And another one, I'm really sorry I took so long, but I'm getting a lot here, to make you happy.

Kat rested in the back of the impala, her sketch book open in front of her. She was just flipping through her old drawings, remembering when she drew them. It was the blue one. The one that was less disturbing images from her nightmares and more simple things. The many motel rooms she had stayed in. The rising sun, the full moon, and people. Random people she had seen all over her travels that had inspired something in her. Then the streak of ten or so drawings of Castiel. She had taken to referring to him as the blue-eyed man. But that was before he had had a name. She flipped easily to the last twenty or so pages and smiled. They were all of the boys.

The long drives in the impala had limited her choices for sketching. She had done the car itself more times than she thought possible, and resorted to the brothers. Dean was always a challenge. Getting the curve of his lips was almost impossible, and it took hours to capture the emotions behind his eyes. She liked to draw his eyes. Some pages that was all she drew. Attempting to capture the crinkle in them when he laughed and the widening when he tried to keep himself awake.

For Sam it was his hands. They were long and the fingers elegantly tapered, like a pianists. That and the hard set of his jaw when he was thinking. The crinkle of his brow and the tense stance of his shoulders. She found it difficult to capture the sinew and muscle build up of his body perfectly, and spent her hours trapped in the car playing with the tendons in his hands and the muscles in his shoulders.

Of course, if either of them knew that, they'd probably be pretty creeped out. Not that she really cared. She was taken with them. They were beautiful men, and the emotional trauma they had been through only added to their depth as subjects. Bottom line; she liked drawing them.

She was drawing both of them, side-by-side when they finally pulled into a motel. Sam turned around to tell her they were there when he stopped short. Her eyes were far away, too far for her to see him there, and her hands were flying across the page. He poked Dean and he turned too. His green eyes roamed over her face and he couldn't help but smile at the look of concentration she wore. Her pale fingers were smudged with the graphite from her pencil and her hair was falling in tendrils around her face. She stopped and smiled at her work and looked up at them. Her eyes widened at the boys and a faint flush worked its way onto her cheeks.

"Are we here?" She asked, trying to hide to drawing. Dean reached out and grasped her wrist gently, not putting enough force to hurt her. She sighed and showed the pair of them what she had been working on. Her nimble fingers flipped the pad to show them the drawing. There was a collective gasp from the guys as their image was thrown back at them. Dean leaning against the impala with his hands in his pockets; the sun was in his eyes and his lips drawn into a stern line. Sam stood by the passengers door, his long hand gripping the door frame and the wind tousling his longer hair. The road behind them was pale dirt and the sky was wide and open and blue.

"Holy shit," Dean whispered. He looked back up at Kat and smiled. She squirmed underneath their gaze.

"Just tell me if you like it! The suspense is freakin' killin' me!" she said finally. Sam laughed and shook his head.

"It's amazing! How do you even do that?" He asked looking closer. She chuckled lightly and shrugged, not answering. She looked up at Dean and smiled softly.

"I look good," he said in that cheeky Dean way. She rolled her eyes and got out of the car, closing the door carefully, after swinging her duffel onto her shoulder. Dean went off to get a room and she leaned against the side of the car.

"Sam, are you alright?" She asked suddenly. Sam looked up from the pavement and moved slightly closer to her.

"Yea, I'm okay…just…" he didn't finish. She nodded her understanding and grasped his hand. He stared down at his long hand, entrapped by her small elegant fingers.

"Addiction…is a hard thing to beat," she said quietly. "But you have us to fall back on. We'll keep you on the wagon. Don't worry."

"You…you don't understand…h-how badly I want it. It's almost all I can think about. Just…needing it. All the time," he choked out. His shoulders were slumped and he ran his free hand through his hair. She turned him towards her and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned down and rested his cheek against the top of his head.

"I…I know how it feels to want something like that…of course what I wanted was salvation. So maybe it isn't the same. But Sam…I'm here for you…and so is Dean," she whispered into his chest.

