Truth be told, Kat had never really understood Oktoberfest. She knew it was some big, German celebration where everyone dressed up, ate sausages, and got day drunk off warm beer. That was about it. She had little to no interest in it. And her current trip wasn't doing much to change her mind.
She'd met the boys at the Impala at precisely ten in the morning. They were easy to spot in their mock-FBI suits. Kat was a little less formal—just a button down and some slacks, with her badge clipped to her belt. The low heels allowed her to run if she had to, and she kept her hair clipped back on top of her head. She pointedly ignored Dean's off-color comment about preferring pencil skirts, as well as Sam's apologetic look on his behalf. Not that she'd been expecting anything different. But it still wasn't a great way to start the morning.
She nabbed Sam's case file to read on the drive, copying notes into her own book. It kept her occupied, and helped block out the sounds of Dean's ridiculous cassette collection.
They parked just outside Canonsburg's town square, which seemed to be the hub of the activity. It was admittedly a cute set up. There were huge banners, a live band, and food carts on every corner. The only problem was that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between town employees and festival goers. Almost everyone in sight was wearing a bright smile and some version of lederhosen, which made the three of them stick out. Badly.
"Guess we can forget staying under the radar," Kat said lowly, taking a look around the courtyard.
"We're not trying to stay under the radar," said Sam. "You want to look intimidating. Make sure they don't ask for your credentials twice."
"I get that, maybe down at the station. But in public? I mean, we're pretty much wearing neon signs that say, 'Hey, we're onto you and we're investigating. I am a threat.' Won't that…I don't know…spook the perp?"
"I'm sorry, spook the perp?" Dean laughed. "What, did you just finish a marathon of Law and Order?"
"Shut up."
"Dean, lay off," Sam sighed. "Maybe she has a point."
Dean stopped walking, turning to look at his brother incredulously. He started several sentences before shaking his head. "Dude, you are so whipped. I—big pretzel!"
He sped off without another word, making a beeline for one of the food carts on the other side of the courtyard. Sam chuckled, and turned to Kat with a grimace.
"So, should I keep apologizing when he does that, or does that just make it more annoying?"
"Oh it's definitely more annoying."
"Right. Noted."
They trailed after Dean across the yard, where he met them with two pretzels the size of dinner plates—one for himself, and one for Sam. He smiled smugly at Kat, who honestly couldn't have cared less, but he was quickly distracted by a passing blonde in a frilly skirt.
"Guten tag," she said brightly, and Dean didn't bother hiding his longing gaze.
"Guten tag yourself."
Kat couldn't repress a snort of a disapproval, and Sam passed her a piece of pretzel. "He doesn't mean it like that."
"Oh yes I do," said Dean. "Just because you brought a date doesn't mean I'm gonna stop doing my thing. And Hot Bar Wench Number One is at the top of my to do list."
"You're disgusting," Kat scoffed.
"Guys," said Sam, nodding across the yard. "I think I found our guy."
The sheriff was standing not too far away, directing tourists around the yard with a polite smile. Sam ditched the pretzel before they walked over, Dean choosing to shove the last piece in his mouth instead with a revolting gagging noise. Kat found it difficult to maintain a passive, professional expression.
"Sheriff Dietrich," Sam greeted, his voice changing ever so slightly as he stepped into his role of authority.
"Are you the boys from the Fed?" the man asked, looking them over. "And gal. My apologies."
"Agents Angus, Young, and Paige," said Sam, as they all flashed their badges. "We called ahead about your, uh…problem."
"Bit weird for them to send three of ya, isn't it? I mean, it's just one incident."
"We take any kind of incident very seriously," Sam said gravely.
"Besides," added Dean, "if you want to get technical, Paige isn't a real agent yet. She's just tagging along so we can show her the ropes. Isn't that right, Probie?"
Kat glared hard enough that Dean's smile actually slipped. The sheriff, however, didn't seem to think twice about her reaction.
"I'll tell you what, why don't we talk this out away from the crowd, huh? You can follow me down to the hospital, see everything for yourselves."
He waved to another attendant before heading down one of the side streets, beckoning them over his shoulder. They exchanged somewhat surprised glances, but followed him down the cobblestone path.
