"Well, Lenny Bristol was definitely another siren vic."

Sam led the way back into his motel room, Kat slipping through the door behind him. She couldn't help but look around curiously. The boys' room was neater than she would have expected. It was neater than hers, at least. She always tried to keep her things confined to her suitcase, but no matter what, her shit always ended up all over the room. The Winchesters apparently didn't have that problem. Either they had less shit to scatter, or they were just used to moving around.

Dean was awake now, though he looked about as grumpy as he had that morning. He was stationed at a table by the window, a few lore books scattered in front of him. He practically glowered as they moved to join him.

"You got in to see him?"

"Yep," said Sam. "Said he brought a stripper home named Belle. Couple hours later, he offed his mother. Belle, of course, went MIA."

"Wait, he killed his mom?"

"Woman he was closest to," Sam replied with a shrug. This was accompanied by another lingering side-glance at Kat, which she pointedly ignored.

Thankfully, before Sam could restart that particular argument, his phone went off with a sharp trill. He patted down his pockets in confusion, only for Dean to hold up the device from the table.

"Yeah, you uh…forgot your cellphone."

He tossed the phone to Sam, smiling coldly as he got up from his chair. Kat shot him a questioning look, which went totally unacknowledged. He just stormed past her, focused on the coffee pot. Apparently she wasn't the only one trying to avoid an argument.

"Hey Bobby," said Sam. He took Dean's seat at the table, glancing over the books. "…Uh, no. And it doesn't seem like she's slowing down any. What about you? Got anything? …Oh, hold on a sec, I'll put you on speaker."

He nodded to Kat and Dean, who wandered back to the table to listen in. Bobby's tinny voice rang from the phone.

"It says you need a bronze dagger covered in the blood of a sailor under the spell of the song."

"The hell does that mean?" asked Dean.

"You got me. We're dealing with three thousand years of the telephone game here."

"Oh, come on," Kat scoffed, looking between them. "It doesn't seem that complicated."

"What'd you mean?" asked Sam, his nose scrunched in confusion.

"Well, you said the song was like a metaphor, right? For whatever kind of enchantment she's putting on them. So we snag some blood from one of the guys she targeted, and somehow that does her in."

"That's my best guess," Bobby agreed. "It's probably some kind of toxin or venom, something she gets in the vic's blood…"

"That makes 'em go all Manchurian Candidate," said Sam. "Uh, what do you think? She infects the men during sex?"

"Maybe."

"Supernatural STD," said Dean appreciatively.

"Don't even joke," Kat groaned.

"Well, however it happens, once it's done, the siren's gotta watch her back. If she gets a dose of her own medicine…"

"It kills her," Sam finished.

"Like a snake getting iced by its own venom."

"So we just gotta find a way to juice one of the OJ's in prison?" asked Dean.

"It's not that easy," said Bobby. "None of those guys are under the spell anymore."

"You sure about that?" asked Sam. "I mean, we just got back from the precinct, and Lenny Bristol still seems pretty far gone. Didn't want us to look for Belle in case she got mixed up in all the trouble."

"Yeah, no," Kat sighed, leaning forward on the table. "I'm pretty sure those were just plain old feelings, Sam."

"Feelings?" Dean echoed. "For the chick that told him to gank his mom?"

"He doesn't know it was her fault," Kat offered. "Far as he's concerned, he was so far gone on her that he had a lapse of judgment. And not to sound like a bitch, but a guy like Lenny—I'm pretty sure he wasn't that hard to seduce. If a hot girl's coming onto him, he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Probably why she targeted him in the first place," said Bobby. "Either way, he's not gonna be much help to ya now. Haven't got a clue where you're gonna get the blood you need."

"I think I might have an idea," said Sam.

"Be careful. These things are tricky bitches. Wrap you up in knots before you know what hit ya. Kat, you keep an eye on those idjits."

"Yeah, I'm trying," she assured him. "They don't make it easy."

"Woah, hold on," Dean interrupted, affronted. "Can we not talk as though Sam and I are the only flight risks here?"

"You are," Kat said flatly.

"Am not!"

"Dean, I have worked exactly one case with you that didn't end with you sleeping with some random chick. If anyone was gonna end up a siren victim, I'd put my money on you."

"Hey, I've got self-control, alright? Come on, Bobby."

"She's not wrong, kiddo," Bobby chuckled. "Sides, your siren's got a pattern going. Don't think Kat's likely to be up next."

"Thank you!"

"Hey, it's the twenty-first century," Dean grumbled. "Sirens could attack girls!"

"Yeah, Bobby," Sam snorted. "Don't be so heteronormative."

"Yeah. Whatever Sammy said."

"Shut up, ya idjits. Just get the blood and watch each other's backs. Try not to do anything stupid."

"Fat chance," Kat shot, but Bobby had already ended the call.

Dean glowered at her, but turned back to his brother. "So what's this idea you got, huh? Where are we gonna get this blood?"

"The hospital," Sam answered. "Dr. Roberts said she did a tox-screen on all three guys, soon as they were brought in. Which means, they were probably still siren-fresh. Those samples are all locked up somewhere. All we've gotta do is convince her to hand 'em over."

"Oh, right," said Dean. "Real simple. And how exactly are we gonna do that, hm?"

