Kat loved jogging. It was a routine she could usually stick to, something that started her day with consistency and gave her something to hold onto when everything else was uncertain. It kept her sane even on her worst days.
Kat did not like jogging in the winter.
The door to the deli burst open as she tumbled inside, the chimes in the doorway jangling so violently that the strings knotted up. Kat waved an apology to the cashier, still too out of breath to answer. She did her best to untangle the ropes, but it was hard when her fingers were so numb. She gave up pretty quickly. Instead she jumped in place, eyes sliding over the menu.
A few minutes later, the door swung open again. Sam instantly zeroed in on the mess of chimes. It only took him a few seconds to fix them.
"There you are," said Kat. "Took you long enough to catch up."
"Sorry, I didn't realize we were sprinting the last leg," he laughed. "Did you really have to run that fast?"
"It's exercise, Sam. You're supposed to push yourself."
"Right, of course."
Kat narrowed her eyes at his knowing smile.
"I'm from California, so shoot me. I'm used to fifty degrees in the winter, not negative twenty."
"It is barely below freezing out there! Don't blame me cause you're underdressed."
"I'm not blaming anyone. I used the weather to motivate me, and it worked. I won, so breakfast is on you."
"Whatever," Sam scoffed, pulling out his wallet. "Maybe I just let you win cause it puts you in a good mood."
"Of course. Right."
They ordered their food and stepped to the side, staying as far from the windows as they could to avoid the chill. Kat bought a hot chocolate as well, and hunched her body over the cup for warmth. Sam didn't bother hiding his snort, but he didn't say anything either. That would only tick her off, and judging by the quiet way he was watching her, that was the last thing he wanted to do.
After several minutes of being observed in silence, Kat snapped at him.
"I'm not having this conversation again, Sam."
"They're just headphones," he argued, without missing a beat. "You can go for one hour without them."
"Yeah, I could. But I don't want to. I run with music. It keeps me focused. That's the point."
"Focused on running, yes, not your surroundings."
"You're really gonna pull the constant vigilance card?" she asked sternly. "Look who you're talking to, Sam. I know I have to be aware of my surroundings. I have trained myself to be aware of my surroundings. I've got it."
"Well, sometimes training doesn't matter." He glanced around the store before lowering his voice. "Kat, you're on the top of a demon most wanted list. I just think you should be more careful. Especially jogging routes you don't know."
"I am being more careful. Isn't that why you're following me around like a guard dog?"
"And what happens if they take me out first? Or if I fall behind?"
"God, it is way too early for your paranoia," Kat groaned.
She returned to her drink, hoping the burn of chocolate on her tongue might make it easier to tune out his voice. Predictably, her lack of enthusiasm didn't faze Sam in the slightest.
"You can make fun of me all you want. I'm just trying to look out for you, in whatever little ways I can. You know, it wasn't that long ago that the thought of demons coming after you scared you into being on the move. You were the one preaching about being a moving target when you left the Roadhouse, not taking any crazy risks. There are demonic omens not all that far from here, and it would only take one slip up for them to…"
"Wait, omens?" Kat held up her hand, stopping his rant with interest for the first time. "Since when are there omens? You didn't tell me that."
"I…just found them this morning."
"Before our run? At six o'clock in the morning?"
Sam pursed his lips at her disbelief. "I was already up. I figured with this new case it was better to check than be sorry."
"And?' she prompted. "Are they close enough to be the source?"
"I don't think so," he sighed, "but that doesn't mean they're too far to be a problem. So please, just consider being more careful."
"Sorry, Sammy. Headphones are non-negotiable." He groaned, and Kat laughed good naturedly. "Come on, what is this world coming to? First I give up my headphones, next you're gonna tell me I can't get my own motel room. And I am not joking, I would rather let demons drag me all over creation than share a room with your brother."
"I understand that. Even I don't want to share a room with my brother."
Sam pulled out his phone, something Kat noticed he'd been doing a lot lately. His jaw tightened to the point that she could see it click under his cheek. And in an instant, it was gone. He turned to her with a grin.
"Hey, why don't you head back? I can grab all of this."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know, just uh…figured it would save some time. You ran faster than me, so you probably need a shower more."
Kat rolled her eyes at the lame joke. It wasn't exactly a subtle excuse to get rid of her. She peered at him, taking note of the way it made him fidget.
"What's up with you, huh? One minute I can't be trusted to use my headphones without getting attacked, and the next I'm cleared to run off on my own?"
