𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

"Shapeshifter?"

Katherine shakes her head, leaning back against the sink as she crosses her arms. "No camera flare," she whispers, keeping her gaze on the wall. Dean stares at her, though, expecting that defiant eye contact sometime.

They've long since fled the scene of the crime. Sam's just gone to sleep, and they've left the lights off, snuck to the bathroom of their motel room so they wouldn't wake him. The door is cracked just a bit, and the window offers a straight shot for the moon to shine in. They didn't need the noisy overhead light. And though neither soul would care to admit it, they know each others presences like the back of their hands. Whether they can hear the sound around their bodies or sense their shadows, they always know where the other is.

Even in the dark.

"Look, we know it wasn't Sam—like really Sam." There her eyes are. What was once the deepest, richest blue he'd seen is now black, with cuts of ice in the sideways slant that hits her face. Still just as large as he remembers. And she isn't defiant in the way she looks at him. Her eyes hold a strange tenderness to them, and he recalls how she looked at him like that last spring. "He said for the past few weeks, he's had violent feelings, right? Rage, hatred. I mean, what if Sam's right? What if this has something to do with that yellow-eyed demon you two keep talking about? And what's this about the demon turning children like Sam into killers?"

Dean rolls his eyes. Whether it's flat-out denial or unwillingness to acknowledge, he isn't sure. "Katherine—"

"I mean, we seriously have to think about this, Dean," she whispers. "Your brother handed you a gun and told you to pull the trigger."

"I'd never to that to him," he seethes, shaking his head. "Never."

"I know," Katherine nods, appeasing. "But if Sam is so scared about becoming a killer, like those other kids he was talking about, don't you think we should keep a closer eye on him? I mean, what if he goes off by himself and does it?"

The light flips on and the door is nudged open. Sam leans against the doorframe with reddened eyes that settle upon the two. Dean instinctively moves away from Katherine and she crosses her arms, glancing to Sam as she rubs her eyes from the sudden light. "You don't have to hide from me," Sam croaks.

"We didn't want to wake you," Katherine says. Then she frowns, standing up straighter, and glances to Dean. "Wait—nothing was—"

"Absolutely nothing—" Dean begins, shaking his head.

Katherine scratches at her temple. "I don't think hiding in the bathroom with the lights off is helping our case, so I'm gonna get some sleep." She starts out of the bathroom and almost makes it across the threshold.

Sam hit her in the temple with the butt of a pistol.

Dean's eyes blow wide and he lurches forward, eyes locked on Sam, but the younger brother swung his arm around and hit Dean in the forehead, sending him back into the cabinets.

And then Sam was gone.

That was in the top five of Katherine's 'How Hard Have I Been Hit' list, as it put her out for several hours. When she came to, it was because of the incessant beating on the front door.

Her head aches. She supposes it's worse than a hangover, though she hasn't exactly experienced one of those. Concussion is entirely plausible. She can feel the blood rushing around her swollen head, through her ears and her eyes...everything has a synchronized, palpable pulse.

She groans, holding her fingers to a sensitive spot on her temple. Judging by the twinge of pain so abhorrent it actually blinds her, there's an open wound there. She pushes herself to her knees and sits there for a minute, eyes closed as she processes that loud sound again. Who the hell is hitting the door like that? She turns around, squinting as the manager pushes through the doorway.