"Walking?" asked Dean.
"Small town," the sheriff said with a shrug. "Not worth the hassle of the traffic. Too many cars this time of year."
"Is it always this busy?" Kat asked.
"For Oktoberfest? Absolutely. Might not be the biggest celebration in the country, but we do alright. Town population's about tripled. Always gets reviewed as one of the best festivals in the state. I hate to see something like this ruin it."
"We'll do our best to clear it up without too much noise," Sam assured him.
"Much appreciated. Truth be told we don't see this kind of crime up there that often. Maybe a few animal attacks, minor hunting accidents, but this? I can't remember the last time the office had to investigate a murder, much less one with this much weird attached to it."
"Well," Dean said haughtily, "we're sure you did what you could with your limited resources."
Sheriff Dietrich didn't look too pleased with Dean's tone, but he pursed his lips.
"I'm not thrilled about having you bunch stepping on toes around here. But…I'm an old man. I've seen a lot in my years, and I know when I'm out of my depth."
He gave Dean a once over, but grumpily turned forward and picked up his pace. Kat frowned, surprised. Maybe the suits did their job after all.
The hospital was nearly empty, save for one or two nurses manning the front desk. The sheriff waved warmly to them, and they passed without question. He led them right through to the small morgue in the basement of the building, which looked as though it was rarely used.
Kat pulled a small notebook from her pocket, clicking her pen and starting the page with the date. She made a few minor notes—mostly details she'd picked up on in Dietrich's description of the festival, such as the high tourism rate. An influx of out of towners would be the perfect excuse for vampires to wander in for feeding, though there was still the question of where they could possibly be keeping victims in a town this small.
It took her a few lines before she noticed someone watching her, and she looked up to find a very amused Dean at her shoulder.
"Oh, don't let me stop you, Probie. Note taking. Cute."
"She's just over here," called Sheriff Dietrich.
Dean winked at her, and walked over to inspect the body, leaving Kat to fume in his wake.
"Marissa Wright, twenty-six," the sheriff said, nodding down to the pale blonde on the slab. "Just up from Lockhard for the fest. Terrible, just terrible. It's the last thing this town needs at peak tourist season."
"Definitely the last thing Marissa Wright needed," said Sam coolly.
Dietrich had the decency to look sheepish at that, and Dean leaned forward to tilt Marissa's head to the side. "What the hell…?"
Her neck had been gnawed on, just like Dean's original report had said, but it wasn't any bite mark that Kat had ever seen. Definitely not the torn carnage that vampires usually left behind with their many rows of teeth. Instead, Marissa had two delicate punctures over her jugular, barely an inch apart. There wasn't even any bruising from the surrounding teeth.
The three of them shared a worried glance, unnoticed by the sheriff.
"Yeah, you got me," he said casually. "This killer's some kind of grade-A wacko, right? I mean, some Satan-worshipping, Anne-Rice-reading, gothic, psycho vampire wannabe."
At a loss, Kat began scribbling the long list of adjectives in her notebook, and Dean cleared his throat.
"Sheriff, in your report you mentioned a witness."
"Yeah, I wished I didn't. But the witness insisted—that's Ed Brewer. Not exactly what you'd call reliable."
"Why's that?" asked Kat.
"He's uh…excitable," he said carefully. "Bit of a recluse, kind of jumpy—eccentric even. He's a good kid, but…I wouldn't exactly trust his word on something like this."
"We'd like to speak to him anyway," said Sam. "Any idea where we might find him?"
"Well, if the sun is up he's usually at the bar. Don't think he works until the night shift. I'll see if I can't get you the address."
He backed out of the room, leaving the three of them to stand over the body. They waited until the sheriff was out of earshot, and relaxed a little.
"So what?" Dean asked, squinting down at the puncture wounds again. "A vamp with a sick sense of humor?"
"Got me," said Sam with a shrug.
"It doesn't even look like a bite mark," Kat observed. She glanced over her shoulder before taking out her phone to take a quick picture of the marks. "I don't know about you, but most of the vampire victims I've encountered don't have this much neck left when they're through."
