"Come on, Sam. Answer me. Fucking answer me you stupid—fucking—bastard!"
Kat let out a strangled screech as the call went to voicemail again, and she jammed the end call button. She peeked around the corner, checking the table she'd left on the balcony. Dean and Nick were still sitting there. It wouldn't look suspicious to any passerby. Just two guys having a normal conversation in a crowded bar, albeit a little more serious than they had been tossing back shots. Dean seemed to be doing most of the talking now, though what he could be dishing about Kat had no idea. Nick was nodding attentively, completely at ease. She wanted to hold off judgment until she was completely sure, but still…she didn't like it.
Her phone went off in her hand, barely half a ring before she answered.
"Please tell me you've got something."
"Kat?" What little she could hear of Bobby's voice sounded annoyed. "What the hell they trying to do at that club? Break the sound barrier?"
"Bobby, that's not what that means."
"What?"
"Ugh, hold on!"
She checked the table one last time before ducking farther down the hallway. It wasn't much quieter, but at least there were fewer people, and she wasn't in the direct line of the speakers.
"Can you hear me now?" she asked tartly.
"Don't get smart with me. You want answers or not?"
"So you found something?"
"More like a whole lot of nothing," said Bobby. "I called the Omaha office. No record of any Nick Munroe working there, now or ever."
Kat smacked a hand against the metal door. "I fucking knew it."
"How's my question."
"It's Dean," she explained, pacing back toward the main room. "He's acting up. I wasn't sure before, but if Nick's the siren then we definitely have a huge prob…"
Kat stopped speaking abruptly. She was leaning around the corner, looking at the same table she had been before. Only now there was no Nick and Dean. They'd been replaced by a young couple, just shrugging off their jackets. Left, right—nothing. The men were gone.
"Motherfucker!"
"Kat? What's going on? What happened?"
"He's gone! They're both gone! Two seconds and I—fuck!"
That Bobby heard loud and clear.
"Hey, knock it off with the dramatics," he ordered, somehow still managing to sound comforting. "If this FBI agent is the siren, he was on your case long before you called me. Mind readers, remember? Probably knew the minute you had your back turned."
Kat knew he was right, but it didn't stop her from grunting in frustration. She marched to the back door again, kicking it open and relishing the effort it took. It slammed loudly behind her. There was no alarm, which was lucky, but now she was stuck shivering in the back alley. The cold calmed her down more than anything else. She tugged her shirt back into place, taking a shaky breath to refocus.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
"I'll tell you what you do—you head back to your car and skip town."
"What?" Kat shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "No, I meant about Dean. He could be anywhere. If the siren infected him…"
"Then the last place he should be is anywhere near you," Bobby finished stubbornly.
"Come on, Bobby. I'm not running."
"Then you're dumber than I thought. If this siren's got a taste for dead chicks and he knows you're onto him? Your name's probably top of the hit list."
"Fine, so he sics Dean on me. I can handle it."
"The hell you can," he warned. "Kat, you been up against Dean before. But that's Dean holding back, Dean trying to defend himself. Dean fighting to kill…I don't know anyone that could handle that."
Kat pouted, but she couldn't argue with him. She knew all the times she'd fought Dean—even after the hitchhiking incident—neither of them had been giving it their all. They were trying to subdue each other, not kill. If Nick had gotten to Dean the way she thought he had, then even Dean wasn't Dean anymore.
"Where would I even go?" she sighed. "I can't just leave them here running amok. And Sam's still fucking AWOL."
"Just get some distance. I'll try Sam and head out your way. Should be there by morning, and we can clean up this mess. Okay?"
"Okay." Kat chewed on her bottom lip. "Bobby, I'm…"
"You say sorry, I'll kick your ass right after I finish the siren. I told you these bitches were tricky, and it looks like it was three steps ahead. We'll get it."
"Yeah," she sighed bitterly. "I got it."
"Good. Now get in your car and lock the damn doors. And don't tell me which way you're headed. I'll call you with a bulletin."
He hung up before she could think of anything else to argue about.
Kat trudged back to the parking lot, cursing every step of the way. Seeing the empty place where the Impala has been sitting barely half an hour ago just made her stomp harder. She slammed the car door and started the engine too harshly. She blasted the heat and slammed the radio until it turned off. And then she sat there, looking out the window at the Honey Wagon, and did not move.
She was being stupid. Bobby's logic was perfectly sound, and she knew it. But she didn't want to run. She was so fucking tired of running and hiding—from demons, from angels, and everything in between. And what good would it do? There was no proof Dean was coming after her. What if that's what the siren was counting on? What if while she was running to save her own skin Dean was speeding off to hurt someone else? Some woman he actually did care about?
