#ry writes

When you stepped out of the car at the jewelry store, you almost started to think he was right. It felt like the heat was cooking you alive. Heat seeped through your flimsy t-shirt and shorts, straight into your muscles and bones. You wondered, for a moment, the logistics of moving to somewhere colder. Greenland, you decided, would work. Sure, you would probably have to learn a new language, and you’d never even been there before, but you were pretty sure it was cold there.

“You okay?”

Ryland stood beside you, hands slightly outstretched and ready to catch you at any given moment if you started to wobble.

“Yeah,” you said. You both knew you were lying, but neither of you said it. “I’m fine. Just… get me inside.”

The process of actually getting the rings was a lot easier than you’d thought. They were already paid for — dammit, Ryland — and were waiting behind the counter for you to try them on.

“It fits better than your paper ring,” you muttered, twisting the band around on your finger.

“Hey. I made that myself,” Ryland said. You didn’t have to look up to know he was smiling at you, your own smile starting to form as you moved the ring back into place.

“Would you like me to pack those back up for you?” the jeweler asked.

“Yeah, please.”

The jeweler disappeared into the back of the store to finish packaging them properly, and as you waited, you tried to act like your legs weren’t killing you. In reality, the combination of the heat, standing, and having spent the last few days just resting at home was starting to take a toll on you. You shifted your weight from your left foot to your right foot, shaking out the pain from your left leg. When you shifted again, Ryland’s hand came up to your waist, gently repositioning you so you could lean back against him. His chest was warm behind you, knee bent just enough for you to take some of the pressure off of your body. He didn’t say anything, and, for some reason, neither did you.

When you stepped back outside of the shop, you were still thinking about your ring. Maybe this wasn’t exactly how you’d expected your life to go, but now, you didn’t feel so bad about it. You were marrying Ryland, after all. Your Ryland. Ryland, who was unbelievably respectful and kind. The same Ryland who had taken care of you after you had sobbed in his arms over your ex breaking up with you, who had been the one to coax you back outside of the apartment under the guise of stargazing after you hadn’t left in a week. He was the same Ryland who could spot flare symptoms before you even could, so he’d start adding electrolyte packs to your nightly water bottle and making sure your pill container for the day was empty before you left for work.

You’d been the one to pull him out to the playground as kids. One day, when he’d been absolutely miserable, you told him that if he came out with you, you’d marry him under the slides. He’d perked up in a way you’d never seen before, and that day, you’d gotten married on the playground with Colt as an officiant. You’d kissed him on the cheek and his face had turned so red that your teacher was worried he’d gotten sunburnt.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he muttered as you stepped off of the sidewalk, hand holding yours to keep you steady. “You’ve been standing for a while.”

“I’m okay,” you said. Still, you found yourself holding onto his hand as you walked through the parking lot. Something about the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours wasn’t just grounding, but… safe.

“We’re gonna go home.”

“What? I thought we were going to get lunch,” you said. “To, you know, celebrate buying wedding rings.”

“We’ll order something,” he said. “You need to rest.”

“Ryland, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking,” he said. He opened the door for your side of the car, holding it open as you stood there.

“You can’t just —“

“We’re going home,” he said. “I’m making the decision for you. We’ll go somewhere else later to celebrate. Now get in.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to insist that you were fine, that how dare he say you couldn’t do it, how dare he say you needed to rest —

“Sweetheart. Get in the car.”

You huffed.

You got in the car.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Ryland was right. You barely managed to walk up the stairs in front of your apartment building without crashing. He practically held you up the entire way before eventually depositing you onto the couch. Your body melted against the cushions, back popping in places you were pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to pop.

“I think we should just stay in tonight,” Ryland said. His voice was gentle, now, far less stern than it had been outside the jeweler’s. “You should take a shower and get into bed.”

“I can’t move,” you groaned out. You shifted your hips slightly and felt them pop, wincing as they pushed themselves back into place.

“I’ll go get everything so you can take a shower,” he said. “Do you want your meds?”

You nodded weakly, and as Ryland stepped away to get them, it was then that you started to phase in and out of consciousness. You woke to take your meds, slept while he gathered a towel and some clothes for you. You woke again when he returned and picked you up to carry you to the bathroom, setting you down on the toilet seat lid so he could turn on the shower.

“Do you want help?”

The words barely processed in your brain before you started to nod. The idea alone of taking a shower was exhausting, but it felt easier if Ryland was there.

“Okay, I’ll be outside while you get undressed —“

“We’re getting married,” you interrupted. Your words were slightly slurred as you spoke through the pain, but you managed to lift your eyes to his. He peered at you from behind his glasses, tilting his head to the side.

“What?”

“We’re getting married,” you repeated. “I don’t care if you see me naked. I can’t shower alone right now.”

There was a stretch of silence where he just stared at you before you spoke again.

“Please.”

His hands were gentle as he helped you out of your clothes, trying to make sure it hurt as little as possible. When you were finally undressed, he got your hair brushed out as best he could and helped you onto your shower chair — which, as you so often did, you thought was the best product in the world right now — before undressing himself.

The warm water felt like heaven as it went down your body. Your muscles were able to relax under the temperature and pressure, and it felt like your joints were clicking back into place for the first time all day.

That still didn’t begin to touch the feeling of Ryland washing your hair. His fingers massaged against your scalp in slow, steady circles, rubbing the shampoo in. Neither one of you spoke, save for him muttering a few soft commands; he’d ask you to lean your head back, to close your eyes.

“Almost done, sweetheart,” he said. “Tilt your head back for me?”

You leaned your head back, eyes still open as you looked up at him. He was busy rinsing the conditioner out of your hair and didn’t seem to notice you staring at him.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Your words were still slurred, coming out more as a jumbled up mess than an actual sentence.

“Calling you what? Sweetheart?” You nodded weakly. Ryland didn’t answer right away, his focus returned to washing your hair.

“Ryland,” you mumbled.