"Ain't that the truth," said Dean. "But it's gotta be a vamp right? I mean, the dude said that's what he saw."
"You heard the sheriff," Sam said with a shrug. "Maybe he doesn't know what he saw. You can't make a case purely on hearsay. Witnesses aren't always reliable, especially if they're drunk half the time."
"Careful there, Sammy, your Stanford's showing." Dean smirked, giving the corpse one last look before sliding it back in the freezer. "Well, let's see if we can find this guy. Talk to him ourselves."
They headed back through the station, assuring Sheriff Dietrich that they'd be able to find their way back on their own. That was easier said than done, considering how many weirdly narrow backstreets Canonsburg seemed to have. But they did their best to follow the brassy music of the band, and eventually wandered their way back into the town square.
To no one's surprise, the bar was crowded. Almost every table and booth was occupied, and even the waitresses seemed to be having a hard time moving between them. Kat started scanning through patrons, looking for anyone who might meet the description of the witness, but Dean made a beeline for the bar. Or more accurately, for the blonde bar wench they'd seen in the courtyard.
"I remember you," she said, eyeing Dean as they approached.
"And I remember you—Jamie. I never forget a pretty…well, everything."
Kat's skin crawled at Dean's schmoozing smile. Jamie, however, seemed to be flattered, and took the compliment in stride.
"We're looking for Ed Brewer," said Sam, catching her attention.
"What do you want with Ed?"
"Well, we are uh…federal agents," said Dean, flashing his badge over the bar. "Mr. Brewer was witness to a serious crime. We just…"
"Wait a minute. You're a fed?" The bartender crossed her arms, surprised. Dean shrugged, and her eyes openly raked over him. "Wow. You don't come on like a fed… Seriously?"
Dean chuckled, leaning over the counter and lowering his voice to a husky tone.
"I'm a Maverick, ma'am. A rebel with a badge. One thing I don't play by? The rules."
He punctuated this horrible line with a wink, which even Jamie seemed to think was overkill. She shifted uncomfortably, which Kat took as her cue. She grabbed Dean's hand off the bar, pressing her thumb down on a joint and making him wince in pain.
"Maybe you should take it easy there, Young. I don't need to hear you complaining after another mandated sexual harassment course. You'd think you'd have it memorized by now."
He snatched his hand back, shooting her a dirty look, and Sam quickly cleared his throat. "Um, so where can we find Mr. Brewer?"
"Corner booth," said Jamie reluctantly, gesturing across the bar. "He's already a couple drinks in, so…just go easy on him, alright?"
"Of course. Thank you, ma'am."
Sam gave her a curt nod, and Kat did the same. Dean however, hadn't moved, and was still leaning on top of the counter. Sam sighed, and began pushing him in the right direction.
"Come on, Maverick."
They picked their way across the bar, heading toward the booth that Jamie had indicated. Brewer was easy to spot. He was one of the only patrons sitting alone, a beer stein two feet tall on the table in front of him. Kat could instantly see what the sheriff had meant by "eccentric." He had a creepy look about him. There was something about the way he moved his arms—like he'd never learned how to properly connect them to his body. His skin sheened with sweat, and he was staring into space without blinking.
He didn't even seem to notice them approaching. Sam knocked gently on the edge of table, and the man jumped about a foot into the air.
"Easy there, pal," said Dean, fishing out his badge again. "Federal Bureau, Agents Young, Angus and Paige. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Let me see—Let me see that."
Ed beckoned wildly, grabbing the badge out of Dean's hand so he could inspect it. Dean looked affronted, and snatched it back. Ed must have seen enough though, because he beckoned them to take a seat across from him. Kat opted to grab a chair, pulling up to the end of the table and readying her notebook once more.
"You're—You're from the FBI?" Ed asked, looking between them in excitement. "That means they believe me, right? Calling in the big guns."
"A report was filed," said Sam, with a nod. "We've read your statement, but we'd prefer to hear the story from you."
"It's not a story," he said emphatically. "It's the truth!"
