It had been some time since Katherine ran in snow...college. All she can think about, chasing this demon around the dark ass woods in the middle of nowhere Wyoming, is how pissed off she is because some fucking snow melted right over her trap.

How did the barn's roof buckle anyway?

So goddamn cold—

There's probably no use in chasing this thing anyway. It probably smoked out the second the trap was broken. And yet, she's chasing footprints through the snow. But these ones...Katherine slides to a stop to examine them.

Bits of gray stick to the icy snow, plumes of black ooze through the powdered parts, like ink. She crouches down with a frown and touches her finger to the gray...and then gags.

It's flesh.

Shifter?

She's never encountered a shifter to impersonate a demon...

There's an earpiercing shriek just ahead, unlike anything she's heard before. Katherine's head snaps up, and her flashlight beam scans the woods around her. She tries to listen over the sound of her own heart hammering in her ears. Takes deep, steadying breaths. Then she starts to jog, following the footprints further.

And then there's another shriek, and she takes off into a flat sprint.

Should she be going after this thing? No. She's armed with her gun and a silver knife, and she doesn't even know what this thing is. The further she runs, the more gray flash and black blood she comes across. She was so busy looking down and looking for trees, she wasn't looking for snow continuity. A bit of rock crumbles underneath Katherine's boot, and her leg goes with it. Down the side of the snow hill she goes, knee twisting awkwardly—geez, was that just a pop?— and there's nothing she can do to stop it. The snow is too soft, giving way under her tumbling weight, and she careens right across the slick ice. Ice?! Katherine's flashlight is long lost, so she wouldn't have been able to see the rock in front of her anyway.

Damn...fuckin'...stupid ass...

"Come on, Jake, you damn distracted dog." The white and tan heeler comes running towards his feet. "I follow you, dude, not the other way 'round."

Why did he have to go check his brother's traps? Ain't nothin' gonna be in 'em. It's dark as shit anyway. Probably just needed me out of the house for a little while.

He never had any judgement. After Heather, there was no where else for him to go, so Pat obviously took him in. Bachelor Pat in his Bachelor Pad. He chuckled at his own joke.

But then he heard the shriek. Bone-chilling, even in this horrible weather. He knew enough about the neighboring reservation to know it wasn't anything great, but it was his kind of bad, and there was kind of an agreement with the tribal council. Armed with nothing but a rifle—useless as a fucking pencil in this moment— and his silver pocket knife...and fucking Jake, he ran in the direction of the shriek of the two-face.

He'd only ever seen one before, and it was years ago, but he still remembers what it sounded like. Sometimes his left hand still locks up, leftover paralytic still enough, apparently. It was usually pretty transient.

He doesn't know how long he's been running for, but he's still running in the general direction of the creature, traps forgotten. That shriek meant it had someone.

And then he heard the unmistakable yelp of a woman, and he forced himself to run faster. Very hard in this soft snow, in these boots, but Jake had no problem running ahead of him. He looked at his hiking boots for a brief moment as he passed by the shoe rack at the front door and decided against it. After all, who wants to go through all the fuss of changing a pair of boots for a quick trap check?

Jake stands twenty feet in front of him, barking down over the edge of the hill. He comes to a stop beside the dog and sweeps the valley of frozen Smalls Creek, which really is a big creek...summertimes were the best, where you could escape here from the beating sun and take a little swim before getting back to work. In the winter, though, it's hell. The ice doesn't freeze thick, and he's come across animals who've fallen in—

"Fuck."

A face is floating in the middle of the creek. The ice around it is cracked, soaked with fresh water and loaded with snow that must've fallen from the other side. A lost flashlight aims up on a neighboring tree.

It's the face of an unconscious woman.

"Hey!" He shouts. She doesn't answer. "Goddammit!" He wonders if this is what two-face had in its claws. His flashlight sweeps the treeline as he carefully slides down the little hill leading down to the icy bank. He gets onto his belly and gently pushes himself across the ice, feeling for thin spots before he moves. Water swells around her face, already a ghastly pale, blonde hair stuck to her skin. Her lips are purple. His hand moves for her neck. Frozen skin, very faint pulse.

He grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her out of the water. His hands burn, and the left one feels like it's locking up again. He slings that falling rifle over his body and drags her further up the embankment.

He fell into a creek in the winter once. They were close enough to civilization then that they could wait for the ambulance.

She doesn't have that luxury.

