Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Just playing in the sandbox.

"Aw, come on sweetheart, you know you want some company."

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose and resisted the urge to punch the half-drunk moron standing a little behind her. The guy was young and good-looking, and didn't understand the meaning of "no thank you. " Frankly, he was lucky Dean hadn't seen him yet. Her older brother was a master at dealing with pushy guys—Kate could handle it on her own, obviously, but she so enjoyed watching him break them down and chase them off with barely two words, that she often let him do it just for the entertainment value. Man-whore Dean may be, but their father had instilled in both her brothers a healthy respect for a woman's right to say no and be left alone.

Which was more than could be said for this lout. Now he was leaning over her shoulder, trying to look at what she was writing. Kate shifted, eyeing the bar, where Dean was cheerily chatting up the bartender, trying to find any information he could on their very-dead waitress, Meredith. Sam was on his way, having stopped at the hotel to do some digging in Dad's journal and the small collection of books they habitually brought along in the Impala. Kate busied herself writing, looking for anything else they'd missed.

Well, she had been, until the super-fit, over moisturized, perfectly-styled boy-man began staring. She'd known it instantly, that he was watching, and made herself look as busy as possible, hoped he'd get bored with her lack of response to his leering face across the room and find someone who actually wanted to be hit on.

True to the infamous Winchester Luck, it was not to be. He had sauntered over a few minutes prior and begun with the "Did it hurt?" pickup line, and Kate could've punched his chiseled jaw for sheer unoriginality.

"Come on, man," she sighed, finally looking up at him. "I've got work to do. There are plenty of women here who'd love to have your attention."

He smirked, looking triumphant—apparently he thought he'd made some sort of progress by getting her to stop writing. "But they're not you, Sugar."

"Lucky them," Kate muttered, then spoke up louder. "Listen, Butch—" He looked at her funny, and Kate almost snorted. He certainly looked like a Butch. "I'm not interested, okay? Move along." Then she stood to go, decided a seat elsewhere might deter her stubborn duckling. Instead, he grabbed her arm, spun her around to face him.

"Hey!" Those previously-limpid blue eyes were darker now, alcohol making what must have been a normally-pushy spoiled brat into a more dangerous animal, unaccustomed to being told no.

"You see this face?" he asked incredulously, as if it were unaccountable a female could say no to plucked brows and high cheekbones. "I could have any girl in here I want, bitch."

Kate cocked an eyebrow, bored. "Except this one. Let go of my arm if you value that perfect face of yours."

Not-Butch took a deep breath and squeezed her arm tighter, preparing to say something more, before he froze. His gaze slipped past Kate and fell on what she was certain was Dean's doubtless-furious face behind her. Lightning-quick, Kate twisted her arm out of his grip and slammed two hands into his chest, shoving him back so hard he tripped over his own feet and landed on his ass. Standing over him, Kate clenched her jaw.

Entitled child.

"I said move along," she repeated. Not-Butch stood up in a huff, stared hard for a minute, seeming to war with himself whether to leave or stay. Kate felt her brother step closer, sensed his steadying presence just behind her left shoulder.

Not-Butch turned and stomped off.

Kate rolled her eyes as she turned. "Thank god. What an asshole."

"No kidding," the voice wasn't Dean's, it was Sam's. Kate looked up to meet his eyes, a smile crinkling her eyes. Her little brother wasn't so little these days, and this wasn't the first time it had worked in her favor. "I thought you were going to castrate him."

Kate snorted, looking about quickly to locate Dean—he was smiling as the bartender wrote something on a napkin.

Fifty bucks said it was the girl's number, rather than anything actually case-related.

"He wasn't worth it," she responded to Sam's statement. "Though I probably would've broken his nose if you'd been sixty seconds later. Did you find anything?"

Sam grinned and accepted the change of subject. "Yeah, I'll tell you as soon as Dean's done being a whore."

"Who's a whore?" Dean walked up, smiling easily. "The bartender had nothing of use except her number, by the way." He flashed the napkin at his siblings with an ill-behaved smile.

Called it.

"No one," Sam dismissed. "Luckily for us, I was slightly more productive than you." Ignoring Dean's snarky face pointed at his head, Sam leafed through Dad's journal in his hands til he found a newspaper clipping. "First victim, a banker named Ben Swardstrom. No obvious connection to Meredith at all, I already…"

Kate scanned the article, noting that Sam had gone very still.

