Well, I don't know your secrets
 I'm no visionary
 Yeah, I don't know your story, but I like what I see
 So, tell me what you've been missing
 I'll do anything to get you ticking
 And you might be the answer to the sinner in me

It's automatic
 You know, I just gotta have it
 I'll make your body a habit
 You know there's some kind of magic
 …

In my civilization
 You're the King and the Queen
 I'm praying at your altar, if you know what I mean
 Yeah, everything I've been missing
 You've been serving up in your kitchen
 No, I'm not even superstitious
 But I'm feeling you're something vicious
 …

Do you want a long night?
 Do you wanna be mine?
 Do you wanna go once, go twice?

Do you wanna, do you wanna
 Own my mind, own my mind?
 Do you wanna know what the good, good bad things all feel like?
 Do you wanna, do you wanna
 Own my mind, own my mind?


Måneskin — Own My Mind

A long breeze funneled through the open windows, fluttering the edges of the map sprawled across my lap. Holding it as still as possible, I dragged a finger across road lines as Dean spoke. "All right, I figure we'd hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight," he said, pulling into a near-empty gas station and glancing back at me to confirm.

I pushed a few strands of hair misplaced by the wind behind my ear. "Yeah, sounds good."

Dean turned his attention to Sam, who still hadn't answered. His eyes were glued to his phone. "Sam wears women's underwear," Dean taunted. I snorted, folding the map and tucking it into the duffel bag beside me.

"I've been listening," Sam claimed, still not looking up. "I'm just busy."

"Busy doing what?" Dean tried to catch a glimpse of the green screen, but Sam quickly pulled it back, holding the device to his chest.

"Reading e-mails."

"Ooh," Dean teased, shooting me a playful glance before getting out of the car. "Emails from who?" he asked, rounding the back of the Impala.

"From my friends at Stanford."

"You're kidding." Dean put the pump in the tank and leaned against the back side of the car while it filled. "You still keep in touch with your college buddies?"

Sam finally tore his eyes off the phone. "Why not?" he asked defensively and looked back at me. "What, is that so bad?"

I leaned forward onto the top of the front seat, trying to figure out how to put what I felt into words. Even though taking the chance to get people involved in this life is a big risk, I understood Sam's need for companionship outside of us. Sometimes, I wished I had someone I could confide in who wasn't either one of the boys. But, ultimately, the danger involved wasn't worth it.

"It's not that bad," I decided. Dean scoffed. I reached through the open window and smacked him, ignoring his dramatic ow. "I'm sure they ask about where you've been, though, and what you've been doing. What do you tell them?"

"I tell them I'm on a road trip with my family," Sam shrugged simply, "I tell them I needed some time off after Jess."

"Ooh," Dean elongated the word wryly, "so you lie to them."

"No. I just don't tell them everything."

"Yeah, that's called lying." Dean looked over the mountains in the distance and pushed his hands into his pockets. "I mean, hey, man, I get it; telling the truth is far worse."

"So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?" Sam asked incredulously. Dean shrugged in response. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can't really get close to people—period," Dean said indifferently.

"Hey," I huffed and folded my arms. I knew what he meant, but it was always nice to make him sweat a little.

"I meant people you didn't grow up with, people who don't have that connection—outside people!" Dean clarified defensively. "The ones who don't get the life."

Sam returned to his emails, mumbling, "You're kind of anti-social, you know that?"

"Yeah. Whatever," Dean grumbled. Surprisingly, a few moments of silence encapsulated us. I leaned back and closed my eyes, happily letting the little sun strobing through the window seep into my skin. I loved the boys. I did. But lately, if they weren't talking, they were bickering. The only time I got any quiet was when I slept, and with my nightmares, it was anything but peaceful.

The leather seat squeaked under Sam as he shifted. "God…"

There go my five minutes of quiet. I sighed, slowly cracking open my eyes. "What happened?"

"This e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine–"

"Is she hot?" Dean interrupted, peering into the passenger window. Noticing my annoyance, he scooted away before I could smack him again, laughing triumphantly because he was out of my reach. I swiftly opened the door, catching him with the edge of it, propelling a surprised grunt from him.

I grinned and slung an arm over the front seat. "So, what happened?" I asked Sam again.

"I went to school with her and her brother, Zack," he continued, totally unfazed by mine and Dean's antics. "She says Zack's been charged with murder. He's been arrested for killing his girlfriend." I shared a wide-eyed look with Dean. Murder? Our secret wasn't looking so bad anymore. "Rebecca says he didn't do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case."

Over Sam's shoulder, I could see the email. I probably shouldn't read it… but once I started, it was too late to stop. According to Rebecca, the cops had her brother's fingerprints and DNA at the crime scene. "Whoa." I leaned back. That's a pretty dark thing to happen to such normal people. "That's uh–"

"Fucked up," Dean finished abruptly, verbalizing my thoughts. "Dude, what kind of people are you hanging out with?"

"No, man." Sam shook his head adamantly. "I know Zack. He's no killer."

"Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you."

"They're in St. Louis. We're going."

Dean chuckled humourlessly. "Look, sorry about your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem."

"It is our problem. They're my friends."

"I know you want to try and help them, but I don't even see how we could," I said. "I mean, it's a legit murder case."

"She wouldn't have told me if she didn't need someone," Sam said.

"St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam," Dean argued. For a brief moment, there was a stare-down between the two until Dean broke it to look at me for help.

"It's just to see Rebecaa, right?" I checked. "We're not getting involved with anything."

"No, Tori," Sam insisted. "I just wanna be there for her."

Although I wanted to, I was unable to find a valid reason to decline his incessantness. "We can drop by," I said, raising a hand before Sam got too giddy. "But only for a little bit, okay? The longer we stay, the more you risk things coming out."

"Okay." Sam nodded. Dean grumbled to himself and stomped to the back of the Impala, pulling the pump from the tank.

Combining the full tank of gas and Dean's led foot, we arrived in St. Louis in five hours. The substantial two-story home Sam instructed us to was beautiful, painted pristine white with tan trim around the doors and windows—a large door with intricate frosted glass led inside. When the Impala slowed to a stop, Sam all but leaped from the vehicle, bounding up the front steps with ease.

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Dean asked.

"'Cause Sam wouldn't shut up about it if we didn't," I said, half-joking, half-serious.

I got out and waited for Dean so we could go up the cobblestone walkway together. Sam had already rang the doorbell and was waiting eagerly. A pretty, petite blonde answered. Her smile doubled in size when she laid eyes on Sam. "Oh, my god!"

"Well, if it isn't Little Becky," Sam quipped playfully. He was more animated with her than I'd seen him in years, and it forced me to wonder how much our lifestyle had taken from him. Of course, I always knew it to be a lot, but seeing the difference directly in front of me was jarring.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "You know what you can do with that little Becky crap," she teased, pulling him in for a tight hug.

"I got your e-mail," Sam said as they parted.

"I didn't think that you would come here."

Tired of being in the background of this conversation, Dean stepped forward, extending his hand with a smirk. "Dean. Older brother."

She smiled and shook his hand. "Hi."

"Hi."

Unable to stop my eyes from rolling, I climbed the steps to push him aside with an apologetic smile aimed at Rebecca. "I'm Tori."

"Oh!" Her eyes lit with recognition. "Hi!"

"Listen, we're here to help," Sam told her. "Whatever we can do."

Rebecca sobered up and stepped aside so we could follow her into the well-decorated, ample foyer. On either side of the door were two cut-outs in the wall, each filled by an empty vase. A fluffy rug ran from the entrance to the large, curved staircase that led to the second floor, its hall overlooking the foyer. It was, in a word, ostentatious. "Nice place," Dean commented, shutting the door behind us.

"It's my parents," Rebecca explained. "I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I'm gonna stay until Zack's free."

"Where are your folks?" Sam asked.

"They live in Paris for half the year, so they're on their way home now for the trial." Rebecca disappeared into a large kitchen with Sam in tow.

Even though they were out of earshot, Dean still leaned down to speak quietly. "They live in Paris?" he questioned, slightly resentful.

I put on a snooty voice. "Only for half the year."

Dean chuckled. "They're loaded," he observed, looking around at the overly-decorated space.

"Well, not just anybody gets into Stanford. You're either genius or rich."

"Guess we know which one Sam was, huh?"

"Guess so."

We headed for the equally large kitchen, entering on the tail end of Sam and Rebecca's light-hearted reminiscing. "I thought you guys got lost," she joked.

"Sorry," I apologized. "We were just taking a minute."

Rebecca nodded, having no issue with it. "Do any of you want a beer or something?"

A small grin crossed Dean's lips. "Sure–"

"No thanks," Sam interjected quickly, perching atop one of the four stools in front of the island. "So, tell us what happened."

"Well, um… Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn't breathing." Rebecca paused, tears forming in her eyes. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "So, he called 911, and the police—they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could've killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time."

I tilted my head. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the police—they have a video. It's from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at ten-thirty. Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight."

"You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack's house," Sam suggested with a shrug. I whipped my head in his direction. This was the exact opposite of what he promised.

"We could... ?" Dean trailed off.

"Why? I mean, what could you do?" Rebecca asked.

"Well, me or Tori," Sam waved a hand between us, "not much." I chewed on my top lip. Something stupid was about to come out of his mouth; I could feel it in my bones. "But Dean's a cop."