"Well I know I'm not winning that battle. Not today, anyway."
He shrugged casually and turned back to the counter. It looked like he was reading the menu, but it was more likely that he was avoiding eye contact. Luckily for him, she more anxious to leave than she was worried about his phone obsession.
"Whatever, weirdo. Just hustle on your way back, huh? Don't let my bagel get cold."
She pointedly slipped her headphones back into her ears as she walked out the door.
Sam had been right about the shower. Well, she couldn't attest to the way she smelled—her nose had been the first thing to go in the frigid temperatures, along with her sense of smell—but the scorching water was able to thaw her body. She changed into her suit for the day, and by the time she headed over to the boys' room, the world had warmed up a little bit.
Dean answered the door as soon as she knocked. He was already dressed in his suit and tie, and his eyes frantically scanned the parking lot behind her.
"Where's breakfast? I'm starving."
"With Sam," she answered, pushing her way past him. It might've been warmer, but she wasn't ready to linger outside. "Is he not back yet?"
"No. I thought he was with you?"
"He was. I headed back to take a shower, he said breakfast was on him."
"So you just left him there?" Dean demanded.
"Sorry?" Kat offered uncertainly. "I didn't realize he was supposed to be on lockdown. Honestly, I didn't want to push. Kinda felt like he was trying to ditch me."
"Yeah, I'll bet he was."
Dean grumbled, sitting down on the end of his bed again. He pulled a handgun out of the duffle bag on the floor and wiped it down methodically. Kat watched him warily as she took a seat at the table. Men with guns were enough cause for concern, let alone when it was an emotional hunter.
"You good?"
"Peachy," he snorted. Kat raised an eyebrow, but he didn't give her a chance to ask. "You notice anything different about Sam lately? Anything off?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. He's always on his phone, for one thing. Texting, calling, not acknowledging it at all. Couple days ago I caught him on the phone in the bathroom, trying not to wake me up."
"Talking to Bobby?" she asked.
"That's what I thought, but Sam never brought it up. He's just sorta…jumpy. Stand off-ish. Like he's got something to hide."
"No offense, Dean, but Sam's been hiding one thing or another the entire time I've known him. Doesn't really jump out as something different."
"Well yeah, to you," he agreed, nodding in ascent. "But not to me. Last time he was hiding something like this, it…well. It definitely wasn't great news."
Dean's jaw clenched, exactly the same way Sam's had at the deli. Kat frowned at the similarity. She hated playing middle man. She was not very good at it.
"Hey," she said with an exaggerated shrug. "Maybe it's not all that bad. Maybe he's just hiding like, a phone sex addiction or something."
Dean's head snapped up painfully fast. He balked.
"Wha…? How dare you make that joke about my brother. I should've made that joke about my brother."
"What joke?"
Sam was back, slipping into the motel room with a large paper bag tucked under his arm. Dean was out of his seat in an instant to snatch it.
"That you're a slow piece of shit. Where's my sandwich?"
He nearly ripped the bag in a rush to open it, and began chucking things around the room by means of distribution. Once he finally got to his precious breakfast sandwich he abandoned the scraps and made a beeline for his bed.
Kat snorted disparagingly, unwrapping her bagel.
"Sorry," Sam said with amusement. "I was on the phone with the sheriff station. They're expecting us in about an hour."
"Ta tah-lk ta tha perps?" Dean asked through a mouthful of egg.
"Yeah. Told 'em we were defense attorneys looking for a tough case. PD said we definitely have our work cut out for us."
"No shit," said Kat. "I wouldn't take this case no matter how much they paid me."
"Really?" asked Dean. "No amount of money?"
"No way. Three guys who killed their wives? Domestic abuse, murder, cheating. They can rot for all I care."
"Well, let's not rush to conclusions," said Sam, taking the chair next to her. "None of these guys have records, and no one saw it coming. We don't know what kind of possession or spell they could be under."
"My mistake. Professionally speaking, they can rot."
Dean snorted from across the room while Sam flipped open his case file.
"I had a feeling you'd say that. So I checked with the hospital for any red flags like you suggested. None of the women were ever checked in with any sort of suspicious injuries, and none of them had any history of mental illness or counselling."
"Doesn't mean it wasn't happening," Kat said moodily.
"I know that. I'm just saying…"
"Woah, woah, woah!" Dean held up his hand, actually abandoning his sandwich to interrupt them. "Kat, don't eat that."
