Katherine jolts awake as the car door closes. She sits up quickly, heart pounding, eyelids stuck together with dried congestion. The free fingers of her right hand involuntarily curl, as if to grab a nearby weapon. But she doesn't have any on her, because she's with Dean. And maybe that's stupid to believe that this is real, that he is real...but she also had Russell. 

Acknowledgement forms a cloud of comfort, an energy in the backseat. Her fingers are still reaching for the knife to drive through her father's throat.

You're okay, Russell says to her.

Dean is at the helm of the Cadillac he stole, face pulled into a physical wince as he looks at her. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to slam it." She looks to the heavy door, reaching up to wipe the sleep from her eyelashes. "You're okay."

You're okay. It's echoed in her head over and over again as she sits up, then looks over her left shoulder. 

Russell sits quietly in the back seat, looking as unsuspecting as any other alert dog. Marshy eyes are calmly trailed on Dean, ears rotated towards him.

Katherine looks at Dean again, who's fumbling with a plastic takeout bag. She looks in front of her, squinting up at the building, blindly reaching for her glasses. 

"Where are we?" She croaks. 

"I stopped to get us something to eat," he says. "But I heard you say to Patrick that your stomach is still feeling sour, so I got you that clear soup from a hibachi place." Dean looks over to her, extending an offer of a container filled with broth, mushrooms, and green onions. 

She looks at him like she might cry.

And not knowing what to do with that information, Dean blinks. "Or...I guess I should've asked. I don't even know if you actually like this stuff."

"Thank you," she says, taking it from his hand. "That was...really nice."

There's a small smile on his mouth, and his eyes tighten a little. He looks away from her, balling up the plastic bag, and tosses it into the back seat. 

Probably a good thing he woke you up, Russell says to her. Or this whole parking lot woulda been beating on the window to get you out.

She nods in agreement, staring down at the container of soup. 

Ice cold dread pools in her stomach, souring it even more. Feeling the heat of the soup on her hands, the slip it would have...it would be like his blood, spraying all over her again. 

Killing people...it wasn't ever something she thought she would do. Especially not her own father, or who she was led to believe was her father. 

Nobody would be looking for him, she had to remind herself. The authorities had clearly stopped looking a long time ago, so she shouldn't be worrying about potential jail time. Besides...they'd made the house look like a kitchen fire gone awry, when it was all said and done. After the coven had come and seen what he did.

"You okay, kid?" Dean quietly asks.

Katherine swallows around her raw throat and nods. "Yeah. How far are we?"

"Three hours," he replies, quite chipper. He throws the car into reverse, slings his arm over the seat, and turns his head...meeting the eyes of her very intense dog. Dean looks to Katherine with pursed lips. She senses it almost immediately.

"What?" She flatly asks, still looking at her soup.

"Your dog," he whispers. 

Katherine looks over her shoulder at Russell, who is still staring at Dean. Dude, what are you doing? "What about him?"

"He's staring at me," Dean whispers.

Trying to see if his eyes flicker, Russell answers. Trying to see how easily he's freaked out...trying—

Oh, so you're bullying! Got it.

"He does that," Katherine answers. "Stares. A lot."

Dean's eyebrows knit together. "What is he, like...special?"

She cracks a grin, and Russell's mouth drops open just the tiniest bit. "He's...somethin'."

"How'd you find him anyway?"

Katherine waits for him to put the car into drive before she opens her container. Dusty cogs turn in her brain. She hasn't had to so much as bend the truth this summer. Lies used to ooze off her tongue like honey, and now...now, it's tarnished silver.  "Uh...I was leaving a bar and he just...sauntered up to me."

Not exactly a lie, Russell muses. 

"And you decided to keep him," Dean hums. 

"He wouldn't leave me alone," Katherine refutes. "He's like velcro."

Are you actually complaining right now?

She sends him a mental image of drawing a heart into a foggy window. That earns a laugh from him. 

"He kept me alive," Katherine murmurs. 

It hangs between the two of them for several long moments. Some kind of music is playing quietly over the radio, but Dean's turned it down too low and she's too congested to actually hear what it is.

"Is that part of what you're not willing to talk about yet?"

Katherine nods. 

"Okay." 

After a few moments, Dean turns the radio up a few clicks. 

There's some part of her, deep down, that's pushing at the other part of her. Throwing a tantrum. Why are you such a bitch all the time?! She rages. Fists balled up, stomping like a child. Just talk to him! Like a younger sibling.

That part of her wants to tell him about how hard it is to listen to music without thinking of the sound of Charlie dying in front of her. Of the squelch of his flesh as he hit the floor, in a lake of his own blood. Of Katherine screaming so loud it rattled her own bones. 

But it sits at the back of her throat, because to explain that would be to explain Charlie. And it isn't that he doesn't deserve to be talked about, but instead that she can't talk about it without feeling like she was going to throw up.

Katherine pushes the lid back onto her soup and sets it on the floorboard. Dean's eyes flit between the road ahead of him and her hands. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. Katherine shakes her head, settling back into her seat. 

She had so many dreams of having Dean back...of everything she'd say or do. Just holding him. And now that he's here, she isn't quite sure what to do. And she feels like a coward for it. For all of it, everything. 

But with every passing mile marker, it's sinking in deeper and deeper that Dean is back. 

"I named her Genevieve Grace," Katherine finally says. Her eyes are trained across the horizon of highway. Cars fly by on their left. "After he died." She swallows hard, throat raw, and casts her gaze to her chipped nail polish. "Genevieve is his grandma...Grace is his mom. I figured I might as well honor him, in some way..." She sighs heavily. "Some research suggests that stress can be a source of miscarriage...I think my body just didn't know what to do with...everything...and it decided to save me." Katherine purses her lips and chews on the inside of her cheek. 

Dean's hand finds her left, and he weaves his fingers between hers. He only let it go to shift gears a few miles up, but when he reached back over, her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, and she was snoring quietly. 

It decided to save me.

Dean's eyes find the dog in the rearview mirror, and is somewhat relieved to find none staring back at him.