An old horror flick is playing on the television mounted to the wall.

Dean Winchester glances from the black and white grainy picture to the nude woman in the bed beside him, bed sheet strategically pulled over her body. She's face-down in the pillows, arms tucked underneath, long dark hair flowing down her shoulders as shiny as an oil slick. 

Everything is unfamiliar. The desk, the sheets...they feel way better than the stuff in the motel room. Maybe it isn't my motel room...did I go home with someone? How did Kat get home?

Why don't I remember anything?

Jesus. Was I drugged?

Groggily, Dean pulls the clothes that must be men's off of the floor and onto him before beginning to wander down the hallway, still vigilant.

Nothing looks familiar. Nothing is jogging his memory.

The last thing he remembers, he and Katherine were hunting the djinn. It had her pinned up against the wall by her throat...and then everything is dark for Dean.

Maybe it was a quick one and we hit the bar...I met the broad...KD took Baby. That's gotta be it.

According to the clock in the kitchen, it's one in the morning. He's missing five hours and a spunky blonde.

Dean wrestles his cell phone from his pocket and dials Sam. Maybe Katherine's with him. Maybe everything is fine, despite the pit in his stomach that seems to grow larger and larger with every passing second.

Nothing seems right.

"Dean?" Sam answers.

"Sam," he grunts in response, pacing in the living room.

"What's goin' on?"

"I don't know. I don't know where I am," Dean murmurs, glancing around the small living space.

"What happened?"

"Katherine—is she with you?"

There's a long pause. So long that he raises his eyebrows. "Dean, what's going on?"

Dean lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hand down his face. "The djinn—I think it attacked me, but it had Katherine—"

"The...gin," Sam says. "You're drinking gin?"

"No, asshat," Dean grumbles. "The djinn—scary creature, remember? Genie? It threw me across the room and when I woke up, I was next to some chick—"

"Who, Carmen?"

Dean grimaces. "Dude," he sighs, shaking his head. "This is so not the time for practical jokes. Have you heard from KD? Where is she, is she all right?"

"Dean, I think you mean Carmen. Are you drunk?" He laughs.

"No, Katherine. Louise. Donovan." Each of her names comes after a pause, almost like an afterthought to highly specify a highly specific woman, to jog Sam's memory. Maybe he got drugged. "5'8", blonde, could kick your ass before you blinked."

"You're drunk-dialing me," Sam accuses.

"I am not drunk," Dean insists, his voice cold and firm.

"Look, it's late," Sam says. "Why don't you get some sleep, and I'll call you tomorrow, all right?"

"Wait, Sam! Sam!" Dean glances to his phone screen as the line goes dead. "Bastard," he mutters, navigating back to his contacts. Katherine's got to be orchestrating something, right? Payback for targeting her with the baby powder or the flour and the hairdryer—whatever the hell it was. It was quite possible Dean was drunk when he thought that grand idea.

But there is no "KD" in his phone book. He huffs, shaking his head, and dials her number.

What an elaborate prank, Donovan. Very funny, messing with his nerves after a hunt like that. A hunt he doesn't remember of right after it started.

He's trying real hard not to panic.

The line rings for a few moments before a groggy, familiar voice answers. Relief floods his system, and Dean leans against the wall with a sigh. "Hello?" Katherine croaks. Dean imagines her to be rubbing her eyes, or perhaps laying down on her bed propped up on her elbow with her eyes still shut. He'd seen it many times before.

"Kat," Dean breathes. "Oh, thank God. Where the hell are you? I'm worried sick, and Sam's pranking me...which probably means you're in on it too." He pinches his nose. "Where are you? I'm comin' to you." Silence. Dean drops his hand. Silence. He blinks. "Katherine."

"Who is this?" She asks. The tiredness is gone from her voice. There's nothing familiar. She's not friendly, she isn't frightened. Her voice is cold and dangerous. Threatening.