Kat pulled out her phone. Luckily, this time someone picked up.
"If you're not calling to tell me you got that picture of Dean in short shorts, then I don't want to talk to you."
Despite the stress she was under, Kat grinned.
"Sorry, fetus. It's a no go on the shorts."
"Then I'm hanging up," said Jo. "Goodbye in three, two..."
"You haven't heard from Dean, have you?"
"Uh, no. Isn't Dean with you?"
"Well yeah, he was up until five minutes ago."
"Wow," Jo laughed. "Alright, well it's only been a few minutes, Kat. I know separation anxiety is hard, but I'm sure he'll turn up."
"No, I mean—we're working a case with a siren and they disappeared together."
"...sorry, are you working with a siren or hunting one?"
"God—no, Jo! We're hunting it!"
"Well, sorry! I've never heard that one before. Didn't expect you to be out tracking down The Little Mermaid."
"I promise you, it's not as fun as it sounds," Kat sighed. "They brainwash men into killing the women closest to them, then leave the guys to rot in the dust. So if Dean's gone…"
"Then you're thinking he's next," Jo finished.
"Yeah. Which is not exactly ideal for any of us."
"Hey, maybe he'll be able to fight it? You know Sam and Dean. They're kind of impervious to people telling them what to do."
"Right," Kat snorted. "Still just…if he calls you, do me a favor and don't answer. At least until I give you the all clear."
"Okay. You got it. Oh, uh—hold on. Mom wants to talk to you."
Jo passed off the phone, letting the chatter of the Roadhouse seep through before Ellen's stern voice drowned it out.
"Did I just hear you say Dean got nabbed on a siren case?"
"Pretty much," Kat admitted, drumming the steering wheel. "Look, don't worry. Bobby already gave me the lecture about steering clear and letting him handle it."
"Letting him…? Are you insane? The hell would you do that for?"
"Um…cause I'd rather not die?"
"Well I'm all for being cautious, but I doubt you're the top of Dean's list, sweetheart."
"Thank you! Finally," Kat groaned. "That's what I told Bobby, but he told me to butt out. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't already call you to warn you Dean might be coming your way."
"Dean?" Ellen repeated blankly. "Kat, what are you on about?"
"The siren? It infects men and forces them to kill the women closest to them. Now, I don't know a lot about Dean, but I figure you two fit that description way better than I do. I'm gonna head your way now, and maybe…"
"Woah, hey, slow down," Ellen interrupted. "You're not going anywhere. Where the hell did you get this info, anyway? Wikipedia?"
"No, Bobby. We told him what we had, and he tried to connect the dots for us."
"Well shit, Katherine! Is Bobby Singer the only person you idiots call for intel?"
"This…feels like a trick question."
Ellen gave a labored sigh. Kat could just imagine the exasperation seeping out of her, the towel she was probably slinging over her shoulder as she prepared to dig in for a lecture. She missed it.
"Bill and I took down a siren first year we met. I coulda told you everything you needed to know in about two seconds."
"Well that's great, Ellen. Mind telling me now? Cause it's still pretty relevant and it looks like I'm on the clock."
There was a sour pause before Ellen cooperated.
"Alright, well first off, sirens don't only kill women, any more than they only infect men. They just thrive off the power of controlling people, don't matter who you are. The one I took down had a penchant for making parents kill their own kids. After that, grief finished off most of them."
"Fuck," Kat gasped, and Ellen hummed bitterly.
"Yeah. Definitely one of the hardest cases I've worked. Sirens are nasty. Point is, they make their victims commit these atrocities to prove their devotion. Could be killing your spouse, your kids, your best friend. They make you get rid of the thing you care about most so there's only room for them in your head. So if that siren's got Dean, first thing you oughta do is…"
"Find Sam," Kat agreed. "Except he's not answering my damn phone calls."
"Could Dean've gotten to him already?"
"No, no. I had an eye on him when I started calling Sam. Dean's only been gone maybe…ten minutes now."
"I'll give him a call too," said Ellen. "Not that they're known for keeping in touch."
"Thanks, Ellen."
"Sure thing, kiddo. And, hey—taking this thing out—you're gonna need a bronze dagger…"
"Coated in the blood of a victim?"
"Huh. Well at least that bastard got something right. Just make sure you cover your face, alright? Sirens infect their targets through saliva—kissing, drinks, sex—but they've got glands that can spit a few good yards. Like a demonic llama."