He grunts and groans as he picks up all of her dead weight—she really is a tall woman, and heavyJesusChristareyouallmuscle—and starts to run. Jake is right beside him, getting up onto his back paws occasionally, probably out of excitement.

He doesn't know how long he ran into the woods, but it felt like he wasn't in them for very long before he heard the two-face. This run is eternal. There's the house. His old Bronco comes into view.

"Jake, goddammit, quit jumping on me!" He adjusts his grip on the freezing woman, trying to ignore how cold he is, and opens the front door for Jake to run inside. He grabs his keys, makes for the Bronco, and tucks her into the front seat. The cabin is still warm from his recent drive back home. He sticks the key in the ignition, cranks the heat all the way up, and turns the vents towards the blonde woman.

Unfortunately, he'll need to take off most of her clothes to keep her alive while he drives. So he starts peeling her puffer vest off, then her jacket, and the zipper is like shards of ice in his skin. Then comes the flannel. She's left in a long-sleeve shirt and jeans. He groans and takes that off, too, letting her clothes pile up on the floorboards, before slamming the door. He books it back inside for all the blankets he can find, including the ones he just threw in the dryer. He always starts a cycle of blankets when he gets home from work. It's something Heather used to do. She was always cold. 

He throws the blankets onto the blonde woman before climbing into the Bronco himself, and speeds out of the driveway.

He was surprised they made it to the hospital without incident. The whole drive, she didn't move. She didn't make any noise at all in the car. She may already be dead.

"Got a hypothermic," he says, sliding up to the window in the emergency department. The receptionist, or maybe she's a nurse, he doesn't know, calls a unit into her PA. Then she starts asking questions and getting up from her desk, and she takes them both into the back, where a team is hurrying out of a room. Waiting. Asking him questions.

He doesn't know a damn thing about her, other than her hands sure are stiff.

He looks down at his clothes, soaked all the way through, and a hand touches his elbow.

"Are you all right?" A brunette nurse asks him. He nods. "You're wet—are you sure?"

"Y-yeah," he replies. "It's all from her, I'm...I'm okay."

"Let me get you a blanket." He stands outside of the blonde woman's room, wondering why there aren't any damn windows in the place. Probably patient privacy or some shit like that, but this is life or death, dammit! He needs to see!

He's given an electric blanket. Admittedly, it feels really nice. I could just wait right here. They haven't kicked me out yet.

No one comes to talk to him for a while.

"She'll be all right." It's the brunette nurse from before. Her name tag says Paula. She looks a little young to be a Paula, but it could be a family name. She has big brown eyes and long eyelashes that compliment a thin, upturned nose. "She's back to an almost-normal temperature. She's on oxygen, her head is stitched up." He forgot about the bloody spot on her head. "How long was she in there?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't know, but I don't think long. It took me three minutes to find her after I heard her scream." Paula nods.

"Well, you very well may have saved her life."

"She's not out of the woods yet, though, is she?" He mutters. Paula, lips thin, shakes her head.

"No."

"Can I go in there with her?"

Paula's big brown eyes bore into his, search his face, before growing hard and intentional. "You're family, right?" She's subtly nodding.

He slowly blinks at her, mirroring her nod. "She...is a cousin."

Paula nods once and gestures to the door. "Feel free to hit the button if you need one of us. I'll be over at the nurse's station, should be back pretty soon to check on her." Paula's pink shoes squeak down the hallway.

He stares at the door, the blonde woman's door, and pushes himself up from the chair, clutching that electric blanket.

He'd never been in a hospital room with someone in it like this before. She's hooked up to an oxygen mask, like Paula said. There's a brace around her neck. Did they find something there? She has an IV, four drip bags hanging up. Two monitors are by her bed. He watches her pulse drag on by. Low, but not alarming, blood pressure. Low pulse. Physically fit.

He sits in the chair and watches her chest rise and fall in time with the hiss of the oxygen tank for a long time. The mask fogs up with exhales.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes wandering with his thoughts. What was she doing out in the woods after dark? Did two-face find her? Did she find it?

His head snaps up when something clatters beside him. Paula in her pink scrubs and shoes smiles sheepishly at him.

"Sorry. I didn't want to wake you."

"'S okay," he grunts, shaking his head as he sits up. "She doing okay?" He nods his head to the blonde woman in the bed. He was dreaming about her. How her laugh may have sounded, what her name was, what the hell she was alone for.

