TRIGGER WARNING: The end of this chapter contains allusions to sexual assault. Please proceed with caution.
Kat looked down at the road in the darkness, arms crossed over her chest.
"Do I want to know why you guys have these?"
"What, you don't have road spikes?" asked Dean. He straightened out the roll across the street, and gave it a kick or two for sturdiness. "Nicked 'em from a security depot in Texas. Crazy civilian laws down there."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" She kicked the edge of the spikes as well, earning herself a nasty look from Dean. "Sorry. Can someone just walk me through this again?"
"Bus comes this way for the meet," said Sam, stepping up to her side with the sawed-off shotgun he was inspecting. "Spikes stop the bus, we get on, find the hair, stop the ghost."
"And just hope no one calls the cops in the meantime?" Kat asked in disbelief.
"Uh…yeah."
"Relax," Dean scoffed. "We're professionals, alright? We'll get the hair and be out of here in the Impala before any kind of law enforcement shows up."
"Assuming of course the bus makes it this far," she offered. "And Dirk doesn't off the lot of them by crashing the bus a couple miles back."
Dean paused, pouting at his spikes, but ultimately shrugged. "Eh, what're gonna do? Never said it was air tight."
"Clearly. We don't know if they're coming, we don't know how to avoid detection, and we don't know who Dirk is possessing."
"Last one's easy enough," said Dean. "Wait to see which one of 'em charges at Sammy like an angry bull. We'll let him tackle the ghost, I'll grab the hair, and you're on crowd control."
"Right. Just one other question…"
She eyed the shotgun in Sam's hands, and he shook his head without prompting. "Salt-rounds."
"Which will do what? I mean, how different is ghost possession from demonic possession?"
"Well, we're not sure," he admitted. "This is a lot of uncharted water, even for us. But salt should force him to evacuate the host, send him back where he came from. That's what I did this morning."
"Where he came from," Kat said with a nod. "So, the bus. Where he can possess someone else."
"It's not air tight," Sam repeated. "The gun's just a precaution. The rope should hold him long enough for you two to find the hair. Just…try and be quick."
Kat nodded. There was no point in vocalizing how shotty the plan was. It was the only one they had.
"Alright, people," said Dean, clapping his hands. "Let's hustle. Kat, you stay on that side, and stay down. Sam'll give you the signal for the all clear."
Kat stayed on her appointed side of the road, even though there wasn't much to hide behind. The boys had taken the side with the trees. All she had was a shallow ditch and some tall grass. She ducked as low as she could, kneeling in the mud that was left by the morning's storm clouds and shivering in the cold.
She could hear the bus about a mile off. The engine groaned as it raced down the empty road, but it still seemed to be approaching forever. She jumped when the spikes hit, the tires exploding with a deafening bang and then screeching without traction down the path. A wild thought paralyzed her momentarily—the bus spinning out of control, rolling into the ditch and crushing her into the mud—but the sound had stopped before she could act. All that was left was the quiet hiss of smoke and the muffled gasps of the students on the bus.
There was a creak as the door to the bus pulled open. Kat strained her ears, trying to decide who was stepping off. Was it just the driver? Was it a possessed driver? Were the students evacuating? But it was impossible to tell. She couldn't do anything but wait, until Sam's voice rang up and down the road.
"Dirk!"
"Winchester," an unfamiliar voice growled. "What are you gonna do? Shoot me?"
"Don't have to." More footsteps, grunts, which Kat assumed had been Dean's cue. "That rope is soaked in salt water, Dirk. You're not going anywhere."
Silence followed his statement, which Kat could only take as a sign that the rope was doing its job. The students must still be on the bus, but she couldn't imagine what they were thinking. Probably that they were being hijacked by terrorists or something. She knew that as "crowd control" she should have a better excuse to feed them, but they hadn't given her a huge amount of time to prepare.
"Hey, Kat?" That was Dean, shouting from somewhere up on the road. "Anytime you wanna come help! But you know, take your time!"
"What?" She kneeled up, peering over the top of the grass. "What happened to the signal?"
"The rope! The rope was the signal!"
"Oh, well excuse me! I thought the signal was gonna be a little more direct!"