His gut sinks. It feels like gravity is dragging him down with so much more force than usual. Like all of the blood in his body has left through his feet, and he's lightheaded. No, he's definitely spinning...

Dean grips the back of the chair. "Katherine," he says. It's almost a whisper. A plead. His eyelids flutter. Going down... "Don't play games right now. Please. That djinn we were hunting—I saw it do something to you before I blacked out. I just—" He swallows hard and wills himself to stay upright, white-knuckling the chair. "I need to know you're all right. And in the morning we can talk about whatever I did to deserve a prank like this—and I'm sure I do—but I really am not wanting to go nuclear right now." His voice comes out low and harsh, desperate.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I think you have the wrong number." There's a strange hesitance in her voice, though.

Dean swallows his panic. "Your name is Katherine Louise Donovan," he says. "Born May 8, 1986—"

"Who is this?" Her voice is more alarmed, now.

"—you have three freckles on your left shoulder blade...a triangle," he says. "Katherine, it's Dean. Dean Winchester."

The line goes dead.

Dean rubs his forehead, his phone squished in his palm. He's never felt more panicked in his life. Well, last summer. The yellow-eyed demon.

This is a prank, he tells himself, pacing. This is a prank, and you will have your revenge— he stops, catching sight of a stack of mail on the table. He quickly moves for it.

The envelope on top is titled to someone named "Carmen Porter." The same Carmen that Sam was talking about? But the city...

"Lawrence?" Dean murmurs, flipping to the next one. Carmen. Lawrence, Kansas. The next one.

Dean Winchester. Lawrence, Kansas.

"What the hell?"

"Honey?" Dean jumps at the unfamiliar voice and turns to his right. The woman from the bedroom is standing in the hallway, starting for him now, with a lavender bathrobe tied around her figure. "What are you doing up?"

"Hey," Dean says after a moment, setting the mail on the table, and forces himself to smile. "Carmen." Her brow quirks. She looks slightly amused. Or maybe she's the smile-when-curious type. Katherine is. Carmen is a few inches shorter than Katherine is. "I just, uh—"

"Can't sleep?" Carmen offers. Dean nods.

"Yeah," he chuckles, forcing himself to swallow.

"Well," she hums, winding her arms around his neck. She has this look about her... "Why don't you come back to bed, and let's see if I can do anything to help."

Oh.

"Sure," he enthuses. It actually sounds genuine. "Yeah. In a minute, though. You go ahead."

"Okay," she murmurs, her fingertips dancing on the back of his neck. "Don't stay up too long."

He shakes his head. "No." With a smile, Carmen stretches onto her toes and kisses him, pats his chest, and starts back down the hall. He had to recover his baffled, suspicious expression when she glanced over his shoulder.

Dean turns around, staring at the apartment with a frown.

There's a photograph of her on the beach. It's an oddly familiar one, and it tickles the depths of his brain.

He and Carmen at dinner at some restaurant. Christmas. He and Sam.

But there's no Katherine.

There should be at least one of Katherine, or one with her in it. Sam's best friend and Dean's...well...

She's an important person in his life. Even if he did force her out of it.

And then, across the room, is a picture that looks recent. The only problem is, his mother is in that photo.

Almost reflexively, Dean snatches his car keys up and runs outside, down the stairs, and to the car. That's something that hasn't changed in this strange world. The scent of the car. The old leather. But no trace of citrus. No vanilla.

This must be a dream. He must be sleeping. Do people dream when they get knocked out? That's what the djinn did to him, right? Must've.

The drive to his childhood home is strangely committed to memory. He knows where to turn, when. He knows where the potholes in the roads will be before he sees them. It's like a second brain he has, or a second set of memories, and not all of them have been unlocked yet.

After a few doorbell rings, a couple of knocks on the door, the porch light flicks on, and his mother is standing before him.

As he got older, the more he tried to cling to the memory of her, the more it faded. It scared him. He does vividly remember a few things, though. 

Her smile and her voice. The smell of her perfume.