"Better," Paula replies. "Her core temperature is back to normal." Paula stares up at the monitors, statistics rolling over her dark eyes. "Any idea who she is?"

He shakes his head. "Just found her in the creek where I chased my dog."

Paula hums to herself. "I'm going to turn off the oxygen and see how she does." His eyebrows furrow. "I think she'll be okay. I'll be here for a few minutes." She turns off the machine and removes the mask from the young woman's nose and mouth. The hissing ceases.

And her chest keeps moving.

Paula seems pleased, and leaves the room a few minutes later. The door is still open. The machines still beep. One of them is tracking her breathing. It's kind of a comforting sound, in that it's so consistent it's a little hypnotic. A non-verbal communication of her status. She's okay. She's okay. He rubs his brow bone and sighs, wondering if he should just submit to sleep.

He rolls his head back and looks up at the clock. It's just past ten PM. He'd been asleep for an hour already, at least.

His turns his eyes back to the blonde woman. Wonder if they found anything on her. His eyes dart to the cabinets across the hospital bed and considers rifling through her belongings to see if they did find anything.

Then he pushes himself up with a grunt. His left knee is throbbing, feels stiff, as he walks over to the cabinets. Door after door, nothing, nothing...

He huffs and sits back in the chair, and allows himself to nod off again.

Paula comes back a while later. When he jolts awake, she's standing at the cabinets, tucking a bag into one of them. Her clothes? "You don't have to stay, you know."

"Oh, I know." He nods, looking back to the unconscious blonde. "I'd, uh...just like to know she's all right." Paula smiles a little before leaving him alone again.

The blonde woman doesn't look at peace at all.

Her skin isn't waxy like before, but her face seems to be sculpted in a perpetual frown. Forehead wrinkled, mouth tight. He chuckles a little. Heather slept angry, too. She was a tornado. This girl is perfectly still, fighting demons in her sleep with a mean mug.

His phone rings in his pocket, a device he'd totally forgotten about. "Hey, Pat."

"Hey, man," his brother greets. "Uh...just got home...lights are on but no one's home. Where'd you peel off to?"

He lets out a long, heavy sigh. "There was a problem. I think it's taken care of."

Patrick grunts on the other end of the line. "You all right?"

He looks down at himself. "A little cold, but...yeah I'm fine. Found a girl in the creek...they just took her off oxygen, and she seems to be doing all right."

"So come the hell home," Patrick chuckles.

He smiles a little. "Yeah, I am. Just, uh...wanted to make sure."

"My little brother, always playin' the hero," Pat sighs. "All right. See your ass when you get home." He hangs up and settles back in his chair.

He stayed for another thirty minutes, watching her jaw grind and her fingers twitch, watched her nose wrinkle. Every time she moved, he thought she was waking up on her own. Paula was in and out, made polite conversation.

I should go get her clothes from the car...

He pushes himself up from the chair with a deep sigh and starts through the hospital maze.

Disinfectant stings her nose. Her throat hurts. She's sweating.

She takes a deep breath and lets it go, pushing the blankets down. Never gets this hot... Her chest feels heavy. Fog clouds her mind. It throbs... She feels drowsy. And her mouth is dry.

She runs her tongue along the roof of her mouth and reaches for the bottle of water on her nightstand, but her fingers run into something hard. Dean's damn alarm...

Katherine squints one eye open and tries to turn her head. She can't move it. Her hands move up to her head, pat down her jaw until they run into hard plastic. Rigid cervical brace. She sits up straight, pushing herself up through her hands and stiff elbows. Something dings at her, a button she didn't mean to press. Her room is dark, spare the light streaming from the monitors on her left. Blankets are piled onto her.

A woman comes in from the hallway. She wears pink scrubs and pink shoes. She has dark hair and a big smile.

"Good morning," she greets. Morning? Katherine stares at her. Hurts to swallow. "Took a little bit of time to come off that medication. You're at Hot Springs Health in Thermopolis. I'm your nurse, Paula. Can you tell me your name?" She opens her mouth to speak, running her tongue along the roof of her mouth.

"Katherine." But it hurts and it's raspy. She grimaces.