She hobbled to her feet, cursing her sore knees. It felt like she'd been crouched down for hours, which simply could not be the case. The mud made it a bit trickier to get out of the ditch, but she managed to get back to street level without too much of an issue.
The bus had coasted to a stop cockeyed, now blocking the entirety of the road. Students were pressing their faces against the glass, cellphones already in hand, trying to get a good look at the scene outside. Sam had pulled the shotgun, and was holding a bound, balding man at gunpoint. Judging by the lack of uniform, Kat was willing to bet that "possessed bus driver" had been the correct guess.
Dean whistled for her like a dog, hanging out of the bus door. She flipped him off, and skirted around the confrontation to join him.
"Alright, everybody stay where you are," Dean called over the sea of students. "You'll be okay."
"Aren't you the P.E. teacher?" the coach asked from the front seat. "And the nurse?"
"That's uh…" He looked to Kat for direction, but she just shrugged. "Not really. We're like 21 Jump Street. The—The bus driver sells pot. Yeah."
He nodded sagely, turning to the driver's street to begin his search. But the coach interrupted him again.
"I thought you were supposed to be a pedophile."
"Excuse me?" Dean snapped up, glaring at him. "Where the hell did you hear…?"
Kat did her very best to look innocent as Dean turned slowly to look at her.
"I have no idea what he's talking about," she said resolutely.
Dean didn't seem to buy it, but they were on the clock. He pointed a shaky finger at her, promising violence later, and began rummaging through the glove compartment.
"Wait," the coach sighed, still looking back and forth between them. "You guys are really cops? Seriously?"
"DEA," Kat confirmed. "We've been following this supply train for months trying to shut down their buyers."
"And you think you're gonna gind these drugs…on a school bus?"
Tired of coming up with excuses, Kat fixed the man with a glare. "Would you like to hear the statistics on the initiation age of drug users in America? Or maybe the percentage of distribution criminals who hold faculty positions?"
The coach quickly dropped the subject.
"I can't find anything," Dean grunted from behind her. "He must've moved it. Keep looking."
He darted off the bus, and Kat took his place at the front. The books had already been shaken and discarded, everything from McGregor's Bible to the bus manual. Kat double checked the glove compartment and the surrounding floor, just in case the hair had been knocked loose, but with no luck. She checked the in the garbage, underneath the bag, as well as the bottom of the driver's seat. The floor matting looked flat, and the edges hadn't been peeled up, so it wasn't likely under it. On a long shot, she pulled a dagger from her boot and stabbed at the seat cushion. She was clawing at the foam when the gunshots started.
Several people on the bus screamed, and Kat scrambled to her feet.
"Hey! Okay, everyone, it's alright! Please stay in your seats! Everything is under con…"
She stopped short. Everyone was looking at her now, some still whispering with their classmates, some frozen with fear. The scuffle outside had stopped, and Sam's words replayed in Kat's head.
"The salt should force him to evacuate the host, send him back where he came from."
Her eyes slid over the faces in front of her. Most were pale and terrified. Some ducked down behind their seats when they saw her look. A few of the older boys were keeping their faces impassive—a blonde boy with spiky hair, a small boy with an earring, a large one with a nose bleed…
He jumped out of his seat, and Kat barely had time to brace herself. She tried to take out his knees, but in confined quarters, it was all too easy for him to hold himself up. He charged forward and used his sheer body mass to pin her to the dashboard. She yelped in pain as her back slammed into the edge.
"Sam!"
Kat fumbled with the knife, but Dirk was already a step ahead of her. He was squeezing her wrist so hard it was ready to break. His other arm he had pinned against her throat, forcing her head back against the windshield.
The force disappeared all at once. Kat slumped to the floor as the boy was yanked sideways by two sets of hands. All three of them tumbled out of the bus, Dirk's new body threatening to pancake Dean into the asphalt. The ghost recovered first, clambering on top of Sam and punching him repeatedly. Dean had rolled out of the way to pick up the shotgun.
"No!" Kat tripped down the stairs, grabbing the gun before Dean could shoot. "You shoot him, he'll just pick another body! We have to find the hair!"
"Well where the fuck is it?"
"I don't know! It's—It's definitely not on the bus. But where else would he want to keep it?"