"Sam?" Dean asked. "Hey, Sam." Kate looked up in time to see their little brother brush past them, headed across the room. She gave Dean a quizzical look that he returned with a shrug. They followed Sam's broad back to a nearby chair. There was a woman there, blonde hair chopped boyishly short, and Sam laid a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

"Meg?" he asked. She turned. Recognition lit pretty features, and she stood with a smile.

"Sam? Sam!" she laughed, throwing her arms around his shoulders in an enthusiastic hug. Kate tensed inexplicably, fingers flexing, itching for a knife.

What the hell?

"What are you doing here?" the woman—Meg, apparently—asked.

"I'm just in town visiting friends," Sam lied easily. Meg looked around, confused, and her gaze lit on Kate and Dean.

"Oh, are these them?" she asked effusively, sidestepping Sam and sticking a hand out to shake. "Hi, I'm Meg!"

"Oh no, this is my brother Dean and my sister Kate," Sam waved a dismissive hand, and Dean grinned while Kate gave a curt nod. "What are you doing here, Meg? I thought you were going to California?"

She ignored his question. "Wait, these are your siblings?" Dean's grin widened.

"So you've heard of us?" he asked, switching on the charm, and Kate suppressed a sigh. The man was incorrigible.

"Oh yeah," Meg answered, and her voice had an edge Kate decided she did not like. "I've heard of you. Nice, the way you two treat your brother like luggage."

Excuse me?

"Sorry?" Dean asked, perplexed.

"Why don't you let him do what he wants to do?" Boy, this one was just chock-full of righteous indignation, wasn't she? Kate wanted to smack her. "Stop dragging him all over god's green earth—"

Sam was patting the air conciliatorily. "Meg, it's all right," he said, and the blonde piped down. Dean looked stunned, but Kate wasn't about to just sit back and listen to that nonsense.

"What exactly do you think you know about it?" she challenged, and Sam opened his mouth to protest. Kate sent him a scathing glare—we'll talk about this later, little brother—and he closed it again.

Meg noticed.

"That right there!" she griped. "You just shut him down like he's some sort of puppet, supposed to just do what you say just because you're older; and you know what? That's crap. You have no right—"

Kate stepped closer, getting right up in Meg's face. To her credit, the girl didn't back down, even though she had to tilt her head back to look Kate in the eye.

"I have every right. That look right there? That's a two-way street; I've gotten it from him before too. And you know what? It's none of your damn business how I interact with my brother—"

"Kate, please," Sam begged. "Just let it be."

"—and you should point all that pent up aggression where it belongs, little girl."

Meg's jaw clenched hard at that, but she said nothing. Sam took his life in his hands and stepped between them, throwing a pleading look over Kate's shoulder—at Dean, probably. Sure enough, a second later, a hand plucked Kate back and Dean's voice worked its way through the pounding of blood in her ears.

"Come on, Katie, let's go get a drink."

Kate let Dean pull her away, both offended at the girl's nerve and stung at the implications of what Sam had said about them at some point.

"What a bitch," she grumbled as Dean ordered them a couple of whiskeys.

"Hey, it's not really her fault," Dean said mildly. "She only knows what Sam has told her."

"Yeah, and she bases her opinion entirely on one person's perspective without getting the facts herself, then lays into those she thinks are wrong." Kate sipped the whiskey, letting the burn soothe her ruffled feathers. "As I said, what a bitch."

Dean didn't answer, which she knew meant he agreed with her but didn't want to add to the conflict; so she quieted too and they drank in silence.

Kate did her best to ignore that it hurt, the evidence that Sam had maligned them behind their backs. She told herself he had probably been angry or hurt himself, and just vented on someone—heaven knew she sometimes felt like doing the same. But it still stung.

Luggage, my ass. Treat him like a puppet. Please. If she only knew how many times that look has legitimately shut someone up in time to save their life…

"Weird," Sam muttered as he came up behind Kate. "Seeing her here is weird."

"Who was that chick?" Dean asked. "And what was she on about? We treat you like luggage?"

Sam looked uncomfortable. "Look, I'm sorry Dean. It was after we had that huge fight, when I was at the bus stop in Indiana. But I'm telling you, something's off about this whole thing."