Sam was ashamed of himself. Not only for his dependency on demon blood, but for forgetting what she had gone through.

"It was stupid…really stupid. I…after what I went through…everyday, I could stitch myself up. No anesthesia, no painkillers, no liquor. It…it hurt so badly, the burn and the pulling. You've probably had to do it at least once. But I never minded. You know why?" She asked, looking up at him.

"Why?"

"Because I was in control. Dean knows what I mean…but once you have all control ripped from you, you need it. You thrive on it. It's all you can think about, all you can do to stay sane," she caught her breath and sighed. "Even now…I have to stop myself from causing extra pain. I have to force myself to drink something to dull the pain. To me…pain isn't a bad thing anymore. It reminds me I'm alive," she said her eyes brimming.

"You don't…cut yourself or anything…do you?" he asked, remembering some of the people in his college classes that had had the addiction.

"No. I'm a hunter, Sam, it's stupid of me to inhibit myself ever. I would become an easy target," she said rolling her eyes at his stupidity. "But I know what it feels like to want, Sam. I know what it feels like to need."

Sam was quiet, his arms still around her and his mind aching for her. She was breathing heavily, as if saying it all was equal to running a marathon. She kept her blue eyes locked onto his hazel ones and reached up. He eyed her oddly as she went on her tip-toes to make herself level with him. Or tried to. Her head still barely reached his chin. He leaned down, unsure of what she was doing. She smiled and kissed his cheek, brushing her lips against his skin.

"Don't get too down on yourself, just take every moment as it comes," she whispered against his face. He shivered slightly, his muscles trembling beneath her. He felt like a small child, being consoled by a mother. He had never known a mother. He'd never known how one could make him feel. And suddenly, he understood his brother's hero worship of their mother. He understood his need to be a man his mother would be proud of. He understood Dean's thinking, and that was quite the feat.

"Okay," he whispered. "As long as you promise to take it easy on yourself."

"You know I can't promise you that! In our line of work there are always risks," she admonished.

"But you can try," he insisted.

"Fine. I promise to try," she said, stepping back and looking at Dean. He had been there for about half of her speech, but had given them room. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that when she rose to meet Sam's face, his heart had stopped. His lungs had shut down until her lips went to his cheek and he reminded himself to breathe. When she turned and smiled at Dean, he smiled back. She moved away from Sam and walked towards him.

"How long were you there?" She asked softly.

"Long enough," he said gruffly.

"He won't slip. We won't let him," she assured him. He nodded his confirmation and half hugged her as she approached him. She reached up on her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek as she walked passed. He smirked and spun, following her into the room. Sam reached him and clapped him on the back, giving him a patronizing smile as he went into the room.

"Oh, come on Sammy!" he joked.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

They dropped their bags and collapsed on their own beds. Dean and Kat immediately curling around each other. They stayed there for a moment, letting their coiled muscles relax and get used to the room. They were finally out of the confines of the impala and they needed the space. Kat stood wearily, disentangling her body from Dean's and opening one of her duffels. Sam and Dean rose too, cracking their backs and grabbing their wallets.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," she told them, heading for the bathroom.

"We'll go by the diner we saw on the way in. Cheese-burger?" Dean asked.

"With bacon," she added, shutting the door to the main room. The boys smiled and went back to the car when they heard the shower start.

Kat stripped, letting her clothes fall to the cracked linoleum. She couldn't stop her eyes from travelling to the mirror and staring at her marred creamy skin. She saw the elegant patterns of ropey skin scrolling from her shoulders down her arms. The lines were like contemporary vines, wrapping around her limbs along with other smaller, deeper scars. They speckled her arms, never crossing the vine-like Celtic lines. Her stomach carried the twirling lines further, avoiding her chest and circling her navel.

Her legs were a different story. They were arcane. Brutal. The lines were haggard and cruel. Some were raised, the brands, and others lay flat and were white. She ran her fingers through her hair and moved it from her back. There were her wings. Raised and silver in tint, and perfect. She shouldn't love them, she knew she shouldn't. But she was strangely proud of them, like it was proof she had survived.

