The shrill of the Nokia ringtone on her burner phone dragged Kate from her fitful sleep. She woke with a gasp as if resurfacing from ice cold water, and from the light, cool sweat she had that made her raggedy t-shirt cling to her sharply jutting collarbone, it was very true. Kate hadn't even bothered to climb under the covers when she got back to her moldy motel room sometime this morning. She just stripped off the worst of her ripped and bloody clothes from the wolf hunt and collapsed after downing half a bottle of tequila. Still, the phone continued to ring.
Slapping her hand down on it barely muffled the noise, and she cautiously dragged it to her face. The time read 6:21 a.m. She'd been in bed for less than three hours and asleep for roughly two. Sighing, she used her free hand to push her thick, tangled blonde curls out of her face and accepted the call, not bothering to check the caller I.D. In this business, it was rare for anybody to keep the same number – that was a luxury. "What do you want?"
"I need a partner for this hunt," a familiar gruff baritone drawled in her ear, the bad connection doing little to change the tone from dulcet to tinny.
"John," Kate purred, and without thinking about it, she spread her thighs open wider on the bed as she stared at the dingy ceiling with mysterious brown stains. "John Winchester. How did you get my number?"
"Would you believe me if I said I found it written on the bathroom stall at the Roadhouse?"
"No, I wouldn't." Kate pushed herself off bed with some reluctance and the creak of a few rusty springs. Setting the phone on speaker and on the night stand, she rummaged through her duffle bag for a clean pair of jeans and danced into them while she continued to speak to a man who hadn't bothered to contact her in over six months. "But that just tells me you got my number from Ellen and not Bobby."
"I did," John admitted, voice soft with painful honesty, "Bobby wouldn't tell me where you were or how I could get a hold of you."
"With good reason," Kate rolled her head on her neck, causing her curls to swish over her eyes before she tucked them away behind her ears, searching for a hairbrush in vain. "You should ask Dean for help on this hunt. He's old enough now – besides, hunting is a family business. Isn't that what you told me right before you ditched me in the Sacramento Valley?"
Ignoring her pointed tone, John's voice grew hard again as he got back on track, "My sons are none of your concern. And I need a female partner on this hunt."
Kate scoffed, not caring if he could hear that or not as she swept around the room for one last once-over, stuffing stray socks in the duffle bag and packing away her Devil's Trap Welcome Mat with more care. "Monster?"
"I thought it was a demon – the crimes revolve around lust, acts of sexual harassment, but surprisingly no violence. That is, no actual intercourse yet. That rules the demon theory out, so now I think it's a witch."
Interest piqued, Kate paused with her toothbrush hovering in the air between the faucet and her foamy mouth. "What's happened?"
"Men are being enchanted to stalk and harass women around town. Only works in pairs. The only thing the men have in common is that they're single. All the female victims, though, are single and between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-eight. And blonde."
She took her time to spit in the sink and rinse her mouth. "So that's why you didn't ask Ellen for help." Splashing water on her face, Kate considered the situation. "Are you sure about there not being any violence?"
"Most of the women reported stalking, and one that I spoke to said she had no idea why her best friend started proposing to her," John's voice faded in and out as the sound of shuffling papers cut in. He read off, "Three victims are in the process of getting a restraining order. One victim moved three states over to live with her mother. The guy stalking her? Killed himself as soon as she 'disappeared' – but one of the others is on house arrest after breaking into his victim's apartment"
"Who do you think the witch is? Any suspects?" Once her boots were laced up, Kate slung the duffle bag over her shoulder and picked up the phone again, switching off the speaker function.
"Not yet, but it's a small town. People are already talking."
"Well, you're in luck, Winchester." Kate tucked away her gun, the only memento she has of her brother, and walked out the door straight for the parking lot. "I just finished up a wolf hunt in north Georgia. Tell me where you are, and I'll meet you there."
"Oh, I bet that moon over Georgia was killer on you, Kate," John growled, and Kate shivered. "I'm at a mom-and-pop kind of bed and breakfast in Alexandria, Virginia. Some place called Olivia's."
Kate's eyes skipped over the few scattered cars in the lot, belatedly looking for her car until she remembered that she wrecked it into one of the wolves last night. "That's really specific and helpful," she sighed, and then strode towards a blue Volkswagen Bug with determination.
