𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

They won big in Atlantic City. As promised, Dean saved part of it as a wedding gift to Katherine and Charlie. Drill it into his head. He even wrote "HAPPY WEDDING" on the envelope like an idiot. Katherine laughed and insisted no one said "happy wedding," but "congratulations" could've been for anything. 

They're finding small jobs down the coast as the wedding date nears. It's next week.

"One more hunt before the big day won't hurt," Sam said.

Katherine has been quiet the whole drive. There was her usual quiet...then this. Even Sam can tell there's something heavily weighing on her, but he isn't sure what to ask, how to ask, because he thinks he knows what it is. Are you having second thoughts?

Katherine and Dean were weird. Right person, wrong time? Right person, right time? Is...whatever they were...all they were meant to be?

Sam isn't sure what he believes about soul mates anymore. He used to think there was just that one special person out there for you...but then Jessica died. It wasn't immediately following her death that he started wondering...it was mostly "what the fuck am I going to do without her?" As the months dragged by, as his dreams of her became less frequent, he began to think that maybe there are lots of soulmates for lots of different reasons. 

Then he's broody, too, and Dean doesn't know what the fuck to do about it besides talk about work.

"KD," he says. She's laying down in the back seat, whatever is hanging off the side supported by a bag she dragged out from the trunk. Looking in the rearview mirror, he can barely discern the legging-clad knee from the black mirror. She's staring up at the black ceiling, trying to count the flecks of lint in the fabric to distract her. So far, no luck. Her mind is like a feedback loop. Dean is going to die, make a deal to save him, you take his place, you die, you abandon Charlie and break all sorts of promises you made him. But no Dean.

"Tell me about those people in Pisgah again," Dean prompts. She doesn't say antyhing. "C'mon, Kat. I forgot."

He can tell by the way the articles ruffle she's frenzied and all shades of pissed off. Anger even colors her unsteady voice as she reads off her notes. I came back for this? "Four people have been admitted to Mission Hospital in Asheville after hiking in the Pisgah National Forest. No visible injuries or conditions, aside from the fact they're decades younger than they were going in."

"Witch," Dean mutters. "What do we know about witches?"

Katherine scratches the tip of her nose. "Not much."

"Aren't you one?"

Sam had long accepted that. Witches did, like, mean shit. Like...hexes and shit. Katherine didn't do that. She's got a couple of mean bones in her body, but they were mostly dormant...so was she a witch, really?

Katherine sits up and rests her chin on the top of the seat, between the brothers. "Technically, sure, but...our blood is so watered down, my magic is bound to be weaker than those who came before me...even if I am a Natural. My grandmother stopped practicing when she was a few years younger than I was. She never taught my father, and if he doesn't know, there's no way in hell I'm learning anything."

"How come if your family aren't practicing witches, they're so pissed off about an old grimoire?" Sam asks.

"We're still the protectors of it," she sighs. "Steve Rogers is still Captain America when he takes the costume off, right?"

"It's not a costume," Dean grumbles, holding a finger up.

"What did you mean by 'a Natural'?" Sam asks, turning to look at Katherine. She doesn't meet his gaze. Instead, hers is fixed on the road ahead...watching for deer.