“I just think if we’re going to do this, we have to go all in,” he said. His shoulders lifted in a small shrug, his eyes avoiding yours. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The word came out before your brain could even begin to answer him; your body just did it for you.

He smiled down at you, running his fingers through your hair one last time.

“Let’s get you out the shower, sweetheart.”

He was just as gentle getting you out as he was getting you in. He helped you change into the kind of clothes you always wore during a flare up, a baggy shirt and shorts that didn’t make you feel like you were crawling out of your skin. He did your hair, too, to the best of his abilities.

“We should get you to bed,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. ”I’ll make dinner after that.”

“I want to sit with you,” you said. Exhaustion was clear in your voice, but the pout forming on your face was, unfortunately, pretty convincing. “Come on, Ry. My medicine’s kicking in. I don’t hurt so much. I just want to stay and talk.”

Ryland hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over your hips. His eyes traced your face, moving back and forth behind his glasses like you were something to study.

“If I hear one sound —“ he started.

“I’ll go to bed, yes.”

He sighed, letting his hands fall onto your sides.

“Alright. Come on.”

“What do you think you’d say if you were actually proposing to someone?”

The kitchen was warm as you sat at the table, ring box open in your hand while Ryland cooked at the stove. You’d asked the question out of pure curiosity, really. You weren’t trying to make him feel bad about this not being real; you were just wondering.

“That depends,” Ryland replied. He glanced over his shoulder at you as he reached for a spice from the cabinet. “Who am I proposing to?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, I have to know the backstory, don’t I?”

You tilted the ring towards the soft sunset lighting coming from the window, watching the gemstone sparkle and splash across the wooden table.

“Like… if this was real, I guess. If we were actually a couple.” It was an odd feeling, the one that came up at the idea. It was the same one you’d had back in your classroom a few weeks ago when the idea of getting married had even crossed your mind. You’d felt it a few times since then, too. You’d felt it when you were shopping for rings, when you were touring houses in the suburbs. You’d felt it when you were comparing income to mortgage rates, when you started a joint account to save up enough for a down payment.

It wasn’t an easy feeling to place. It almost felt like relief, in an unusual way. It wasn’t that you were relieved to make these steps in life — you’d never really set yourself a timeline — but that you were relieved you were doing it with Ryland. Nobody else could’ve picked up where you left off in the way that he could. Nobody else could’ve caught your eye and known that house wasn’t the one with just a glance. Nobody else would’ve done it the way you two did.

The realization smacked you so hard you felt like the world was spinning around you.

Longing.

The word you were looking for was longing.

The future had never been certain for you, and it surely had never been certain for Ryland. You’d always been afraid that you’d get married to a man who didn’t like Ryland, who’d make you stop talking to him every day or think there was something weird between the two of you. When you’d said you wanted to marry him as a kid, you weren’t playing pretend. You couldn’t imagine a life without him by your side.

Ryland’s voice, as it so often did, snapped you out of your spiral. You blinked a few times as your soul returned to your body, focusing back on the man in front of you. Feelings, you decided, could wait until later.

“I don’t know,” he said. His voice had shifted; in only a few moments, he’d lost the humorous tone. He spoke softly, now, as if he was actually about to propose to you. “I’d probably start with the fact that you’re my best friend, and that you’ve been my best friend for forever. I’d say that I love you more than you love my stupid shirts, and I’d say that getting to grow up with you and watch you become the person you are was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.

“I’d say something about the playground and the sunburn, I think, and I’d probably make a joke about Colt officiating again. I’d say that this was the only option I ever thought of, and that the idea of you saying no makes me so nervous I want to throw up. And then I’d ask you to marry me.”

You didn’t say anything. Fuck, what were you supposed to say? It was supposed to be a joke, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like a joke. It definitely didn’t feel fake.

Ryland cleared his throat a moment later. He cast you a quick look as he turned towards the cabinet again, reaching for a bowl. “Or something like that, I guess.”

taglist!! i am giving you all a smooch on the head ily'all. if you want to be added, just let me know :)

Emily was clearing out her apartment and getting rid of things she no longer needed, the book shelf filled with old notebooks being one of her priorities. Some of the notebooks had been with her for as long as she’d been back in DC and she probably didn’t need the contents any longer. Most of the notebooks were half used, filled with to-do lists and ideas for decoration at her apartment or birthday gift ideas for the team before being forgotten about. She ripped out the pages that had been used to put them in the trash and left them on the counter to be able to take into work where she knew that would definitely use them. She felt lighter for getting them off her shelf, until she reached the last book. For a moment, her hand hovered over the burgundy leather notebook at the bottom of the pile before she picked it up. She needed to sit down before reading through this one.

She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on her couch, curling her legs up and draping a blanket over her lap. She took a breath before opening the first page. The first thing she noticed was that her handwriting was shaky, probably from all of the pain medication she was taking at the time. The first entry was from the first night she arrived in her Paris apartment. With no way to contact her friends, she thought it might be a good way to get out all of her feelings and thoughts. In all honesty, since being back in DC, she’d forgotten about it, being swept back into the busy BAU world once again. She flicked through the notebook for a moment before landing on a page that was in a different coloured ink. The red pen she usually used on her calendar felt fitting for this one entry. Her heart started to race once she remembered what she’d written about. She took a large sip of her wine before starting to read it.

Dear Emily,

Jennifer dropped off my new identities and some cash yesterday. She was only in Paris for 24 hours so it was an extremely fleeting visit. My chest felt tight when she walked away from the table despite knowing that I’d see her later. We knew that we shouldn’t have done it but I was lonely and there’s only so long I can go without seeing a friendly face. She came to my apartment last night. She stayed the night. For one night, I slept in her arms, I felt safe and everything was okay. God, she’s so beautiful. Her hands were so careful but so sure moving over my body, her fingers warm on my hips as she held me while I cried.

But, how can I cope knowing that I’ll never have that again? She has him. She has a son. She’ll never be mine. All I get is one night with her. One time I can actually be myself and not worry about being called names or disappointing stupid ambassador mothers.