"Easy," Kat snickered. "Sam's gonna flirt with her. She certainly wasn't interested in you."

He glared at her, and Sam awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Let's just worry about one thing at a time, huh? Suit up, and we can at least head down to ask."

"Whatever, man."

"Can we just agree on one thing?" Kat folded her arms over her chest, fixing them both with a hard look that stopped them in their tracks. "Bobby was right about the siren. We don't know how she infects people, and if she can convince someone to kill their own mother, then that's not a power I want to mess around with. So until we know we're in the clear, just…no messing around? Please?"

"Hey, we're professionals," said Dean, unable to avoid sounding condescending. "We know how to do our jobs."

"I'm serious, Dean. No strippers. Not one hook up, not even a lap dance."

"I—Wha…? Oh come, on!"

"She's got a point, dude," Sam chuckled. "Tough break."

"And that goes double for you," Kat snapped, jabbing a finger at Sam.

"Wait, me?" he asked incredulously. "What did I do?"

"Oh, you think I'm blind? Yes, you, Mr. Puppy-Dog-Eyes. You can flirt with the doctor to get what you need, but you are not allowed to sleep with her. I need you two to hold it together for one fucking case. Do I make myself clear?"

Sam and Dean stood there dejected, both of them looking like dogs caught chewing through the carpet. It was kind of pathetic, but more than a little amusing. Kat nodded in satisfaction and headed back for the door.

"Good. I'll meet you guys at the hospital."

The medical center was quieter than it had been at their last visit. It was probably the only time Kat had ever pulled up to a hospital and immediately found parking. She decided to pull into the parking lot rather than park on the street and wait for the guys to catch up. She scanned the area carefully before hopping out to pop her trunk.

Kat winced at the mess inside. Sure, the Winchester arsenal wasn't pristine, but it had to be better than this. She'd stuffed so much into the trunk when she'd raided Marcus's stash, even more when her mom had brought supplies to Bobby's, and never bothered to organize it all. Bullets rolled across the bottom of the compartment, ropes tangled and knotted with bungee cords, guns haphazardly stuffed wherever she could get them to fit. It took her several minutes just to find the bronze knife she'd taken from the safe house. She tucked it into a makeshift holster and strapped it to her ankle for safe keeping. Then she turned back to the pile with a disparaging look. She really had to do something about that.

Before she could even think where to start, the Impala roared up to the curb. Kat slammed her trunk closed and quickly began straightening her ponytail. The last thing she needed was Dean on her ass for the mess.

"Seriously?" he shot as he climbed out of the car. "Are you going through your arsenal in the middle of the damn parking lot?"

"Why not? No one's here."

"It's the principle of the thing. Anyone could walk by and see that shit."

"Dean, I'm a blonde girl driving a Prius. I promise you, no one is going to ask me any questions."

He scoffed angrily, but Sam laughed. "She's not wrong, dude."

Kat smiled smugly at him and led the way into the building. She headed straight for the receptionist desk, but before she could get there, a voice rang out across the lobby.

"Agent Stiles." Dr. Roberts appeared from around the corner. Her eyes found Sam in an instant, and a sultry smile overtook her face. "Just can't stay away, huh?"

Sam grinned back at her. Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was one step closer to completely losing it.

"Actually, we're here on business," said Sam, nervously straightening his tie, "about the blood samples. The ones with the high…you know, uh, oxytocin?"

Just this was enough to make Dr. Roberts giggle. Dean caught Kat's eye long enough mime gagging before he intervened.

"Do you still have them?"

"Mhm," she replied, her eyes still glued to Sam.

"Good," Dean said sourly. "We need them."

"What for?"

Kat stepped up, prepared with an excuse about specialists in Quantico, only to be interrupted again.

"Excuse me, Dr. Roberts?"

A man in a blue suit stepped up to her shoulder, finally drawing her gaze away from her target. Sam and Dean moved in unison. Their badges were out before Kat had even processed that there was a new member of their conversation.

"Uh, we're a little busy here, buddy," said Dean, shooting him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah," the man replied. He reached into his jacket, pulling out his own FBI badge. "So am I, pal."

Kat felt her stomach bottom out. They were in deep shit now.

"Doc, could you give us a sec, please?" asked Sam in an overly polite voice. "Thanks."

Dr. Roberts nodded, backing away from the brewing testosterone fight. Sam was already clearing his throat, Dean drawing himself to his full height. Even the stranger was pushing his chest out slightly, looking down his nose at the other two.

Kat scoffed internally. Men.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the newcomer's badge.

He blinked down at her in surprise, but passed it over nonetheless. Kat scanned it carefully. Not that she knew what she was looking for. The ID had all the same markings that hers had, the same symbols and scrambled numbers. Which meant it was either real, or just as fake as her own.

"What's your name?" asked Dean.

"Nick Monroe," Kat answered over him. She passed the badge to Sam for inspection. "Pretty sloppy signature."

"Excuse me?" he asked indignantly. "And just who are you?"

"Special Agent Katherine Paige. These are my partners, Agents Stiles and Murdock."

"Three of you on one case? You don't find that a little crowded?"

"Three's a party," said Dean, glaring. "Four's a crowd."