There it is.

"Detective, actually." Dean's proud declaration floored me. I tried to hide my agitated shock from seeping onto my face. Why I was even surprised at this point, I'd never know. Either way, I'm sure I looked constipated.

Thankfully, Rebecca's impressed eyes remained on Dean. "Really? Where?"

"Bisbee, Arizona," he lied briskly. I held my breath and counted a few beats before releasing it. "But I'm off-duty now."

She appeared hesitant, and I prayed she'd say no. "You guys, it's so nice to offer, but I just– I don't know."

It seemed I'd have to push her in the right direction. "We're a long way from Bisbee. It could get messy—legally speaking," I said. Rebecca nodded in agreement, and Sam pressed his lips together in frustration. "You know, we'd love to help, but–"

"It's no big deal," Sam insisted, standing from the stool. "Bec, look, I know Zack didn't do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he's innocent."

Rebecca thought it over for a moment before pushing away from the counter. "Okay. I'm gonna go get the keys."

Dean waited until she left to wrack his brother's arm. "Oh, yeah, man, you're a real straight shooter with your friends."

"He's innocent," Sam argued.

"Yeah, well, now you're not," I said pointedly. "You're lying to her."

Sam tossed his arms out to the side. "Apparently, I have been this whole time."

"This is different, and you know it. You said you'd be there for her, not doing whatever this is."

Dean agreed with a nod. "Exactly."

"Oh, please. You made it worse."

Somehow, he had the audacity to look shocked. "How?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Detective?"

"Yeah, well." Dean licked his bottom lip, unable to come up with a retort. "It sounded better in my head."

"Yeah, well, it probably should've stayed there."

"Look," Sam interrupted, palms flat on the marble countertop. "Zack and Becky need our help."

Dean sighed. "Man, I just don't think this is our kind of problem."

"Zack was in two places at once," Sam stated incredulously. "We've looked into less."

"We have, Sam, but this is not the same thing," I said.

"Why? Because it's a friend of mine?"

"You know that's got nothing to do with it."

"Then what does it have to do with?" he challenged. It had to do with his life, his past. Being careless in our line of work could cause catastrophe. I didn't fear Rebecca discovering what we did; I feared her getting hurt. Badly. Sam couldn't handle it if something happened to another person he cared about. However, if that wasn't already in his head, I didn't want to put it there. Sam raised an eyebrow, silently pushing for my answer. I kept my mouth shut.

Fortunately, Rebecca reentered the kitchen, ready to take us to the crime scene. With her direction, we arrived at a sizeable townhouse with a small, private gate entryway. Neighbors walked down the busy sidewalk, passing the bright yellow crime-scene tape draped across the gate with little care. The same tape lined the front door, doing little to deter people who didn't belong there—namely, us. "You're sure this is okay?" Rebecca asked Dean as we piled out of the car. His eyes darted to me for confirmation over the top of the Impala. It happened so fast; there's no way Rebecca caught it or the shake of my head that warned him against it. There were far too many people here, too many witnesses.

Dean hesitated before finally saying, "Yeah. I am an officer of the law."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

Leaving Rebecca on the porch, the boys and I entered the home, ducking under the crime scene tape on the door. The place was a wreck; furniture was completely turned over and broken, littering the hardwood floor. Bloody handprints stained the white door and wall surrounding the entryway. A bowl of fruit was tipped over on the coffee table; its contents spilled across a newspaper and a deck of cards. All covered with droplets of blood. Bright red smears marred the walls, standing out like a sore thumb against their creme color. And in the center of it, all was a broken dining chair still knotted with bloody rope. It was safe to assume that was the chair Emily was tied to.

Sam turned back to Rebecca, who remained outside, arms wrapped around herself like a scared child. "You might want to stay out here," he said.

"No," Rebecca ducked underneath the crime scene tape, "I wanna help."

"So what exactly did the police say?"

"Well, there's no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers, they're already talking about a plea bargain…" she trailed off suddenly. Honestly, she held it together longer than I thought. The rest of her resolve crumbled when she saw the chair and took in the sheer amount of blood covering the room. "Oh, God."

In the kitchen, Dean pulled a bandana from his pack pocket, wrapping it around his hand as a glove so he could pick up a knife with blood on the tip—more of Emily's blood, no doubt. I made my way over, unable to miss the photo on the refrigerator of Rebecca, Zack, and Sam smiling brightly at the camera. Although I had to admit, Zack didn't look the type to do this; looks can be deceiving. "This is bad," I said, keeping my voice low.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Dean put the knife back down and stuffed the bandana into his jacket. "The bastard bled this girl dry."

I folded my arms to keep my hands from brushing against the cabinets. "Kind of seems like Rebecca is fighting a losing battle."

Dean flashed an eyebrow in agreement. "Seems like."

"So, what are we still doing here?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to come."

Before I could get a response through my pursed lips, Sam's voice called my attention back to his hushed conversation with Rebecca. "Look, Bec, if Zack didn't do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?"

She wiped away stray tears and took a breath before answering. "There was something about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes—Zack's clothes. The police—they don't think it's anything. I mean, we're not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed."

Through all the noise outside on the busy city sidewalk, a dog's muffled barking caught my attention. It could be nothing—just a dog protecting its property from a passerby who got too close—or it could be cops responding to a call about some random people slipping into a crime scene. I walked briskly to the open door, peering outside. Thankfully, there were no cops. Nobody had even stopped on the sidewalk. Still, in the neighbor's yard, a medium-sized black dog barked fervently at the gate separating the two properties. He seemed in distress, tail tucked between his legs and teeth bared. Unless I had missed something, I couldn't see why he was suddenly so upset.

"You know, that used to be the sweetest dog," Rebecca informed, walking up behind me.

"What happened to him?" I asked.

"He just changed."

Dean wandered over. "Do you remember when he changed?" he asked, watching the dog skeptically.

"I guess around the time of the murder," she said. Dogs were like kids—highly influenced by their surroundings. He wouldn't have changed unless something gave him reason to; something traumatic. Rebecca left us, careful not to step in any blood on her way to Sam, who was staring sadly at that photograph on the refrigerator.

"So, the neighbor's dog went psycho right around the time Zack's girlfriend was killed," Dean said.

I sighed. "Sometimes animals can sense things."

"Yeah, maybe Fido saw something."

"Yeah, but what kind of something?"

"That is the question." Dean shifted his weight into his left foot and crossed his arms. "We should probably look at the security tape," he said with an air of dominance. For someone who detested authority figures so much, he was awfully good at acting like one. It sparked something within the depths of my body.

I bit my lip. "Whatever you say, Detective."

The corner of his lips pulled into a lopsided smirk. "That's kinda hot."

"Is it?" I smiled knowingly. Rebecca neared with Sam close behind. I patted Dean's chest. "Save it for later."

He nodded, albeit reluctantly, and turned to face Rebecca. "So, the tape—the security footage—you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it? 'Cause I just don't have that kind of jurisdiction."

"I've already got it," Rebecca admitted, winging her hands. "I stole it off the lawyer's desk. I didn't wanna say something in front of the cop."

"Oh, yeah," I nodded. "That would make sense." If you were in front of a cop.

"I just had to see it for myself."

Dean laughed appreciatively. "All right," he nodded. "Let's go check it out."

Back at the Warren's home, Rebecca queued up the surveillance footage. We gathered around the TV. Rebecca and I sat on the couch while Sam stood with the remote and Dean perched on the armrest beside me. Four cameras were operating that night, but only two captured a dark-haired man approaching the townhouse, striding easily toward the door. "22:04," Dean read the timestamp at the bottom of the screen. "That's just after ten. You said time of death was about ten-thirty, right?" he asked Rebecca.

"Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape's authentic. It wasn't tampered with." Rebecca sighed, draping her arms over her legs. The top left video, while grainy, was a relatively good shot of Zack's face. There was no doubt it was him. And if it weren't messed with, and Rebecca was telling the truth about him being here with her during the time this was captured, then it was probably for the best that we came when we did.

"Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?" Sam asked out of the blue.

"Yeah." She got up. "Sure."

He smiled sheepishly. "Maybe some sandwiches, too?"

"What do you think this is, Hooters?" Rebecca laughed and left the room.

"I wish," Dean mumbled. "What?" he asked when he caught my sour look. "You in those little shorts?" Dean let out a breathy whistle. I looked away, fighting off a smile.

"Check this out." Sam rewound the tape just before Zack came into view, moving frame by frame. When Zack raised his head toward the camera, his irises flashed silver. It was fast, but it was there.

All amusement fell from my face, and I straightened up. "That's… not normal."

"Well, maybe it's just a camera flare," Dean suggested.

I loosely folded my arms. "One hell of a camera flare."

"You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul," Sam said.

"No reason why a video wouldn't work the same way."

"Exactly. Remember that dog that was freaking out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack's, something that looks like him but isn't him."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Like a Doppelganger," he said.

"It'd sure explain how he was two places at once."

"So, we've got your friend's evil twin running around ruining his life? That's gonna be easy to fix," I mumbled sarcastically.