"You'll know it when you see it."
"By the Impala?"
"By my truck."
"Ooh, swapping out your leather backseat for a truck bed? Very romantic." By some miracle, the Bug had been left unlocked. Shrugging her shoulders at her luck, she checked the visor for the key. Her luck ran out. Kate tossed the duffle bag in the backseat and ducked her head under the wheel to hotwire the car instead.
A thousand miles away, John's voice came through smooth and warm, the equivalent of whiskey to her eardrums. "The beds here are nice, Kate. I got a queen to share with you."
Her tongue snuck between her teeth, and it was too early and she was too tired to be feeling as hot and bothered as she was. Leave it to a Winchester, though, to bring out the best in her. "Does that make me your queen?"
John chuckled on the other end of the line, "You heading down tonight? It takes me about twelve hours to get from Atlanta to D.C."
Sparks flew and the Bug's tiny engine roared to life. Kate was sure John could hear her smile when she said, "I'll see you in ten." She hung up and popped the Nokia into the tiny cupholder. As she pulled out of the parking lot for the interstate, she fiddled with the radio knob absentmindedly. Just as she was about to give up and settle for silence, Culture Club burst through the speakers, and she found herself smiling wider.
"Every day is like survival," Kate sang along. Her mind was on John instead of the hunt, but she allowed herself to daydream, if only for a little while. "You're my lover, not my rival. Every day is like survival – you're my lover, not my rival."
Alexandria was a Podunk little town that Kate was able to find easily. John was also right about the bed and breakfast being easy to find as well, though she wasn't going to tell him that. As she crept down Mainstreet in her Bug, passing by a Jack's, Taco Bell, McDonald's, and KFC alongside the local businesses like a Smitherman's Pharmacy, Luna's Family Dentistry, Paula's Real Estate, a karate center where she could see kids in their yellow belts high kicking through the glass. It has a post office and two banks across the street from each other. Tucked in between a local Mexican restaurant and the karate center was an herbal remedy store. Though it lacked any of the usual witch markings, Kate made the mental note to ask John about it once she's met up with him.
However, the most unusual thing about Alexandria's Mainstreet was that it dead ended a church that might as well have been a cathedral considering it was the tallest building in comparison at over three stories tall. Instead of a parking lot surrounding a church, there was a graveyard littered with tombstones, both new and old, some old stone and others polished black marble. At a crawl, Kate hunched over the Bug's steering wheel as she stared hard for anything at out of place. Being a Tuesday evening the church didn't seem to be in session, and the most she saw were a few men in orange vest picking up their equipment for the day from the sidewalk.
Kate was pretty sure this case was going to solve itself, and as she parked the Bug alongside John's familiar truck, she thought to herself that this could almost be like a vacation. Staying anywhere that wasn't a haunt for roaches with a man like John counted as a vacation to her.
As soon as she stepped out of the car, she was nearly barreled over by John as he launched himself at her. "Kate! I didn't think you would ever get here!"
"Jesus Christ, John," Kate huffed, flattening her palms against his chest. Something was wrong. Dead wrong. John wasn't normally this excited to see her. Well, at least not excited like this, like some sort of puppy waiting by the front door. She had been excited to see him, too, but there was still the hunt and – there was something about his eyes. There was an earnestness to them, but something else. "Back up and let a girl breathe, huh?"
He ignored her, his arms still slung around her waist as tight as a belt, but hands respectfully clutching to her lower back. "Marry me, Kate."
The breath left her lungs before she could help it, and then she blinked, kickstarting her brain back up again. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Kate cupped John's dimpled cheeks in her palms, stroking it twice in apology, and then headbutted him as hard as she could, foreheads slamming together so hard she felt her teeth jar and maybe one of her molars crack. Even with how hardheaded John could be, he went out cold, and Kate was left awkwardly supporting his weight in her arms and shuffling him inside.
The proprietor – Olivia – was behind the quaintly painted desk with the white-chipped paint, and once she saw them, she gasped, hands quite literally clutching her tiny pearls. "Goodness! What happened to Mr. Smith?"
Plastering on a smile, Kate assured her, "Oh, he'll be so embarrassed! Frankly, so am I. Accidentally hit him with my car door." Hopefully the red spot she could feel blooming on her forehead before the goose egg would rise wouldn't give her away. She didn't bother to try and apologize for the scuffs on the hardwood floor from the heel of John's boots dragging on the floor. "Which room is ours?"
