Dean's heart leaps from his chest as the deadbolt turns, and the door slowly opens. Familiar eyes peer around the corner, and long hair falls as she leans around the door. 

Then it opens wider. She's just staring at him. 

Her bangs have grown out, pushed to either side of her forehead. Dirty blonde hair hangs in an unkempt braid over her shoulder, clothed in an orange hoodie with 'TEXAS' embroidered across the chest. Soft gray shorts hit the middle of her thighs, and fuzzy pink and white socks pool at her ankles. 

"Katherine," he breathes. He can't help the smile pulling at his mouth, the relief flooding through his system. He heard screaming, but that could've just been a really loud movie—

"No." It's a quiet whine, and she slowly shakes her head. She's not smiling at all. 

Dean's brow furrows. "Didn't you talk to Bobby?"

She stumbles back a step, shaking her head again. "Wake up," she whispers. Dean takes a step for her, and is surprised when she swings at him with a blade he didn't see was hiding up her sleeve. He wraps his hand around that wrist and shoves his way inside, hand grappling for her other wrist. He's met with something solid and hard, something he can't wrap his fingers around. 

"Stop, stop it, stop it!" 

He didn't expect the two of them to fall. She'd always been able to hold her own against Dean, sometimes even Sam. But they fall, and she cries out in terror, fingers clawing at his forearm. He barely noticed the way she kept her head up as they hit the ground. 

She stares up at him, steel blue eyes brimming with tears...her right eye looks different. Swollen, yellowed with a fading bruise. She chokes out a sob, hand going limp, and rests her head on the floor.

"Katherine," he whispers. "Kat, it's me. It's me, I swear."

"Leave me alone!" She rasps, twisting in his grip. She won't look at him anymore. A sharp breath forces into her chest, and she lets out the worst cry he's ever heard. "Please!"

Dean lets go of her wrist, and pushes himself up by the knuckles. He watches her curl into herself, sobbing into her sweatshirt. 

It's heartbreaking. This can't be her. If she didn't talk to Bobby...she'd be swinging that knife the same way Bobby did, rage burning in her eyes. But she gave up. She asked him to leave her alone. 

She gave up.

He notices the way her hoodie drapes...not in the way it would a woman who's full-term. Not in the way it would if she were carrying his child.

"Katherine," he says, forcing his eyes to her face. "Look at me."

"No," she snaps, pushing herself up. 

"Look!" Her eyes open, red and puffy. He picks up the knife, watches her stiffen. "I'm not here to hurt you." He looks the knife over, deeming it must be silver, and touches it to his hand. "See? It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

She pushes herself back, socked feet slipping against the hardwood until her back is at the wall. Cold September air blasts through the house. Dean gets to his feet and closes the door, then slowly turns to look down at her.

She isn't watching him. She seems resigned, almost, whispering wake up, wake up. 

This must be a regular thing, then. 

"Katherine," Dean whispers. "Can I sit by you?"

"No," she rasps, keeping her eyes closed. 

It almost reminds him of after Yellow Eyes. How she locked herself in the bathroom and called Charlie, sobbing. 

"You're still having nightmares, aren't you?" She doesn't answer him. "Katherine, where's Charlie?" That gets her to look at him. Red-nosed, puffy-eyed, burning with anger. There we go. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"Get out."

"No."

"Get out!"

"Katherine, it's Dean," he insists, holding his hands out. "This isn't a dream. This morning, I woke up in a pine box in Illinois. I robbed a gas station and drove to Bobby, and then I came here, to find you. Why aren't you in Florida?"

She stares at him in confusion, full lips parted, chest heaving. Watching him step closer. Crouch in front of her. Slowly, she sits away from the wall. She reaches for him with her left hand, and cold fingertips prod his cheek. A noise bubbles in her chest, like a whimper, and she chokes it back. Presses fingertips down his neck, across his shoulder, where they spread and squeeze. 

"It feels different," she whispers.

Dean nods. "This is real, Katherine." She just has that same tormented, confused look. "I know. I...I thought I might've been dreaming, too...that all of this is one big dream, and that..." He swallows hard, working against the lump in his throat. "That I'd be back in Hell the next time I blinked. But I'm still here. This is real. I'm real." Her hand rests in the middle of his chest, right over his heart. She lets out a strangled sob, pulling her fingers away, and looks at him in pain. 

"You're not...not a shifter?" She hiccups. Dean shakes his head. "And you're not a demon?"

"I can say an exorcism, if you want me to." She just stares at him, and so he does. It only took a few words for her to start crying, and she sits up on her knees to reach for him, arms wrapping around his neck and face resting beside his. "Hi," he whispers, tightness pulling at his chest, tears stinging his eyes.

"Hi," she sobs in answer. "Oh my God, hi." He squeezes her harder, feeling her ribs through her sweatshirt, underneath his arms. 

He knows the worst has happened. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. Her breath falters for half a second, chest flailing against his. "Katherine, I'm so sorry."

"He's dead," she sobs. "He's dead, and it's—all my fault."

His heart hurts. He can't think of any words to say, but "I'm sorry" aren't the right ones. He is, they just...won't fix it.

She cried for what felt like ages, but never let him go. Not until she stopped, until they stared at each other for minutes on end.

She pushes herself up from the floor, using the wall as support. "Stay," she whispers, and he nods. "Don't move. Please."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, honey." He watches her pluck a phone from the cradle on the countertop, then head straight out of the kitchen into a room he can't see. 