"We gotta do something," Sam said forcibly. I was worried about this—the panic that came when his hunting life and his normal life inevitably crashed. This was why it had to be so black and white. As a hunter, the more people you had, the more you risked losing. When Rebecca returned with four beers, Sam's intensity dropped so suddenly that it gave me whiplash. She noticed nothing off with him and handed us our drinks, suggesting we get takeout. By the time we left, it was already after midnight. Sam decided to stay so he and Rebecca could continue to catch up. However, I sensed that a big part of it was his obligation to keep her safe. Dean and I got some alone time out of it, so I didn't mind.

"Maybe if he gets some, he'll calm down," Dean said, slinging his bag over his shoulder as we exited the Impala parked at the nearest motel.

I rolled my eyes, flicking on the room's light. "They're friends, Dean."

He lifted an incredulous eyebrow. "Little Becky?"

"Friends have nicknames for each other all the time," I said, and he pursed his lips disbelievingly.

"Sure."

"You gotta stop that." I dropped my bag onto the floor beside the bed.

"Stop what?" he feigned innocence, shoulders curling up like a child caught red-handed.

"Stop trying to force him into… things. He'll do what he wants when he's ready."

"I'm not trying to force him–"

"Dean."

"Is it so bad I want the little nerd to be happy?"

"You got a weird way of showing it," I joked.

"It's totally normal," Dean scoffed sarcastically and plopped his bag on the table. I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands settled on my hips.

"Maybe we need to stop thinking so much about Sam right now," I murmured, playing with the short hair at the back of his head. "What do you say, Detective?"

Dean's eyes darkened. "You know," he squeezed my hips, "I think you're onto something."

My lashes hung heavily over tired eyes that never seemed to clear, no matter how many times I blinked. I yawned and sipped my coffee, desperately trying to wake up. It didn't work. The only reason I remained upright was that I was leaning against Dean. Dean's heart beat steady and strong beneath my ear. If I weren't careful, I'd probably fall asleep again, and if he moved, I'd be on the pavement in two seconds flat. Exhausted didn't seem to cover it. Over the past seven days, I'd slept maybe a total of two, partly because I didn't want to sleep, fearful of my nightmares. And somewhat because if I did sleep, they would wake me up anyway. No matter how often I washed my hands in scalding hot water, I couldn't rid them of that sheen of phantom blood. Since I was young, they hadn't been in such bad shape—dry and cracked.

At least last night wasn't spent aimlessly staring up at the ceiling. I had something much better to occupy my time. Then, this morning, when I finally drifted off to sleep, only to be woken ten minutes later by incessant phone calls to both mine and Dean's phones—needless to say, I was a bit cranky.

"What are we doing here at five-thirty in the morning?" Dean asked Sam, who refused to tell us more than 'I have a hunch' after we picked him up from Rebecca's.

"I realized something." Sam crossed the street to inspect the alley behind Zack's townhouse. "The videotape shows the killer going in but not coming out."

"So, he came out the back door?"

"Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue."

"Cause they think the killer never left. And they caught your friend Zack inside," he said. Sam looked hopeful until Dean grumbled, "I still don't know what we're doing here at five-thirty in the morning."

"Me either." I yawned again and tightened my grip on Dean. "I was so comfortable..."

Sam sharply exhaled and pointed at a telephone pole on his side of the street. "Blood. Somebody came this way."

"But the trail ends. I don't see anything over here." Dean gestured to the vast space on our side. Loud sirens blasted in the distance, an ambulance speeding between Sam and us. They disappeared around the corner. We couldn't allow that to go by without finding the reason and hopped back into the Impala to chase after the unit. It wasn't long before they stopped in front of a large apartment building. A crowd had already begun to form, all clamoring over the spectacle. Finally, two cops led a befuddled, handcuffed man out to one of their cruisers, shoving him into the backseat.

"What happened?" Dean asked a woman standing nearby.

"He tried to kill his wife," she replied tightly. "Tied her up and beat her. I used to see him going to work in the morning. He'd wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy."

Sure, this man could be your run-of-the-mill dirtbag, but could we really ignore the shocking similarities between this and what happened to Zack? Of course not. So, we lurked until most of the cops cleared, and we could snoop without worrying about getting caught. While I inspected the structure's other side, Sam sorted through two trash cans in the alleyway beside the apartment. There was nothing to note where I was besides some shrubs in desperate need of water.

"Anything?" Sam asked as I approached.

"Nope," I said. "You?"

"Well–"

"Hey," Dean called, walking toward us from the other end of the street. "Remember when we said this wasn't our kind of problem?" he asked me, and I nodded. "Definitely our kind of problem."

"Yeah, I gathered," I sighed, resting my hands on my hips. "What'd you find?"

"Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene; he heard this guy, Alex's story. Apparently, the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked."

Sam's eyes darted between Dean and me as if to say I told you so. "So, he was two places at once."

"Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house; police think he's a nutjob."

"Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way."

"Could be the same thing doing it, too."

I went through the list in my brain of possible creatures that could fit the bill—something that could change its appearance at will and turn into anyone. "A shapeshifter."

Dean nodded. "Every culture in the world has shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men."

"Right." Sam ticked off a few, "Skinwalkers, werewolves."

"We've got two attacks within blocks of each other. I'm guessing we've got a shapeshifter prowling the neighborhood."

"Not just any run-of-the-mill shifter," I pointed out. "A homicidal maniac shifter."

Dean raised a challenging eyebrow. "You know any other kind?"

"No, but shifting into these women's partners before killing them? That's a new level of messed up."

"Let me ask you this–" Sam raised a finger. "In all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?"

"Fly?" I repeated in question and shook my head. "Not that I know of."

"I just picked up a trail here." He pointed to the alley. "Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way."

"Just like your friend's house," Dean observed.

"Yeah. And, just like at Zack's house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared."

"Well, there's another way to go—down."

I followed Dean's line of sight to a maintenance hole and slumped. "Of course."

In a surprisingly short amount of time, we removed the cast iron cover and pulled it aside. I expected it to be much more challenging—secured with cement or rust. However, the ease it came off with only confirmed Dean's suspicions. It was because someone—or something—was down here recently. Just before entering, Dean eyed me. "You wanna sit this one out?"

"Yes," I answered honestly and bit the inside of my cheek. "But I'm not going to."

Dean took it upon himself to lower into the sewer first. Placing my boots on the second rung, I filled my lungs with fresh air, knowing it'd be my last for the next few minutes, and climbed down. In the depths, the brick walls had light fixtures stationed every few feet, illuminating the two inches of grime caked on. Water dripped from pipes lining the top of the sewer, landing into green-tinted puddles on the ground. But the worst was the smell; it was thick and hard to choke down—like rotten eggs mixed with manure.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding." I covered my nose with the sleeve of my jacket to shield myself from the odor, at least somewhat. Dean broke away from us, venturing further down one of the two sewer shafts.

Sam looked around with disdain. "I bet this runs right by Zack's house, too," he said. "The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around."

"I think you're right," Dean echoed down the brick hallway. I was careful not to step in any puddles and approached him. "Look at this." He crouched before something I couldn't see until I peered over his shoulder and saw a bloody pile of goo.

I sneered. "What is that?"

"Is it from his victims?" Sam asked, bending down beside his brother. I stayed where I was, not wanting to get anywhere near… it. Pulling out his pocketknife, Dean flicked it open and used it to pick up some grotesque goop. It stretched, sticking to the blade without letting go of the brick below it. My stomach did a somersault.

"You know, I just had a sick thought," Dean mumbled. "When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds."

"That is sick," Sam agreed, nose scrunched.

Dean let the sludge fall back to the ground with a wet plop. I groaned and turned away. "Maybe we should get out of here before it comes back," I suggested through a tight throat.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Dean said. "Plus, if I keep lookin' at this, I'm gonna hurl."

Never in a million years did I think I'd be grateful for the stale smell of an alleyway, but here I was, breathing in the air deeply to rid my lungs of that sewer stench. These clothes will need to be washed a few times before the smell vacates—if they can be saved at all.

"Well, one thing I learned from Dad is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there's one sure way to kill it," Dean prompted, opening the trunk of the Impala.

"Silver bullet to the heart," Sam replied quickly.

Dean smiled proudly. "That's right," he said. I leaned against the bumper, watching him sort through the arsenal for said bullets.

Sam's phone rang, and he answered without looking at the caller ID. "This is Sam."

"Where are you? " a female voice came loudly through the receiver. Dean paused his search, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged, not recognizing who it belonged to.

"We're near Zack's," Sam replied, taking a few steps away for privacy. "We're just checking some things out."

"You think something happened with Rebecca?" Dean wondered, leaning around the hood to watch his brother.

"Probably." I pulled Dean back. "Let him have a minute."

Dean shrugged and finally retrieved the silver bullets, starting to load my gun.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his voice as tense as his posture. Rebecca replied, and he scoffed. "Why would you do that? Bec, we were trying to help."

"Uh-oh," Dean mumbled, giving me my gun before getting to work loading his, then Sam's. I tucked it into my jeans' waist before any passerby could see.

"I'm sorry–" Sam apologized. He leaned on the front of the Impala, staring at his blank phone screen.

While Dean closed up the arsenal and trunk, I made my way over to Sam. "Everything okay?" I asked gently.

"She, uh– she told the lawyers we went to the scene. They got suspicious and checked you out," Sam gestured to Dean, "so she knows it was a lie. And she probably hates me now."