"What?" She looked down at her bagel, which had tasted perfectly normal. "What's wrong with it?"
"Look at it! It's got some—some nasty brown stuff coming out the side. What the hell is that?"
"It's peanut butter."
He blinked at her. "Excuse me?"
"Peanut butter. I always eat it like this."
"Like this? What, with jelly?"
"No, with cream cheese."
"With…?" Dean gagged momentarily. "Just—who hurt you?"
"Fuck you. Peanut butter is a good source of protein!"
"So is bacon! Which is an American breakfast tradition that doesn't go against God!"
Sam cleared his throat. Kat was still fuming, but reluctantly, Dean closed his mouth.
"Excuse me," he hissed. "Please continue to eat your abomination of a bagel."
"Rich coming from the guy who was eating Cheetos and pickles yesterday afternoon."
"So I was looking into their financials," Sam announced pointedly, "not that it helped that much. Small town like this, everyone's shopping at the same places anyway. Did notice one weird thing though. Each of these guys was racking up some serious debt."
"Gambling?" asked Kat, peering over at the paper.
"Doubt it. Not with a name like M&C Entertainment."
"Classic," Dean chuckled into his sandwich.
"I don't get it," said Kat. "What does that mean? Like porn?"
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, both of them shifting uncomfortably.
"Uh, it—it could be," Sam said in a voice slightly too high. "But given the—the frequency of the charges, it doesn't look like an online subscription or anything. I mean, it could be pay as you go, but since these are all the same company I'd…"
"He's telling you it's a strip club," Dean cut in. "Places like that don't usually put the company name on the tab. I go to a place like that, it's pretty likely I don't want the missus to find out. It's all about discretion."
"Huh," Kat drawled thoughtfully. "I'm surprised, Dean. Wouldn't expect you to know anything about that."
"Seriously?" Sam laughed, half choking. "It's not exactly a shocker that Dean likes strip clubs."
"Oh no, I meant discretion. Or the fact that he's ever once looked at his card transactions."
"Hey, this fake card is my fake card," said Dean. "I don't want any other fake people using it. They can get their own scam."
"Alright, well either way," Sam continued. "I think the credit cards are the best lead we've got. We'll go down there, talk to the guys, and hopefully one of them will come clean with a motive."
They finished their food, and an hour later Kat was pulling up behind the Impala outside the precinct. She'd agreed to let Sam and Dean do the talking for this one, if only so no one would look too closely at her ID. She had one or two fake drivers licenses, but they weren't as strong as her federal badges. Of course, letting Dean do the talking always came with consequences.
"Hi there," he greeted the man at the front desk. "Attorneys Nelson and Murdock. This is our assistant Miss Page. We've got a few meetings lined up—Mr. Benson and his friends."
"Good luck with that," the man scoffed. "You're not the first to stop by. These guys don't want to talk to nobody."
"We're hoping to change that," Sam said tightly.
"Whatever, man. Sign in and have a seat. Guard'll lead you back when they bring the prisoners up."
The clerk shoved the book at them, barely glancing at their IDs as they scrawled their fake names onto the paper. Kat released her breath in relief. Sam, on the other hand, grabbed Dean by the jacket and dragged him across to the other side of the waiting room.
"Dude, seriously?"
"What? I thought it was funny."
"Yeah, and that's exactly the kind of shit that'll get us caught!"
"Lighten up," Dean laughed, elbowing Sam in the ribs. "All of our aliases are shit. Besides, Kat's license already says 'Paige.' It was right there!"
"Yeah, well with three references in one go, I'd say that's pretty heavy handed. Even Kat could've caught that."
"Nope," Kat piped up. "No clue what you're arguing about."
"The names," said Dean. "Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law? Protectors of Hell's Kitchen?"
"Okay? Is this another movie reference?"
"Comics," said Sam bitterly.
"Damn, Kit Kat." Dean shook his head, eyes full of shame. "You still have so much to learn."
"Thank God for that."
Worried as Sam might've been, it seemed no one on the Bedford police squad was that into comic books. They passed through security without any issue, and were led to an interrogation room to meet with their potential client.
Adam Benson looked like shit, to put it lightly. His skin was pale and visibly damp, even in the dim room. His hands trembled on the table inside of their cuffs, and he had dark circles under his eyes. It wasn't a stretch to assume that he'd barely slept in the past few days. It was tough for Kat to feel any pity for him. She knew Sam was right, though. There was a fair chance the murder hadn't been his fault. They had to give him a chance at least.