"Yeah," Kate muttered bitterly. "Our little brother bitching about us to random chicks is a little off."

"I said I was sorry." Sam said pointedly. "But I'm serious; it's maybe even our kind of strange. She shouldn't be here. It could be a lead."

"Why do you say that?" Dean asked.

"I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road, on her way to California," Sam said. "And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don't think that's a little weird?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, man, random coincidence. It happens."

"Not to us, it doesn't."

Kate had to snort at that. "Sam's right, Dean. We should trail her, keep an eye out. See if she's just a random self-righteous stray, or if there's something more to her." Sam scowled at Kate, who stared right back. "I'm just saying," he spoke slowly. "That there's something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on."

Dean smirked. Kate wondered if he could even help it. "Well, I bet you'd like to. I mean, maybe she's not a suspect, maybe you've got a thing for her, huh?" Sam laughed at that, and Kate took another sip of whiskey to help resist the urge to punch something. "Maybe you're thinkin' a little too much with your upstairs brain," Dean continued, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Do me a favor. Check and see if there's really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can't dig anything up on that symbol we found on Meredith's floor."

"All right, you little pervert," Dean laughed, standing to go. Kate knocked back the rest of her drink and stood too. She grabbed her coat and moved toward the back of the bar. "Where you think you're going?" her older brother called.

"To the bathroom, Dean, do you want to accompany me?"

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Kate stomped off.

Men are idiots.

Brown eyes narrowed across the room as the pretty blonde stalked toward the ladies' room. She was clearly pissed about something, and he was simultaneously amused and concerned at the idea, wondering what the other two had done to earn such ire…

His spine snapped straight as his target moved, following the girl into the restroom. It was a smart move—isolate one of the kids, wearing such a disguise as she was, no one would even notice. He looked back at the two men chatting companionably by the bar and suppressed a growl.

They were supposed to look out for each other.

John moved.

Dean looked at his watch, grumpily noting that Kate had been gone for seven and a half minutes. Before he could ask Sam if he'd seen her, his younger brother piped up, "Dean? Where's Meg?"

"Psh, beats me," he muttered, stopping short when his instinct tingled, his gut twisting. He looked up, searched the bar cursorily for their suspicious friend. "What the hell, Sam? You were supposed to watch her!"

He tensed, moving toward the cute bartender, Sam hot on his heels.

"Dean?"

"Kate's not back from the bathroom," he answered tightly, by way of explanation. It took Sam a fraction of a second to make all the same connections Dean had; and when he did, he blew out a breath as he switched to hunter mode so fast it would've been dizzying had Dean not made the exact same switch mere seconds ago.

The bartender flashed him a flirtatious smile as he neared, but Dean was so not interested right now; he just nodded once and asked her, "Hey listen, sweetheart. Seen a tall blonde come out of the ladies' room in the last few minutes?"

The woman—Dean struggled to remember her name. Carla? Cathy?—frowned first in confusion, then in offense, and shook her head dismissively. "I'm a bartender," she said. "I haven't got the time to watch the entrance to the hallway."

"Please," Sam cut in, turning on the puppy eyes. "She's our sister."

Carla/Cathy softened instantly, looking to Dean as if for confirmation. He nodded, and she sighed.

"There are a lot of tall blondes in here tonight, fellas. I really can't help you. I'm sorry."

"I can," a gristly voice growled from their right. Dean turned to see a dirty, rumpled old man wearing red flannel and a tattered ball cap. The guy sorta reminded him of Bobby, honestly.

"Where did she go?" Sam was asking.

"Actually, she was carried out th' back door by a shorter blonde—pixie cut, kinda. Laughed and said her friend had had too much to drink."

"She talked to you?"

"Naw," the guy grinned, showing grimy teeth. "Watched from here, heard her tell someone else. The passed out one was slung over her shoulder like a sack o' potatoes. Had the sweetest ass."

Suddenly, Ball Cap didn't remind Dean of Bobby so much. Dean felt Sam tense—and practically growl—so he stepped forward, both to get between the guy and his brother and to passively threaten the man with his much-taller physique.

"Back door, you said?" he asked, allowing his hands to clench into loose fists at his sides. The guy nodded, leaning back instinctively. "D'you see which way they went after that?"

"Right," the guy answered quickly. "Toward the parking lot."