Denying his claims to be nothing but a bald-faced lie. We didn't need any more of those slung around tonight. So, instead, I rubbed his arm comfortingly and apologized for the situation he found himself in. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I'm talking about," Dean said. "You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked. It's just– it'd be easier if–"

"If I was like you," Sam finished, sounding disappointed.

"Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people. But I'll tell you one thing. This whole gig–" Dean smiled and handed Sam his gun, "It ain't without its perks."

Returning to the sewers was the last possible thing I wanted to do today—or ever—but it was necessary. We had no idea when this thing could strike next or who it would go for, so we had to get the jump on it. Keeping between the boys on the thin stretch of brick and concrete beside the trenches of water pouring from the pipes above, I clutched my flashlight and gun tighter than ever out of sheer irritation with this ordeal.

"I think we're close to its lair," Dean announced from the back of our line.

Sam stopped his stride and looked at him in confusion. "Why do you say that?"

"Because there's another puke-inducing pile next to your face," he replied calmly, shining his flashlight on the wet, folded skin and straggly pieces of hair draped over the rusted pipe beside his brother's head. Sam jumped back, letting out an exclamation of disgust. I pushed him forward to move past it, and we continued down the tunnel. Nearing a more significant portion of the sewer network, flickering cables lit the crumpled sleeping bag and crunched up newspaper on the ground somberly. If this shifter weren't a psychotic murderer, I'd even feel bad for them. This was no way for anyone to live.

Dean stopped at my side and commented on the state of the makeshift room. "Looks like it's been here for a while."

"Who knows how many murders he's gotten anyway with?" Sam wondered.

"I'm not sure I want to know," I said, breaking away from the boys to inspect the rest of the lair. No more than five seconds had passed before Sam's startled shout of his brother's name made me whip around. The shifter stood behind Dean in the form of the man who got arrested this morning. He swung, knocking Dean to the ground with one punch. Sam attempted to shoot but missed as the shifter fled. Unfortunately, I was too far away to try and take a shot.

"Get the son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed, clutching his arm in a considerable amount of pain. Sam hesitated to go as I rushed to them.

"I got him," I reassured, crouching down beside Dean while Sam hurried down the sewer after the shifter. "What is it, your shoulder?" I barely touched his upper arm, and he jerked away. "Is anything broken?"

"I don't think so."

Fortunately, it only seemed to be his left shoulder that was hurt. And even that was minimal, so he could use his good arm to support most of his weight while I helped steady him on his feet. It wasn't long before we met back up with Sam nearing the sewer's exit. The cover was ajar. It was both good and bad. Good, because it told us The Shifter was no longer in the sewers. Bad, because The Shifter was no longer in the sewers. He could be anybody, anywhere. Dusk had come and gone, and there were still quite a lot of people mulling through the city. Far too many to be able to tell who the Shifter was.

"Let's split up," Sam suggested.

"No way," I argued. "That thing took Dean down with one punch. It's strong. We should stick together."

"We'll find him faster."

"On foot? We don't even know what we're looking for."

"Here. Take the car." Dean tossed the keys to me. "We'll meet back here in an hour."

"You're hurt; why don't you take it?" I said. The look on his face told me everything. He'd have more peace of mind with me in the safety of the Impala. "All right," I relented, reaching for his unhurt arm. "Be careful."

"Always am." He winked.

"You too," I told Sam, who nodded. As much as I wanted to argue, there was no point. Dean made up his mind. I took comfort in the idea that The Shifter was probably attempting to hide, knowing three hunters were after him. I reached up on my tip-toes to kiss him. Dean held me tight to him, silently asking me to be careful as well. I nodded as we parted, letting him know I understood.

With the number of people still around, I had no idea what or who to look for. I had no clue how quickly the Shifter could change; it could be anybody. I kept my gun at the ready. Anyone who so much as glanced my way, I wondered if it was them. What if I shot the wrong person? Luckily, I didn't have to dwell on it for long when I reached the car. Looking over my shoulder one last time, I slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine.

-SPOV-

After my third trip around the same four buildings and coming up empty, I decided to head back toward our designated meet-up spot. My phone buzzed. It was Tori, so I answered quickly. "Hey, any luck?"

"No, nothing," she replied.

"Hey!" Dean called a few feet behind me, so I stopped to wait for him.

"Is he okay? " Tori asked.

I gave him a quick once over, noticing he wasn't favoring his injured arm as much as before. "Yeah, he's fine," I said.

"You know, Sam, I was thinking… The Shifter went after Zack, probably just by chance, but with us involved… do you think he might go after Rebecca? "

My heart dropped. "Do you think?"

"I don't know. I was gonna head over there and check on her; do you want me to get you guys first? "

"No," I answered quickly, fear taking over. Ensuring Bec was okay took priority. We'd be fine making the relatively short walk to her house. "No. Dean and I will be fine. Go make sure she's okay."

"Okay. Please, be careful. "

"You too." Once the call ended, it hit me how naive I'd been. On top of Rebecca hating me for lying, I put her in danger. How could I not have seen that before?

"What was that about?" Dean asked when he was close enough.

"Tori's gonna go check on Bec," I explained. He furrowed his brow, confused.

"Why?"

"She thinks the shifter might go after her."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because of us. You know, get rid of as many witnesses as possible."

"Right." Dean nodded. "Then I'm guessing you didn't find him."

"No." I tucked my gun back into the waist of my jeans. There was no use keeping it out when I didn't need it. "He's gone."

"Yeah, I came up empty, too. Well, we should probably head over to Rebecca's."

"Probably," I agreed and started walking again. A car passed after I crossed the street, momentarily separating Dean and me. "You think he found another way underground?" I asked when he caught up again, walking briskly to keep stride with me.

"Yeah, probably," he replied a little too calmly. His arms swung freely at his side. Alarm bells went off in the back of my mind. I hadn't thought much of it before, but it was strange, considering how much pain he seemed to be in not even an hour ago.

"Hey, didn't Dad face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?" The answer was no. He never did, and I knew that. Dean knew it, too.

"Oh, that was Austin," he corrected. "And it turned out not to be a shapeshifter; it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?"

"Oh, right," I replied. He was right, but something was still seriously wrong. "Hey, you know what I missed most about you while I was away at college?"

"What?"

"Doing this." In one fell swoop, I picked up the nearest pinecone and threw it at him as hard as possible, like I always used to when I was a bored kid who wanted to get on his big brother's nerves. As I suspected, Dean caught it in his left hand with ease. I whipped out my gun. "Don't move! What have you done with my brother?"

"Dude, chill," he implored but held his hands up in surrender anyway, "it's me, all right?"

"No, I don't think so. Where's my brother?"

"You're about to shoot him. Sam, calm down."

"You caught it with your left. Your shoulder was hurt."

"Yeah, it's better. What do you want me to do, cry?" he asked sarcastically.

"You're not my brother."

"Why don't you pull the trigger, then?" he challenged. My eyes darted to the barrel of the gun. I hesitated more than I should've. "'Cause you're not sure. Dude, you know me." He stepped closer, and I stepped back.

"Don't," I warned, but he grabbed my gun and pushed it down in a second, connecting a fist to my temple. I saw a flash of white and then nothing else.

-TPOV-

Thankfully, the street was dimly lit, only illuminated by one or two lights. Rebecca's car was in the driveway, and her silhouette passed by the living room window occasionally. Other than her tense posture from all she'd endured over the past two weeks, she appeared fine. There was no sign of anyone else anywhere. I sat in front of the Warren's home with my heart firmly stationed in my throat and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I rechecked my watch. Over an hour had come and gone since I last spoke to Sam. Sure, there were two of them, and they knew what they were doing, but what if that Shifter got the jump on them? Who knows what could happen?

Deciding that if either of them didn't answer their phones this time, I would venture out to look for them, I flipped open my phone and called Sam.

-SPOV-

A faint, rhythmic vibration rumbled up my spine, fluttering my eyes open. Although it took a few blinks to adjust to the lack of light, I instantly recognized where I was from the smell alone: the sewers. Gaining consciousness, I registered that the burning on my neck was from a rope tied tightly around it. Another wrapped around my arms and torso, holding me to a large pipe. Wet footsteps echoed as the Shifter walked beside me, glaring through narrowed eyes.

"Where is he?" I demanded. "Where's Dean?"

"I wouldn't worry about him." He bent down to be at eye level with me. "I'd worry about you."

"Where is he?"

"You don't really wanna know," he chuckled darkly. "I swear, the more I learn about you and your family—I thought I came from a bad background."

"What do you mean, learn?"

The Shifter grimaced in pain, holding his head for a moment before reopening his eyes. "He's sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home with Dad. You don't think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?" He scoffed, pacing back and forth. "Something good came out of it, at least," he smiled lasciviously. "I got the girl. Me and Tori, we were having a good time, you know, before you showed up and ruined everything."

Even if he was tapping into Dean's head and all of it was how he really felt, it didn't matter to me right now. I was only concerned about one thing. "Where is my brother?" I demanded to know. He loomed over me, a pure hatred in his eyes I'd never seen from Dean before.

"I am your brother. See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I'm a freak. And sooner or later, everybody's gonna leave me."

"What are you talking about?" I asked biding time to inch my hands out of the ropes.