"What office are you from?" asked Sam, passing back the badge.

"Omaha—violent crimes unit. My S.A.C. sent me down here to see about the murders. You?"

"DC," Dean answered. "Our assistant director assigned us."

"Which A.D.?"

"Mike Kaiser," said Sam.

Munroe looked between the three of them with narrowed eyes. He raised his eyebrows at Kat, reaching out a hand. "May I?"

Kat pursed her lips and passed over her badge. He flipped it open, scanning it as carefully as she had. Then he turned back to her, holding the wallet out of her reach.

"What's your badge number?"

"Excuse me?" Kat snatched the badge out of his hand in equal parts panic and righteous fury. "Gatekeepers. Can't get away from you assholes anywhere."

"Hey, I'm just following protocol," he defended.

"Yeah, with the only woman of the group. Really professional."

"Look, whatever," Sam interrupted, reaching into his jacket again. He pulled out a business card and passed it over. "Just call our A.D. and he'll sort things out, huh?"

Munroe took the card, whipping out his phone and stepping away to call. Kat edged closer to the Winchesters, dropping her voice.

"What did you give him?"

"My card," said Sam with a shrug.

Kat blinked at him. "You have business cards?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

"No! I have a badge! Excuse me, but I've never run into an actual fed before!"

"Hey, it's cool," Dean said calmly. "Dude calls the office number and gets Bobby. That's usually enough to shut down any problems."

"Great," Kat grumbled. "And when do I get my stay-out-of-jail-free cards?"

"We'll get you some right after this case," Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Dean added with a wink. "Your first hundred free with Vistaprint."

Kat snorted as Agent Munroe rejoined them.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. Looks like I owe you an apology."

"Just don't let it happen again," said Dean haughtily.

"Actually, I meant uh—Agent Paige, you said?" He offered his hand, which Kat shook somewhat bewildered. "It's nice to meet you. It didn't occur to me that they'd send a special team all the way from D.C. I didn't mean to offend you."

"That doesn't mean—oof!" Her complaint was cut off by Sam elbowing her in the back. She plastered a smile over her annoyance. "No harm done. I guess."

Munroe grinned at her, either oblivious to her resistance or willfully overlooking it.

"So um…where are you at with this?"

"Where are you at with this?" Dean challenged.

"Oh, uh…" Munroe glanced at Dean, clearing his throat and stepping back. "Well I was just about to run the perps' bloodwork."

"I already checked," said Sam. "It's a dead end."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What else ya got?" asked Kat.

He turned back to her with a smirk.

"Alright. How about this? I think I found something that connects all the murders."

"Really?" asked Sam, feigning shock.

"They were all banging strippers—from the same club."

"You don't say," said Dean.

"Yeah. Now I know these guys confessed. And three guys cheating on their wives, you know, maybe they're getting what they deserve. But all of them going to the same club? That's one hell of a coincidence, right? Maybe enough to look into?"

"Definitely," Kat agreed, nodding swiftly. "We'll keep that in mind moving forward. Thanks for your insight, Agent Munroe."

"Oh um…yeah. You're welcome." Munroe hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "Hey, I uh…I get it if you want me to butt out. D.C. has jurisdiction, and I don't want to step on your toes. But this is some case you've got here. These guys, the things they did to their wives…it makes me sick. I'd really like to see this through."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," said Dean. "It's our jurisdiction, like you said. And honestly, in the time it would take to catch you up to speed, we could…"

"Well hold on, Murdock," Sam cut in. "Shouldn't that be up to Supervisory Special Agent Paige?"

Kat was relieved to see Dean looking just as surprised as she felt. Beside her, she could already feel Munroe looking her over.

"Oh, uh…sorry, ma'am. I probably should've guessed that you were in charge."

"Trust me," Kat hissed, glaring at Sam. "Some days it doesn't feel like it."

"Just give us one second," he said apologetically, and pulled Dean and Kat to the other side of the hall.

"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Dean demanded. "Real feds and fake feds do not go together! Bad combo!"

"This is bad," Kat sighed, pinching her nose.

"And what's the alternative?" Sam whispered. "He goes back to Omaha and tells his boss that he bumped into a couple D.C. agents that definitely don't exist?"

"That…also sounds bad."

"Look, I think the best thing to do is just work with the guy, okay? Keep him out of the way while we finish the case, and then we're gone before he knows what hit him."

"And how are we supposed to do that?"

"You," he answered simply.

"Me?" Kat echoed. "Why me?"

It was infuriating to watch him grin at her.

"Kat, he's clearly into you. So go stake out the bar, keep him talking, and I'll get the blood samples from Dr. Roberts."

"That's what this is about?" she snarled. "You're playing wing-man so you can get some alone time with doctor?"

"For the case!"

"Right. And you're definitely not pimping me out cause I called you a flight risk."

"I am not pimping you out," he laughed. "Just take him to the club and I'll work as fast as I can. Take Dean with you, and he can step in if things get weird."

"Oh hell no," said Dean. "I'm not playing third wheel."

"Well I'm not going alone," Kat said adamantly. "I am not that dumb."

"Please, you could take him," Dean scoffed, looking over his shoulder at Munroe. "Guy looks like a total pushover."

