𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

Katherine rests back on the windshield of the Impala, her legs stretched out along the hood and ankles crossed. Sam is in the backseat, curled up on his side and sleeping. Dean is in the saloon off the side of the road doing one of few things: hustling a game of pool, poker, or any other card game under the sun. She smiles at the thought of Dean playing Go Fish.

The Impala didn't fit in with the other vehicles of the parking lot, which encompassed two types: old trucks and glossy motorcycles. But no cars. Nothing like the Impala.

There was certainly no one like her in that place. No henley shirts, cutoff shorts or Chuck Taylors. Nobody but Dean who knew about the things that go bump in the night. She'd never felt more alien, staring at that saloon. So distant from people not so different from herself.

When she looked to the starless night, she forgot about what she was supposed to be doing—looking for cases. That was Shotgun's new role, as per instructed by Driver. Another House Rule. She wasn't supposed to be flirting with the idea of maybe being sad at not having a normal life. Of being an outcast. A freak.

"I must've died and gone to Heaven." She opens her eyes and turns her head to the left. Dean starts down the stairs with a smile, glancing over her elongated figure, and she sits up a little. "I'm waiting for Def Leppard to start playing."

Katherine grins, shaking her head. "You'll be waiting for a long time."

Dean moves around the car to sit beside her. "You find anything?" He asks, flipping through a wad of cash. Katherine looks up to him, resting her weight back on her hand.

"Maybe," she says. "There's this thing in Oklahoma, not too far from here—Dustin Burwash, a gas company employee, supposedly died from Cruetzfeldt-Jakob."

Dean grimaces, barely glancing to her. "What?"

"Human mad cow disease," she tells him, sliding the newspaper over.

"Mad cow," Dean repeats, turning towards her with a frown. "Wasn't that on Oprah?"

Katherine begins to shrug, but she stops, her brow furrowing, and looks to Dean with a slight smirk. "You watch Oprah?"

Dean stares at her for a moment. "So this guy eats a bad burger." Katherine's smile widens to a thousand-watt grin. "Why is it our kind of thing?"

"Well, mad cow causes massive brain and spinal cord degeneration," she begins. "I mean, it sometimes takes years for the damage to show up. But this guy—from what I've read—it seems like his brain fizzled in less than an hour." Katherine sighs, looking up from the newspaper, and her brows furrow at the sight of Dean staring at her. It's a funny kind of stare, paired with a drunken-ish smile. Not an alcohol-drunk one. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I love when you talk nerdy."

She chuckles. "Whatever. Does this sound interesting enough for you, or do I need to look for something else?"

"No, no. Oklahoma's good."  He jingles the keys in his hand as he stares at nothing particular inside the Impala. Then he glances one more time to Katherine Louise, smiling again, before he makes for the driver's side.

✕

"So the guy was bleeding from every visible orifice, but he hasn't acting weird before—at all," Katherine surmises, walking across the warm blacktop. It's warm for March, so she's a bit uncomfortable in her Levis, but at least her henley is breathable.

"So what?" Dean asks. "Some creature just chewing on his brain?"

"I don't think so," she hums, ducking underneath the yellow tape, and peers down the sinkhole. Vines...dirt...nothing suspicious. "Had to be something from the inside, since there was no entry wound."