"Oh! It's the suite reserved for honeymooners, dear. I know that's jumping the gun, but Mr. Smith said you were his fiancé." With flappy, well-meaning hands, Olivia ushered them in the right direction with sympathetic tuts. She reminded Kate vaguely of a mother-hen well past her egg-laying prime, but still ruling the roost without the need of a rooster, for all intents and purposes still underfoot of the farmer who had some fondness for her. Having just met her, Kate had that same exasperated fondness.
"I don't see a ring, dear," Olivia broke into her thoughts, pointedly checking her left hand. Squinting at her suspiciously from behind her glasses, Olivia raised her nose. "Are you quite sure you're Miss Sue Miller?"
Sue. Like Curly Sue. Kate could kill John.
"Yes ma'am, that's me. I'm his Curly Sue," she managed to say without gritting her teeth. "John and I…have been dating for a while. I suppose he, uh, was going to propose here in this cute little town. It's our three-year anniversary, and we've been talking about taking the next step you know. But uh," Kate meaningfully nodded towards the door, arms still full of John, "I'll still act surprised when John does pop the question, after he wakes up, of course."
Eyes wide with horror, Olivia slapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry, dear! That's just how he introduced you: Curly Sue Miller, his fiancé." She started muttering and furiously apologizing about ruining the surprise as she unlocked their door for her, and Kate waved her off as politely as one could shutting the door in her face before she unceremoniously dumped John's limp body on the bed. It was a queen; Kate stared at it longingly after her ten-hour impromptu road trip in that cramped Bug. But there was no time for that. Time to get to down to business.
First things first, she tied John up, wary of what kind of curse the which could've put on him in the ten hours since they've spoken. After the silver and holy water check, she knew it wasn't a demon, which was a relief because those were above her paygrade. Another reason she and John stuck to running different circles from each other.
Getting back on task, Kate was sure that this must've happened after her phone call, not sensing anything different about John from before. After that, she checked around to see if John had set his traps. There was salt and the Welcome Mat Devil's Trap. Whenever he was cursed had to have happened when he wasn't here. He had to be off investigating the town somewhere.
Well, it was a good thing John kept meticulous notes, even if he did do the whole loner thing and refuse to tell people what he was up to, even if those people were working on his with the hunt. But Kate supposed she shouldn't think of herself as special. Just because she and John made a habit of sleeping together, didn't mean shit as far as hunting. John barely hunted with his own sons, and at least one of them was still in the business. For that, though, Kate couldn't really blame him.
Like John, she was in this business because of family. A Rugaru killed her brother, and killed some of the teens she'd been looking out for in the business she'd been in before. That business was child's play compared to hunting, but it prepared her for something that hunting didn't make easy: taking lives, even lives trapped as monsters.
It was Bobby who helped with the Rugaru. Then through Bobby she met John, and the rest, as they saw, was history. They had a simple milk run hunt together where they bonded over Hunter's Helper and spilled their guts about why they took up hunting. His was a demon killing his wife, hers was a Rugaru eating her makeshift family, leaving her as the soul-survivor once she brought a meth lab crashing down on top of him in untamed, chemical-fueled flames.
The first time she and John slept with each other, it had been to forget, and the whiskey made it hard to remember if it had been good. But it was the morning after that always stuck out in Kate's mind, because John had stayed. He'd stayed even though he said he wouldn't, and that was enough for Kate. Unfortunately, it was the only time John had stayed. By now Kate had his number; he was always going to be a runner.
So, when she heard him say, "Marry me," she of course knew something was wrong. There wasn't time to think about that, and in this life there really wasn't such a thing as the marrying type. Kate and John had fun, yeah, but they had their differences. He was a hard man to love, though Kate tried. She was sure she didn't make it easy on him either.
Pushing all of that aside for now, Kate sorted through John's files he lifted from the local police station and the newspaper clippings he probably stole from the local library. With a sigh, she took the overstuffed armchair made for looks rather than utility and set to work reading.
