AN: I'm back Okay, I think I might try to start posting one or two chapters every other weekend, so please read. This is going to be a really short chapter, but the next is a lot longer. Please, please review. Every time that you review, Dean gets a free pie. A happy Dean is a happy world, so review. Now, On to the words _

I awoke abruptly the next morning. Sunlight poured into the room, right into my eyes, through the blinds. My leg ached with the memory of last night, and my cuts have already began to heal, but left purple bruises in their wake.

I stood on the cold hardwood floor and stretched. I could hear the soft clicks and cracks of protest from my bones.

What was I supposed to do? I'm poor, have no car, nothing. I began making a mental list of what I needed to do. Food, shower, car, drive. I figure shower will be the easiest, so I start with that.

The motels room bathroom, was more than questionable. The shower was small, there was no toilet paper, and half the lights were out. I left my day old clothes on a pile in the floor, and stepped into o the tub. The water runs down my body in streams, running down my neck, shoulders, and face. I began to relax and lean my cheek against the cool tile wall.

Kansas. I had to go to Kansas. How the hell was I supposed to get to Kansas? Where exactly am I going?

I close my eyes and lean my face further into the line of water.

I finish washing and dry myself with an old scratchy towel that had been left on the bathroom. I didn't have any extra clothes, so I put back on the pair old sun-bleached jeans and my plaid, flannel over shirt, opting not to wear the tank top stained with blood. Standing in front of a mirror, I stare at my reflection. There was a thin cut that ran above my eye brow, and a large bruise on my jaw line. I ran my fingers through my dripping, straight red locks that laid to the small of my back, and framed my narrow face.

My vessel, a nineteen year old named Catherine, lived in Celtic Ireland when Christianity first began to spread in 82 AD. She was devote and near sinless, when she caught the Bubonic plague and began to die. Her final wish was to help serve the Lord. After she left, and her body was vacant, I took over. Since then, it's my body.

I was short. Shorter than most, at least. 5' 4'' at most. Maybe. I wasn't super skinny either. I had a flat, tone stomach, but wide ribs and hips, and a dip in my waist. I am by no means, flat chested. To the point of annoyance, really. But did have pale, porcelain like skin and large deep blue eyes. That was good, I suppose.

I left the bathroom, the hot steam fading into the rest of the room in thick clouds. Screw food. I lay back on the bed and sleep more.

A rode. An empty road with faded lines. On one side, there was a field. On the other, a hill littered with dead leaves and rocks. A large, abandoned building rested ominously on top of the hill. Built into the hill was an old, moldy looking sewage entrance. A familiar symbol was on the front door. I recognized it at once. The men of letters.

I lurched awake, cool sweat drenched my back and made my shirt cling to my skin. That's where I needed to go. Kansas. Lebanon, Kansas. The men of letters? Their hide out was in Lebanon, but they were all dead. Was Castiel at the bunker? I need to find him. He is the only one that ca help me. He knows me, and he knows I'm innocent. He can help.

I have to go. Now. I grab my array of knives and blades off the bedside table, and put them into the pocket of my old leather jacket. I leave, without leaving anything behind. I left the door ajar and stepped into the sun. The "Sunrise" sign loomed above me, and left a long shadow on the rest of the motel. I walked over to a car, a cherry red '69 charger with cams. I discretely pulled out one of my blades, a long, thin, narrow weapon, and slid it down the window to unlock the door. Once I got in, I high jacked the wires to start the car. I began driving. I had a long drive ahead. A whole 20 hours of one.