"You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothing, just poof. Left us with your sorry ass. And Tori? Well, I'm just waiting for the day she realizes she's too damn good for me. It'll happen sooner or later, but until then, this life? It's not without its perks. She's feisty. I'm gonna have a lot of fun with her."

My stomach twisted in on itself. "Don't touch her!" I gritted.

"Come on, Sammy. She won't know the difference." He winked and covered my head with a thick sheet. If I wanted to stand a chance at remaining conscious and alerting Tori before he reached her, I had to wait until his footsteps completely faded. It wasn't easy. But I did it.

-TPOV-

With no answer from either of them, I shoved the keys into the ignition, about to start the engine when a flash of blonde rounding the hedges lining the property caught my eye. Rebecca purposefully stomped toward the Impala. I sighed and tossed my phone on the seat beside me to roll down the window, allowing the full force of her anger to seep in as she came to a halt at the door. "So, what, you're spying on me now?"

"God, no," I asserted.

Rebecca scoffed and folded her arms. "Then why are you here?"

"Rebecca–"

"No." She held up a hand. "There's no excuse for this. Sam lied about everything, and now you're creeping around out here?" Rebecca backed up toward the driveway. "I'm gonna call the cops."

"Hold on." I hurried to get out of the car. "Just wait, okay? I'm not creeping. And, yes, Sam lied. But he did it to help you–"

"Yeah." She folded her arms again, probably partially to shield herself from the cold. "He said that."

"Look, you've been friends for a couple years now. That person you know—that's him. He cares about you, about Zack; that's why he did what he did. There's way more to this than some random person posing as your brother."

Rebecca's tight arms loosened. "What do you mean?"

I didn't know this girl. I shouldn't be the one to tell her our grizzly reality, but what other option was there? "You're gonna think I'm crazy."

"I already do. So…"

Doing this out in the open was less than ideal. Who knows who might be listening? "Can we talk inside?"

Rebecca debated it for a moment before nodding once. With our weighted silence, the walk inside felt like it took years. Once in the foyer, she shut and locked the door and turned to face me. "Go ahead."

There was no easy way to go about it, so I jumped straight into the deep end. "There are things out there that can take people's images; pretend to be them. That's what happened to Zack and Alex Shindoka."

"A serial killer monster?" She reached for the doorknob. "You can go."

"Explain to me how there's footage of Zack leaving that bar when he was with you the entire time. You can't," I said. Her hand slowly dropped back to her side. "No human can copy another person's appearance like that."

"Then what is it? This creature."

"A Shapeshifter."

"Right," she laughed.

"I'm sure you've watched that video over and over. You never saw his eyes flash silver?" I questioned. Although Rebecca fought to keep her expression neutral, her sardonic facade faded. She looked uneasy. "You said it yourself. That video wasn't tampered with, either."

"So, say this shapeshifter is real; how do you stop it?"

"Silver bullet to the heart."

My swift response made Rebecca's cynicism dissipate altogether. "You're right. You are crazy," she deflected, fear simmering in the depths of her eyes.

"Yeah, maybe I am. I'm still telling the truth."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Why would it come for me?"

"Honestly, I don't know if it would. But you're important to Sam, so I just wanted to make sure you were okay," I said. Her expression softened into one of hesitant appreciativeness. "You should give him a chance to explain himself."

Rebecca nodded contemplatively, but it was clear which side she was leaning toward; she would. I reached into my pocket for my phone and came up empty. I checked all the others, but still nothing. Then I remembered I chucked it into the passenger seat.

"Your phone?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You can borrow mine."

"No, it's okay." I slipped past her for the door. "I wanna see if they called."

"Are you–" Rebecca started, causing me to turn around. She looked weary, arms wrapped around herself tightly. "Are you gonna stay?"

"If you want me to, sure."

"I think so."

"Don't worry, everything's gonna be fine," I reassured and stepped out into the brisk night air.

Back at the Impala, I slid into the driver's seat and shut the door. There were still no new messages or missed calls. I chewed my bottom lip, debating whether or not to look for them. Finally, I decided yes. Even though Rebecca wanted me to stay, I was sure she'd be okay if she locked all the doors and hunkered down. I didn't even know if this thing wanted her, but better safe than sorry. A quick rap on the window beside me startled me out of my skin and made me drop the keys I was about to stick back into the ignition. My fear dissolved, but annoyance took its place when I saw Dean smiling at me through the glass. I held a hand over my thumping heart and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat as he entered, still favoring his left arm.

"You scared the shit out of me," I complained.

Dean chuckled, "Sorry."

"Does it still hurt?" I gestured to his shoulder after he settled in.

"A little." He shrugged it off and shut the door with his right hand.

"Where's Sam?"

"At the apartment," he replied. I raised an eyebrow in question. "Well, we figured one of us should stay behind in case the shifter came back."

"Why didn't you just call and tell me to head over?"

"Sam dropped his phone—broke it," Dean said with playful disdain. Sam normally wasn't clumsy, though these past few days have been tough. "And mine died." He pulled his phone from his pocket, flipped it open to show it was off, and tossed it onto the seat between us. "Sam told me where you were going, so I knew where you find you." Dean cleared his throat and nodded to the house. "How is she?"

"A little freaked. I kind of… told her about the Shifter," I admitted.

Dean's eyes widened and relaxed within the same second. It was an oddly quick movement. "You did?"

"She saw me and wanted to know why I was out here. Not to mention, that bastard posed as her brother and killed a girl, so I think she deserved to know the truth."

An emotion I didn't recognize flashed across his eyes, turning them a darker shade of green just before they snapped back to their normal hue. "You know, I've been thinking… maybe he's just misunderstood," he mumbled, teetering a thin line between joking and not.

"Yeah, so was Ted Bundy," I said sarcastically, letting him know in no uncertain terms I wasn't playing about this.

"I'm kidding, Tor." Dean smiled and bumped his knee into mine. "I mean, he deserves whatever he gets, right?"

"And more." To keep myself somewhat sane, I pushed the most prominent thought to the back of my mind. Deep down, I knew the truth. I had to be smart, though. "I'm gonna go tell Rebecca we'll be right back."

"Hold on." He slid closer and touched my arm to still my movements. "We have some time. We should take advantage of it."

"What about your shoulder?"

"Well, if you feel that bad about it, I wouldn't mind letting you do all the work." His words were reminiscent, but the cadence was all wrong. His voice was cold and calloused, like a solid block of ice that tumbled from his mouth and plonked between us.

"It's not really the time."

"Come on, Cherry Pie," he cooed, palm trailing over my thigh and closing between my legs as he kissed my neck. A chill ran down my spine and rippled across my skin when his lips grazed me. His proximity confirmed what I already knew; this wasn't Dean. I pushed him away and flung open the door. Before I could get out, he reached across me and slammed it shut. Knowing I couldn't access my gun, I snagged the knife off my belt loop and plunged it into his chest. It stunned him long enough that I could open the door again and stumbled onto the grass. An inhuman growl reverberated through him, and despite his injury, he grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me through the dirt. I went for my gun, but he got to it and chucked it back into the car. It didn't matter how many times I kicked; he still managed to hold me down with a knee on either side of my waist. Even with all the punches I landed, he bypassed my arms, wrapping his hands around my throat. I dug my nails into his wrists, and his skin gave way under my fingertips, but it didn't stop him. He only squeezed harder.

My lungs burned, and the heat traveled to my face, blurring my vision. Within my varying states of consciousness, rationality pulsed in and out. I might've forgotten if I didn't make it a point to sluggishly remind myself that this was the Shifter, not Dean. Still, I didn't release my grip. He lifted my head off the ground and slammed it into the compact soil. One second, I fought with all the strength I could muster and the next, my consciousness plunged into the dirt below.

-SPOV-

There was no way for me to know how much time had passed before I finally slipped that cover off my head. That was the easy part. Now, the hard part—getting these ropes off. Each time I thought I loosened the knot on one wrist, it only tightened the other. I cursed under my breath. How could I not loosen a damn knot? A cough echoed through the sewers, putting me on high alert.

"That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature," Dean said in a muffled voice.

I smiled, knowing it was really him this time. "Yeah, it's me. Dean, he looked just like you."

"Well, he's not stupid. He picked the handsome one," he quipped. I rolled my eyes, still struggling to get free. "Did he say where he was going?"

If he knew, he'd freak. But maybe that's what we needed. "He went after Tori."

Silence fell over the room, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. We were feet away from each other, but I felt the anger emitting from him. "That fucking bastard," he seethed. Another beat of silence passed before he spoke again. "She'll know."

"Yeah," I nodded even though he couldn't see, "but Dean, that's the thing. He didn't just look like you; he was you. Or he was becoming you."

Footsteps moved from one side of the room to the other as he approached me. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories." I nodded to my hands to the best of my ability.

Dean reached between the pipe and my back to undo the knots. "You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?"

"Yeah, something like that." When my wrists were free of their binds, the rope around my neck loosened, and I ducked out from it. "I mean, maybe that's why he doesn't just kill us."

"Maybe he needs to keep us alive." Dean helped me stand. "Psychic connection."

Being the second time we were in this exact spot, we easily found our way out of the sewer network and into the alleyway. "Look, Dean, if he went for her–" I started.

Worry crossed his face before he attempted to cover it with resolution. "She'll know what to do."