Katherine dials Russell's cell and holds the phone to her ear. 

Her mind feels like it's doing cartwheels. She's dizzy, and nothing makes sense. 

She looks down at the floor, at the two kittens prancing around.

"Hey, baby," Russell answers. 

"Hi," she whispers, moving into the bathroom. "Where are you?"

He sighs into the receiver. "Pat insisted on food, so we're at The Drug Store. Are you hungry? I doubt you'll want any of this, but I can stop somewhere else."

"No, I'm fine. Someone—" She stops, looking towards the entryway of the bedroom. "Actually, can you get some cheeseburgers?"

She can practically see the confusion on his face. "You think you can keep it down?"

"They're not for me," she quietly answers. "Look...I don't know how, but Dean...Dean is back. He's here." The radio on the other end goes silent.

"Dude," Pat protests.

"Say that again," Russell says. There's a glimmer of panic in his cold tone.

"Dean is here," Katherine whispers.

A heartbeat passes. "You're absolutely sure it's a human?"

"Yes," she replies in a hiss. "He's in the entryway. But when you come home...I can't tell him about us." She blinks, shaking her head at the silence, at how her words sounded. "I meant in the witch way."

"But if he's back...if he's back, then he can't know about us anyway...right?" Russell asks. 

"I don't care about that part," Katherine whispers. "But I need to keep you safe. So you figure out how you walk through that door."

"Okay."

"Just for a little while."

"I know." He sighs. "You're sure it's him."

"Yes."

"Okay. Okay, we'll be home in a little while. Please be safe." Silence hangs for half a second. "I love you."

Katherine nods. "I love you." She hangs up, clutching the phone in her left hand, heart hammering in her throat. 

Of course Dean would never hurt her. He could handle someone who helped her...a lover, even. But when it came to supernatural creatures, they were both ruthless. She wouldn't risk Russell...not until she knew for certain this was Dean. Knew him again.

She takes a hesitant step forward, and then another. Soon, she's in the living room, looking down at the floor where she left Dean.

As he promised, he hadn't moved. He lifts his head, fingers fidgety, and his oak leaf gaze settles on her. 

"Did you bring me back?" Dean asks. 

Katherine's arms hang limply at her sides. "No," she whispers. "I couldn't do that to her...to him."  She moves for the kitchen and puts the phone on the cradle. "Have you talked to Sam?"

"His number's disconneted," Dean answers. "Bobby's tracking him down. Have you?"

Tears fill her eyes, and she shakes her head. "He's alive?" She shakily asks.

"Bobby said as far as he knew." Dean pushes himself up from the floor and makes his way to the bar. "Can you...tell me what happened? Why's your arm casted?"

She looks down at her right limb, sleeve full and rigid. Two fingers wrapped in baby blue fiberglass poke out. 

"I broke it," she answers.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Obviously, smart ass." She lifts her eyes to him, and his seem to go softer than before.

She hates how he's looking at her, because it reminds her that it's all true. That she's broken and fragile, no matter how much she's leant on Russell this summer. How much he believed in her, loved her.

He once said to her that it's fine if she never gets over it. That he'd never expect that out of her. What would Dean expect?

"Who killed him?" Dean whispers. 

Her face crumples, and she looks away from him. "We're still looking for them," she croaks. "The Stynes. They came looking for the Book." She looses a trembling breath. "I didn't have an answer for them, but they beat him to death anyway." His arms are around her shoulders, a hand behind her head, in an instant. She's crying again, into his chest. Clothes that smell like wet earth. 

They're sitting on the sofa when the front door opens. Patrick's head nearly touches the door frame as he steps through. She can tell by the way he walks that he's plastered. She's waiting for Russell to walk in behind him, to find those dark eyes that became home. But the door closes behind Patrick, and she knows what he chose.

He's silent on four feet, walking in step with Patrick, head stopping just above his knees. The same huge dog in that cabin with the wendigo. Shepherd-like, fur long and warm brown and golden, just like Russell's hair. His head is held high, sharp brown eyes focused on Dean as he gets up from the sofa. 

"Dean, this is Patrick," she chokes out, staring at Russell in his familiar form. Just for now, she reminds herself. Russell moves towards her, disregarding Dean totally, and rests his head on her lap. "He took me in this summer."

Patrick stares down at Dean, trying his best to look sober, and reaches forward to shake his hand.

"You took care of her?" Dean asks. Pat looks to Katherine, almost panic-stricken, then nods at Dean. "Thank you."

Pat holds up a bag of food in answer. "The Drug Store has the best burgers around. Got some for you." Dean turns to look at Katherine, bewildered. 

Jake has come out of their room, trotting up beside Russell with a wagging tail. How strange it must be, to smell Russell but not see Russell. 

"Thank you," Dean says. 

"Back from the dead, huh?"

Dean blinks in surprise, and Russell lets out a soft bark of reprimand. 

"Dude," Katherine scoffs. 

"Well I don't know how to start this conversation, Katherine," Patrick defends, pulling a container of cheese fries towards himself. "I've never spoken to someone who died and came back to life."

"Me either," Dean hums, unwrapping a burger, and takes a huge bite. His eyes close, and he lets out a long, blissful sigh. "I'm going to crave these for the rest of my life," he says.