And there she is, in a pink night robe. And she looks confused. "Dean."

"Mom?" He couldn't help the breathlessness of his voice. He could cry. He could pass out. He feels lightheaded and heavy.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, reaching out to him. He almost flinches from the warmth of her hand on his elbow. It's real. He feels the pressure of it creep up his arm and rest back on his elbow. "Are you all right?"

It's all he can do to stare. Memorize and analyze every part of her face. The big blue eyes, the golden blonde hair, the shape of her face. There isn't a thing out of place. She is just as he remembers. And with her touch comes a horde of memories he didn't know he had. Birthdays and family picnics, even the scoldings.

"I don't know," he whispers.

"Well, come inside," she tells him, gently tugging on his wrist. She shuts the door behind him. Dean looks around at the home.

He doesn't remember the furniture being arranged as it is. The photographs in the hallways, the bookshelf. But there's his father's favorite chair, right in the corner where it should be. And the wallpaper.

"Carmen just called," Mary says. "Says you just took off."

"Carmen?" Dean murmurs. Mary frowns. Part of his brain is in shock, but it takes over everything else. The basic functioning. Oh. "Right. Uh...let me ask you something." Mary nods. "When I was a kid...what did you always tell me before you put me to bed?"

He doesn't know what this would prove. That she's not a shapeshifter, maybe. but if he's dreaming, his brain would already know the answer, and this unconscious reconstruction of his home, of this strange life, will have that answer.

"I don't understand—"

"Just answer the question."

"I told you angels were watching over you," Mary answers.

This doesn't ease his suspicious brow. Every fiber in his body is screaming No! This isn't right! But it's here. Everything is tangible. Everything has pressure, a scent, a texture.

Dean crushes his mother in a hug. It's familiar. The soft of her body, her slender frame, the warmth. His mother. "Honey, you're scaring me," she says, rubbing her hands along the length of his back. "Now just tell me what's going on." Mary pulls away from Dean, staring at him with all the concern in the world.

"You don't think that wishes can—can really...come true, do you?" He asks. His vision is getting blurry, his throat is getting tight.

"What?"

"Forget it," Dean chuckles, shaking his head, and hugs her again. "I'm just happy to see you, that's all."

So the djinn grants wishes. Maybe it's not a monster after all.

But Katherine not knowing who he is? Out of his life? He'd never wish for that. Not really. But he'd always wished she had a better life. She deserved more than the hand she was dealt. 

So maybe Dean's second chance is also one for Katherine.

It doesn't sweeten the bitter taste in his mouth.

"You're beautiful," he tells his mom. She just laughs, watching Dean spin around and stare at the walls, the photographs. "When I was young, was there ever a fire here?" He asks.

"No," Mary answers, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. She looks puzzled.

"I thought there was," Dean hums, glancing over the picture frames. Prom. Graduation. Christmas one year. Relaxing on the sofa. Sam and Dean's heads resting against each other as they sleep. "Dad's on a softball team?" Dean chuckles, picking the frame up from the shelf.

"He loved that stupid team," Mary hums.

Dean's brow furrows. "Dad's dead?" Mary tilts her head a bit. "And the thing...that killed him..."

"A stroke," Mary says. "He died in his sleep...you know that."

"That's great."

"Excuse me?"

"That's great," Dean repeats. Then shame and panic pierces his heart like an icepick. His cheeks blanch. "That...he went peacefully. I mean, it sure beats the alternative."

Yeah. The alternative, the yellow-eyed demon.

"You've been drinking," Mary quietly says.

"No, I haven't."

"I'm gonna call Carmen and have her pick you up, okay?"

"No, no, no," he says, panicking, and quickly shakes his head. "Don't do that. I wanna stay here."

"Why?"

"Because...I...miss the place. It's okay—you go back to bed, okay?" Dean moves to sit on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Getting used to the idea of this strange second reality.