"Yeah, of course, she will," I agreed tentatively. Tori could take care of herself, there was no question about that. But The Shifter got the jump on all of us. He's smart and strong, and if he caught her off guard… she was right; we should've stayed together. I mentally berated myself for suggesting anything different. "We gotta find a phone; call the police."

"You're gonna put an APB out on me? Why don't I just go shoot the fucker?"

"Dean, he took our guns and…" I didn't want to set him off even further or worry him more, so I chose my subsequent words carefully. "We might not make it in time."

Dean's spine went rigid, and he spoke through a tight jaw. "Somebody fucking better."

"They will." At least, I hoped so. One advantage of being smack in the middle of the city was finding a pay phone quickly. So, following my anonymous tip about a suspicious figure breaking into Rebecca's, the operator promised they would get over there right away. Dean grew antsy and rocked slightly from side to side.

"What'd they say?" he asked. "Are they gonna go?"

"Yeah, right now." The confirmation had no calming effect on him at all. "She's gonna be okay, Dean, don't worry."

-TPOV-

Blurred, jagged edges of the world around me were all I could make out when my eyes fluttered open. My head clomped with heavy jolts of pain, particularly at the back, where my hair was clumped and damp, sticking to my scalp. My tongue was dry as sandpaper, all the moisture drawn into the fabric stuffed into my mouth. I took a ragged breath through my nose, filling my lungs with the stale scent of rusted metal. Instinctively, I attempted to move but couldn't; tight pressure constricted beneath my chest and around my arms, keeping them pinned to my sides. The more coherent I became, the more I remembered. I was in the car with Dean… no—it was the Shifter. The memory snapped my eyes open. It was difficult to see in the dark room illuminated only by moonlight shining through the window. From what I could make out—a bed and dresser—I knew I was in a bedroom. The pressure I felt around my torso was rope, fastening me to a desk chair. More ropes tightly held my wrists to the armrests, digging into my flesh.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a simultaneously familiar and unknown voice said from a corner of the room. It was Dean, but not at all. There was an underlying tone of vitriol I'd never experienced before. He stepped from the shadows with a wry smile on his lips and Dean's knife in his hands. "I thought I killed you for a second there. Promise you won't scream?"

My eyes darted from his face to his hand as he raised it, pulling the rag out of my mouth. I coughed from the sudden onslaught of air forcing its way down my raw throat. There was no way I could force a scream, even if I wanted to. "Where's Rebecca?" I rasped.

"She's fine. Taking a little nap downstairs. Don't worry; I didn't do anything to her… she's not the one I want," he murmured through a malignant smile, stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers. I jerked away from his touch. In a millisecond, his expression shifted into anger—resentment radiating in his irises. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. I cringed at the sudden pain but mostly held all the emotions swirling within me so they wouldn't explode in a flurry of actions that would get me into more trouble than I already was. All of it culminated in tears that threatened to spill. He wanted me terrified, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Don't do that again," the Shifter ordered, pressing the knife to my throat. I nodded. He took the blade away and released his grip on my hair to caress the back of my head. "I didn't want it to be like this. I just wanted you. I wanted you to want me back; why is that so bad?"

I remained silent. What could I say? Nothing that wouldn't get me a black eye.

"You wanna know something? He and I," he pointed to his face with the knife, "we aren't so different." Nothing was further from the truth. He continued, unphased by the face I pulled. "Nobody stays. Not Sam, not Dad. Not Mom. Everybody leaves."

"I haven't," I argued. It was pointless, but I couldn't stop myself.

"Not yet. He knows he holds you back. You could have so much more. Eventually, you'll realize it, and you'll go, too." He weighed the knife and peered at me through his eyelashes. "That just might be the one he's scared of most. I mean, really, what's stopping you? 'Cause you love him?" He flashed his eyebrows and corrected himself, "Me. Maybe it's just out of convenience. You have no other choice. I was your last one."

"You don't know anything," I spat, unable to hear those words without denying them. There's no way on earth Dean believed any of this The Shifter was just trying to get in my head—to break me down.

"Oh, baby," he sighed. "I know everything. And all these memories of you?" He dragged the dull edge of the knife down my chest excruciatingly slowly, eyes trailing after it with lust. Suddenly, it was no longer the blade that I was concerned about as he crouched beside me and rested an arm across my lap. "You're all I can think about."

Sickenly slowly, he stroked my thigh with his fingertips and trailed them up to encircle my waist. A breath caught in my throat as he closed in on me, his lips brushing across my neck. "You can make this easy for yourself," he murmured against my skin. I rippled with disgust but contained it. I knew what I had to do: play along.

Rather than flinch away, I gave him access to more of my neck. He kissed up my jaw, teeth hungrily scraping across my skin in the most vile way possible. And when he finally reached my lips, I steeled my resolve and kissed him back. It lasted all of two seconds and distracted him enough that when I reared back and headbutted him, he didn't see it coming. I saw double. While he was dazed from the sudden blow, I used both my feet to push him away. The chair I was tied to fell back and crashed onto the floor. The rope loosened enough that I scrambled out of its constraints. I reached for one of the hair legs that skittered across the floor, fingertips brushing the wood as he grabbed my legs and jerked me away. I clawed into the floor. My nails cracked below the skin. I didn't let up and got the leg before he pulled me again. With all my strength, I swung it, hitting him with the blunt edge of the damaged wood. He ambled backward. There was no way it came from any real pain. More shocked at what I'd done. Scrambling to my feet, I planted them on the ground in preparation for his next attack.

Blood poured from the gash on his cheek. He touched it, examining his crimson-covered fingers in a stupor. "You little bitch," he sneered and lunged at me.

When I swung the chair leg this time, he caught it and used the flat side to hit my nose. It stung and soared into my eyes, propelling out the tears I restrained. Warmth trickled from my nostril, rolling down my lip. I was flat on the bed in a flash, and his hands surrounded my throat. I didn't even know how it happened, just that I couldn't breathe. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and kept me alert. I dug a finger into his stab wound. Beneath the layers of clothing, his skin slipped and tore. He loosened his grip on my neck, and I kneed him between the legs. He let go. I pushed him away and all but threw myself off of the bed. A loud bang downstairs made me freeze. I peered up over the mattress, finding him standing breathlessly on the other side of the bed, eyes flickering from me to the door and back again calculatingly. Heavy footsteps trudged up the stairs, echoing down the opposite hall. I assumed it was Sam and Dean. The Shifter's lip curled in anger. Instead of coming at me again, he bolted.

Using the mattress and nightstand for support, I got to my feet. When I peered into the hall, two S.W.A.T. team members came into view with their guns drawn. I ducked back into the room. Why the hell were they doing here? Possibly somebody saw what happened outside and called the damn cops. The police involved while a killer was walking around with Dean's face was the last damn thing we needed right now. It was good that I was cautious and didn't fling the door open. They looked to be on high alert, and doing that only would've resulted in me getting shot.

Gradually, the door pushed open. I held my hands up in surrender when the first man stepped in. He kept his gun at the ready and whispered, "Are you alone?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No."

A rapid explosion of gunshots across the house shattered the air. The officer cursed under his breath and shut the door while the other stalked toward the noise. Static filled his radio, filtering through a voice stating in codes that another officer was injured and the suspect fled. I briefly closed my eyes in both exasperation and disappointment. They wouldn't have been able to kill him, but I hoped, at least, they could've slowed him down. Now, he's gone and likely pissed—more than before, if that were possible.

Outside, an EMT was waiting by an ambulance to assess my injuries. Nearby was a female cop a few years older than me, equipped with a notepad and pen. After I confirmed the date, who was president, and all that mental assessment protocol, the cop dove directly into questioning while the EMT dabbed away the nearly dried blood from my nose.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Rebecca and I were hanging out when he broke in." I cleared my throat. "Where is she—Rebecca?"

"At the hospital. She had a pretty nasty blow to the head. But she told us you were somewhere in there," she nodded back to the house, "do you remember what happened to you?"

"I woke up tied to a chair. The rest is kind of a blur," I lied, uncomfortably playing with the blanket draped across my shoulders. A good chunk of my brain screamed at me to defend him while the rest fought against that notion. It wasn't Dean, I kept repeating to myself.

The EMT moved on to inspect the swollen spots on my neck that would no doubt turn into a lovely shade of bruised purple. The officer rolled the pen between her fingers. "Are you able to give a description?"

I hesitated. It felt wrong giving that information to them—like I was ratting Dean out, even though he wasn't the one at fault. I put off my answer and asked, "Didn't any of you guys see him?" I hoped not.

"A couple of my men did, yeah." Great. They knew what he looked like. What if they saw the real Dean and arrested him for this? How could we get out of that? "I just wanted to ensure we were looking for the right person," she prompted.

There was nothing else for me to do, so I spouted off the most vague description of him that I possibly could. "He was tall. Um, short hair." That's all I was willing to give. "It's all really fuzzy," I said apologetically.

"I understand. Did he say anything to you that might help us find him?"

"He didn't say much."

"And you're sure you never met this man before?" the cop pressed. "Maybe seen him in passing?"

"No. Never."

I feared she saw straight through me until she nodded and tucked the notepad into her back pocket. "Is there somewhere safe you can go tonight?"

"Yeah."