"He looks like a federal agent! A real one! You know—not like us? I don't love to admit it, but I have no idea what I'm talking about. What if I say something and blow cover, huh? I cannot do this by myself."

Dean frowned at her. She tried to hide her pleading look from the agent on the other side of the hall. She didn't like it any more than Dean did, but even she had to admit Sam had a point. He would have better luck with Dr. Roberts if they stepped aside.

"Come on, Dean," Sam pleaded. "Just—just focus on the naked girls. You'll forget they're even there!"

"Fine! But I'm only doing this for the strippers. Kat, just don't…don't really flirt with him, okay?"

"Dean," Sam sighed. "That's the whole point."

"I know! But I don't like watching her be nice to people. It's very unsettling."

Kat smacked him in the chest, ignoring his yelp to glare at Sam. "I will do this. But I'm serious, Sam. You do not under any circumstances sleep with that woman."

"I got it," he insisted. "Now take Munroe and get out of here."

She glowered at him, but had her face under control by the time she turned back around. Munroe was still watching her, eyes full of amusement as he glanced at the still-wincing Dean. It was a good thing he thought she was funny. Given the circumstances, she doubted she'd be feeling less volatile any time soon.

"So what's the verdict, Supervisory Special Agent Paige?" he asked as they approached him. "Am I allowed to stay on the case?"

"I suppose we could use a fresh pair of eyes," she said with her best smile. "Stiles is gonna hang back, make a few calls to Quantico. The rest of us will head over to this club you were talking about, and we can canvas the place."

Kat did not wait for anyone to agree with her. She turned on her heel and marched for the door, only pausing long enough to clap Sam on the chest. It was satisfying to hear him grunt. She hoped it fucking hurt.

"So how long have you been in town?" asked Agent Munroe, jogging to catch up with her quick strides.

"Only a few days. But I've been following the case since the first murder."

"I know what you mean. I remember reading about it, and I just couldn't get it out of my head. I've worked a lot of cases, but…sometimes it doesn't feel like enough, you know?"

"Um…actually, yeah." Kat glanced over at him, and her steps faltered slightly. "I know exactly what you mean."

Another smile. It was very annoying of him, especially because Kat could feel it getting easier to smile back. She was glad when Dean stormed past them to interrupt.

"Yeah, I get it too if it matters. Now can we cut the chit chat and get to the case?"

"Absolutely," Munroe agreed. "So how did you want to do this? I could ride with you guys, go over a few case details in the car?"

"Sounds great," said Kat. "You can ride with Murdock."

"Oh uh…sure. Yeah, if that's easier."

"I've just got a couple calls to make to the office, and…well, I don't like riding with distractions."

She tried to smirk, and gave him a very obvious once over. It all felt very unnatural to her, even over the top. But Munroe didn't seem to know the difference. He chuckled and scratched at the back of his neck again. Behind him, Dean gagged.

"Whatever. We're taking my ride, no complaining about the tunes."

Kat slipped away and hid in her car. She even leaned over into her passenger seat, digging around her imaginary bag for some imaginary papers until she heard the roar of the Impala's engine fade down the road. Then she peeked over the dashboard and planted her face into the steering wheel. This was going to an exhausting waste of her time.

Much as she would have loved to let Dean drive off with her problems, she knew there'd be hell to pay later if she ditched them. So she summoned what little energy she had and pulled out of the parking lot after him.

As she drove, she fiddled with her stereo. She needed music, loud music, and fast. Preferably something she could sing to until her voice was hoarse and her manic fury had been expelled from her body. So she settled on some Evanescence. She was sifting through the track list trying to find something to fit her mood when the radio abruptly turned off. She frowned, hitting the power button again. Nothing happened. After a smack she got some static—which didn't make any sense because it was a damn CD.

"Hello, Katherine."

Kat screamed. It was lucky they were in a small town and an empty street, otherwise she might've taken out several people when she swerved. She swore loudly, grasping at the steering wheel and fighting to get the car under control. She managed to safely pull over to the shoulder. The one car behind her crawled passed, the passenger gaping through her window to see what kind of maniac was driving a Prius like that.

"That was violent," Castiel commented. He was holding the handle over the passenger door, looking mildly shaken. "I apologize for startling you."

Once again, Kat let her forehead collide with the wheel.

"Cas, just how long have you been watching over this planet?"

"For all of creation," he said blankly. "I suppose…four and a half billion years or so?"

"And…fuck…" Kat paused her rant, staring at him in awe. "You are…really old."

Castiel did not look particularly amused by that. He squinted at her, and Kat squeezed her eyes shut again.

"I mean to say…you were around for the birth of humanity, original sin, evolution, all that good stuff?"

"Yes."

"So you watched human invent cars. You've seen humans driving cars."

"Yes. I'm not sure I understand your point."

"And did it ever occur to you that popping up into a moving vehicle might cause something like, I don't know—a car accident? Probably the leading cause of death in the country?"

"Actually the leading cause of death is heart disease."

Kat smacked him. This seemed to shock him more than anything else. He openly gaped at her, looking almost offended. If Kat's heart wasn't still trying to escape out of her ribcage she might have laughed. Instead she clenched her jaw.