Sam and Dean sat at the table across from him, Kat opting to sit in a chair in the corner. She propped her notebook open and started writing before anyone spoke.
Pale, sweaty, sunken eyes, sleep deprived. Side effect of guilt or supernatural influence?
"Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Benson," Sam said, switching into his professional front. "My partner and I represent…Nelson and Murdock. Our firm has a strong background in criminal cases, charges of a similar stature. We've been going over your case file, and we think that with the right strategy we could…"
"No."
Benson's voice was cold and hollow, even more so than the interrogation room. His conviction seemed to shake the Winchesters, who exchanged a look.
"Mr. Benson," Dean tried again, but the man cut him off.
"I said no. I keep telling them no. Why does the PD keep sending you guys? I already said I don't want a lawyer."
"They're lining up the firing squad."
"I'm pleading guilty."
Benson finally lifted his head. His face was set with grave resignation. Kat couldn't even see a flicker of fear or pride or malice. Just stony acceptance.
"Alright, look," Dean started again. "You don't want us to represent you, that's fine. In fact, it's probably not a bad idea between you and me."
Sam cleared his throat, prompting Dean to change tactics.
"Um…we just wanna understand what happened. That's all."
"Mr. Benson," Sam added. "Please."
He regarded the boys, then glanced over at Kat in the corner. His eyes lingered for a moment before sinking back to the table. It gave her the look she needed into his head. Underneath that resolution was a haunted void, the kind left behind by things that couldn't be explained.
Benson swallowed thickly, and Kat felt the pity she hadn't been able to summon begin to swell in her chest.
"What happened was…I killed my wife. And you want to know why? Because she made plans without asking me."
"When that happened, how did you feel?" asked Sam. "Disoriented? Out of control?"
"Like something possessed you to do it?" added Dean.
"I knew exactly what I was doing. I was crystal clear."
"Then why did you do it?"
"I don't know. I loved her. We…were happy."
He hung his head again, and Sam looked back to Kat in the corner. She raised an eyebrow and he nodded. It looked like they weren't going to get anywhere without leverage.
Sam elbowed Dean, who pulled the credit card reports from his briefcase. He slid them across the table. Dramatically, he tapped his pen on the bill.
"Nine G's. That's a hefty bill."
Benson froze. "Where did you get that?"
"Doesn't matter. We have it. See certain charges, ones you don't want the missus to know, they show up under shady names like M&C Entertainment."
"Yeah, I…don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, you're dropping plastic at a nudie bar, for instance."
"We just want to know the truth, Mr. Benson," said Sam, stepping in as the good cop.
Benson looked down at the paper. Kat wasn't entirely surprised to see his eyes flicker up to meet hers again.
"Does—Does she have to be here?"
"What?" Sam glanced back at Kat as well. "Oh, we can…"
"Yes," Kat said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."
She held Benson's gaze, staring him down until he had to squeeze his eyes shut tight. He let out a wheezing sigh, which morphed into a broken sob. His hands clenched into fists on the table, and he pressed them against his eyes until he could control his voice.
"Her name was…Jasmine."
"Dude," Dean scoffed. "Her name was Jasmine."
"I didn't mean for it to happen," Benson continued. "I don't like to go to strip bars. My buddy was having a bachelor party and…there she was. She came right up to me. And…I—I don't know. S-She was just…perfect. Everything that I wanted."
"Well," interrupted Dean, "you pay enough and anybody will be anything."
"It wasn't about the money," said Benson. His voice was practically shaking with indignation. "It—It wasn't even about the sex. It was…I don't know. I don't know what it was. It's hard to explain."
"And your wife found out?" asked Sam.
"No, she never had a clue."
"Then why'd you kill her?"
Benson didn't answer. It was pretty clear what the answer was going to be, but Kat wanted to hear him say it.
She got up out of her chair in the corner. Sam was already sending her a warning look, which she ignored completely. She dropped her notebook and pen onto the metal table. The sound made Benson jump in his chair. Kat leaned over the table, her hands laid flat, until she was level with his face.
"Why did you kill her?" she asked, her voice quiet bit with a clipped edge to each word. "Say it, Benson. Why did you kill your wife? Why did Vicki have to die?"