Dean's eyes lit up, and he shoved the gun into her hands before running toward the injured bus driver. Kat went to follow, only to be stopped by Sam's guttural sound of pain. In one fluid motion, she swung around gun-first. The shotgun collided with the wrestler's head, throwing him sideways long enough for Kat to reposition the gun in her hands.
"Try this, jerk."
She jammed the butt of the gun into his head. It made a satisfying thud—but a not so satisfying reaction. The boy grabbed onto the barrel with both hands and yanked it hard enough to send the gun flying. And Kat did not have enough time to let go.
Her whole body left the ground, and she was airborne for almost a whole second before she collided with the ground once more. The bad news was that he'd flung her pretty far. The good news was that she rolled onto grass rather than asphalt.
A scream cut through the air, and Kat sank into the dirt with relief. That wasn't a familiar voice. Which probably meant there was no rush to get up.
She let her sore arms buckle underneath her. The grass scratched her face, making her wrinkle her nose, but the rain didn't feel too bad. She rolled onto her back and pushed her hair out of her face. The world was still spinning a little, but it felt like it was slowing down already. She let the stars come into focus again before dragging herself up into a sitting position, and grabbed the hand that appeared in front of her face.
"You know," she groaned. "I'm getting real tired of being thrown around like a rag doll."
"Should've drank more milk as a kid," Dean offered. "Maybe then you'd be taller."
He pulled her to her feet with almost no effort. Kat would've punched him, but her legs were still a little too weak for walking. She settled for elbowing him in the ribs as she tested her weight.
"Uh, guys? A little help?"
Sam was still lying outside the bus, pinned on his back by the heavyweight wrestler. Without the ghost though, it seemed the guy had passed out. He'd fallen face-first on Sam's torso, leaving Sam to slowly suffocate under his dead weight.
"Look at that," said Dean with a smirk. "He's giving you the full cowgirl."
"I'm begging you. Can you please think about something besides sex for ten minutes?"
Dean stuck his tongue out at her, but moved to help her free Sam nonetheless. They each grabbed one of the wrestler's arms, counted to three, and pulled. Or Dean pulled, anyway. Kat was just going through the motions, half hoping Dean might fall down next. But no such luck. Dean moved the kid almost as easily as he'd moved Kat. It was infuriating.
Sam wheezed as he got to his feet. He was gingerly cradling his ribs, which were almost certainly bruised. "Well. Glad that's over."
"Food?" Dean suggested. "Bustin' always makes me kinda hungry."
"Ha, after that? I don't think I wanna eat for another month."
"Aw, cheer up, Sammy. A few good burgers and you could grow up big and strong like your friend there."
"Don't even joke, man." They started the walk back to the Impala, ignoring the curious faces that were peering at them from the bus windows. "Actually, can we do Mexican? I really want…"
"Oh no," said Dean immediately. "No, we're not getting Mexican. Not with your digestive system."
"Excuse me?"
"Dude! We just escaped a ghost case. I don't wanna die cause you farted."
"Ha! That's rich coming from you! Like you've never…"
"Both of you just shut up," Kat snapped. "We are not going to dinner. If we're gonna do anything, we're gonna get my car, and then we're gonna go back to the motel and clear out our shit before someone puts our faces on the news. Capisce?"
The Winchesters pouted at her like twelve-year-olds. Kat took their silence as acceptance and marched ahead to the car, slamming the door as she slid in the back seat. It was like working with children—actual children. She was so glad she had her own car. If she'd started saying things like "capisce" unironically, it was time to get some distance.
By some minor miracle, they were able to get in and out of the bus lot before the cops arrived. The motel was a little closer. Kat had yet to pack up any of her stuff, and the boys rolled out quite a few minutes before she did. She nearly had a heart attack when she heard sirens out on the street. But they flew right by the little motel. As far as they were concerned, the problem was out on the highway. The Winchesters might've been the bane of her existence, but at least they'd been smart enough to hide the Impala from the bus. Once they were in their cars, she doubted anyone would be able to track them down.
She caught up with the boys on the main road and followed them out of town. It felt good to be on the open road. Anything was better than small town high school hell. She was willing to drive for hours to put as much distance between her and that school as possible, but it was only a matter of time before Dean was pulling into the parking lot of some run of the mill rest stop.