"Do not invite yourself into my car if I'm driving. No, you know what? Anyone's car if anyone's driving! That's just common sense, Cas."

"And I apologized," he complained, "but I needed to speak with you. Away from the Winchesters."

That got her attention.

"Why can't you talk to me around Sam and Dean? What's wrong?"

Castiel turned to look out the window. Kat found this annoyingly dramatic, all things considered.

"There's a group of demons not far from here. And no, I don't believe that they are tracking you. But I intended to keep an eye on the situation regardless. However, it's become abundantly clear that I am not the only one keeping tabs on these demons. They are being followed by someone else."

"Okay," Kat said slowly. "Why is that important?"

"Upon closer inspection I was able to identify your demon associate—Ruby."

Kat's heart sank. It wasn't a surprise exactly, not after her conversation with Dean the previous morning, but she could stand to live in denial a little while longer.

"Is that really an issue?" she asked. "Just cause she's tailing demons doesn't mean it has anything to do with the seals. And will you stop calling her my associate? I would much prefer I never see her again. Fuck if I know what she's doing."

"Katherine," he began with a hard glare. "If Ruby is in your vicinity it suggests that she is still in contact with Sam. The angels are not accustomed to giving the benefit of the doubt. Sam has already been warned to cease all activity involving his abilities. He will not receive a second warning."

"Then why are you here?"

Castiel hesitated and turned away from her again.

"I am here as…a courtesy. You've shown far more progress in getting through to Sam than Dean has over the past few months. You are not blinded by the same fraternal bond. If you value his life, you will talk to him about his alliance with this demon."

"If I value his life?" Kat choked out a desperate laugh. "Cas, I don't know where you were before the farmhouse, but I have talked to Sam about his alliance. I have lectured him, I have screamed at him, and I have beaten him. And he refuses to listen. And not to put myself on your shit list, but I know where he's coming from."

"This is not a debate, Katherine," he warned. "Defected or not, the demon is an abomination. She is not to be trusted."

"And I'm with you on that. But Sam's main concern is helping people. It always has been. And whatever shit he was doing with Ruby allows him to feel like he's doing that. As far as I've seen, you and your buddy Uriel and all your back up in Heaven haven't done anything to show that you share that concern. All you do is talk about the endgame and how the ends justify the means no matter the cost."

"The ends do justify the means! The end is the leveling of all creation!"

"Then maybe this creation doesn't deserve to be saved!"

Castiel froze. He was angry now. Kat could somehow feel the energy changing in the car, like the air was charged by his rage and just moving wrong could electrocute her to the core. She did her best to hide the spark of fear in her chest.

"That's blasphemous," Castiel growled.

"I am just trying to make you understand," Kat said gently. "I get we're preventing Armageddon here, but if it comes at the cost of millions of lives in the crossfire, it's not something the Winchesters are interested in. That is why Sam is so resistant. They don't respond well to orders. And until you prove that you care about the little things too? I think it's going to stay that way."

"And you? What are you interested in, Katherine?"

"Me?" She let out a huff of weak laughter. "If you have to ask, you're more clueless than I thought."

She did not get an immediate response. Castiel continued to stare out of the window, keeping his thoughts to himself. Kat looked out her own window, watching the occasional car slug by. There were lives she was supposed to be saving right now, a case that she was working, but she couldn't bring herself to pull back onto the road. Castiel's anger felt like it was weighing her car down in one spot, like a righteous, grumpy parking brake.

"Have you read the book of Revelations?"

Kat glanced over to Castiel, sheepish. "Not really. Outside of what Bobby's been sending me, anyway."

"What about the Gospels? Matthew, Mark…"

"Luke and John, I know. I went to Sunday school."

"Clearly you didn't retain much." He turned to her, cutting off her sarcastic comment. "You should be more careful in your reading, Katherine. The souls that are lost in these battles will be mourned, but they will be rewarded graciously in the kingdom of Heaven. And I promise you, their suffering is nothing compared to that which you will endure in the end times. Should we fail to prevent Lucifer's return, chaos will reign over the land. War and famine and plagues you have not dared to imagine outside the cartoonish depictions in your childhood prayer book. I understand the little things, Katherine. I value them, and these people, and their torment. Your fault is in your inability to see the larger picture. And I fear that is why your efforts will fail."

Kat could barely bring herself to breathe as he looked away from her. She stared at him, transfixed, until he spoke again.

"Talk to Sam. If you cannot stop him, I will."

And with that he vanished in a rush of air.

"Wow," Kat sighed into the silence, after several minutes of reflection. "Alright. Well fuck me, I guess."

She slammed her hand onto the stereo button, thankful that it turned on at full volume. She needed to do a lot of screaming if she was going to resist the rising urge to drive her car into a tree.

The Honey Wagon was as busy as the rest of the town was empty. The sun was already setting, and Kat could hear the bass pumping inside before she even got out of the car. She grabbed her phone, dialing Dean's number, but there was no response. Wherever he was inside the club, it was either too loud for him to hear or he was too focused on the dancers. Or he was ignoring her in protest, of course, which was equally likely.

Kat grabbed her things, patting herself down for her knife and her badge. Then she put on her best game face and climbed out of the car.