"Great," Kat snorted. "I'll look for some headgear then."
"Good. And you call me as soon as this wraps up. Otherwise I'll head out there myself to kick your ass."
"Understood. Thanks again, Ellen."
Kat ended the call, only feeling slightly better. Sure, now she knew who Dean was going for, but she still had no idea where that was. And with Sam refusing to pick up the phone, or incapable…
She shook off the thought. Driving with a siren riding shotgun did not give Dean super speed. Sam was fine and she still had time to find him. So she'd start with the last place she'd seen him.
Leaning over to the passenger seat, Kat rifled through all the case papers she'd let pile up. No, not the incident report. No, not the men's background files. No, not their financial breakdowns. She needed her case notebook. No, the other case notebook. That one she'd filled up weeks ago. Fuck. She really needed to come up with some kind of filing system.
Finally, she located the notebook she was looking for. She flipped open to her current case, looking for the page where she'd scrawled the cursory information for the hospital. When she found it, she made her third phone call. By some miracle, she got a human instead of a recorded directory. Three cheers for small town hospitals.
"Taylor County Medical Center. How can I help you today?"
"Hi, this is Special Agent Paige with the FBI. I was in there earlier with my partners to speak with Dr. Roberts?"
"Of course," the receptionist said cheerily. "And how can I help you, Agent Paige?"
"I'm looking to get in contact with my partner Agent Stiles. Tall, about six-four, with shaggy brown hair? I can't seem to get a hold of him, but I know strictly speaking you're not supposed to use your phone in a hospital. Do you know if he's still interviewing Dr. Roberts?"
"Oh no, ma'am. Your partner and Dr. Roberts left about fifteen minutes ago."
"Together?" Kat asked, momentarily distracted.
"Oh—oh no! I am so sorry, that—that is not what I meant. They left separately and…oh, but I did hear him say something about his hotel."
"Okay, whatever. Thank you."
Kat ended the call, her nose scrunched in distaste. That mess was a problem for later. So she threw her notebook aside and floored it back to their hotel.
The Prius might not have been fast, but it was inconspicuous. Loads of people drove them, especially in California. It wasn't a particularly distinctive car, and it never left an impression. No one was ever going to stumble upon a crime scene and say, "Ah, a blonde woman in a Prius. That narrows it down."
For the life of her, she couldn't figure how Sam and Dean had made it so long in a classic car. They'd only had to change the license plates once. And still, even if she hadn't been looking for it, it was the first thing she saw when she pulled into the hotel parking lot.
Kat parked a few spaces away, just to be safe, and tried Sam's phone one last time. It rang and rang, and ended up at voicemail again. She chucked the phone aside, unsurprised. The Impala meant that she was in the right place. There was no way to tell if Sam was here too, but she wasn't going to go in unprepared.
She checked the knife at her ankle, which was still secure, and fished a set of padded gloves out of the glove compartment. It wasn't strictly hunting equipment. Usually she used them for training at the gym. But if Dean was waiting in his room ready to kill her for defending Sam, she'd take a little extra protection for her knuckles.
With the car locked and her hair pulled back, Kat started for the building. She stopped short at the curb, eyeing a sleek black motorcycle that had been parked close to the lobby door. She gave a cursory look around the parking lot, then snagged the spare helmet hanging on the handlebars. They were dumb as shit for leaving it there anyway. She was about to put it to a much better use.
The plan had been to go up to the front desk and ask if her very tall boyfriend had come through the lobby to ask for the spare room key they needed. That would at least give her an idea of whether or not she'd beaten Sam back to the building. But before Kat could make it that far, she overheard the frantic phone call the receptionist was having on the phone.
"Shouting? Okay, yes and—and breaking? Did it sound expensive? No, ma'am I'm not trying to—yes, I'll send someone up to that room to assess the situation. And—yes, room 109. I'll call the authorities, of course, ma'am."
Kat turned around and headed straight for the stairwell. She was definitely in the right spot.
Jamming the motorcycle helmet onto her head, Kat barreled up the staircase. She could head the destruction the woman must have been complaining about on the phone. Bangs, grunts, splintering wood. She slipped out onto the correct floor just as some kind of glass shattered. They must have been right around the corner.
"Do it," she heard Nick say, stopping her in her tracks. She pressed her back up against the wall to listen. "Do it for me, Dean. So we can be together."
Dean was panting from the effort of the fight. It was too shallow for Kat to gauge how far down the hallway he was. She couldn't hear Sam at all, but presumably he was still alive. For the next few seconds, anyway.