Another 24-hour diner. Hooray.
"Well," Kat sighed, sliding into the booth across from them, "at least there's some consistency in this cruel, cruel world."
"Hey, take it where you can get it," said Dean. "That's what I always..."
He trailed off, trading the thought for a charming smile as a young blonde waitress approached their table. The effect was instant. The girl was blushing before she could even open her mouth. Kat refrained from gagging.
"Hi guys! My name's Lauren, I'll be your waitress. How are we doing tonight?"
"Hello there, Lauren. God, I love that name. I gotta say, it's been a rough night, but I am doing a lot better now."
Lauren giggled shyly under Dean's gaze. "Um...is there anything I can...?"
"Can we get a round of beers?" Kat asked. "And if you're ready to take orders, we'll take one Grand Slam breakfast platter with pancakes, eggs scrambled. One double bacon cheeseburger, medium done, extra fries. And Sam?"
"I'm gonna have the burritos, please," he said, smiling smugly at his brother.
Dean was too shocked to argue. He gaped at Kat as the waitress scurried away with their menus.
"Did you just order for me?"
"Yeah. You seemed a little preoccupied, and some of us came here to eat."
"Seriously? And you think that gives you the right to just go ahead and order for me? You just assume you know what I want?"
"Was I wrong?"
He eyed her moodily, and sank back into his seat. "Pickles on the side, not on the bun."
"Right. I'll try and remember that for next time."
It was a different server who brought their drinks. Kat did not miss Dean's accusatory glare. She shrugged innocently, reaching for her beer until Sam cleared his throat. He raised his bottle in a toast.
"So, uh...to a job well done, huh?"
"Here, here," said Dean, knocking their beers together. "Two of my favorite words—case closed."
They both drank, but Kat hesitated. She swirled her bottle before placing it back on the table.
"Does this feel like a win to you guys?"
"Well, yeah," Dean answered. "Ghost gone, no more kids getting possessed or dismembered. And it looks like none of us are going to jail, so. Pretty clean win in my book."
"What's bothering you?" asked Sam.
"I don't know. Mr. McGregor mostly. I mean we just trashed his bus and told the students he's a drug dealer."
"No, that was the other driver," Dean corrected, until he caught her harsh look. "Who we uh...shot and also framed for drug possession. Point taken."
"I mean, even if they don't take that seriously. At some point McGregor is gonna go back to his bus, pull out that Bible, and…the hair isn't gonna be there. The last piece of his son is just gone. Cause we burned it and left it on the side of the road."
"Hey." Dean nudged her beer bottle with his own, actually looking sincere. "That's the job. You know it as well as we do. You can't just leave parts of dead people hanging around. It's not safe. Everyone at Truman is safer now. Hell, McGregor is safer now. It'd only be a matter of time before Dirk turned rabid and jumped his old man."
"I know that. I guess, I spend so much time thinking about the people we save hunting that...I forget there's people we hurt too."
She took a swig from her beer bottle, soaking in the bitter silence.
"Well, maybe it can be a fresh start for him," Sam offered. "Dirk's moved on. It's time his dad did too."
"Sam, you don't just get over your kid dying."
"No, not over it. You never get over it. But you can move forward, right? You learn more, you grow, and you do what you can."
Kat frowned thoughtfully, but clinked her glass with Sam's. It wasn't much of a comfort, knowing that all they could do was accept it and move on. But it was pleasantly jarring to hear her own advice handed back to her. And by Sam Winchester of all people. Maybe they hadn't burned the world down just yet.
Someone's phone rang. Sam jolted in his seat, and moved to take his cell out of his pocket. His eyes widened. A moment later, he was out of his seat and already heading for the door.
"Woah! Where's the fire?" asked Dean.
"What? No, nothing. I just gotta take this."
"Who is it?"
"Uh…Mr. Wyatt. My English teacher, I gave him my number this morning."
"Wait," said Dean, shaking his head. "I thought you said you didn't get to talk to him before Dirk jumped you."
"No, I didn't. Not really. That's why I gave him my number. I'll uh—I'll be right back."
He waved them off, and ducked out of the diner.
"God," Kat sighed, shaking her head down at the table. "If he comes back and tells us there's another body, I am not going back. I refuse."