The line for the bar was currently wrapped around the sidewalk. Kat couldn't imagine wanting to get into the Honey Wagon so badly that she'd wait outside in temperatures like this. She brushed past the line, flashing her badge at the bouncer and heading for the door. But the bouncer would not let her pass.

"I don't think so, sweetheart."

"Excuse me?" She did her best to keep her cool, jiggling the badge in his face. "You saw this, right?"

"Oh yeah, I saw it. And so did my boss, when your friends were asking questions last night. See when people like you come around places like this, it usually bad for business. So if you wanna do anymore investigating? You're gonna need a warrant."

He smirked down at her, bulging arms crossed across his chest. Kat pursed her lips and glanced up and down the street. Her options were limited. She couldn't fight her way in and expect to stay. Even if she waited on line, she doubted he'd let her in. She could go back to the car and wait, but Dean wasn't answering his phone. And he was definitely here—no way he'd leave the Impala on the curb and walk the other way.

Kat looked up at the bouncer, her eyes wide.

"Wait, you mean like…real feds?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, narrowing his eyes at her. "Your partners weren't exactly slick."

"Pa—Partners? Ha! Oh my God!" She dissolved into manic giggles, swatting him on the arm. "Baby, did you think I was an actual FBI agent? Like, a real government officer?"

"You're trying to get in with a badge," he said stonily. "Now you're saying you're not a real government officer?"

She pouted at him, pulling the clip out of her hair and letting her curls tumble onto her shoulders. When that didn't get her a reaction, she undid the first few buttons of her shirt. She snapped her bra strap pointedly—bright blue with just a peek of the lace.

"I'm a dancer, dumbass. Started last week."

"Really?" he asked in amusement. "And out of all the costumes out there, you went with a pantsuit? A prop badge?"

"Just wait until you see where I keep the toy gun." She winked, which did not work nearly as well as it had with Munroe. "Come on, doll. If you don't let me in now, I'm gonna miss my set."

The man considered her. Kat resisted the urge to wrench her shirt shut as his eyes roved over her breasts. Instead, she pushed her chest out and prayed.

"What's your name?" he asked finally.

"…Tink."

"Tink?" he laughed. "As in like, Tinkerbell?"

"Yes, like Tinkerbell," Kat spat, dropping her attempts at flirtation. "Cause I'm a petty little blonde with a mean right hook. So unless you want to meet it, I suggest you step aside and let me do my job."

Why she ever bothered trying anything else was a mystery to her. Her glower worked better than flirting every time.

The bouncer didn't look particularly scared of her, but he did step aside to let her pass. And she almost made it all the way inside before he called her back.

"Hey, Tink! Why don't you tie that shirt up, huh? Not gonna make a lot of tips with the girls tucked away like that."

Kat chewed on the inside of her cheeks as she stopped to follow his direction. She knotted the ends of her shirt under her bra, fluffed her hair, and gave him the most venomous smile she could manage before she stomped into the bar.

As soon as she was out of sight, she yanked her shirt back into place and pulled her hair up again. Fuck that. She was not about to be eye candy for a bunch of drunks sneaking away from their wives. She was here to do her damn job.

She set off to find Dean, taking the same path around the club that they had the night before. After that, it wasn't hard to spot him. He and Munroe had settled in at one of the balcony tables, a collection of empty shot glasses between them. They'd both loosened their ties, top buttons undone, hair wild for some reason she couldn't fathom. At least they were laughing—a better mood than she'd been expecting.

"I leave you alone for five minutes," she groaned, sidling up to their table.

"Ay, there she is!" Dean cheered, clapping an arm on her should. "The old capitán!"

"Shit, uh—Agent Paige!" Munroe nearly strangled himself trying to tighten his tie, and coughed up half his shot. "I am so sorry, ma'am. We were trying to blend in and…"

"Hey, you don't need to call her that," Dean chuckled, waving a hand. "It's lame, and it'll give her a big head. Anyway, Kat. Watch this—hey Nick, uh…'Nobody's Fault But Mine!'"

"Oh, I don't uh…"

"Come on! I'm low-balling you, bro!"

"Okay, okay. Zeppelin recorded it in '75. It was a cover of a Blind Willie Nelson tune."

Dean cheered and high-fived him. Munroe leaned back in his chair, looking pleased but still slightly embarrassed.

"My little sister's very into classic rock," he explained to Kat. "Learned everything I know just to keep up with her."

"Fascinating." She turned back to Dean in annoyance. "Hey, how did you two even get it? The bouncer told me they weren't letting in any feds."

"Well, sure. I figured we ruffled one too many feathers when we popped by yesterday. Nick and I waited in line with everyone else. Why? How did you get in?"

Kat refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But Dean's eyes were quick. Half a once-over and he was already tugging at her hastily buttoned shirt.

"Why are you all wrinkly now? Something happen? You good?"

"I'm fine," she bit, stepping out of his reach. "And if you're not too buzzed to focus, I'd like to get back to the case."

"Hey, we are all over this case. We have this completely under control."

Dean smacked a hand down on the table, causing the shot glasses to rattle and roll. One made a break for the end of the table, which Kat and Munroe grabbed for at the same time. Kat got there first. A millisecond later, Munroe's hand closed around hers, sending off warning alarms in her brain.