"We'll find him; don't worry." She patted my arm gently and walked away. Little did she know, them finding him is what made me worry. If they found Dean, we were screwed. And if they found the real Shifter, they were screwed.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" the EMT asked. He'd been fairly quiet this entire time. I'd almost forgotten he was there.

"No, I'm okay." I pushed the blanket off. I'd suffered worse without seeking medical care. Unless John and his sewing needle stitching up my busted knee from taking a fall during a ghoul hunt counted as medical care. I'm about ninety-five percent sure it didn't.

He looked skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"I'm a little shaken up, but I'll be fine." I hopped off the back of the ambulance. The sudden motion threw me off balance. My head spun, and I couldn't keep myself stable. I might have fallen over if it weren't for the EMT grabbing my arms.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I can't let you go like this."

"No, I'm okay. I just want to call my family–"

"You could have a concussion. I have to take you to the hospital." Still holding my arms to keep me in place, he didn't give me much of an option. I wasn't sold on going and nearly argued again until I faltered when the EMT released his grip on me for a few seconds. "You can call them from there, and they can come and pick you up after we evaluate you properly."

No, they can't, I thought. Not Dean, at least. It'd have to be Sam.

-DPOV-

In time, with each frenetic beat of my heart, I marched on tense legs. I only had one goal: getting to that house, getting Tori out, taking another gun from the car, and unloading an entire clip of silver bullets into that piece of shit Shifter. What if we were too late? Negativity reared its ugly head and weighed me down. I clamped my teeth and forced it away. She had to be okay. I don't know what the hell I'd do if she weren't.

In the display window of an electronic store sat about a dozen TVs, flashing and playing crap I didn't care about. I almost walked past until Sam grabbed my arm, yanking me back. "What?" I barked.

He shushed me and pointed to one of the many televisions broadcasting the local news. A banner slid across the bottom of the screens, announcing a manhunt in progress. "An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, " the anchor explained. "Where a S.W.A.T team discovered two victims—both women." He paused for an insanely long and dramatic amount of time. My hands balled into fists at my sides. "Neither sustained life-threatening injuries. "

"Jesus Christ," I huffed. The pressure lifted, but only somewhat. I had to take their word for it to keep my head in the game and not make any mistakes. I wouldn't totally relax until I saw her with my own two eyes. "He couldn't have said that before?!"

Sam ignored me, eyes glued to the TV. A sketch popped up on the top left of the screen. I grimaced at the, in my opinion, poorly done drawing. "Their attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in the home –"

"That's not even a good picture," I complained.

"It's good enough," Sam finally spoke, doing double-takes at the few people still out this late.

"Shots were fired," the anchor continued. "Police are saying the subject fled on foot. He may be armed and is considered extremely dangerous. Anyone who recognizes this man should not attempt to approach him but contact authorities."

As if all this crap wasn't enough, we had to stick to backroads and alleyways to avoid someone spotting me. It's not like the fucking cops would buy the whole "evil twin" thing.

"At least we know Tori's okay—they both are," Sam said, relieved. "They probably took them to the hospital. I'll check in the morning."

"But first, I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy shit out of him," I said.

Sam stopped again. "We have no weapons. No silver bullets."

"The guy's walking around with my face, okay? And after what he did?" I fumed, unsure of what exactly it was. Not knowing bothered me even more. "It's a little personal; I wanna find him."

"Okay. Where do we look?" Sam asked to appease me.

"Well, we could start with the sewers."

"We have no weapons, Dean. Trust me, I wanna get him, too, but he stole our guns; we need more." He lit up with an idea. "The car? The news said he fled on foot. It's gotta still be at Rebecca's."

-TPOV-

A ring of white stemming from the light shone into my eyes and impaired my vision. No matter how much I blinked, it didn't leave. It only worsened. According to the ER doctor, I was suffering from a subconcussive blow —a step below a concussion. He hesitated when I asked to leave and told me to wait a bit just to "make sure." That gave me a ton of confidence in his medical know-how. I didn't see the big deal. If it wasn't a concussion, why did I need to stay? I didn't want to, especially not after I discovered my phone wasn't in my pocket again and was still on the floor of the Impala. I refused to lie down on the bed in the hospital room I was given in spite. They finally let me go a few hours later. Maybe they were tired of me badgering every nurse who checked on me.

The trek back to the Impala was more strenuous than I initially thought. Not only was I paranoid and looking over my shoulder every other second for the Shifter, but the sun barely skimmed dense clouds, depriving the city of much-needed heat. The frigid wind whisked away what little warmth my jacket gave me and made my already achy injuries throb. I sniffled and stuffed my balled-up hands further into my pockets. Cutting down a dimly lit side street that led to Rebecca's, I had the Impala in sight—the front half, anyway. Unfortunately, large hedges encompassing an adjacent property hid the back. When I reached the mouth of the walkway, a figure I instantly recognized stood at the open trunk, rooting around the arsenal. My first instinct was to sprint to him, but then it occurred that I had no real clue who this was. It could be Dean. But if it were him, where was Sam? I halted, just about to duck behind the neighbor's fence when he saw me.

"Holy shit," he breathed in relief, hurrying to close the gap between us.

My nerves stood on end, propelling me to step back. "How do I know it's you?" I asked.

Dean's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, but not into anger as I expected from the Shifter—he was hurt. "Tor, come on, it's me," he implored. Warm waves rolled off him and crashed into me, opposite the frigidity spiking from the Shifter. Suddenly, his eyes glimmered with an idea, and he marched to the trunk. I was about ninety-eight percent sure it was really Dean, so I followed, keeping a smaller distance between us than before. That hunch was confirmed when he snagged a silver knife from one of the compartments with no issue. My relief was short-lived when he dragged the blade across his palm.

"Dean!" I cried, snatching the knife from him and taking his sliced-open hand. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"To prove I'm me."

"All you had to do was touch it." I took a rag from the trunk and held it to his wound. "You didn't have to hurt yourself."

"I just wanted to make sure you knew," he said quietly. Thankfully, he hadn't cut too deep, and the bleeding had already stopped. Dean tossed the rag into the trunk and pulled me in. "Fuck, I was so worried about you."

The harder he squeezed, the lighter the pressure in my lungs became. I could breathe again. I sighed contentedly. "I'm okay."

After these past few hours of hell, all I wanted to do was stay here where I was safe and secure. He pulled back just enough to cradle my face, lightly brushing his thumb across my cheek. I not-so-patiently waited for him to make a move and reached up to press my lips to his. He responded eagerly, deepening our kiss and holding me impossibly closer. I was breathless when we parted, in a fog in the best possible way. A slight smile played on his lips at the reaction he'd gotten out of me, but it fizzled out as his eyes zeroed in on my neck and the budding bruises there. I thought my collar had covered them enough. Anger bellowed below concern like a glass kettle about to burst. Dean moved the fabric out of the way to get a better look.

"What the hell did that thing do to you?" His voice was sharp, but his fingers were feather-light as they grazed the red marks on my skin.

"I'm fine." I removed his hand and interlocked our fingers so he wouldn't think I didn't want him touching me. "We gotta find him before he hurts anybody else."

Dean reluctantly let me go. "Damn right we do," he said, checking his pistol's magazine.

"Why isn't Sam here?"

"The cops took him in."

"But he has nothing to do with this!"

"Just to be sure, I guess." Dean tucked the gun into his waistband, closed the arsenal, and then the trunk. "We didn't think they'd still be here."

Dots connected, forming an answer that stunned me. "You called the cops?" I pointed to his chest. "Now they think you're a psycho murderer!" I whisper-yelled and threw out my hand.

"We wouldn't have gotten to you in time!"

I folded my arms and huffed, "I had it handled!"

Despite his mood, Dean cracked a smile. "I'm sure you did. How'd it feel beating the shit out of me?" he joked through his discomfort. "I'm sure you've wanted to do that a couple of times."

"No. Not really," I chuckled weakly and played with my fingers. "Dean, what if the cops see you?"

"They won't. Don't worry about it." His consolation did absolutely nothing to quell my fears. Dean ushered me to the passenger door and opened it, waiting for me to enter before rounding the Impala's front. I picked up my gun from the floor and checked the magazine. For whatever reason, the Shifter was dumb enough to leave it untouched.

The sewer access at the apartment complex was closest to The Shifter's lair, so that's where we headed. If he weren't there, at the very least, there could be a clue as to who he wanted to pretend to be next. Dean kept relatively quiet on the way. His knuckles were bone-white, clutching the steering wheel as hard as he was. Finally, the Impala came to a stop in front of the building. I reached for my door handle, but Dean didn't budge.

"What happened?" he asked quietly—cautiously. I chewed my bottom lip, debating how far into it I'd go. I had no feelings of shame; there was nothing I couldn't tell him. What I don't think, however, is that it would be wise to give him all the details now. He tended to be reckless on a good day. If he were upset, it'd be magnified. At the same time, all those things the Shifter said… I was itching to know whether or not they were true. But this thing was smart, so we had to be smarter. It had to wait.

"Why do you wanna know?" I deflected.

"So I know how hard I gotta kick his ass."

I smirked. "I already did that."

Dean grinned right back. "Well, now it's my turn." He rested an arm on the back seat and angled toward me to look into my eyes. "Baby, what did he do?"