Sam cursed quietly behind him, and Dean echoed the sentiment inside his own head as they turned to go, making their way quickly through a sea of tables and waitresses and drunk people. If Meg had toted Kate out to the parking lot seven minutes ago, she could be anywhere by now. He smacked Sam's shoulder with a growled, "Come on."

Dean kept a sharp eye on their surroundings as they made their way toward the exit, identifying and dismissing potential threats as he tried to figure out Meg's angle. Why would some random chick Sam met on the side of the road a few weeks prior be interested in kidnapping their sister, anyway? What was she, some sort of psycho weird—

Dean jumped as his phone ranged, yanking it out of his pocket. His stomach dropped as he saw the caller ID.

Dad.

"Shit," he muttered, then pressed the Answer button, ignoring Sam's insistent, "Dean? Who is it?" from behind him.

"Dad, hi," he said into the speaker, shoving open the door to the bar. It hit the outside wall with a loud thud as he and Sam strode out, into the cold Chicago night air.

"Dean, I'm following the demon that took your sister. I need you to—"

"What?" he shouted, stopping so abruptly Sam crashed into his back even as all the blood drained from his face. "A demon?"

"Yes," Dad started again, sounding annoyed. Sam had grabbed his arm when he ran into Dean, and his little brother's hand tightened painfully on his bicep. "She got snatched right out from under your nose by one of Yellow Eyes' top thugs. Good watchin' out for your siblings, there, Dean."

Dean couldn't mask the wince that twisted his face into a grimace, and Sam noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Dean? What?"

"Where are they?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady. It took more effort than he liked to admit. "We'll come. Sammy and I, we'll—"

"I'm on it. You and Sam go back to the hotel. That's what I need you to do. Stay out of it, stand down, wait for me."

"But Dad—"

"That's an order, son."

Click.

Dean swore vividly, trying hard to resist the urge to chuck the phone at the nearest wall out of sheer frustration. Stand down? Stand down? He didn't usually hold with Sam's "Hate on Dad" cheers, but this was crossing the line—

"Dean? Talk to me, man!" Sam shook him by the shoulder, and Dean jerked away, trying to work past the tightness in his throat.

Demon. Kate. Right out from under your nose. Great job, Winchester. Real top-notch work.

"Dean!"

"Meg's a demon," he managed. "She's got Kate, and Dad's hot on her trail."

That shut Sam up. His brother went completely still, his hazel eyes wide under a fringe of bangs. At first Dean thought it was shock, but when he looked at Sam a little harder, he realized that the kid's wheels were turning—he was thinking. About what? What was there to think about?

"It's a trap," Sam said, as if having an epiphany. "It's a trap, Dean."

The pieces fell into place in Dean's head—it made sense. A trap.

"But for who? Dad? Or us?"

Sam shook his head. "Does it matter? Where are they? We gotta go back Dad up." He started toward the Impala purposefully.

"Dad said go back the hotel," even Dean could hear how hollow his voice sounded. Sam stopped, turned back to face Dean, brows drawn. He just stared.

"Back to the—is he out of his mind? He wants us to sit this out? To just wait for him to rescue our sister and bring her back to us? Maybe? If he feels like it? He…aw hell, Dean, he blamed you, didn't he? I saw that face. The bastard told you this was your fault—"

"He's terrified out of his head, Sammy," Dean defended, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Give the man a break."

Shockingly, Sam dropped it, waving a hand in the direction of the bar. "It doesn't matter now, we'll address that later. Where was he?"

"He didn't say, we're supposed to—"

"Well we're not gonna."

Yes we are gonna, Dean wanted to say. He tried, really he did. He should do as Dad said, go back to the room-of-the-week and wait, not interfere with whatever plan Dad had in mind, he knew the rules, knew following orders was vital in situations like these, knew he had to…

He couldn't leave her in the hands of a demon.

"You're right, we're not gonna," he said, brushing past Sam on his way toward his Baby. "Come on."

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry about the wait on this, y'all! Real life, man. It doesn't seem to care about my obsession with writing fan fic. Ugh.

Thanks so much to my partners in crime for all their support and willingness to hand out swift kicks in the rear when necessary: Nova42, CornishGirl, and cfccfc. Don't forget to go check out their profiles!

Reviews feed the muse, so maybe she'll stop going on benders and I can get some work done in a more timely manner!

Thanks for reading!