Unfortunately, nothing jumped out at her. The town had a clean history, not a single murder unless you counted the time the bank was robbed in 1822 and then there was of course the occasional vehicular manslaughter here or there. It was all so boring. Even the case looked ordinary, though Kate tried not to be cynical about it. To her, it just looked like the usual bullshit antics of sexual harassment, but because of the suicide, it brought the scrutiny. That part was really the only thing suspicious Kate could discern.
Soft groaning signaled that John finally roused. Returning the papers to the desk, Kate stood at the end of the bed and aimed her gun at John. She didn't think she needed it, but she'd rather not risk anything. The bullets were supposed to be the witch-killing kind, but anything would do for intimidation. "Wake up, John."
His long eyelashes fluttered over his high, crystalline cheek bones like charcoal smudges on a buttery, tawny canvas. As soon as he opened his eyes, they landed on her and lit up. "Kate," he breathed with a smile, all dimples and teeth. "Kate, you're here. You stayed."
"Uh-huh." Kate ignored the twinge in her heart. "What happened to you?"
"What are you talking about? You headbutted me." It was then John realized that he was tied down to the bed, spread-eagle. This wasn't exactly new for them, but normally John would be naked. "Kate," he started, but she impatiently interrupted.
"No, shut up! I'm asking the questions." She shook her gun for emphasis, hoping John wouldn't notice that the safety was still on. "Now, how do I know you're John?"
"That gun belonged to your brother," he started listing off, rapid-fire style, "you started hunting because of a Rugaru, your name is Kate O'Connell."
"Who cares about that – those are cheap fucking facts!"
"You can drink a bottle of gin with the best of them," John switched tactics, voice soft like it was that morning. "You love that pop 80's synth shit, and I know that because the first and only time I let you drive you blared Prince and Bowie until my ears bled. And when you stand in the snow, you look like a goddamn angel."
Kate hesitated, but she dropped her hard-ass persona. "You're John," she conceded, "but how do I know if you're my John?"
"I'm your John, Curly Sue," he purred. His hazel eyes were like whiskey shots she wanted to drown in warm and spicy and hypnotic when they were framed with such enviously long eyelashes like that. John's tanned skin was glowing, a light sprinkling of a five o'clock shadow around his kissable mouth. And his brown hair that was starting to go grey gave him a tousled look like he was woken from sleep, though the nasty bump on his forehead said otherwise. Kate could almost believe that was her John and she was about to let him up when he said, "Marry me, Kate. Take me to church – the Methodist one down the street. Marry me. I love you."
She was already shaking her head before he could finish. "God damn it," she softly cursed and then only ramped it up with curses of a more colorful variety as she searched for her bag.
"What?" John stretched as much as the tight knots would allow, testing Kate's skill as well as her patience as he craned his neck to watch her every move. "What are you looking for?" He grimaced against the ropes that cut into the tender skin around his wrists and ankles without mercy. These were not love knots for sex by any means, but knots made to restrain demons of inhuman strength. Even under this curse, John was just a man.
Rather than answering John, Kate pulled out her phone and returned to her spot in the overstuffed armchair, exclaiming a soft whuff when she just collapsed into it resignedly. Scrolling through her meager contact list, she settled on the number for the Roanoke Public Library. The line rang twice and she checked the clock wondering if she missed her window when it finally clicked. "Hello–"
"Hot Wheels," Kate chimed, "Hey, I know you're about to close up, but I need a favor."
"Kate! Oh, uh, sure? Is it a research favor from the library or…?"
"Witchy research, woman."
"You're talking to a witch?" John made like he wanted to roll his body over, but only got as far as his spine popping before he gave that up, resting his cheek on the inside of his arm instead. "Kate, we don't work with witches!"
"Shut up, she's a good witch," Kate whisper-hissed to John, dragging the receiver away from her mouth for a moment.
"There's no such goddamn thing," John huffed, still stubborn even under his curse.
"Sure, there is. Haven't you ever seen The Wizard of Oz, Kansas boy?" Turning her attention back to the phone, Kate lightened her tone. "Sorry, Hot Wheels. So, I'm in a town called Alexandria not too far from you actually. And I was wondering if you could pull any records about the town having witches, or do you know any witches? There's like an herbal remedy shop, but there weren't any witch signs. Know anybody here?"