He smiled nervously, retracting his hand. "Maybe we should, uh…get a waitress over here. Clear the table."

"Get some more drinks, more like it," Dean offered. He flagged down a passing woman in a neon green corset, who was carrying a tray of shots. "Hey there, sweetheart. Can I get three of those?"

"Two," Kat corrected.

"Three. Thank you so much." Dean slipped a roll of bills into the woman's skirt, and whistled as she walked away. "Damn. See, Kat? Tequila, your favorite!"

"This is…so against protocol," Munroe laughed nervously.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Dean assure him. He placed one shot in front of each of them. "Who's gonna report you, my dude? Not me, that's for sure."

"Maybe not you," he agreed, eyeing Kat.

"Psh, Kat? I'm sorry—Agent Paige? Nah, you don't need to worry about her. Because if there's one thing I know about my boss here, it's that she never backs down from a challenge." He smiled dangerously and nudged Kat's glass closer to her. "So. Are you game?"

Kat knew it was a trap. It was not the first that she had walked into. However, seeing as the penalty was a cold shot of tequila instead of fishnets and crippling humiliation, she did not feel particularly bad about taking it. The way this case was going, she'd probably be happier if she was drunk.

"Shoot," she agreed, accepting the glass.

Dean positively beamed.

"Alright. And—because I am extremely merciful—I will go easy on you. Do you know who sings the song 'Sorrow is a Woman'?"

"That would be…Def Leppard."

"Very good," he said, clearly impressed. "And if I asked, would you be able to tell me what album that was on?"

"If you asked, then I would have to guess…Pyromania?"

Dean and Agent Munroe both groaned in agony, and Kat rolled her eyes. She tossed the shot back without a second thought. She waved them into silence.

"Okay, both of you shut up. We all knew this was a losing battle. Munroe, you—…"

"Nick," he insisted. "We're breaking protocol this bad, I think we can forgo the formalities."

"Alright, Nick," she agreed with a sly smile. "Please ask Dean a terribly difficult question. Lord knows I won't be able to think of one."

"It would be my pleasure," he said with a wink. Dean didn't bother hiding his groan now, but it only made Nick smile. "Back to Zeppelin. How about…You Shook Me."

"Oh, '69, debut album," Dean answered immediately. "Written by Willie Dixon."

"And?"

"…and what?"

"Written by Willie Dixon and J.B. Lenoir."

"Dude!" Dean laughed, taking his shot without even a shade of disappointment. "Dude! You know, for a fed, you're not a total dick."

"Aren't we all feds?" asked Nick.

"Yeah. No, I just, you know—not a lot of feds as cool as us, huh?"

"At least we know they're scraping the bottom of the barrel," Kat suggested. "Certainly something to be thankful for."

"Don't be a brat," Dean shot before turning back to Nick. "Alright, grand finale. My personal favorite—'Ramble On.'"

"Aw man, nice choice. Okay, it uh…second album, so that'd be '69. It was not Dixon, so that means it was Jimmy Page and…and…"

Kat did not miss the way Nick glanced over at her. He thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged in defeat. Dean roared.

"And Robert Plant! Ha! Take that!"

"Well, can't win 'em all." Nick raised the shot glass to his lips, but stopped short. He held the glass out to Kat. "Actually, I think you should take this. You got some catching up to do."

"Ah, I don't think so…"

"Come on. Dean and I are both more than a few in."

"Which is exactly why one of us has to be the adult."

"Or you could jump in the deep end?" he suggested. "Let that pretty blonde hair down?"

"I prefer to keep it up," she said. She could feel her smile becoming fixed. "Especially when I'm working a murder case."

Nick obviously didn't like that answer, but he didn't push her. He did sigh dramatically, and made a show out of leaning back in his chair. Kat didn't even have the chance to reconsider before Dean snatched the shot out of Nick's hands and chugged it down himself.

"Geez, Kat, lighten up."

He shuddered at the alcohol, and Kat rolled her eyes. Nick hurriedly cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"So, uh—back to the case. I gotta tell you, I wasn't sure what we were gonna find here, but I'm still not seeing anything suspicious."

"I don't think that's all that surprising," Kat said in a stage whisper. "Especially considering we've been sitting here drinking instead of interviewing potential witnesses."

"Witnesses to what, though?" he asked. "The husbands all confessed. The forensics is solid. They definitely killed those women. So even if they were all banging the same stripper, what's that got to do with the murders?"

"I guess we'll have to find her to find out."

"And then what? She didn't make them kill their wives. You can say what you want—blackmail, coercion, hypnotism maybe. It's not gonna stand up in court, and it ain't gonna change a jury's mind."

"It's not about a jury," said Kat, squinting at him. "It's about the truth. And where's this one-eighty coming from, anyway? You were the one who suggested we come down here to check it out."

"I know, I know." He bobbed his head in agreement and tapped anxiously on the table. "I guess I just keep asking myself what difference it's gonna make. I'm still not sure what's going on here."

"Then maybe it's about time we all got off our asses and started asking questions."

"Yeah, not so easy when you're supposed to be undercover." Nick paused, looking her over in a whole new light. "Hey, you—you haven't tried that yet, have you? Going undercover?"