"For Jasmine!" He said it in a rush, the words spilling out now. "I did it for Jasmine! She said we would be together forever! If—If only Vicki was…"
"Dead," Kat spat.
Benson let out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the table.
"Afterwards, Jasmine and I were supposed to meet and she never showed. I—I don't know where she lives. I don't know her last name. I don't even know her real first name. I…I'm an idiot."
"And you never thought to tell this to the cops?" asked Sam.
"What for?" Benson lifted his head, the eerie determination back on his face. "The stripper didn't do it. I did it. And I know what I deserve. Judge doesn't give me the death sentence I'll just do it myself."
Kat felt Sam tap her on the shoulder, urging her to back off. But the moment she started to move, Benson's head shot up. His eyes locked with hers, but they were no longer void. They were filled with terror and panic.
"You—You look just like her. P-Please, I'm so sorry. Vicki, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking! I don't…"
He tried to grab her hands, but his cuffs were still chained to the table. They clanked loudly, rattling as he desperately pulled at them. Kat scrambled back in shock. Sam was in front of her in an instant, Dean already out of his chair.
"Alright, I think we're done here. Guard! Can we get some help in here?"
"Please! I need her to know that I'm sorry! I did it, but I'm so, so sorry!"
The door opened for two cops to come hustling inside. They didn't wait for Benson to leave. Sam was already dragging her out of the room and down the hallway for as much distance as they could get.
"Are you okay?"
"I—I'm fine, Sam."
"Are you sure?" He stopped, taking her by the shoulders and scanning her up and down. "The way he jumped at you, I thought…"
"Seriously, I'm fine. He just took me by surprise."
Kat pushed Sam's hands off of her and took a step back. She leaned against the wall, trying to calm her breathing. It wasn't working as well as she would've liked it to. It was hard to breathe calmly when she knew the storm that was due to arrive any second.
Sam ran a hand through his hair, glancing up and down the hall before he turned on her.
"Did you really think it was a smart idea to go after him like that?"
"I wasn't thinking about smart," Kat countered. "I was thinking about results. He killed a woman. He said he did this because of a woman. As I woman, I knew I'd put him on edge."
"Yeah, and look what happened!"
"He talked, Sam. That's what happened. You and Dean clearly weren't getting anywhere with the sympathetic lawyer shtick. So I tried something new."
He sighed. With his hands on his hips and his eyes closed, it made him look like some disappointed parent.
"I just don't think it was necessary. Even if he hadn't lashed back at you, I think it's pretty clear he's got enough on his mind. I just don't want to be responsible for pushing him over the edge. Especially if it's not his fault."
"That the consensus?" Dean was catching up to them, briefcase hastily stuffed under his arm. "I thought it was a little creepy the way he described the stripper girl. Or the way he couldn't describe her."
"Yeah, me too," said Sam. "I mean, between that and the three other guys, it definitely seems like something's up. Kat?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I think it could go either way. This kind of bullshit happens every day, but I get what you mean with the timing. Three women in an area this small. It's probably not just guys inspiring each other."
"You sure you believe that?" Dean asked. "You were going at him pretty hard in there."
Kat pursed her lips, focusing hard on her breathing again.
"Let's focus on the other two husbands," Sam suggested. "We bring up the card charges, see how they take it. If we need to, we use Benson's story as bait and see if they bite."
"Sounds good to me," Dean agreed.
"Alright. Kat, why don't you head over to the hospital? Sheriff said there was only one doctor available for the autopsies, so you can…"
"Excuse me?"
Sam stopped to look at her. "What?"
"You know exactly what."
"I don't," said Dean.
"Sam, you do not get to send me off to the hospital because you think I can't handle this."
"Hey, that's—that is not what I said. And it's not what I meant."
"Yes, it is! You were just going on about my dumb choices, and pushing him over the edge. You don't think I can control myself in there."
"I never said that."
"But that is what you think."
He floundered for a moment as she glowered at him, then threw his arms up. "Fine! Yeah, I think you got ahead of yourself. You'd never treat someone who was possessed that way. He's just as much of a victim as…"
"Oh, as his dead wife? Well maybe he shouldn't have started having an affair with a stripper!"
"We don't know that he did! Which is why we have to do these interviews! You just can't take your bias out of…"
"Woah! Okay, okay!" Dean stepped between the two of them. He fished into his pocket for the car keys and pushed them firmly into Sam's hands. "Dude, just go check out the hospital, alright? You've already got the info on the doc. Kat and I will stay here and wrap up the meet and greets."