Dean snickered, peering out the window to watch Sam pace in the parking lot.
"I'm not kidding, Dean. You two can go back. I'm finding the closest motel and waiting it out."
"Would you look at him?" He was clearly paying no attention to her. "All bright eyed and optimistic. Man, I don't know what you said to him, Kat, but it definitely worked."
"What?"
"At the bus lot," he explained, without looking at her. "Whatever you said to him really turned him around."
Kat withered. "God damnit, I knew you were setting us up."
"Wait, what?" Dean's head snapped to her as he scrambled. "No! I'm not setting you up. I just thought—you know, I'm his big brother and you're a..."
"Say I'm a girl. I dare you."
"Well, I was going to say woman..."
He offered her a smirk. It stretched into a smile in light of her glare. He hadn't expected that to get him off the hook.
"Look, Sam was really twisted up about what he said to that kid. And I didn't know what to say. I figured he needed a fresh perspective. Like someone who actually finished high school. Someone who went through all the drama and bullshit without the monsters and the motels and the butterfly knives. You know, someone normal."
"Right," Kat scoffed, turning to the window. "Well I wouldn't describe my high school experience as normal, exactly."
"Yeah, we all know you're not running off to your ten-year reunion."
He regretted it instantly. Kat had barely flinched before he was kicking himself mentally and frantically back-pedaling out loud.
"Shit, I'm—That's not what I meant. Sorry, I just...I know you hated this case, so I thought..."
"Basketcase."
"...What?"
"Basketcase," Kat repeated. She still wasn't looking at him. Just staring out the window with her chin in her hand. "I guess I was a princess too. I started off as one, anyway. But by the end of senior year...I wasn't talking to any of my friends. I was barely going to class. I just hated it all so much."
"Kat. You don't have to tell me anything."
"I know. Still."
She turned to look at him, her face almost impassive as always. But now he could see how hard she was trying.
"You were straight with me when I was grilling you about Hell. I just figured I'd return the favor."
Dean simply nodded. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. He didn't want to push her to talk and make her uncomfortable, but sitting in silence staring at her was making him uncomfortable. It didn't look like she was steeling herself to admit anything else either, which left them at a standoff.
Daring to test the waters, he cleared his throat.
"Wait. Did you just accuse me of being honest?"
"I would never dream of calling you that," Kat laughed, shaking her head. "But I am trying to be. Honest. So."
She smiled at him. He could see the relief in her face now that he was looking for it, the nervousness in the way she wrapped her arms around her torso. Closing herself in even as she tried to open up.
"You weren't grilling me," he said lowly. "At the Roadhouse. I mean, you made sure you said your piece, but you didn't ask about anything you didn't already know. And uh…if we're trying to be honest here…I think I've known that about you for a while now. The gym, the attitude, the way you talk about the job. Guess it's like you said. Just gotta be smart enough to put two and two together."
He watched her cautiously, but Kat only nodded. She scooped up her beer, nursing a long swig before she continued slyly.
"Right. Or your sap of a brother has a big mouth."
"Hey, it can be both." Kat snorted, and Dean finally let himself breathe. "You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah. Just steer away from high school cases for a while, huh? I don't know if I can take the drama."
"Done," he agreed, knocking their beers together again.
"Oh, and also," she paused, choking down the sip she'd taken, "don't make this weird, okay? I don't want you to treat me any differently. I hate that."
Dean couldn't help the smirk that wormed back onto his face.
"I don't know. You're giving me a lot of room to work here. You sure you didn't hit your head, Tinkerbell?"
"I'm sure," she chuckled. "I'd rather suffer through your eighth grade sex jokes than deal with anyone's pity."
"That's something we can definitely agree on."
They nodded at each other again. Dean felt like a damn bobble-head, but it was easier than actually saying anything. Words were not his department, and all the studying and practicing he did didn't seem to make him any better. But it felt like the conversation was over. They'd both said the minimum, and they could leave it at that. All they could do was move on.
"Just one thing," he said, pausing gravely. "Eighth grade? Really? I feel like I'm at a frat bro level, at least."
Kat laughed, a sound too loud for the empty diner. "Yeah, don't push it, Dean."
