𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

"Earth to Dean."

"There's red meat within striking distance. He's not biting. Should we take him to a hospital?"

"I am a hospital," Katherine grumbles. 

The town seems to have forgotten about last night's shooting. The bar—the very one from last night—is going pretty steadily for a Wednesday evening...after a shooting. And Sam's right.

Dean isn't inhaling his food. He's not even sniffing it. Does he even know it's there?

He slides his phone closed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Dean snaps his phone shut and looks at the two with his usual brooding brow and pursed lips.

"How many times do I have to tell Richie he's going to get himself in trouble?" Dean grumbles.

"He still hasn't answered your texts?" Katherine asks.

"Or my nineteen phone calls," he replies.

"Dean, you're assuming he's missing," Sam says. Katherine steals one of Dean's fries. A test, of sorts. He didn't even blink. "I mean, maybe he just bailed." 

"He's a moron," Dean explains. "He's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I've gotta go find him."

"All right. Kat, you can go with Dean."

"Fiiinee..?" She frowns. "Not that I need your permission to trail whichever brother I think needs backup the most. What are you gonna do?"

"Trail this Trotter guy," Sam replies.

Her eyebrows tilt. "Serious?"

"Yeah—something about the way he was looking at me last night."

Katherine chuckles, rising to her feet. "Don't provoke the moose."

Sam frowns. "What?"

"Aw, nothin'." She ruffles his hair and follows Dean outside, taking the burger to go. "You know, we could just track his phone," she says to him. 

"That's just what I was thinkin', kid." 

Katherine hacks into Sam's laptop to find Richie's phone. Once she got an address, the two are headed about ten minutes outside of town. There's a house made of stone, hidden in vines and shrubs and overgrown trees, at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

No car in the driveway.

"I don't have a very good feeling about this," Katherine mumbles, tucking an extra clip into her jeans. Dean passes her a holy water flask. Their fingers brush, but he doesn't seem to pause. Not like she does. He just tucks his own into his jacket. "You're not hot in that thing?"

Dean shrugs. "Used to it, I guess." He reaches up to shut the trunk and looks at her with a thin smile. "You ready?"

Katherine offers him a shrug. The two begin to walk up to the house.

"How come guys' clothing has more pockets than girls?" She wonders aloud. Dean grins. "No, I mean it. It's annoying. I'd like to have a jacket pocket on the inside. What the hell?"

"Well, we'll get you a jacket that has a pocket on the inside," he hums. "Now hush." She throws him a cutting look from the side of her eye. After a moment, she's watching him walk. How the his tall posture and confident roll of his shoulders turns into a crouched slink, protective and experienced. 

They clear each level of the house together, if not shoulder-to-shoulder then just paces away from the other. They search everything. Cupboards, closets, bathrooms, loose floorboards, underneath furniture.