We always had a spark, right from the moment I met her, but she was scared to be out, scared of what her parents and friends would think if she was in love with a woman. So for years, I’ve loved her from a distance. For one night, I was able to love her and let her love me like we both secretly craved. It can never happen again. She’s too precious, too sweet. I’ll treasure that one night though.

Before she left, she suggested playing online scrabble. That’s all I get. I can’t even properly speak to her. Just stupid little letters made into stupid little words. CheetoBreath and BlackBirdM It’s the only way we can communicate without a risk of me being found and if anything, that’s the most painful thing about this whole situation. I’m not terrified of being found by a terrorist and serial killer. I am scared of being lonely though.

How do I make genuine friendships without them knowing my real name, without being able to tell them that at any point I might need to up and leave and go back to the life that used to be mine? That’s what it is though, isn’t it? My old life. I might never have it back. The team might never find him and I’ll be stuck here in the city of love. It’s ironic that the woman I love stayed for one night and broke my heart when she left, and I know that I might never see her again. It’s a small but very real possibility. I have faith in my team but I also know what he’s like.

This sucks.

Amélie.

She didn’t know when she’d started to cry, but she was suddenly aware of the tears streaming down her face. Even now, almost 15 years later, Emily remembers how she felt writing that. It was hard not to. She cried for hours. After she wrote this entry, she almost ripped out the page and set it on fire so that she’d purposefully avoid this moment but something stopped her at the time. Maybe it was hope that in the future things would be different and she was right. Things were different. Emily and JJ had accidentally been stoned together and maybe that was Emily’s fault. She needed those Cheetos to decompress. It had absolutely nothing to do with them being JJ’s favourite snack and there definitely weren’t other options that she could have picked. She would never do such a thing.

She wished that she could go back in time and hug this version of herself to tell her how things were going to play out. The team caught Doyle and now he was dead. Emily watched him die. She reminded herself of that fact often. On the days that she woke up with anxiety that didn’t subside, she repeated that he was dead. She watched him die. She hasn’t had one of those days for a while. Not since the thing happened.

Emily sipped her wine again and reached for her phone. She dialed the contact at the top of her frequent calls. On her personal phone, it was the only number she’d called in a few months so there wasn’t much competition.

“Hey,” she realised her voice sounded wet and the person on the other end of the call would be able to tell that she had been crying but Emily didn’t have shame. There was no way she could feel embarrassed anymore. “Are you busy? Do you want to come over?” A smile spread across her face as the person on the other end of the line responded.

Emily let her fingers flick between the pages for a few minutes, letting herself feel everything; how her heart shattered when she woke up to JJ pressing a kiss to her forehead before saying goodbye and wishing that Emily would be okay in Paris, not knowing how long it would be before they saw each other again, how she felt when she heard that JJ was engaged and she couldn’t breathe for a few moments, how beautiful JJ looked walking down the aisle to get married and Emily shed a tear wishing she was the person that JJ was marrying. She’d disguised that one well. From the outside, it looked like she was happy for her best friend, crying from joy, and not like the most painful heartbreak that Emily had ever experienced.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by two sharp knocks on the door and then a key turning in the lock. She wiped away her tears, moving her wine glass onto a coaster, opened the notebook onto the page she wanted to keep and placed it face down on the arm of the couch so she didn’t lose it. She stood up, letting the blanket fall into a crumpled pile on the floor and made her way to the door of her apartment.

Her footsteps were quiet as she moved through the apartment and she stood there for a moment to admire how JJ neatly tucked her shoes onto the rack. Despite being in her loungewear, Emily thought she looked beautiful. She stepped closer and watched as a smile spread onto JJ’s face, the blonde woman’s arms opening to let Emily step between them. Emily buried her face into JJ’s neck and wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist. JJ’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and she squeezed, savouring the moment. Her voice was gentle as she spoke, knowing that was what Emily needed in that moment.

“Hi darling,” JJ whispered. Emily pressed a kiss to her neck before pulling back slightly. Her left hand moved from JJ’s waist to cup her face as she softly kissed her. A warmth spread through Emily. This was exactly what she needed.

“Wine?” Emily asked as she pulled away. JJ nodded, her nose brushing Emily’s softly. “Perfect. I already have a bottle open. Come sit.” Emily redhead for JJs’s hand and together they walked through the hallway back to Emily’s couch. She picked the blanket up off the floor and then sat down, JJ having already topped up the wine glass. There was no need to get a second glass, at least not with your partner. At some point early in their careers, they’d sat on a bed in a motel room in the middle of nowhere and drank straight from the bottle because the room only had mugs in it and they were much classier than that. The only logical solution to that problem is to drink straight from the bottle. That was a fond memory of Emily’s. It was one of the harder cases where they were so exhausted that they giggled at almost everything and JJ had ended up falling asleep with her head resting on Emily’s shoulder. Emily was pulled out of her thoughts by JJ brushing a stray hair away from her face.

“What are you thinking about?” JJ asked. Emily smiled, her hand reaching over to rest on JJ’s thigh.

“Us, back in the early BAU days, when Gideon was still around. The case where we shared a cheap bottle of white wine in the worst motel room I’ve ever seen and laughed at the most stupid things that weren’t even funny, like Hotch sneezing in the next room.” JJ hummed, leaning over to press a kiss to Emily’s cheek.

“I remember it well,” JJ admitted. “But that’s not why you called me, is it?” Emily sighed. Her partner knew her too well.

“I was feeling a little sad and wanted to see you. I was sorting some stuff out and came across one of my old journals, specifically the one from when I was undercover in Paris. I think I just wanted you here to remind myself how much things have changed and how much better they are now.” JJ rested her hand on top of Emily’s hand on her thigh and Emily turned her hand over to hold JJ’s.

“Care to share, in either spoken or written words? JJ asked. Emily reached for the notebook on her arm on the couch and passed it to JJ, the page already opened. She stood up and kissed JJ’s forehead. She couldn’t watch her read it.