"I've got you some water right here, Katherine." Paula hands her a clear plastic cup, which she very quickly drains. It only mildly helps the aching in her throat. Her gaze wandering to the chairs on her left. Paula follows it, waiting a few moments before asking another question. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Katherine takes a slow breath, peeling her eyes from the chair. "I was chasing my dog," she says. She doesn't know why she said it. It was the first thing that came to mind. Paula nods and writes on a clipboard. "Fell in a creek." She lifts her fingers to her throbbing head. Oh. Yeah. Got me good. Sam and Dean are gonna have a field day. Fuck, where's my phone? "I'd like to leave."

"Of course. Is it okay if I run through my checklist before we do that?"

Katherine remembers how frustrating it was when she was on ED rotation and some asshole demanded to discharge himself. She sighs and leans back on her pillows. "Yeah. Do your job."

"Thank you." She keeps looking up at the monitors. "Any neck pain?"

"No. Can I take this off?" Katherine's fingers twitch towards the brace. Paula smiles and nods. She moves to help, but Katherine is already feeling her way around it by memory.

"I'm a doctor," she rasps.

"Oh? Where at?"

"Family practice in Florida." Katherine leans back and closes her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell you how to do your job, just..." Her fingers gesture to herself. Go for it. Paula chuckles and goes about her business. Pokes around the back of her neck.

"No tenderness there?" Katherine shakes her head. Lifts her arms, touches her fingertips together. Mildly achey. Paula grins. "Do you know where you're at?"

"Hot Springs in Thermopolis." Katherine swallows again, rolls her tongue around her mouth. "Can I get some more water?"

"Sure." Paula clicks her pen, tucks it into her scrubs, and leaves the room.

Katherine pulls her aching knees up and crosses her legs. She feels nauseas. Is she dehrydated, too hot...both?

She may have nodded off a little while Paula was gone. She puts her forehead in her palm and sips at her water while Paula notes more numbers from the monitor.

"We took a couple of vials of blood from you when you were all warmed up, as you probably know is routine," Paula begins. Katherine nods a little, wondering if she might be able to get some pain pills from them before she leaves. Her supply is low. No, they aren't going to give you percocets for a headache you idiot. Maybe not a headache... She straightens out her left knee, remembering how it popped as she fell, and stares at it as Paula rambles.

"My knee is killing me," Katherine quietly interjects. Paula blinks at her appendage before making a note. "Very sharp pain."

"O-kay. I can get you something for it. So, your blood test. Iron levels are a little low...are you anemic?"

"I stopped taking my pills a long time ago." Paula grunts a little and makes a note. Katherine internalizes her sigh.

"Blood cell counts look good, chem panel came back great. And we did note elevated levels of HcG."

Katherine nods, not quite listening as Paula goes through her charting. She's sipping her water when it registers.

Katherine blinks, starting at the pile of blankets just over the rim of her cup.

"You what?" Her tone is low, reverberating off the plastic.

Paula looks up from her paperwork with a furrowed brow. "Human chorionic gon—"

"Yeah, but...less than five, right? Because that's normal...Or...less than twenty?"

"Hmm..." Paula flips her paper. "Twenty-six units."

Twenty-six.

Positive.

"You're absoutely sure." Paula nods and offers Katherine the paperwork.

It's right in the middle of the panel. 26 mIU/mL.

Fuck.

Katherine pushes the clipboard away from her, lip curling in a wave of nausea. Could be fine. It's fine.

She breathes slowly through her nose.
It's fine.

"Do you still want to discharge?" Paula asks after a few moments.

"Yes," Katherine quietly answers. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

"For the most part. It's always awkward for me, I never know what to say, so...thank you for understanding what HcG is." Paula wrings her hands a little.

Katherine wryly chuckles. "Thanks, Paula."

"I'll let you get dressed and see if your discharge paperwork is ready. And, uh...I'll check on that medicine for you. Even though I'm supposed to advise narcotics—"

"I know, Paula," she sighs. Paula nods and sees herself out.

Katherine shifts her limbs over the edge of the bed and wiggles her toes. Her knee still throbs, and there's a sharp pain in the back of her right shoulder...probably just a spasm.

Katherine slides down the side of the bed and shivers as the cold tile touches her feet. Puts all of her weight through them, forces her aching joints to move as she uses the bed for assistance to head to the cabinets where her belongings should be.

Ah damn...her gun and knife. Probably in a lockup somewhere in this place.

Katherine sighs and stares at her belongings. Folded and dry clothes. Jeans, long sleeve, boots, socks...she frowns. No flannel, no vest, no jacket. Three blankets. Her phone is ruined.