She figured she had wasted enough hot water and stepped underneath the spray. Immediately her muscles relaxed, and her eyes slid closed. As she washed, she sang. Just because she could. Her head tipped back as a song came to her and she let it out. It was a freeing thing…to sing. Like she was letting things go without her even knowing it and made the weight on her shoulders a little less heavy.

"Woah, woah.

Bang bang go the coffin nails, like a breath exhaled,
Been gone forever.
It seems just like yesterday, how did I miss the red flags raised?
Think back to the days we laughed.
We braved these bitter storms together.
Brought to his knees he cried,
But on his feet he died!

What God would damn a heart?
And what God drove us apart?

What God could make it stop?
Let this end.
Eighteen years pushed to the ledge.
It's come to this,
A weightless step.
On the way down singing,
Woah, woah!"

Dean and Sam arrived back at the motel and walked wearily through the door. Dean's shoulders straightened as he heard her singing. He didn't know the song, but that didn't matter. It was beautiful and sad and it reminded him that other people in the world had problems. And not all were demon related. It made him sit down and listen. Sam sat too, because he had lived those problems. His time in college had opened his eyes to the rest of the world. Teenagers who were at the edge of their own world, and killing the demon wasn't the way to stop it. They didn't have a clear cut way out.

Food forgotten, they sat on their beds and listened to her as her voice amplified and poured through the walls. Dean felt like his soul was waking up and he was being reborn. None of them noticed Cas appear and sit on one of the plastic chairs, quietly listening to her.

"Bang bang from the closet walls,
The schoolhouse halls,
The shotgun's loaded.
Push me and I'll push back.
I'm done asking, I demand!

From a nation under God,
I feel its love like a cattle prod.
Born free, but still they hate.
Born me, no I can't change!

It's always darkest just before the dawn.
So stay awake with me, let's prove them wrong!

Make it stop.
Let this end,
Eighteen years pushed to the ledge.
It's come to this,
A weightless step.
On the way down singing,
Woah, woah!"

"Do you know what song this is?" Dean asked, looking at Sam and nodding to Cas.

"It's by Rise Against. It's on her IPod," he said, his eyes on the door.

"I gotta listen to her IPod," he said.

"The cold river washed him away,
But how could we forget?
Gathering the candles, but not their tongues.

And too much blood has flown from the wrists,
Of the children shamed for those they chose to kiss.
Who will rise to stop the blood?

We're calling for,
Insisting on, a different beat, yeah.
A brand new song.

Whoa, whoa.
Whoa, Whoa.
Whoa, Whoa.

Make it stop,
Let this end.
This life chose me, I'm not lost in sin.
But proud I stand of who I am,
I plan to go on living.

Make it stop,
let this end,
all these years pushed to the ledge,
but proud I stand, of who I am,
I plan to go on living!"

Her voice had risen to a crescendo and filled the room fully. Dean wiped a hasty hand across his eyes, for fear that tears might have fallen. He blinked slowly and let his head fall. He thought that those sonsofbitches who called themselves singers had never heard anything close to singing. They had never heard angels cry and seen wind. But you could if you were listening to her.

Sam was thinking much the same, but let his few tears fall unchecked down his cheeks. His addiction could be controlled, could be triumphed over. People all over the world were suffering more, had suffered more. He could be strong in order to save them. He had to save those people that didn't know they needed saving. He was where he was needed the way he was needed. Strong and healthy and good.

Cas had left the moment her voice had faded, only going in the first place because her voice made him happy. It made it clear that she was alive and healthy and strong. He listened to her because it gave him hope that God cared and was working with them, for their cause. But he left before he could see her and the broken look she almost always wore deep behind her eyes. Humans could not see it. But he was an angel. He saw into the marred broken soul that was Kat. It made it hard to be around her. Because he knew he had failed her.