"Just cause I'm a witch doesn't mean I automatically know every other witch, especially because I'm a White Witch." The voice on the other end of the line was a little shy and mousy, but Kate could hear the distracted lilt to it as her friend's attention was taken up by her computer screen probably as she did as Kate asked. There was the clacking of keys as Kate waiting in silence. "No witches," Hot Wheels finally hummed, "but that doesn't mean there isn't one there now."
"You're right, I should just check the local library and see if any young librarian was seduced by a magic book or something," Kate teased.
"Sorry I couldn't be more help – oh, hey! This is about the suicide?"
"Yeah, why? You know something?"
"Not in particular. Doesn't seem like a magical death to me, that much at least. Like, it wasn't a sacrifice or murder. I've just been following the incidents online from the news articles, but that reminds me…so there's like this church in Alexandria? They say it's for lovers."
"So is the entire state of Virginia," Kate snarked, and then something clicked. Without meaning to, Kate's eyes darted over to John. "Yes. There's a church on Mainstreet and it's huge."
"Catholic?"
"Nope. Methodist."
"Oh, well, the denomination doesn't matter. It still has a graveyard, right?"
"Yeah, it hasn't been moved." Kate thought about the construction workers she saw. "Well, they might be in the process of moving it, now that I think about it."
"Alright, I think I know what it is," Hot Wheels chirped, "A ghost. Spinster Fanny Mae died of a broken heart about a hundred years ago. I guess she woke up again? Anyway, I think it's her because she matches the descriptions of the women and supposedly, all Fanny Mae wanted was to be married by a good, devoted man."
Rubbing her temple with her freehand, Kate asked, "How did you find that but John couldn't turn that up in the local library?"
"They probably just don't have a copy in their archive," Hot Wheels clarified, "You'd have to interlibrary loan it, and well, we're possessive"
"This is such a weird case."
"I mean, if you burn the bones and nothing changes, no harm really done right?"
"Well, the construction probably disturbed Fanny Mae. Wonderful name, by the way. No wonder she died alone." Kate sighed heavily. "Yeah, this is probably fix John. Thanks for your help, Hot Wheels."
"No problem. Maybe you can come see me after your case? Wait. You said John. John as in that guy you sleep with sometimes?"
Dropping her chin until it touched her chest, Kate distractedly examined her nails, hoping John was only able to hear one side of the conversation. "The same," she mumbled around her ragged cuticles.
"You're definitely stopping by then," Hot Wheels was smirking on the other end of the line, "I want all the dirty details."
Kate huffed and pushed herself out of the armchair. "Fine. Gotta get hunting. I'll call you another time, Hot Wheels." When she hung up, she tossed the Nokia back in her duffle bag.
"Why Hot Wheels?" John quietly asked.
"It's her nickname," Kate explained as she dug her fingertips into her eyelids until there were dancing stars like static. "No way I'm using her real name around you when you could go pump her full of bullets." She took a deep breath before she could finally bring herself to look at John again.
Spread eagle on the bed, John looked like a banquet to be devoured. From all his struggling, his shirt had ridden up his midsection until a delicious strip of tawny skin was on display from hipbones to navel. Every time he took a deep breath, Kate thought about tracing his Adonis belt with her tongue and drinking his sweat like its whiskey neat. Her eyes landed on his face, and he was already watching her, a pained crease between his brows. "Don't go," John murmured, and he twisted his neck, digging the crown of his head back against the pillow. "Don't leave me. Stop running away. Marry me."
"Jesus, John, you weren't even like this in Vegas," Kate muttered, needlessly checking her pistol for witch bullets just in case Hot Wheels' hunch was wrong. "And there were plenty of chapels there." She stooped to dig through her duffle bag, this time looking for a crow bar. The shovel could easily be bought at the hardware store with a fake credit card and ditched later.
"I didn't want to marry you until after Vegas," John admitted.
Kate froze and then robotically continued her search, biding her time. She should just leave, she should muzzle him, she should chalk all this up to curses and possessions and lies, but she had a sinking suspicious that the only way John would confess any of his feelings had to be under a supernatural influence. Booze could only go so far.
"You can read me journal if you don't believe me," he continued with a soft groan as the ropes bit his skin with an uncomfortable pinch. "I write down all my hunts to keep track and keep up with monsters. I write about all my contacts, too."
"And that includes me?" Kate fished, "What about me?"