"Oh, no, I—I really don't…"

"Well why not? It's perfect, right? The missing link is probably one of the dancers. You could go back stage and talk girl to girl. You'd have a lot more luck than me, that's for sure."

"You know, we—we talked about that, and we um…we decided that wasn't a good option. Remember, Murdock?"

Kat turned desperately to Dean for back up. But Dean was refusing to look at her. He was still staring at Nick with some strange expression—consideration, even appreciation. Kat kicked him under the table, but there was no reaction. She kicked him again, a little harder. He did not even flinch.

"Hey, you would be totally safe," Nick was assuring her. "You're clearly the most qualified, and the best suited for the job. If you really want to find out the truth, I think this is our best play. I mean—come on, Dean. You've gotta see what I mean. Back my play."

"Absolutely." He turned to look at her, without a shred of doubt. "I think that's a good idea."

Kat gaped at him. There was no way he… Betrayed wouldn't be a good word for it, because when had she let herself trust the Winchesters anyway? Trust was the last thing on her mind. But there had been some part of her that believed there'd been an understanding. She'd believed him when he said he wouldn't do that to her. She'd believed that he…but she'd been wrong before.

Nick grinned, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Dean looked back to him and smiled. It wasn't all quite there, though. There was something missing from the expression—his cheeks, his eyes, whatever. She couldn't place it. It made her feel idiotic to say it, even to think it to herself, but Dean's smile was the wrong smile. He'd pissed her off often enough on the road. She knew the kind of grin he got when he was teasing her, when he was ready to say something that would upset her, or digging his heels in because he thought that he was right and she was wrong. And the expression he had now…that wasn't it. She might not have known what it was, but her gut told her that it was something.

"Alright. Fine."

She pulled her hair down again, just like she had at the front door. She unbuttoned her entire shirt, gratuitously adjusted her boobs in her bra, and then grabbed the two shirt corners in her fists.

"What do you think, Dean? Tie it up full Britney, or just get rid of the button down completely?"

He blinked at her and shrugged. "Whichever. Doesn't really matter."

"I think Britney's the way to go," said Nick. "Know what I mean, man?"

They both laughed. Nick brandished a finger at Dean as though he had been the one to make the joke. Dean turned to wink at Kat, just like he had the day before. She just squinted at him. She was too curious for her anger to register yet. She tied her shirt up and fixed her boobs again, but he'd already looked away.

"I think the dressing rooms are back that way," said Nick, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "That's where most of the girls seem to be going in and out. Probably a good place to start."

"Okay," she agreed, casually as she could manage. "Well, I better get started. Wish me luck."

She fluffed her hair again and left the table, following the balcony around to the other side of the bar. Weaving through the crowd, she fished her phone out of her pocket the moment she thought she was out of sight. It was time she called for backup.

Back at the table, Nick watched her leave with a bitter smirk.

"She is one smart cookie, isn't she? See, this is why I don't normally go for women. They're always so cautious, suspicious. They've gotta be if they wanna survive in a world like this. Keeps 'em smart. I guess guys like you don't really have to worry about that."

He turned to Dean, who said nothing. He was still staring blankly. The toxins pumping through his blood made it hard to focus on anything else. As far as he was concerned, Nick was the only person in the room. It made Nick sigh.

"You just had to take the shot from her. Had to one up her, get under her skin. I'm not gonna lie, Dean. It's a little pathetic. See your friend—Kat, was it? I really liked her. She walked up to the bar yesterday and…well, she was a little obvious, sure. But she knew what she wanted, and she was ready to take it. I respect that a lot. I don't really get that vibe from you. You were confident once, sure, but all this? This bravado? That's not fooling anyone but you."

Dean stayed silent. That was the worst part about hypnosis. Some people just became zombies, just waiting for orders, absolutely no fun to play with. But it was too late now. With three hunters getting closer to the case, Nick had to mop up the situation and split. One little hiccup couldn't hold him back.

"Well, we're just gonna have to make it work, huh? Show must go on."

He ran his thumb along the inside of his lip, coating it in saliva. Then he brought the finger up to Dean's mouth. Dean obediently licked up the toxin, even nipping at his finger.

"Kinky," Nick chuckled in appreciation. "It's a shame I've gotta kill you so quickly. I'm sure you would've been a great lay."

"I am," Dean said confidently.

"Well, we don't have time for that now, do we? Normally, I'm not this forward. I like to…wine and dine, get to know a guy before I get in his head. But with your girlfriend on my tail, I guess we'll just have to cut to the chase. So tell me, Dean. Who is the most important person in your life?"

"Sammy," he answered, without hesitation. "My little brother."

"Right, the behemoth." Nick nodded, his fingers absent mindedly tracing Dean's hand. "I can tell you love him like crazy, but…you don't trust him anymore, do you? And that's all you really want, right Dean? A brother who's like you? Someone who has the same values and likes the same music, who's just as loyal to you as you've always been to your tiny, dysfunctional little family."

"Yes."

"How about that? Maybe this FBI face can work out after all, huh?"

Nick smiled, leaning toward Dean over the table. Dean leaned in instinctually, and it made Nick's heart soar. He was already so devoted. He loved him. He would do anything he asked.

"You know, Dean. I think it's time you introduce me to your brother."