She pulls on her long sleeve, her jeans—knew they were fitting tight. Fucking fuck—and her thick socks, then her boots. She waits for Paula to come back, which isn't long.

"Do you know where the rest of my clothes are?" Katherine croaks. Paula frowns and looks at the open cabinet. "I have the tag for my gun and knife, but I was wearing a flannel, a jacket, and a vest."

"Oh." Paula laughs a little. "Good to know you didn't just fall into the creek wearing that. A gentleman brought you in...he just left a minute or two before you woke up." Katherine frowns. "He brought you in covered in blankets, so I'm assuming he knew how to help a hypothermic and took off the unnecessary layers." Katherine looks back to the blankets and sighs. Clothes are long gone. Damn. I liked that jacket.

"Where can I get my gun?" Katherine asks.

"Human resources on the third floor. The pharmacy is on this floor, and the script is being processed." Paula looks uneasy.

"I won't be waiting for 'em," Katherine sighs, sliding off of her bed. "Thanks, Paula."

"Ahh." Paula holds up a clipboard. "Discharge paperwork."

Name, address...all the shit she doesn't want to divulge. They're gonna mail a fat bill to the house and she'll have to fight with insurance and depending on how quickly the bill gets there—probably next week—Charlie is going to have a colossal cow and insist she be done with the whole thing.

But she does divulge, and she signs her name Katherine Louise Taylor and sets out to find her gun.

She stops at the payphone just outside the emergency room first—it's still dark outside, and she didn't bother checking a clock as she walked out—and dials one of Dean's numbers she memorized.

"Suicide hotline, can you please hold?"

Katherine frowns. "Dean, that's not funny."

"Jesus, Kat, I've been calling you for hours!"

"Yeah, well I've been preoccupied," she snaps. "I'm at...fuck, what's the hospital..."

"Hospital?!"

"Yeah, can you stop squawking? It's like...Springs...no, Hot Springs Health in Thermopolis. My phone's broken, I'm going to get my gun and my knife and my medicine because the line isn't long, so just wait in the front parking lot for me. Please."

Dean growls. "Knew you shouldn't have gone off by yourself—"

"Oh, shove it." Katherine hangs up and storms back inside.

It's three AM.

She picks up her prescription before her gun, even though she's itching to have it again. Who knows what maniac is groping it right now?

As predicted, she's escorted out of the front of the building the second she gets her hands on her gun. The Impala is waiting just across the pavement, Sam and Dean sitting on the trunk.

Katherine's stomach drops when she sees them see her. Heads snap towards the door, two tall figures break into a jog. She keeps her eyes off of Dean.

Oh, I could sleep for a year.

He found a grocery bag in the back seat to put her wet outerwear in and started back inside...took a left instead of a right, found himself in the family medicine wing. Took the elevator up and was at human resources. Had to go back to the first floor and through the little bridging hallway to get to the ICU.

Paula was charting at the nurse's station when he finally found the correct wing. "Oh, you're back?"

"Yeah, I...had her clothes in my car." He holds the grocery bag up.

Her eyes move from the bag to his face. She's met with warm chocolate brown eyes and a pleasant half-smile.

"She's gone," Paula says.

That half-smile slowly falls away. He sways a little bit. A rock drops in his stomach. "She's...she's gone."

"No, she's okay!" Paula shakes her head. "I'm so sorry, it's been a horrible, horrible shift. I meant she's not here anymore. She walked out not even ten minutes ago. You might be able to find her in human resources or at the pharmacy."

"Shit, Paula." He grips the counter and laughs weakly. "Okay. All right, thank you." His heart lifts for a reason he doesn't know. He'd like to talk to the mystery woman, figure out what the hell she was doing in the woods, first of all.

"Oh, your blankets!" Paula lifts the stack from the bottom of the desk with a broad smile. "Thanks for helping out..." She lifts her eyebrows at him questioningly. He kind of knew what it meant, but he wanted to go catch the girl before she left, and he didn't have time to exchange information. Instead of a flat-out rejection, he opted to play dumb.

"Oh, sure." He nods downward, effectively tipping his hat, and looks up for any kind of signage. "Uh...Paula? Where's the pharmacy?"

"Back towards the emergency room," she says. "It'll be on the right instead of the left." He nods and turns, boots squeaking against the tile. "Um...hey?" He looks over his shoulder before his body follows. "You know my name. What's yours?"

He smiles a little. "Russell."