Charlie Taylor carefully runs the tips of his fingers along the faint scars on Katherine's left shoulder. He's never asked about them before, nor has she volunteered information.

There's a lot about her that he doesn't know. She still hasn't talked about what really brought her back to town...who would seem so drab after graduating college, especially from a University as prestigious as Yale?

"It's the loan debt, isn't it?" Charlie once joked. Katherine laughed and downed the rest of her drink, but didn't have much of a reply.

The early days were weird. She would always be looking to whatever door was closest, like someone she knew was about to walk through it. For a while, Charlie thought it would be another guy...maybe that's why she came back. Was she trying to find one, or was she trying to get away from one? The latter would explain why she's always armed to the teeth.

There's a gun holstered underneath her seat, and another holster hanging over the side of the mattress by her pillow. He saw it the first time he slept over, but didn't think to ask about it. It's Florida. Everyone has a gun. But to have one under the seat of your car?

It did occur to him on multiple occasions that he might be dating a psycho. The thought amused him now. Maybe she is a psycho, but a different kind. The kind who works twelve hour days and parties relentlessly on the weekends.

It was one of those nights last night. Some friends from his job were out at the new country bar just across town, which Katherine and Sophia frequented since moving to town.

One blue eye opens to peer at him, and a soft smile tugs at her lips. "Good morning," she croaks. He smiles for an answer. "What time is it?"

"6:30."

"Ugh." She rubs her eyes, smearing mascara that had already been disturbed from a rough night. She didn't wash her face last night. Red lipstick is all over her pillow...and Charlie. She looks at him and laughs. "It's all over you."

"Considering you're the reason it's all over me, why don't you help me wash it off?"

Katherine hums, stretching an arm over his ribs, and pulls herself close to him. "That could be arranged," she sighs into his chest. "What's in it for me?" She opens one eye again to look up at him. He's staring at her suggestively, one brow raised as he smirks. "Well go turn the water on, Chip."

He groans, rolling his eyes. "You know I hate that nickname."

"Jose kept calling you that last night," Katherine mutters, clinging to him as he slides from the bed. Long limbs wrap around his tall, strong frame, and he struggles to make it to the bathroom without her falling down. "Gah, it really is all over you." She rubs at a smudged mouth print on his ribs before getting to her feet and sitting on the counter. Charlie leans over to turn the shower on.

And she leans over to smack his butt.

"Ah!" He turns around with hard eyes, and she grins. "You are so—"

Katherine yelps, lunging for the door, just barely missing the long reach of his fingers, and sprints to the door.

"Kit!"

"Leave me alone!" She shrieks, ripping the door open, and runs for the kitchen, acutely aware of Charlie's heavy footfalls behind her.

He has her cornered in the kitchen, imposing, muscular, Brat Tamer Brow activated. Katherine is all grins, like a dog sneaking to get scraps.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, you're gonna be." He lunges for her and she cuts right and takes off. Charlie is lean with fast muscle, long arm reaching to curl around her waist and catch her.

"No!" She shrieks. He throws her over his shoulder and she starts flailing. "Charlie!" He smacks her rear hard, and she yelps. "Nooo!"

"Shoulda thought about that," Charlie taunts, taking her back to the bedroom.

✕

She's wearing his t-shirt in the kitchen as she peels an orange. Charlie is manning the stove, making his boujee challah French toast with his fancy pink-bottle vanilla extract.

But it really is the best vanilla. Katherine has to find more of it. They're down to vapors.

"I've been spoiled this week," she says, offering an orange segment up to him. "Usually I'm the one cooking breakfast."

"Well you're due for a break," Charlie tells her. "Seriously. You're usually working twelve hour days."

"Comes with the territory," Katherine hums with a shrug, glancing over to the window like she might see that man standing there from the other night...like he somehow, for some reason, followed them to Charlie's house.

"D'you want coffee?" She asks him, moving for the refrigerator.

"Please."

"One of these days," she says, grabbing the creamer they both like. "I'm going to have flowers delivered to whatever construction site you're at." Charlie laughs softly, shaking his head. "And you're going to have to tell me your favorite flower, or I might send you something crazy like sunflowers. The ones that are a million feet tall."

"I don't have a favorite flower," he says. "We've talked about that."

"Well I still don't believe you," Katherine hums. "So get ready for the most obnoxious bouquet you've seen yet." Charlie lets out a soft chuckle, glancing over to her as she smiles to herself, priming the coffee machine.

Their first morning together went a lot like this one. It wasn't awkward, but it was quiet...comfortable. Comfortable silence isn't something she's accustomed to. Trust, it took a lot to get used to. But Charlie isn't a loud person. He's calculated and observant, and speaks when there's something to be said. A different kind of "strong silent."

They met at the whiskey bar across town the after she and Sophia moved in. She went alone, mostly to give Sophia time alone with Julien.

All kinds of new people go to bars every week, but this was the kind of town that everyone knew everyone, so there were hardly any new faces...and Katherine's is the kind one doesn't forget.

Charlie had enough liquid courage in him to approach her after everyone partook in Copperhead Road. She seemed nice enough, with a gentle kindness about her smile that didn't reach her sad blue eyes. She didn't give him her phone number that night, or even the time after that. It took three weeks of being dance partners before she gave that up.

What she liked about him is how his attention was solely on her, from the time they walked in to the time he walked her to the front door.

Sophia thinks it's a perfect match. After all, both she and Charlie were blessed with what she calls the Brat Tamer. The universe does not bestow this gift upon anyone who does not need to convey in a single gesture "keep sassing me and see what happens."

It was amusing to watch. Katherine would make a Katherine remark, and Charlie would retort with a smoldering gaze, a silently-raised eyebrow, and she would quieten into a simpering smirk.

It was probably all worked out in the bedroom anyway, which Sophia, historically, did not shy away from asking.

Anyway, after seeing her come home and exist in the state she did after that road trip...it was nice to see Katherine happy. She even had a little glow about her.

They're perfect for each other.

Sophia hadn't asked about Dean since the week Katherine came back to New Haven. Sophia thought someone broke into the apartment, the way her best friend stumbled in and seemed to run into everything. She was on the brink of sobbing, carrying her duffle bag like it weighed a million pounds, and Sophia was standing in the dark hallway with a baseball bat.

Katherine cried all the way up to graduation day. Sophia made the decision to never bring up Sam or Dean again.

And in eight months, there wasn't so much as a whisper breathed about them. Even to Charlie. The photos had been shoved into a drawer underneath clothes to be forgotten until she was hopefully old and gray one day, when the memories wouldn't sting so much and she might smile about it all. But the pain is still so raw, so fresh and ugly, underneath the ill-formed scar tissue.

Charlie knows she has nightmares. He asked her what about before, but she never had an answer for him. She just curled into his side and gripped his hand. He only let himself sleep when it slacked—that's how he knew she was asleep again.

He's even tried asking Sophia about her last boyfriend, why she never wanted to talk about him. Sophia wouldn't budge. And like a true best friend, ratted on Charlie whenever he asked.

Sometimes Katherine will think about Dean. The last words he said to her, what she was left to assume...

Dead.

She even tried calling every phone number of the Winchesters' she had stored, but none of them went through. So maybe they really were well and truly dead. Maybe whatever they were going after got them instead.

And she should hate Dean for what he did, for what he said, what he's making her live with. But she doesn't.

She still cries for him, even in the supermarket parking lot on the eve of his birthday.