"Of course it is, Mr. Brewer." Kat leaned forward in her seat, giving him an encouraging smile. "But normal deputies—they don't pay a sufficient amount of attention to the details. Everything is important. That's why we'd prefer to hear it directly from you."
Ed stared back at her with wide eyes. He fumbled as he reached for his drink, and threw back another deep gulp of beer. A hand wiped over his face, and he fixed them with a steady stare. Or at least, a steadier one.
"I told the cops everything I saw. No one believes me. Why should you be any different?"
"Believe me, Mr. Brewer, we're different," said Dean, clasping his hands on the table.
"I spoke the God's honest truth, and now I'm the town joke."
"Marissa Wright's murder is no joke to us," Sam said firmly. "And we want to hear everything, no matter how strange it may seem."
"We have a lot of experience with strange," Dean added.
He gave Kat a nudge, and she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Please, Mr. Brewer. We'd really appreciate it."
Ed looked skeptically between the three of them, but eventually, he nodded. He took another drink from his stein. He burped. And he gave them a thumbs up.
"It was just after midnight. I just left here, and like I do every night, I cut through the park on my way home. At first, I thought it was a couple kissing. But she was…struggling too much. And this man, he was… Well, he was biting her neck."
"Can you describe her assailant?" asked Sam.
"Oh, he was a vampire."
He nodded certainly, and Dean raised his eyebrows. "Okay, right. And by that, you mean…"
"You know, a vampire."
Ed hissed slightly to illustrate the point. Dean frowned.
"Uh-huh. So, he looked like…"
"Agent Young, maybe you should stop interrupting him," Kat said firmly, throwing up a hand. She scooted forward again, looking at Ed in earnest. "Mr. Brewer, like I said, every little detail counts here. It could be the difference between catching this creature, or letting it walk free. So please, even if it seems redundant, we need to hear it in your words."
"O-Okay. You're right, I'm sorry, uh…" He nodded vigorously, and wiped his face again. "He had fangs—big pointy ones, and I guess they were kinda bloody considering. He had the—the slicked back hair and the fancy cape and the little medallion thing on the ribbon. A vampire."
"You mean like a Dracula?" asked Dean.
"Exactly!" Ed snapped, and smiled in victory. "Like a Dracula! Right down to the accent."
"The accent?" Sam repeated, bemused.
"He spoke to you?" asked Kat.
"Yep. Uh, he noticed I was there and he sorta—he turned around with his cape and said something like, uh, 'Stay away, mortal! The night is mine!'"
No one said anything. Kat knew she probably should. There must be some kind of follow up question to that terrible Romanian accent. She couldn't think of anything. It was unprofessional to stare, but it probably less unprofessional than laughing at him, which was her first instinct.
Dean leaned over, tapping at her notebook. "You should uh…probably write that down."
"You do believe me, don't you?" asked Ed.
Sam must have had a commendable amount of self-control, because he smiled politely.
"Mr. Brewer, you've been a great help," said Dean, patting the table. "I think we've gotten everything we need. If you'll excuse me, I have to…"
He did not finish the excuse before fleeing the table, heading directly back to the bar.
"A-Are you sure?" Ed jumped in his seat, his voice pleading. "Cause—Cause I can remember a whole lot more. I can keep going! He was tall, maybe like six inches taller than she was, and—and he had weird pointy eyebrows! And he sort of glided when he was flying away, so his cape was like whoosh."
"Right, obviously," said Kat, picking up her notebook and closing it firmly. "You sure he didn't turn into a bat?"
"What? No!" Ed glared at her, his hands trembling as he waved his arms. "Look, I am not crazy! Vampirism is—it's real! That's a real thing! Obviously—Obviously shapeshifters aren't! I'm not crazy!"
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Brewer," Sam said curtly. "We'll be sure to contact you if we have any more questions."
He slid out of the booth, gently taking Kat by the elbow and urging her away from the table before she could dig them into a deeper hole.
"So what do you think?" asked Dean once they'd caught up. "Hm? Goth, psycho vampire wannabe, right?"
"Yeah," Sam agreed, leaning against the bar. "Definitely not our kinda case."