Mary rests her hand on his cheek, her fingertips running across his scalp. Katherine used to do that. And she'd have this stupid, content smile on her face. She was always so warm with him. Warm like the sun. He misses that face she used to make. The slow smile and the big eyes. Like he was her favorite person in the whole world. His heart twists with guilt.

If a djinn really does grant wishes, then is Katherine gone for good? Is he to never see her again?

Deep down, he knew it would be much better if he'd never snuck in through that window of hers, back in New Haven. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I think so," Dean answers, smiling gently.

"Okay." Mary kisses his head and shuffles behind the sofa, back for the stairs. "I love you," she says to him.

Tears spring to his eyes. "Me, too," he says.

He falls asleep on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, as he considers the consequences of his wish.

The sun breaking through the curtains hits him directly in the face, almost suddenly. He flinches and turns, peeling one eye open. He lets out a long breath, opening both of his eyes. And then, for a brief moment, he panics. He's in an unfamiliar place. After a few moments, it rushes back to him.

The djinn. The strange new world.

"Ever going to follow up on that?" A familiar voice chirps from behind him. Dean twists on the sofa, sitting up, and he stares at Katherine Donovan.

She's dressed in a cream henley, the top few buttons undone, that damn brown leather jacket, a dark pair of jeans, and leather boots. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders in their usual loose curls. She's leant into the corner of his father's chair, a big wingback thing, and her legs are on the opposite side, made all the longer by those boots.

"Katherine?" He asks. She winks, full lips turning up a bit into a slight smirk. "How'd you get in here?"

"I'm not here physically," she hums after a moment, turning her hand to inspect her manicured fingernails. "Some part of your brain must be adjusting to not having me around any more, so it's a projection, really." She grins crookedly. "I am your conscience," she says, wiggling her fingers. "That still, small voice that nobody will listen to."

Dean's voice comes out as a dazed, breathless whisper. "Why are you quoting Jiminey Cricket to me?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "Seems appropriate."

"So...my conscience is my ex-girlfriend."

"Oh, don't be like that," she tuts, rolling to her feet. "Anyway, it's an unconscious thing, my being here, so don't blame yourself." Katherine plops onto the sofa beside him. No scent of oranges or vanilla. She turns her head to face Dean. He's perplexed as ever. "A lot of people don't believe the whole wish-come-true thing," she hums. "You can do your research if you want, but this is permanent." Katherine lightly shrugs, settling back against the sofa.

She's in the Impala as he drives to the local library to do some digging. His own djinn research, finding lore experts. A nearby university should be good enough—a mythology professor.

Katherine followed Dean into the office, the light leather clack of her boots echoing in his skull. Then she let out a heavy sigh and flopped back into the second chair beside Dean.

"I've never seen you in my class before," the professor says.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean chuckles. "I love your lectures. You make learning fun."

"Smooth," Katherine hums after a snort. Dean swallows.

"So, what can I do for you?" Professor Macayan asks, shifting slightly in his chair.

"What can you tell me about djinns?" Dean asks him.

"Djinns," the other man repeats, then nods. Dean watches him rise to his feet and move to the bookshelf at the back of his office.

"Maybe we should've stayed in the motel with Sam back in Illinois, huh?" Katherine hums. Dean shoots her a look. She smirks, resting her arms on the rests and smoothly crosses her legs. Dean rises to his feet to join Macayan at his desk, where he's already started babbling about djinn mythology.

"A lot of Muslims believe the djinn are very real," he explains to Dean as the hunter stares down at a multitude of sketches and passages in different books. "They're mentioned in the Quran—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get to the wish part," Dean says. Katherine shakes her head, leaning forward to drop it into her hands.

"What about it?" The professor asks.

"Do you think they can really do it?"

Katherine snorts, but glances to Doctor Macayan anyway. "Uh...no. No, I don't think they can really do it." He shifts uneasily. "You understand these are mythical creatures, right?"

"Oh, boy," Katherine chuckles, pushing away from the desk. "He thinks we're nuts." She sighs, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets with a grin. "If only he knew."