"Dean…"
"Hey, I said we got it. I think Kat's onto something with the whole chick thing. It could definitely put them on edge enough to let something slip. Flip side I can send her out of the room and boost the good cop thing."
Sam did not look thrilled by this sound logic, but he wasn't dumb enough to argue. He humphed, double checking the papers in his bag and the cell phone in his pocket. Then he gave them both a stiff nod and headed back for the parking lot.
Kat watched him leave, chewing on her tongue.
"You good?" Dean asked her.
"Yeah. I just really hate your brother."
"Okay. Who do you think you hate more? Him or me?"
"It changes by the hour."
Dean chuckled, gently tugging her arm. "Come on. We got a couple minutes before they pull the next bozo out of his cell. Walk it off, Kit Kat."
They did a lap around the precinct, walking with enough confidence to avoid any probing questions. Dean was kind enough to keep his mouth closed for once. Kat could only imagine that was a bad sign. Whatever came out when he opened it again was sure to be extra revolting. But for the moment she was able to enjoy the peace, really focus on letting her frustration ebb away. Her hands began to relax at her sides.
When they looped back to the lobby, Kat stopped them at the vending machine. She was fishing her wallet out of her purse when Dean coughed awkwardly.
"So, not that I'm looking to get my ass beat in the middle of the precinct, but are you sure you're good to go back in there?"
Kat rolled her eyes so hard that it hurt. "I said I'm fine, Dean."
"Yeah, I heard you. I also know that in this line of work, 'fine' doesn't mean squat. I get where you're coming from with the whole righteous anger thing, but Sammy's got a point. We don't know that these guys were in control of their actions. You jumping down their throats isn't gonna change that."
"I know that." She fumbled with a dollar bill, the paper stalling in her hands. "Shit like this just drives me up the wall. Men who cheat and treat women like they're disposable. Monsters who know men treat women like that and just take advantage of it. The world's just…really fucked sometimes."
"I hear ya," he agreed. "But no one's getting off on this case. If the guys did it, the judge'll sentence 'em fair and square. And if the monster made them do it, we'll fix that too."
"It doesn't change anything," Kat said bitterly. "Adam Benson and his wife will be dead either way."
"Yeah. But if it means Laura and Lester whatever the hell get to live another day, it's worth it, right?"
Kat nodded stiffly. Some days it just felt like she couldn't do enough.
She shoved her dollar into the machine, punching the keys with too much force and glaring at her chocolate bar as it inched for the edge of the shelf. Dean tutted next to her.
"Damn. I don't know about that choice, Kat. A case with killer strippers, you might want to go on a liquid diet."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Dean beamed with pride, leaning one shoulder against the machine. He watched her almost predatorily, waiting until she'd retrieved her candy bar to hold up one solitary finger.
"One word—dodgeball."
Kat's jaw dropped.
"What? No! No, no, no, no, no! No way!"
"Hey, those were the rules. Fair and square."
"Fuck you!"
Several people in the lobby turned to stare at them. Dean laid his finger over his lips, shushing her with childish glee. She wrenched his arm out of the air and lowered her voice to a deadly hiss.
"You said nurse costume."
"And you said next case," he said innocently. "If the job requires, of course. But if the perp's at a strip club…"
"No fucking way. Undercover nurse is a lot different than undercover stripper. I am not doing it."
"You sure?" He grinned, tugging on a loose strand of her hair. "You'd look cute with bunny ears."
He had to have seen it coming. Either he was enjoying himself too much to care, or he'd severely underestimated how hard she was going to hit him. Kat's fist slammed into his side and Dean doubled over. Even through his groans he still managed to keep laughing. Kat huffed, stomping for the exit, only for Dean to scramble back in front of her.
"Oh, come on! It was a joke! Where are you going?"
"Back to the motel. You can call a damn taxi."
"But you get to be bad cop! You don't wanna miss that. Everyone wants to be a bad cop! Uh—no offense, officers." Dean nodded awkwardly at a group of passing cops, who barely even acknowledged him. He wiped most of the glee from his face, stepping toward Kat with his hands up in surrender. "I'll even let you lead, huh?"
Kat considered him, grinding her teeth. "For both interviews."
"Lead on the first," he bargained. "Second, we'll see."
"Fine. But I'm bad cop in both."
"There's no one I would trust more to scare two men into submission with her glare alone."