"What?" Kat gaped at them. "Wait, what happened to vampire with a sick sense of humor? That's still on the table right? The body was exsanguinated."
"Yeah, but not by a vampire," said Sam. "You said so yourself, the bite looks artificial. It's sick, but humans do that to each other all the time. Brewer probably saw someone dressed like a vampire and filled in the rest."
Dean snorted.
"Yeah, or he found a body with a fake bite mark and made the rest up cause he was high. There's no case here."
"Well there better be."
Both boys stopped, blinking at her in surprise. But Kat rounded on Sam, her eyes narrow and her voice dangerously low.
"You mean to tell me that you made me take off of work, dragged me across the country, and forced me to spend hours in the car with you and your dickhead brother, and there isn't even a real case? Cause I'll give you a case. I'm gonna fucking kill you."
Sam looked appropriately terrified, and Dean quickly stepped between them. "Alright, take it easy, sweetheart…"
"Don't fucking touch me. I swear to God—…"
"Kat, I'm sorry," said Sam, quickly pushing Dean out of her reach again. "I honestly thought we were gonna need your help. But—this happens sometimes, right? I mean, haven't you ever worked a dud?"
"No, I haven't. Marcus never sent me out unless he had all the details and knew what I'd be dealing with."
"Well welcome to the real world, princess," said Dean, glaring back at her. "Cases don't get handed out on silver plates, alright? You investigate, you research, and sometimes it don't pan out. Better safe than sorry for a bunch of civilians who got slaughtered in their sleep."
Kat pursed her lips, folding her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well…I don't like blowing money on a plane ticket and a hotel room without a good reason."
"So what? It's a vacation. No offense, but you're so uptight, you probably need one."
"Offense taken."
"Relax, Blondie. Room's paid for, and it's Oktoberfest. Let your hair down a bit."
Dean grinned, pushing off the bar and heading for one of the booths. Sam went after him, giving her one last apologetic look. Without much of an option, Kat followed in tow.
"Yeah, this isn't really my scene," she said, sliding in next to Sam.
"What? You don't like fun?"
"I don't like excessive public drinking."
"So…you don't like fun?" Her glare just made his smile wider, and he turned on Sam instead. "Come on, brother. Oktoberfest—beer and bar wenches."
"Yeah," Sam scoffed, laughing dryly. "Pretty sure women today don't react well to the whole 'wench' thing, Dean."
"Don't be such a baby. You're just sucking up to Kat cause she's mad at you." Dean craned his neck, looking over to the bar and raising his voice. "Hey, bar wench! Where's that beer?"
"Coming up, good sir!" the bartender called back in a high voice.
"Oktoberfest," Dean repeated, looking disgustingly pleased with himself.
Kat rolled her eyes.
"You get that she's only flirting with you because she has to, right? She gets paid to do a job, and she has to keep customers happy. If I was getting paid by the hour, I wouldn't smack you either."
"That a promise?" asked Dean, with another wink.
Sam snorted, and Kat sunk further back into her seat. This was quickly turning into one of the worst days she'd had in a very long time.
The waitress returned, setting a large mug of beer in front of Dean, and then turning to Sam and Kat with a smile. "And what can I get for you two?"
"Oh, they don't drink," said Dean over Kat's voice. "He's a Christian scientist. Doesn't even take aspirin. And she's—she's just a party pooper. They're kind of a drag on stakeouts."
"Alright," said Kat, leaning over the table, "you speak over me one more time, and I'm gonna kick my foot so far up your ass, you're not gonna be able to speak at all."
"Kat!"
"What?" she asked, looking over at Sam. "If he doesn't have to follow agency protocol, neither do I. I'm fine, Jamie, thank you for asking."
"Okay," she said, giggling. "I like her. She's funny."
"Wha—Well, she—she's not as funny as me," said Dean, and he looked frantically between the two of them. "I'd love the chance to prove it to you. What time do you get off?"
"You know, you're right. You're funny, too."
She smirked, heading back to the bar and leaving Dean to look grumpily after her. It was Kat's turn to look pleased with herself.
"Cockblocker."
"Manwhore."