"Yeah, no, I know," Dean hums. "I meant in the stories. You know...say you had a wish, but you never even said it out loud. Like a loved one never died or...something bad never happened."

"Supposedly, yes," Macayan nods. "I mean, they have godlike power. They can alter reality however they want. Past, present, future."

"Why would the djinn do it?" Dean asks, mostly to himself, and starts reflecting on every step he and Katherine took in that warehouse. Katherine sinks down on the desk beside Dean, staring intently at him.

"Self-defense?" She suggests.

"Or maybe it's not really evil," he hums.

"Son?" Doctor Macayan asks.

"Hmm?"

"Have you been drinking?"

Dean looks up at the man. "Everybody keeps asking me that," he says. "But no. Thanks for your time, Doctor Macayan. I really appreciate it."

Katherine bounds after him, blonde hair bouncing as she runs down the stairs with Dean. Her hands are behind her back as she smiles, tight-lipped and curious as they walk side-by-side. "What?" Dean grunts.

"He thinks we're nuts."

"Yeah, I know. Kind of used to it."

"So, djinns aren't really evil?" Katherine asks. "Are you really buying that?"

"Well what's the downside to this?" Dean questions. "I'm failing to see one, so please, if you've got an idea, enlighten me."

Katherine shrugs. "Screwing with the fabric of space and time has its own consequences," she says. "But how do you feel about this new life of yours, Winchester?"

"Let's find out if it's actually real, or I'm dreaming," Dean says. "I mean, when it came after you, it threw me, right? Knocked me out?"

"I know just as much as you do," she sourly says. "I'm you, remember?"

Dean frowns. "That sounds weird coming from you."

"I don't choose how you listen to yourself," Katherine protests. "Maybe this is your subconscious saying you're more likely to listen to Katherine's advice than your own. Then again, no one listens to that still, small voice, do they?"

"Stop with the Jiminey Cricket quotes."

"It's too fun," she chuckles, watching him unlock the trunk. "Eugh," she mutters, glancing over the trash and magazines in the back. "What a state she's in."

"Who'd've thought, Baby?" He hums with a smile. "We're civilians."

"Maybe it's not all that it's cracked up to be," Katherine murmurs, picking at her nail polish.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, shutting the trunk.

"Well," she begins, then sighs. "Piggybacking off of what you said earlier...about the wish you never said out loud? What if this is all the consequence of it?" She shrugs. "No fire, your mother wouldn't have died. If Mary isn't dead, John doesn't go psycho and hunt the thing that tore his family apart. You and your brother aren't raised like apes—"

"Hey!"

"—and you wouldn't have met Katherine Louise in Bobby's living room." Katherine shrugs. "It's a domino effect. Every action has its consequences, Dean."

"Yeah, but I never even thought I'd be happier if Katherine was out of my life," he says. "I never wanted that."

"That doesn't matter," she tuts. "No fire, no dead mommy, no hunting, no KD. Period, end of."

Dean presses his lips together, wiggling his nose. 

"That would explain the wacky phone call earlier." Katherine nods. "And there's no way to fix that? I mean...what if I want Katherine in my life?"

She shrugs. "Then you pick up the phone and call her. But part of me—which is part of you—is thinkin' she's in Florida with that contractor."

Dean rocks onto his heels and blows a breath through his lips. "Charlie Taylor, huh?" Katherine shrugs, crossing her arms. "Maybe this is good," Dean murmurs, staring at his keys. It doesn't feel good, though. "A second chance for her life to be different, too."

"Maybe," she quietly agrees, leaning against the back of the car, and glances across the street. "Why's there a girl looking at us?"

"What?"

"White dress, nine o'clock." Dean looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, there's a petite brunette staring at him by the university entrance. "Maybe she saw you talking to yourself." Dean's brow furrows as he stares at the girl. "You look like a creep." A crowd of students walks in front of the girl, and like that, she's gone.