“I’ll be back soon.” Emily walked into the kitchen, primarily to get a snack for her and JJ, but also to give her a moment to calm herself down. She loved JJ more than anything, but at times like this, where she was willingly allowing herself to be vulnerable, she really struggled. She opened the freezer to grab an ice cube and held it between her hands for a few moments, focusing on the burning sensation. It calmed her enough that she let it drop into the sink. She dried her hands on the towel and opened the cupboard to get the bag of Cheetos that she kept for whenever JJ was around and took a deep breath before making her way back over to JJ.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she walked back to the couch, but it definitely wasn’t seeing JJ with tears streaming down her face, her fingers tracing over one of the lines Emily had written.

“Is this really how you felt?” JJ asked, her gaze shooting up to meet Emily’s when she heard footsteps approaching.

“At the time, yeah. I mean, looking back, it’s a little harsh, but it was honest and the truth when I wrote it.”

“Well, fuck.” JJ said and Emily let out a little laugh. JJ softly closed the book and Emily gently took it out of her hands to put on the table. She dropped the bag of Cheetos onto the table too and then sat down, JJ immediately curling into her side. “I felt the same, mostly, but I was also terrified,” she said, her voice so quiet Emily almost didn’t hear her. “I had the option of being happy, but in hiding, or letting myself be swept into something safe and socially acceptable. I let him love me for so many years, pushing through how uncomfortable I was at times. I think that’s what led to the divorce. We kind of grew apart and I stopped wanting the physical affection, but I couldn’t seek it anywhere else, not when we had 2 kids. I didn’t want them to grow up in a hostile household, so it made the most sense to separate.” Emily nodded, having heard this from JJ before, in their intoxicated discussion.

“And that’s okay, Jayje. I knew that I couldn’t ask that of you and it wouldn’t have been fair for me to admit that to you, so I kept it to myself. I was okay. I was okay with being friends and just showing you my love in a different way.” Her hand tightened around JJ’s waist and JJ looked up at her.

“I’m so grateful for what we’ve built now, though. It’s honest and real, and my favourite way to spend a Friday night.” JJ sat up, kissing Emily softly and reaching for the Cheetos.

“I love you,’ Emily said, her voice full of softness and gentle love.

BATON ROUGE GENERAL'S EMERGENCY ROOM WAS ABUZZ WITH UNINTELLIGIBLE CHATTER. Two years came and went of nursing school, and Kat Dawson had spent more of her time at the hospital than in her home. The hospital was beyond capacity and had been for some time — it was the only safety net people had after losing everything. It was made worse by Hurricane Katrina but, on the bright side, Kat was no longer waist deep in water. There was a series of announcements overhead that went unnoticed under the sea of voices. There had been a multi-car stack-up on Highway 10 and at least half a dozen fatalities. Patients were coming in with head lacerations and broken or missing limbs.

Cries and groans were mindless buzzing as Kat tended to the open wound on her patient's leg. It was second nature at this point in her career — to develop a sort of tunnel vision. The girl in front of her looked no more than seventeen. Her shirt ripped at the hem, she'd lost a shoe, and blood stained her blonde hair. The young girl writhed in pain as her father attempted to keep her still, making it hard for Kat to apply sutures.

"Kat!" Her name being called caught her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she found it was Jerry.

He was older man that ran the ER floor like the goddamn Navy. His short brown hair was streaked with grey at his temples, and his eyes were a deep shade of brown that reminded her of the piercing gaze of a shark. Jerry was taller than most others in the general vicinity – standing at just over six feet.

He waved her over, and Kat let out a frustrated sigh. Of course, he needs my help. Jerry had some sort of attraction to Kat (that thought made her want to vomit) and always gave her the hardest cases, claiming he knew she was capable enough. Kat ties off the suture as Jerry comes by with another case for her. After a quick briefing, she's on to the next. If she hadn't known better, Kat would've believed anyone who told her a bear attacked the man in front of her. His clothes torn to shreds, gashes and blood covered his body. He was being kept alive by an EMT pumping on his chest. Several things might've attacked this man, and a bear was not it. A rougarou, maybe.

She directed the EMTs toward a bed and waved another nurse over as she began assessing his wounds. Crimson liquid prevented Kat from seeing the extent of the damage done; it became increasingly clear that this man was on his way to death's doorstep.

As she turned to call for more hands, Kat came face to face with a surprise.

"'Sup," the man greeted her. An impish smirk crossed his face and those familiar green eyes made her heart drop.

"Dean?" The air in her chest left at once, leaving her gaping like an idiot.

Dean Winchester, in the flesh, stood with his hands in the pockets of his worn leather coat and an air of arrogance that never seemed to fade. It had been a year and a half since Kat had last seen the eldest Winchester boy. The minor disagreement they had shortly before he left was nothing short of explosive, but after a hunt where Kat had saved his ass, it was resolved by a couple of beers and a heartfelt talk.

That hunt had been her last before her "apple pie" life caught up with her. She had always meant to reach out, but the frequent night shift and sleep deprivation always crept up on her. Lilah had kept in contact with him, though; she had always been sweet on Dean, so it didn't come as a surprise.

She still couldn't talk, her emotions taking over, and all she could do was give a teary smile. Dean's smile faltered a moment and he took pity on her, pulling her in for a hug. Even in her daze, Kat was careful not to get her bloodstained gloves on his brown leather jacket. He smelled like gunpowder, leather, and citrus – a surprising combination for Kat but a welcome one still.

"Happy to see me?" Dean pulls away and holds her at arm's length, a smile plastered on his face.

"Dean," Kat repeats, as if not acknowledging him would make him dematerialize. "Whatta ya doin' here?"

"I'm here for you," Dean chuckles, and those green eyes trail down to her hands. His face twists in disgust before schooling his features. "I need your help."

"I'm kinda in the middle'a something, Cher." Kat laughs a little, holding up her hands.