"Guys!" Sam leaned his elbows on the table, rubbing his temples. "Has it occurred to either of you that no one's gonna take us seriously as federal agents if you two are fighting like middle schoolers?"
"She started it!"
Sam laughed. "Now who's being a baby?"
"Whatever," said Dean. He rolled his shoulders, fixing his gaze back on the bar. "You two do your thing. Me? Man, it is time for me to right some wrongs."
"Come again?"
"Look at me. I came back from the furnace without any of my old scars, right? You know, bullet wounds, knife cuts, none of the off-angled fingers from all the breaks. I mean, my hide is smooth as a baby's bottom. Which leads me to conclude—sadly—that my virginity is intact."
"What?"
"I have been re-hymenated."
If it was possible for the human body to convulse itself inside out, Kat was sure hers would have done just that. The pure satisfaction on his face would have been enough. Sam was a bit more composed, spluttering and choking on his own breath.
"Re—Please. Dean, maybe angels could pull you out of Hell, but no one could do that."
"Brother, I have been re-hymenated. And the Dude will not abide." He turned to Kat, sliding his eyes over her figure. "What do you say, Tinkerbell? Wanna go a few rounds? Work out all that frustration?"
"…I'll pass."
"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "I saw you think about it."
"Actually, I was just trying to remember if I've ever heard anything as stupid as re-hymenated in my life." Kat sneered, mocking his shrug. "Congratulations, by the way. I haven't."
Sam chuckled and shook his head.
"Alright, obviously I'm gonna have to split you two up. Dean, you go…do whatever it is you need to do. I'm gonna take Kat back to the hotel and get some sleep."
"Oh yeah, you are. Mhm. You get that sleep."
Sam pushed Kat out of the booth before she could pounce at his brother, and forcibly led her out of the bar. "He's just doing it to get a rise out of you."
"Great motive. Still disgusting." Kat forced his hand off her back, picking up her pace as they hit the courtyard. "Don't gaslight me, Sam."
"I'm sorry…"
"And don't apologize! If you were sorry, you'd stop doing it, and that's clearly not something you're interested in doing!"
He followed her across the yard, clearly having no trouble keeping up with her. It only made her more furious.
"Kat, where are you going?"
"Bali," she shot. "I'm going to the hotel, obviously. I need to look into catching a flight home."
"We can't take the Impala."
"Like hell we can't."
"Look, I'll pay for the cab, but we can't take the car, alright? Dean's got the keys."
Kat grunted in frustration and pivoted, heading off down one of the side streets.
"Now where are you going?" asked Sam, defeated.
"I don't know. Just…somewhere."
She stormed on, walking until she was sure Sam wasn't following her anymore. And she kept walking after that, knowing that she had no plan of what she was doing or where she was going. All she knew was that it felt good to be brooding openly. Her stony expression startled tourists as she marched past them on her crusade to nowhere, and it felt good.
She didn't know what she wanted to do, and at the same time, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. What she wanted was to complain. She wanted to vent her heart out and bitch and not be judged for it. Just for once.
But Kat had no one.
It wasn't a surprise, but the realization still gutted her. There was no Jess. There was no Dad. She could call her mother if she wanted to be scolded for being a child and not playing nice. She could call Harley if she wanted to listen to a rant about how wonderful and polite and sexy Sam Winchester really was. And neither of those options seemed appealing.
More than anything, what she wanted was to call Marcus. She wanted him to tell her what to do. He would tell her the truth about the case she was working. He would tell her exactly how to handle it, step by step. He would give her the world's biggest I-told-you-so for working with the Winchesters, and let her bitch about it until the sun went down.
But there was no Marcus now either.
Kat didn't realize where she'd walked until she was holding the bottle of whiskey in her hand. She walked up to the counter, nodding at the cashier and handing over the money wordlessly. There was some typing, the ding of the register, and the mechanic spit of the printer.
"There you go," the cashier said, sliding her the change. "Military discount."
"Sorry?" Kat raised an eyebrow. "Um…Federal Bureau isn't a military division."
"I know," they said, nodding sagely. "But it seems like you need it."
Kat pocketed the change, and tucked the bottle under her arm.
"You have no idea."