"Tell me again how weak I am, Sam," Dean growled. "Huh? How I hold you back?"
Well. That didn't sound good.
There was no time to think. By the time Kat had guessed how far away the boys were, her body was already four steps around the corner. She could only process snapshots of the action. Dean had an axe. Sam was on the ground. Just past him, Nick.
Kat body slammed Dean head on, knocking his swing off course. It was a good thing she had the helmet, because she immediately collided into the wall. The bump hurt, but she was still coherent enough dodge the next swing Dean took at her. Barely.
The axe lodged itself into the wall inches in front of her face. Before Dean could yank it out, Kat drew her own blade. It sliced easily through Dean's shirt and jacket, and he yelped in pain as the skin gave way too. She didn't even have time to see if he'd released the axe before Sam was grabbing her ankles from underneath her. She sliced his hand too for good measure, scrambling back as he recoiled.
She'd just gotten to her feet when Dean bounced back, lunging in uncalculated rage. A mistake.
Wham!
Gloves forgotten, Kat kicked him in the face. He reeled back, and Kat bolted.
The fight had given Nick enough time to run for the hills himself. Kat rounded the corner, only to find Nick at the other end. She took a breath, wound up, and threw the knife.
She was already running toward him when the knife hit. She skid to a stop in shock. But there was Nick, hilt of the dagger sticking out of his back, dropping face first onto the floor. Kat ran over to inspect the body. The knife was definitely in his back, and it was definitely the bronze knife she'd coated with Sam and Dean's blood. And Nick wasn't moving, even when she kicked him in the ribs.
"Oh my God, I did it," she breathed. Then she giggled, her hot breath bouncing back at her inside the helmet. "I fucking did it. I threw it and I hit him! He's dead!"
Thundering footsteps behind her made Kat spin around, her fists already up to settle another fight. Sam and Dean stopped abruptly, holding up their hands. Dean groaned and moved one to his head.
"Fuck, don't—don't kick me again, okay?"
"What's with the helmet?" Sam asked her, panting.
"I wasn't about to get spat at," Kat answered without lowering her fists. "Are you guys okay? Like, are you you?"
"Yeah, we're us," said Sam. "I think the enchantment died with the siren."
"Are you sure? Cause you've both still got venom in your blood. I don't need you rushing me because I killed your boyfriend."
"Hey, no," Dean snapped. "This—This was all strictly fraternal, okay? Nick wanted to be the world's best brother, not anyone's boyfriend."
"Wow, insecure much?"
Kat snorted, but lowered her hands. She leaned down to yank the dagger out of Nick's back, grimacing at the wet, slick sound it made. She wiped the blood off on his suit jacket. No need to stain the hallway carpet. When she was certain he wasn't going to make any last ditch attempts to come back from the dead, she strapped the knife back onto her leg and pulled off her helmet.
"We should head out," she said, shaking out her hair. "Receptionist was getting ready to call the cops when I got here. You guys good?"
She'd expected them to do that thing they always did—a silent conversation with their eyes, assessing each other's injuries and planning their next steps. But Sam and Dean didn't even look at each other. They both nodded shiftily, looking over their own injuries. They deflected like absolute champs.
"I'm good," Dean said gruffly, just as Sam mumbled, "Yeah, I'm fine."
Kat groaned. The Winchesters certainly pushed that word to its limits.
"Fine," she repeated. She pointed to Dean, Sam and herself in turn. "Body, lobby, Bobby. Let's try and get out of here without getting arrested, huh?"
She only felt fractionally bad about leaving the boys to clean up the mess. She had her own physical mess to clean up—her tornado of a hotel room. It would probably take her twice as long to shove her things back into her bags and get them downstairs. But before she did anything else, she picked up her hotel phone and dialed the front desk.
"Yes, hello? I'm calling about that awful racket down the hall. If that's the kind of establishment you're running, I'd like to check out immediately. Is there someone I can speak to about a refund?"
Thirty minutes later, she was walking back to her car with her bags packed and a pocket full of cash. The Impala pulled up alongside her as she tossed her stuff in the backseat. Sam and Dean looked just as disgruntled as they had before. She decided to skip asking about the body.
"Finally, there you are," said Sam, rolling down his window. "What'd Bobby say?"
"Nothing. I haven't called him yet."
"Seriously?" asked Dean. "Then what the fuck have you been doing?"
"Negotiating." Kat waved the wad of bills at him smugly. "I checked out and got my money back. Not at of us broke down doors."