"How I realized I loved you when I caught you singing in the shower after that Poltergeist in Houston." His voice rasped across her heartstrings, as gentle and sure as any practiced musician's fingers. "Do you remember the song? I do. That godawful one by Bowie and Jagger."
In spite of the circumstances, Kate laughed, "Oh god, yes. 'Dancing in the Street' that one." She chuckled again. "Yeah, well that was a good hunt, even if I got slimed." But even the memory of that wasn't enough for her to drop her smile; she just wrinkled her nose. As her hand closed around the iron of the crowbar, though, she sighed and dropped her smile. "You're gonna regret all this, John."
His answer surprised her. "I know."
She whipped around, bar halfway raised, and John added, "But I could never regret what we have."
"Had," Kate corrected him and rested the crowbar on her shoulder. "So, did you check out the church before I got here?"
"I did. And I thought it would be perfect for a wedding with you." John sighed, and the sound was like his heart was heavy, and Kate had to catch herself from reaching out to push his hair off his forehead. This was…strange, but not unwelcome. She'd only seen this kind of John in his melancholy moments, when he was half-drunk and talking to him about Mary, or when he was still caught up in the pillow talk before he crashed.
"Kate. Kate, marry me," John pleaded. "I love you."
"You know I can't. Not under these circumstances." She trailed her fingers across the taut rope, but did not touch him. Kate knew if she did, then she wouldn't stop. "Not under any circumstances, Winchester. We're not like that. You've got a lot of baggage," she tried to lighten her tone, "And I've got mine. Ghosts, demons, Rugaru. Bobby." Lamely, she shrugged.
Kate turned away and nearly made it to the door before John's sharp, high-pitched plea stopped her. "Please, Kate, please. Don't leave me here alone. Marry me. I love you. Don't you love me? Say it. Say it for me before you go."
That's what steeled her nerve. This wasn't John; it couldn't be. "I'll be back later," she called over her shoulder instead, "Try not to piss yourself."
Digging up Spinster Fanny Mae was a little tricky since the church was in the middle of town, but since none of the businesses were open, Alexandria was dead. They were also right about the construction disturbing her spirit, because while normally digging up graves was grueling and back-breaking labor – even if the ghost doesn't accost you for it – the earth was soft, churned up the Bobcat equipment parked on the street and blocked off with orange traffic cones.
Kate paused to breathe air instead of dirt, face tilted back towards the navy sky. She was disappointed by the lack of stars because the light pollution from the old-fashioned street lamps. The work had her breaking out in a sweat, and the cool Virginian air chilled her to her bones. This was lonely work without John, but unlike the fortuitous morning, Kate wouldn't let her thoughts linger on him for long.
Spinster Fanny Mae didn't come out to play until Kate's shovel struck her coffin. Then Kate was left swinging her shovel and her crowbar alternately until she somehow managed to toss her lighter and the half-empty bottle of tequila from the night before in the coffin. Fanny Mae fizzled out with a scream that Kate could claim as a vixen's if asked. No one came asking questions.
By the time she returned to Olivia's with her cheeks, forehead, and clothes smeared with dirt, she saw that John's truck was missing. She sighed and went inside anyway, hoping he at least left her the room so she could get some rest before heading to Roanoke in the morning. Olivia was there, and though she clucked her tongue at Kate, she hummed sympathetically. "I uh, found Mr. Smith and he explained that it was a," she blushed and dropped her voice to a whisper, "Sex thing with the rope."
"He left?" Kate asked, knocking the dirt off her crowbar against the heel of her boot. Clumps of dirt rained down on Olivia's clean hardwood floors, and she watched it happen with a pinched mouth.
"Yes, but he left you the room," Olivia's voice was tight, mincing pained politeness, "And he covered the bill. Check out is at eight."
Kate didn't mention anything about breakfast, suspecting that Olivia might be more than a little miffed her about mistreating 'Mr. Smith' and tracking dirt across her floors. When she got back to the room, she wasn't surprised that John hadn't left her a note. However, on the bedside table was a bottle of gin. Hardly a bouquet of roses, she took it as a sign that burning the bones worked. She had a feeling she wouldn't be seeing John for a while at least. But the bottle meant that she would be seeing him again. His pride just needed a little time to recover.
Snorting, Kate cracked the bottle open and took a swig. "Oh, John boy, we're not the marrying type, but you can't run forever."