𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

"Who's the hotter psychic—Jennifer Love-Hewitt, Sam Winchester, or you?"

Katherine scoffs, staring up at the twinkling of Christmas lights on her ceiling. "Definitely me," she says. On the other end of the line, Dean laughs.

The ceiling is decorated with tiny warm white Christmas lights, and light pink, thin muslin is draped and pinched along the ceiling, casting a soft glow about the room. The walls are white—there was nothing that could be done about that, as the space is rented. Her comforter is white, too. Splashes of pastel color are littered across the room, either in drapes for the window or a bedskirt, painted wardrobe. Photographs litter one wall specifically, the one directly across from her bed.

Which reminds her...bah. She'll inquire about it later.

"How's that asylum treating you?" She asks, twisting her braid around her finger.

"Oh, you know," Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair. It's a crappy motel room the Winchesters are holed up in. Questionable stains and smells everywhere. Then again, almost all of the motels they stay in are crappy. But maybe he just didn't notice it because Katherine distracted him. "We found some crazy stuff. Lobotomies, electroshock...instruction manuals."

"Because God forbid instructions." Katherine hums. Dean chuckles.

"Yeah, well."

"Did you find anyone there?" She asks.

Dean sighs. "No sign of your dad or mine. But obviously one—or both—of them wanted us here. And here we are...and there you are."

"Here I am," Katherine murmurs, glancing down to her pajamas. Still shorts and a tank top—the same ones from the photograph, just in powder blue—because she can't bear to sleep in anything else. Hell, she never bothered with pants until she hit the road with the brothers.

"How's everything up there?"

"Cold. There?"

Dean nods. "Cold," he echoes after a moment. "Everything okay with Sophia?"

"Yeah," Katherine says in a sigh, her stomach knotting. "Yeah, she's okay. Emergency BFF meeting and all."

Dean grimaces. "Gross." Katherine laughs. "Well since everything's fine..."

"I'm staying for a few more days," Katherine says. After he sighs, she can practically see his exasperated expression all the way in Illinois. "She's my best friend, Dean, and she needs me right now."

"Well maybe we need you more." He says, twisting his pen between his fingers.

Katherine grins, rolling onto her side. "I'm sorry, but did I just hear Dean Winchester beginning to beg?" Her voice is a low murmur, the dips in her voice still evident underneath the coating of sweet, thick honey. Dean smiles a bit, sitting up in his chair.

"Darlin'," he begins. "I don't beg."

Katherine's smile widens. Darlin'. He never used that with the girls at the bars. And if he did, Katherine didn't know about it.

Sweetheart, darlin', her subconscious trills. It's all the same! Business, KD.

"I think you could," she murmurs, rolling back to look up at the ceiling. "I think you'd be pretty good at it, too."

Just staring at the wall, Dean can practically see, up close, the way her full lips would move to form those soft words. The tip of her tongue sweeping over her lower lip to pull it between her teeth. "Dogs beg," he deadpans, looking to the table, hellbent on steering this ship elsewhere. He can't afford to tango with a girl like her. Nineteen. A coworker. "I'm not a dog."