"Nothing he wanted to," I reassured. The tension in his jaw was like a steel vice. What hurt worst was his eyes. I expected his anger to worsen, and it did, but it was different this time. It was more than unbridled rage. There was guilt, too, and I knew exactly why. Because he wasn't there to stop it; he wasn't there to protect me. "Dean–"

"That motherfucker," he spat through gritted teeth.

"I know. I know." I placed a hand on his leg and slid closer. He kept his eyes on the steering wheel, chest rising and falling shallowly. "Look at me," I instructed; he did. "I'm okay. We have to focus, all right? Please."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. Breathing deeply and letting it out slowly, he calmed considerably.

About a foot from the Shifter's lair, we came upon another slimy pile of skin, teeth, hair, and blood. "Great," I huffed. "He changed again."

"Shit," Dean mumbled under his breath. A shuffle from within the extensive portion of the sewer echoed into our tunnel. We shared a look and started forward, avoiding stepping in the puddle of bleh. Tucked behind a network of pipes was a sheet-covered figure. I lingered back while Dean rushed over to them like he knew what was happening. I noticed two ropes tied to some of the pipes and a stray sheet on the ground near one of them. Dean pulled the sheet off, revealing a disheveled, sweat-covered Rebecca.

"Oh, my god," I breathed, hurrying to them. "Are you okay?"

"I don't– I don't know," she stumbled through dry lips.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, starting to remove the rope around her wrists while I worked on the one knotted around her ankles.

"I was walking home," she sniffled and cried. "And everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me."

"Okay, it's okay." He finished untying her. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

"We've gotta hurry. Sam went to see you."

I'm fairly certain Dean didn't so much as tap the breaks on the way to Rebecca's. With every stop sign he blew past, I subconsciously searched for a cop car, scared they'd appear out of nowhere and pull us over. Thankfully, we made it to the house in one piece.

We both jumped out of the car to find the door slightly open, light spilling in from the hallway. I shivered slightly as yesterday's events came back to mind, pausing to let my eyes roam over the items cluttering the floor, no doubt a result of the cop's entry and chasing the Shifter. I jolted out of my thoughts when a thump was heard from the basement. Dean tore through the entryway, me following hot on his heels, to find the Shifter straddling Sam, hands wrapped around his throat.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, getting the creature's attention. Right next to my head, the gunshot filled my ears with a tinny hum that closed off everything around me. The bullet lodged into the Shifter's chest, blowing him back to the wall from the force. The feeling that coursed through me was indescribable. We did it; the monster was dead, and potential victims were saved. I should've held a sense of accomplishment. I should've held a sense of accomplishment or reward after all he'd done. But all I saw was Dean… dying. I couldn't look away from his chest as he struggled to take his last few ragged breaths. A shadow passed in front of me and broke my line of sight. The shadow was Dean, who was still very much alive. Stupid as it was, it took a moment for me to register this. He crouched before the Shifter and looked him over, ripping the amulet from around his neck.

I didn't, for a second, want to do what we'd done next. Perhaps it was for the best in the long run; at least, that's what Sam said. It was—for Zach, certainly not for us. Dean went along with it, although I don't think he was initially too happy about the idea. He warmed up to it pretty fast. It was two against one, and we left a frazzled Rebecca to call the cops so they'd come and find the Shifter in Dean's form and blame everything on him. It was selfish of me, but if I'd been told this is how paying a simple visit to Sam's friend would end, I would never have agreed to come.

While Sam and Rebecca said their goodbyes, I leaned against the car beside Dean as he looked over a map. "So, where to next?" I asked.

"Anywhere away from here," he replied, rolling up the paper.

"Yeah, it's probably not wise to stick around."

"Probably not."

"So, this is what you do?" Rebecca asked. "You guys—you hunt down these kinds of things?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Pretty much."

"I can't believe it. I mean, I saw it with my own eyes, and I still can't," she chuckled lightly. Does everybody at school know that you do this?"

"No."

"Did Jessica know?"

Sam looked away briefly. "No, she didn't."

"Must be lonely."

"Oh, no. No, it's not so bad. Anyway, what can I do? It's my family."

"Well, you know, Zack and me and everybody at school—we really miss you." Rebecca reached up for a hug.

Sam mumbled into her shoulder, "Yeah, me too."

"Well, will you call sometime?" she asked hopefully, stepping back. Maybe she caught it, maybe she didn't, but Sam withdrew into himself. He had no intention of reaching out to her, not after everything she'd been exposed to.

"It might not be for a little while," he answered honestly, much to my surprise.

Rebecca nodded, and discerning their conversation was over, she waved to Dean and me before returning into her home. "So, what about your friend, Zack?" Dean asked Sam as he made his way to us.

"Cops are blaming this Dean Winchester guy for Emily's murder," Sam said satirically. "They found the murder weapon in the guy's lair, Zack's clothes stained with her blood. Now they're thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with." He smiled. "Becca says Zack will be released soon."

"Great," I tried to find satisfaction in getting Zack off the hook for Emily's murder. I dug for it and came up empty. Of course, I was glad for him, for his family. But according to the world outside our bubble, Dean was a sadistic serial killer—a dead one, at that. Sensing my discomfort, Dean ran a hand down the small of my back and kissed the top of my head, reminding me again that he was here and the past twenty-four hours were behind us.

"Sorry, man," Dean said out of the blue. I looked up in shock, unable to imagine what he had to apologize for.

"About what?" Sam asked, seemingly just as confused as me.

"I really wish things could be different, you know?" Dean shrugged, resting a hand on the hood of the car. "I wish you could just be… Joe College ."

"No, that's okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in."

"Well, that's 'cause you're a freak."

Sam laughed. "Thanks."

"Well, I'm a freak, too," he said, nodding back to me, "so is she."

I feigned insult. "Harsh, but okay."

"It's true," Dean said. "We're right there with you, all the way."

"I know you are," Sam said appreciatively. The truth is that no matter what disagreements or spats we got into, we were more alike than we realized. Our little declarations of freakdom took my mind off of everything I'd much rather leave in St. Louis and put me in a much better mood.

Dean opened the driver's door, leaning on it. "You know, I gotta say—I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it."

"What?" I asked, eager to know.

"How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?" Dean grinned and got into the Impala. Sam chucked, somehow finding humor in his brother's words, and followed him. But I froze, staring blankly at the brick driveway. It wasn't Dean lying dead with a gunshot wound to the chest. It shouldn't bother me or have seared into my brain. Every time I pushed that image away, it bounced back harder than before. There was no ridding myself of it. A pit formed deep within, settling like a brick. God forbid anything happened to him; what would I do? How could I just go on, pretend everything is fine?

Dean honked the horn, startling me out of my internal fray. When my eyes locked on his, I was met with a million questions, none of which I could answer without lying. I didn't know why. I wasn't okay. Not right now.

My gaze was permanently planted on the trees, flying by at the same speed as my manic thoughts. Over all the years I'd known Dean, there were plenty of times that I worried for his safety. He threw himself into danger the first chance he got, but he always came back. Maybe a little banged up, but alive. My fears sparked a thought—is this how Dean felt? All those things that the Shifter said about his fear of being left, did Dean genuinely fear me leaving him? I might've been able to brush it all off as the Shifter's attempt at toying with me if it weren't for Sam mentioning the fact that he believed the Shifter really could download memories and that he saw it happen right in front of him. The Shifter could've been drawing on old emotions of Dean's, but what if he wasn't?

These thoughts continued well into the night when we stopped at a motel. After driving for nearly ten hours straight, Dean was exhausted and collapsed onto the bed almost as soon as we got into the room. I went through the motions—brushed my teeth, threw on one of Dean's old t-shirts, and turned off the bedside lamp before climbing into bed. Sam was snoring softly in the bed beside ours, headphones stationed in his ears. The Shifter's words replayed in my head relentlessly; "One day, you'll realize, and you'll go, too." If there was even the slightest chance Dean felt that way, I had to put that fear to rest.

"Hey, Dean?" I called quietly, patting his arm. Judging by his slightly slurred hum, he was already half asleep. I debated waiting until morning, but there was no way I could calm down without saying something. The one thing on this Earth Dean should never have to worry about was me leaving him."I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"Huh?" he asked through a yawn. I leaned up on my elbow to get a better gauge of his reaction. His brows were furrowed over half-open eyes that he rubbed with the heel of his free hand. "What are you talking about, Tor?"

"I just wanted you to know."

Even though he was tired, he managed to snap into an upset. "Does this have to do with anything that asshole said?"

"He said a lot of things. But that– I just need to know that you know. Humor me," I requested. The moment he hesitated, my heart shattered. I didn't want to believe it, but the proof was evidently right in front of me.

"I know," he finally said. Seeing the broken look on my face, Dean held me tighter. "Whatever he said, don't even think about it. It's all bullshit," he stated, this time unfalteringly. "You believe me, right?"

What was I going to do, take a monster's word over his? Definitely not. As difficult as it may be to forget, I had to write off any doubts planted in my head by the Shifter. If not, it would fester and grow into an unnecessary issue. "Of course I do," I said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. Content with my answer, Dean sleepily mumbled something about me needing rest, so I settled into his arms, and we drifted off.

Another down! Thanks for reading! Shoutout to bookwriter12456 for helping, as always. She's amazing!

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