He gives her an unimpressed look. "So, get out of it," He says it as if he's suggesting the most rational idea on the planet.

"I'm at work, Dean." Kat snaps, waving her arms around. "People are dyin'. I gotta save lives, y’know."

He gives her a look of annoyance, and Kat realizes what he's about to say before it comes out. You'll be saving lives with me too. She holds a hand in front of his face to stop him.

"I know." Kat snapped, grumbling as she tore the latex gloves off her hands. "I'll make an excuse 'bout leavin' or somethin'."

She tosses the gloves in a nearby trash can. She can hear Jerry yelling at her, which she pays no mind to. I really hate that guy, goddamn brigand. Kat and Dean weave through the crowd. They bump into discombobulated patients and concerned family members on the way. A few coworkers give her looks in passing that suggests jealousy or approval at the sight of the man behind her. The thought of her and Dean together nauseated her.

The locker room was quiet but not empty as Kat entered, her friend hot on her heels. They made a show of their departure. Kat collected her belongings while sniffling and Dean pressed against her, looking dejected. The small group of nurses nearby glances at them with worry in their eyes. Kat gives a small smile to reassure them. She likes to think it enhances the performance.

"Hey," One of her coworkers calls out. "Y'okay, Kat?"

Kat looks up and finds Clarissa (a good friend of hers) leaning against the cool locker beside her. Clarissa was a beautiful woman. Her skin was bronze with voluminous curly, black hair that fell past her shoulder blades. The most intriguing feature of hers was her heterochromatic eyes. Her right eye was a deep chocolate brown while the left was the same shade as Dean's – emerald green. Kat felt bad for lying to her but she wouldn't let it linger. In her former line of work, lying came as easy as breathing.

"Yeah," Kat forced a crack in her voice. "Yeah, I-I gotta go."

Clarissa's thick eyebrows furrowed as she frowned, looking up at the man behind Kat.

"There a problem?" Clarissa is addressing Dean now.

"Uh, no, ma'am," Dean gave her a small, pained smile. "Takin' her home is all."

"Mhm," Clarissa watches him for a beat before leaning in towards Kat. "If you need me to kick 'is ass, I can."

Kat lets out a snort. She knew Clarissa was deadly serious. "Cece, I'm okay. Relationship problems.”

Those words were the most disturbing lie she'd ever told. Once again, the thought of her and Dean in any relationship other than platonic made her skin crawl. Nothing against Dean. He didn't make her heart beat out of its chest like it did for Lilah. Kat had never been into older guys. Her sister on the other hand...

Clarissa's eyes flickered from Kat to Dean and back to Kat. "Relationship?"

"Well, not so much no more," another lie.

To add to the dramatics, Dean cleared his throat. A sad, broken look washed over him. Clarissa didn't say anything after that. With a gentle hand on Kat's shoulder, she squeezed twice, and turned to her other coworkers. With that, Kat set off to leave the locker room and the hospital itself. On the way, Jerry called to her again and instead of ignoring him, she flipped him off. For all the years of weird stares and lingering touches. For all the cases that broke her mind and spirit because he liked to see her sweat.

Her power walk does not stop until she takes in the familiar sight of Baby, Dean's beloved Impala. He pops the truck to put her bag down and take an inventory of all the guns he had. Kat is sure that Lilah would have no problem following Dean into whatever fight he threw their way. She was more apprehensive than anything. John wasn't in the driver's seat and barking orders. Sam was off in California somewhere, living his life.

He had been declining her calls ever since he had arrived at Stanford. Three years of nothing. I should hex him, Kat tossed the idea around. Then he'd reach out to me. Not that it would do any good. He'd only call her to make his silence more permanent by cutting her out forever.

"So, whatcha need me for?" Kat asked, leaning her body against the side of the trunk.

"'M dad's missing," Dean mumbled, his hands fiddling with his gun.

"What?!" Kat perks up, her chest tightening. "John's missin'?"

Dean gives her an unreadable expression. "That's what I said, yeah."

"Arrete toi," Kat snapped. She couldn't believe he was doing this right now. "I'm sticking my neck out for you. Else imma go back in an' you can search for your daddy by your lonesome, couillon."

Dean considers this for a moment and appears apologetic enough for Kat to forgive his attitude. He's scared for his father's safety, after all. With his head bowed, Dean gives a small nod of his head, contemplation setting over his features. The lighting of the hospital parking garage is shit, but in the moonlight, Dean looks near tears.

Kat places a hand on his shoulder before speaking, "Look, I'll always help you... even if ya daddy is a piece of shit."

Dean cracks a smile at her comment.

"So... where's Sam?" Kat looks around, an expectant look on her face. She glanced through the back windshield of the Impala to find no sign of Dean's younger sibling.

Dean sighs, "I came for you and Li first." He didn't look up. He knew if he did, Kat would have that look on her face. The one that said, "Don't take me for an idiot." Kat noticed his shift in demeanor and she pulled him down for a tight hug.

"Let's head to my place," Kat suggested, pulling away with her hands on his biceps. "Lilah'll be over the moon."

"Yeah?" Dean raises an eyebrow, filled with interest.

"Don't get big-headed now." Kat rolled her eyes. "An' don't get too interested."

Dean gives a smug nod before lowering himself into the Impala and starting the engine. Kat took a minute to let this interaction skin in. It was beginning to sink in that this might be the end of her normal life — no more friends, no more routine.

The little apartment that Kat and Lilah were renting was falling apart. They both had done all they could to refurbish it. The recent hurricane contributed to the decay. The floorboards warped and need replacing. Water stains littered the ceiling and cream-colored walls. Cardboard in place of broken windows of the living room.

Said room was a cramped little area with one or two plants sitting in the left-hand corner. Pictures of the girls together. Others with Sam and Dean. Random photos of scenery displayed along the walls. Dean felt out of place as he took everything in. Sure, he wasn't a generous six-four like his baby brother, but he still felt like a bull in a china shop.

