𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

Katherine stares down at the relatively-blank page in her journal. There are a few pen marks from when the Impala rolled over a particularly tall speed bump and Dean wasn't paying attention...or when the Impala hit a shallow pothole. They've pulled over a few times already so Dean can inspect any damage.

She can't think. There's a bunch of static in her brain. Or...like a marsh. Hard to wade through to get to her thoughts.

And all she can think about was how she kissed Dean last night, and he kissed her. How good it felt to hold him again, to be held by him again.

And then he ruined it. "You should get some sleep," he said. And then she was crying, probably because she was still thinking about the big picture, and he's going to be dead in a few months if they don't find some kind of Hail Mary play, and so he let her ugly cry into his neck and get his t-shirt all snotty because she has no goddamn self control and oh my god Charlie.

Katherine rubs her aching forehead.

"How you doin' back there?" Dean calls over the engine. "You gonna throw up?" He kindly gave her a barf bag when they got on the road that morning. Just in case, he said. And every time she puts her head down, he sits up and looks in the rearview mirror like a meerkat to remind her that she has a barf bag.

"No, my head just hurts," she replies.

She's wearing her sunglasses, Sam's sunglasses, and Dean's sunglasses. Still not enough.

She was only able to write a few sentences about the crocotta case before she decided it could wait. She closed her journal and pulled her jacket over her eyes and went to sleep. Tried to, anyway. Eventually, she just gets so tired of faking sleep that she actually just does it.

They're driving to Georgia, to her family's old estate. Is it risky to go back there? Yes. The last time she was there, she was seventeen, and Bela Talbot had stolen the Book of the Damned. Maybe one of those stupid old books had something that could help them.

It's dark when she wakes up. They're pulling into a motel for the night, Dean said. He helped her out of the car, carried her bag, slowed his strides to walk alongside her.

Katherine sits on her bed with a heavy sigh.

"How's the head?" Dean asks, dropping her bag on the floor.

"Better," she answers. "Still feels kind of foggy, but...the headache's gone."

"Well...keep sleeping. We got a couple more hours til we get to Georgia," he hums.

Katherine felt panic tighten her throat again. The lack of time they have is a pressure on her chest she can never shake.

"Thanks for letting me snot all over your shirt," she mumbles, unlacing her shoes. Dean cracks a smile.

"Any time."

"You never seem to want to snot on anyone else's shirt," Katherine continues, a not-subtle way of asking if he wanted to talk about it. Any of it.

Dean shrugs. "Snotting on people's shirts doesn't get the job done." He watches Katherine's eyes drift as she nods. "I'll be okay," he murmurs after a few moments. Katherine grunts. This one was paired with a flash of her eyebrows. She's annoyed. "I'm just not..." Dean sighs. "I don't see the point in crying about it. For me, anyway. We find something...or we don't." Dean shrugs again. "But, uh...you know, kissing..." Katherine's eyes snap to Dean, who's looking somewhere west of her face. "Kissing makes it better." His eyes move to Katherine, and he cracks a wry smile. Katherine chuckles, slowly shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles.

"I'm not."

"You're never sorry."