"Small talk?" Sam snapped, in no mood for either of them. "Really? Let's take a walk."

"Sam-"

"Walk."

They went back down the path to the Impala, Chrys watching their backs and scanning the perimeter as Sam dealt with the piece of personal history in his arms. "So," he started, "Same pattern, same victim pool… Just like when we were kids."

"Sam," Chrys protested. "Is this the kind of conversation we should be having in the woods?"

"Listen," Amy insisted. "It's not what… Look, I'm not… I've had the same job for the last six years. I have a house, two cats, a mortgage. I have a normal life!"

"You call this normal?"

"Sam, what I am? I'm managing it."

Chrys snorted behind them. "Yeah, the three dead bodies this week looks a lot like managing it."

"It's not like that!" Amy protested. "I'm… I'm not just some murderer. I had to."

"Why?" Sam was desperate to understand, to have a reason.

"I can't tell you. I just… I need you to believe me."

"Ha, yeah, no," Chrys said firmly. She had a gun pointed at Amy, and though it wouldn't kill the kitsune, it would hurt like hell. "You're gonna take us to this 'reason,' and we might come to an understanding." She smiled tightly at the disbelief on Amy's face. "Yeah, see, I can be reasonable, but you're gonna have to have a good goddamn reason for killing three humans, lady."

Amy swallowed hard. Her eyes flicked from Sam to Chrys several times before she nodded once. "Okay, yeah. Come with me, then."


Chrys was staring in disbelief into a child's bedroom. Amy's kid was sleeping soundly, one skinny arm tossed across the bed.

"This is Jacob," the kitsune said softly. "My son. I've built a life here, you guys. I mean, I'm in the PTA for god's sake. I'm boring."

"You're still feeding," Sam insisted quietly, as not to wake the child.

It sounded like he was protesting, prodding, like he wanted her to be guilty, but Chrys knew better. Sam was being thorough, he wanted to make one hundred percent sure that the person who had been so significant for him as a child wasn't a murderer.

"On the dead," Amy said, a little exasperated, much to Chrys' amusement. "I'm a mortician. I know, not sexy, but, you know, health benefits. I quietly take what Jacob and I need. No one gets hurt. But it can be risky, feeding like that, especially for a kid." She looked back into the kid's room. "Jacob got sick. He was dying, and the only way to fight it off was-"

"Fresh meat?" Chrys guessed.

Amy nodded. "And it worked. After the last one, his fever broke."

"Amy-" Sam said, pained.

"It's over."

"You can't guarantee that."

"I give you my word," Amy whispered fiercely. "So how is spilling more blood gonna help anyone? You can still walk away from this. We all can. Sam… After what I did for you…"

Chrys rolled her eyes and finally slipped the knife she was holding back into the sheath she kept in the waistband of her jeans. "All right, look. As much as we want to let this go, you're still…" She heaved a sigh. "You're gonna have to leave. We won't chase you, but my brother-in-law will, and he won't stop once he thinks he's got you in his sights. I'm willing to bet he's already in town, so you have to go tonight. Wake the kid up, pack the necessities, and go. Got me?"

Amy was staring at her with wide but determined eyes. "Done."

Chrys turned to her soulmate, who was watching her with an unreadable look on his face. "Come on, Sammy. We've got a hunter to distract."


Chrys walked up to the motel before Sam. She dodged the blow coming easily, having known what Dean was going to do. She grabbed his wrist and yanked, throwing him off balance.

"Ow!"

"Shut it," she snapped. She released him, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared. "Was there a part of, 'I can handle this' that escaped you?"

He was rubbing his wrist and glaring right back. "You guys just took off! What was I supposed to do?"

"Have a little faith in us!"

Dean scowled. "Fine. Did you take care of the kitsune?"

"Yes." Chrys lied without hesitation, and she was sure that she didn't give anything away, but the damn Winchester knew her well enough to know, anyway.

"So you let her go? Goddammit, Chrys, this is why! This is why I couldn't trust-"

Chrys knew that kids were her weakness. She knew that parents taking care of their little ones would always be her kryptonite, that they would always cloud her judgement, make her less wary than she should be.

But fuck Dean for thinking she couldn't do her damn job.

She stepped forward and jabbed him in the chest with one finger. "Listen here," she hissed. "This is what's going to happen. You are going to go in there and talk to your brother like an adult. You two are going to work this out, like adults. And you are going to let the kitsune go, and trust that I know the difference between dangerous and not dangerous. And if I think, at any point, that that is not what's happening, my next victim is the Impala. Got me, Winchester?"

He paled at the threat. "You wouldn't lay a hand on my baby."

"Watch me."

He stared her down for a long time, but she held her ground. Eventually, he groaned. "You're the worst," he growled.

"Shut up and go talk to your brother."


That night, because she knew that Dean wouldn't leave well enough alone, she let the air out of Baby's tires before she went to sleep.


Late, late in the night, or early in the morning, she woke to the sounds of Dean cursing in the parking lot. She smiled, turned back to bury her face in Sam's chest, and went back to sleep.


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