He'd always wondered what was keeping his oldest friends in Louisiana. Other than their parents, they had no other family.

Kat made a beeline for her room with Dean trailing after her. In the short hallway, more pictures of the girls' graduation photos. Aside from Bobby enrolling them, the girls had done it all by themselves. Kat's room was at the end of the hall. On her bed was the same baby blue comforter that she had at Bobby's house.

Posters littered her walls, all from various artists and bands. Next to her bedroom door is a large bookcase. Each shelf filled with fantasy novels, non-fiction books, graphic novels, and everything between. Kat had always been a nerd in Dean's eyes, and this solidified it.

Below the window, at the end of her queen-sized bed, stood an altar. Statues of goddesses and pillars with candles in various shades of purple, pink, and red. In the center lay a large, metal tray covered in herbs, crystals, tarot cards, and two melted white candles. Kat had done a spell recently, probably before leaving for work, and forgot to clean up.

To his left, in the corner of the room, was a weathered, burnt orange chair. He studied it a moment before it hit him. That chair had come from Bobby's house. Sam often used it when he'd study or research for a case. Dean felt a small pang in his chest at the reminder of his brother.

On Kat's bedside table was a picture of his brother and Kat. She was smiling at the camera, her arms around Sam's neck while he stared down at her like a lovesick puppy. He is going in for a kiss on her cheek. Dean picked up the frame and a small smirk tugged at his lips. He remembers how he egged them on from behind the camera. He took it a week and a half before Sam left.

Her antique dresser breaks the silence. It screeches when Kat opens the top drawer to retrieve some of her underclothes. The next was silent as Kat grabbed some shirts and pants. Kat turned to her closet, sliding past Dean with a hand on his shoulder, and grabbed a sweater and a leather jacket.

Kat was laser-focused on packing what she could into the medium-sized duffel bag she had. She only had a few handguns and knives to take with her, which she placed on top of her clothes. Grasping the cool metal of her pistol was like a shock to her system, it made her wonder if this was a good idea. She had sworn off hunting, and now she was caving quicker than a sinkhole. This could be the last chance she had at normalcy; she was gambling with her life at this very moment. She was shit at gambling.

"You good, dude?" Dean appeared at her side, watching her with a concerned expression.

The world catches up with her in that moment. "Huh? Sorry... I'm fine."

"You don't seem like it." Dean takes a quick scan of her face, and he notes the distant look in her wide eyes. "Look, if you don't think you're up for it, I'm more than happy to get Sam myself."

"I'm good. Promise." Kat snaps and immediately regrets it. "Sorry. I'm just... tired. Long night."

Dean chuckles before plopping down on her bed. "Right. Does it have anything to do with the dude you gave the finger?"

At the mention of Jerry, Kat's frustration spikes. "Fuck him... fucking creep." The words escape through gritted teeth as she shoves her sweater into her bag.

The bathroom door slams shut and footsteps shuffle toward Kat's room. It's Lilah. She leans against the doorway, a confused look taking hold of her features. Her strawberry blonde hair was still damp from the shower she finished up, and she was in her pajamas. A cute pink matching set that was definitely Kat's. Her confused expression gives way to an enormous grin as she spots that man in the room. A squeal escapes her before she all but skips into Dean's arms.

The reaction was not an unusual one. Kat could recount all the times Lilah waxed poetic about his "beautiful, forest green eyes". The nonchalant attitude that seemed to make him more desirable in her eyes. Back when they were girls, Kat thought it was a silly little crush on a much older guy that she couldn't have. After a moment of embrace, the two pull apart, still holding onto each other's arms, with wide smiles for both of them.

"What are you doing here?" Lilah laughs in disbelief.

"Well, y'know..." Dean shrugs. "Had to come see my two favorite witches."

Ever the sweet talker. Kat should've known that Dean would flirt with Lilah as soon as she stepped into his orbit once again. It was like second nature at this point.

Kat rolls her eyes. "John's gone. He needs our help."

"Oh! Yeah, I'm coming." Lilah doesn't hesitate to agree.

Dean glances Kat's way, giving her a look that says: "Wow, that was easy." Turning back to her sister, "Well, chickadee, get your stuff together." Dean clasps his hands together, ecstatic that more than half of their group is back together. "We're going on a road trip!"

Two days had passed since Dean roped the girls into his plan. Two whole days of being stuck in a cramped Chevy Impala with arguably the craziest driver she knew. Kat's heart was in her stomach the entire ride as she imagined what it would be like when she reunited with Sam. She was still so angry with him. Angry that he had been declining her calls. Angry that he deemed her unworthy of his time, as he had done with Dean.

He had reasons. Kat told herself. Or he didn't. Who fucking knows.

Her mind was numb as she walked up to the back entrance of the college apartment building. Dean was already making his way up the ledge of Sam's apartment. They'd found out earlier that he was staying on the third floor and waited well into the night before making a move. It felt wrong to pry into Sam's life after he'd told them that he needed space. Even if "space" meant almost three years of silence.

When he was at a suitable distance above them, Lilah and Kat made a beeline for the staircase. It wouldn't be long for Dean to start something and Kat had to make sure to stop it.

Marching up the stairs, Kat surprised herself with how fast she became winded. All the air in her lungs thinned, and it felt like an elephant was stepping on her chest. The sound of Kat and Lilah's footsteps echoed through the halls as they made their ascent. Seeing as it was student housing, they would assume it to be a drunk neighbor coming back after a night of fun. Kat couldn't make herself feel bad enough to quiet herself.

"This is bullshit," Lilah panted from behind Kat. The eldest twin let out a stained laugh as they continued their journey. Looking to her left, Kat looked at the apartment number on the door next to her – 206. They still had a whole flight of stairs to go before they got to 303, Sam's apartment.

"Almost there," Kat told herself as she trailed her hand up the railing. Her legs ached and heat spread through her thighs and calves. Finally, the girls made it to their destination.

The sounds of grunting and fighting were impossible to ignore, and Kat knew that Dean was up to no good. As per usual. Kat rushed to the door and to discover that it was not locked. Dean must've unlocked it. The girls barreled into the entryway just as Sam threw a punch at Dean, which he blocked.

Kat, not wishing to get punched or thrown around, stood in the doorway as she caught her breath. The panting caught Sam's attention as his head turned towards the noise, giving Dean enough time to jab him in the stomach. As if that wasn't enough, Dean elbows Sam in the face, and that gives Sam enough incentive to kick at his brother's head. Dean ducks before swinging at Sam – a move which Sam blocks. Dean, tired of the sparring session, kicks Sam's legs out front under him and pins him to the ground. His hand wraps around Sam's neck and the other pins his arm to his broad chest.

"Whoa, easy, tiger." Dean teases his little brother with a giant grin creeping to his face.

Sam breathes hard from the physical exertion and genuine shock. "Dean?" Dean only laughs in response.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Sam whisper-shouts.

There is a brief fight for dominance before Dean concedes. The two brothers dust themselves off and take each other in. It'd been almost three years since anyone had seen Sam. It'd been almost three years since Kat had seen him or heard his voice. What a lousy three years.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam demanded.

"Well, I was looking for a beer." Dean placed his hands on Sam's shoulders, shaking him once, and let go. He waves a hand toward Kat and Lilah to signal their presence. "And our favorite twins wanted to pay a visit."

Sam barely spars them a glance, "Okay, I'll amend that statement... what the hell are you three doing here?"

"Okay. All right." Dean throws his head back in exasperation. Sam hadn't changed in the slightest – always snarky and pushy. "We gotta talk."

"Uh, the phone?" The younger Winchester scoffs, placing his hands on his hips.

"If I'd'a called, would you have picked up?" Dean smirked, already knowing the answer. "Y'know, Kitty was telling me on our way up here that you'd been declining her calls... so don't answer that."

"Sam?" a woman's voice calls out as the light switches on.

Finally, Kat looks away from the brothers, and it's the worst mistake she's made thus far. The woman to her right is blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and one of the most gorgeous people she's come across. She can't help but avert her eyes as discomfort sets in.

There is a moment of pause before Sam says, "Jess... Guys, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

Kat's heart drops. She knew it had to be something. Something keeping him away. Or someone. Lilah feels the shift in Kat's demeanor and places a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder. A spark of something, pity or sadness, flows between the girls. Kat lifts her head to assess the situation at hand. She had to be reasonable right now.

Sam looks almost the same as when she last saw him at that airport. Same shaggy hair, hazel eyes, and lanky build. He was still the Sammy that she'd once known, but different. Normal. Every bit of the college boy she hoped and imagined him to be.

"Jess, this is Dean." Sam gestured to the man in front of him.

"Wait," Jess pauses. "Your brother, Dean?"

Sam nods before turning to the twins. "And this is Lilah, my best friend, and her sister, Kat."

That sentence sets Kat alight. Anger rolls through her like lightning before a tornado. She steps forward to say something that would more likely cause a huge fight, but Lilah is quick to keep the peace. Instead, the overhead lighting flickers twice and Sam has the decency to look ashamed of his wording.

"It's nice to meet you," Lilah holds a hand out for Jess to shake.

"Hi." Kat waved and then clasped her hand behind her back.

Jess gives a sweet yet unsettled smile as she shakes Lilah's hand and gives Kat a nod.

"I'm sorry, Jess, but we gotta borrow your boyfriend here." Dean clears his throat once they are down, embracing. "Talk about some private family business."

"It was nice meeting you!" Lilah added, trying to lessen the blow.

Kat makes her way towards the door before Sam says, "No. Whatever you wanna say, you say it in front of her." Kat glances at Dean, who gives her an exasperated look. In response, she gives a quick shrug to signal that there is no point in fighting him on this.

"Okay," Dean drawls the word out, turning to face the couple head-on. "Uh, Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam doesn't seem to react to this news, placing a hand on his hip. "So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in, eventually."

Kat scoffs before casting a sidelong glance Dean's way, which he acknowledges with a slow nod. Kat told him on their first day on the road that Sam hated John and wouldn't care that he'd gone missing. In response to that, Dean argued that he would care with little to no evidence to back himself up. He dips his head as if to compose himself before facing his brother again.

"Dad's on a hunting trip," Dean clarifies, watching Sam's face crumble. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam whispers something in Jess's ear before she kisses him on the cheek, and goes into their bedroom. Sam scurries around the living room to grab a jacket and shoes to wear. He exits the front door, not waiting for them to catch up.

"What the hell, guys." Sam snaps once they're far away enough that Jess cannot hear. "Y'all can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you."

"You're not hearing me, Sammy," Dean argues. "Dad's missing. We need your help to find him."

Lilah and Kat trail behind the two men from a respectful distance. Lilah doesn't want to intrude on their conversation and Kat... Kat doesn't want to be around him right now. Kat ignores all the looks of sorrow and pity that her sister gives her. It was bad enough Lilah had to feel her sister's conflicting emotions, but seeing them play out? Even worse.

Kat felt stupid and naïve to believe that Sam would be thrilled to see her after all this time. Of course, he had moved on. Of course, he would never stick around for her. Of course.

"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst?" Sam argues against Dean's point. "Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine."

Dean stops in his tracks at the end of the staircase, giving his little brother a look. Kat can tell by Dean's demeanor that he didn't want to fight with Sam. As an older brother, he felt the need to hammer his point home. That had always been Dean's job. To be the parent that John refused to be.

"Not for this long," Dean snaps back. "Now, are you gonna come with us or not?"

"I'm not." That's enough for Kat.

She steps around the man. "Dean, let's go. It was a mistake to come here."

The older man is quick to dismiss her with a wave of a hand. "Why not?"

"Swore I was done hunting." A stony look falls over Sam's face. "For good."

Dean scoffs at his brother before starting down the stairs again. "Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't bad." Sam and the girls scurry to keep up with him.

A quick back and forth ensued, with both men arguing their case while Kat and Lilah are made to sit back and watch. It wasn't anything new to them. The Winchester boys were notorious for getting into heated spats. Sometimes they led to physical violence. Sometimes they were hilarious. Lilah and Kat had their disagreements about certain things. Lilah thought Kat was too reckless with her power and thought that using Arcanum was too risky. Kat thought Lilah was too cautious, never willing to step into her full power out of fear.

It was usually over after a quick jinx or two on behalf of either girl. Typical family stuff. Kat finally tunes back into the conversation. "The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors."

The group reached the car ahead and Dean popped the trunk open. He takes a quick scan of the barrage of weapons he has in the back, anything ranging from guns to machetes to crosses. It was every cop's dream bust.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Dean shrugs as he turns to look back at Sam. "You're just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?

"Not normal. Safe." Sam throws back at him, the same argument he has had ever since he got his acceptance letter.

"And that's why you ran away." Dean offers Kat a significant look before shaking his head.

His brother's words seem to sadden Sam a bit before he retaliates. "I was just going to college. It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing."

"John said a lot of things that night," Kat finally spoke. Her words must've rubbed Sam the wrong way because his jaw clenched as if struggling to remain silent.

"Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now." He leaves no room for any more comebacks. "If he's not dead already. I can feel it."

Kat glances in Sam's direction. She can tell that his conflict about what to do. Despite everything that went down between him and John, he still loves his dad. He remains silent, and Kat can tell he's tossing around the idea of going with Dean or staying. Still, he remains silent.

"I can't do this alone." A last-ditch effort from Dean to sway Sam.

"Yes, you can." Sam finds humor Dean's reluctance to let this go. He'd never been one to roll over and take it.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to."

Dean looks down at his feet before Kat catches his eye, giving him a small nod. It was clear to Kat that Dean missed his brother and was pulling out all stops to get him back. He had been accepting, albeit with reluctance, of Sam's decision to leave. He always wanted what was best for his "pain in the ass little brother".

Sam sighs and looks down, thinking, then brings his attention back to the three of them. He finally makes eye contact with Kat and she realizes how different she must look compared to three years ago. Her hair was darker than before and now she had bangs that drape her eyes. She finally let her curls grow out after years of complaining about how horrible her hair looked.

The way he looked at her told Kat that with her there, he was not needed. Dean had enough firepower from Kat alone to find John; with Lilah to amplify that power, he wasn't needed. It was clear Dean came because he wanted Sam with him, not because he needed him.

Sam concedes, accepting defeat, "What was he hunting?"

Dean perks up at this. He turns, giving the girls a half-smirk at his victory. He sets his sights back on the trunk of the Impala and rummages through some files of cases.

"So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?" Sam inquires, leaning against the bumper.

Dean is still searching through the folder in his hand. "I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans. Meet up with these two after."

Sam forces out a laugh. "Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?"

Dean stops what he's doing to make eye contact with his brother. "I'm twenty-six, dude."

He takes a small stack of papers out of the folder before handing one to Kat and Lilah. "So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy." The last paper he hands out is to Sam. "They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA."

The case in front of Kat is Nathan Brooks. A twenty-five-year-old man, that disappeared from his place of work on April 10th of last year. He had last spoken to his mother within the same hour of disappearing.

"So maybe he was kidnapped," Sam suggests.

"Yeah. Well, here's another one in April." Dean grabs the paper from Kat, handing it to Sam. Dean tosses down another article from the Jericho Herald. More cases of missing men of different ages, races, and backgrounds.

"This is... a lot, Dean," Kat says, drawing their attention back to her. "Why didn't you show us this back in Baton Rouge?"

"Well, you were more than ready to work." Dean places a hand on her shoulder before doing the same to Sam. "This one is a lot harder to pin down."

"Still, these cases go back—what—ten, twenty years?" The amount of research put into each of these cases had Kat dumbfounded.

"Ten over the last twenty years." Dean takes the article from Sam and picks up the rest of the stack, putting them back in the folder." All men, all the same, five-mile stretch of road. It started happening more and more, so Dad went to dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough." Dean grabs a handheld tape recorder from a small compartment in his trunk arsenal. "Then I got this voicemail yesterday."

He presses play, and the recording is staticky, and the audio is crackling and breaking up. Kat can tell that the person in the recording is John, but she cannot decipher what he is saying. She makes out Dean's name at the end before hearing, "We're all in danger." The recording shuts off and Kat feels unease brewing in her gut. Something about how urgent John sounded made the hair on Kat's neck raise. Lilah shifted her weight from side to side, uncomfortable.

"There's an EVP on that." Sam and Kat say in unison. The two glance at one another way before settling on Dean.

"Not bad, you two." Dean snickers. "Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it? I'm surprised you even remember, Sammy." Dean pats Sam's chest. Under that statement is a blanket of bitterness. As if Dean's saying "You're more cut out for this than Stanford." Both Sam and Kat shift their weight before Sam shakes off his brother's comment. "I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got."

Dean presses play again before setting the speed slower than before. Kat leans forward just in time to hear, "I can never go home..." before Dean presses stop.

"Never go home." Sam murmurs, deep in thought.

"'I can never go home'," Lilah repeats, the first time she's spoken since leaving Sam's apartment. "Lost soul? They turned violent after all this time?"

Neither brother acknowledges her as Dean places the recorder in its designated spot. He placed down the shotgun that holds the chest open before standing straight to shut the trunk. He turns back to Sam and the two men stare at one another for a good, long while. Kat knew better than to intervene with this kind of thing. Sam and Dean were both hot-headed individuals who were too stubborn for their own good. They could never agree on anything. It had to be an agonizing process of back and forth before they settled on something together.

It was like they had to know whether the other was going to fight for what they wanted.

"You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." Dean gestures broadly, a bored look overtaking his features.