The chilly beat that followed confirmed her suspicions. Still too soon for jokes.
"Come on, I'll buy dinner," Kat placated. "I'll follow you to the first diner?"
"Actually, uh…I'm not that hungry," said Sam. He glanced at Dean—for confirmation or backup, she couldn't tell.
"Yeah, getting brainwashed's got me kinda beat," Dean agreed. "Say we head east, find another motel, get some rest."
"Okay…sure…"
Kat crawled into her car as Dean peeled out of the parking lot. Granted she'd only been with the guys for a few cases, but she was already learning some basic things. Any way a case could get more complicated, it would. Sam and Mexican food was a bad combination. Don't get involved in the sibling drama. And a Winchester hunt that ended without burgers and beer was no good sign.
She waited until she was back on the road to make her courtesy calls. The Roadhouse was first, just to give the Harvelles the all clear and thank them again for saving their asses. Ellen gave her some attitude about not calling in the first place, but also told her it was a job well done and she should check in again soon. Preferably when she had blackmail worthy pictures of Dean in gym shorts.
Bobby was next, and as Kat suspected, had a good rant to let out on her.
"What part of hightail it out of there did you not understand?"
"Honestly, the whole thing. I told you, we're all fine and it's taken care of. You should probably call Ellen, by the way. We had huge chunks of the mythology missing. Be good to know for next time."
"Yeah, that's just what I need," Bobby grumbled. "Ellen Harvelle holding that over my damn head."
"What happened to 'sweetheart'?" Kat asked slyly.
"Watch it, girlie." He pulled the phone away from his ear for the next few words, only the disgruntled tone making it through. But when he continued, it was gone. "You say the siren got both of 'em?"
"Yeah," she sighed. "I only got there for the tail end, but it seemed like Nick pitted them against each other. A sort of duke it out to the death kind of thing."
"Well, least those boys are pretty easily matched. Fight coulda been a lot worse."
"To be honest, I'm not sure it wasn't."
"What do you mean?"
"Just something Dean said." Kat chewed on her bottom lip, eyeing the taillights of the Impala. "It sounded like they'd been arguing, like while they were fighting. He said something about Sam calling him weak. That he was holding him back."
The noise Bobby made was not particularly comforting.
"That's what I was afraid of," he said gravely. "That's the thing about psychic creatures. They root around your head, find the bad parts and spin 'em into something even worse. One brainwashed junkie spilling his guts is bad enough, but if they were both going at it…"
Kat didn't need him to finish. Siblings could be cruel, and the Winchester closets held a lot more skeletons than most. She could only imagine what sort of things Sam and Dean had been throwing at each other. And she didn't want to.
"They say they're fine," Kat offered. "I'm sure they've said nasty shit to each other before. It's psychic monsters, like you said. It's not…It's not like Sam meant it, right?"
"Course not," Bobby agreed. "They got their differences, but…"
He trailed off. Kat couldn't have agreed more.
"Just keep an eye on those idjits for me. Things start turning sour, gimme a heads up. I'll come put 'em in their places."
"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Bobby."
The roadside motel Dean pulled into was nothing exceptional—just an office building and five or six doors on the strip. No one spoke as they signed in at the office, not even the withered old receptionist. He just took their cash and prodded them with his clipboard for information. Kat had the feeling it was a don't-ask-don't-tell kind of business.
As they headed down the row to rooms five and six though, Kat finally cleared her throat.
"Hey, Sam, why don't you let me patch you up before you pass out? Make sure you don't bleed all over your pillow."
"Hm?" Sam looked down at himself, apparently forgetting about his split hand and neck. "Oh, uh yeah. Thanks, Kat."
He followed her over to her room on the end, going in first when she stepped aside. Dean snorted as he unlocked his own door.
"Friggen' baby. Why don't I get patched up, huh? You kicked me in the face."
"Aw, so sad. Do you want me to kiss and make it better?"
Dean squinted at her. "…is that an option?"
"Wha…? No, jackass! You said—I'm making fun of you."
"Well if it's not an option, don't offer!"
Kat ground her teeth and slammed the motel door behind her. She rounded on Sam, who hadn't even jumped at the noise. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the carpet, completely in his own world. Kat reeled herself back in.
She grabbed her first aid kit from her duffle bag and pulled up a chair. Sam offered her a small smile as she started with his hand, then looked back to the floor.
"How you feeling?" she asked as she wiped away the blood.
"Not bad. Just a few nicks and bruises. Nothing I can't handle on my own."
"Yeah. Probably."
Sam smiled ruefully. "So what's the real reason I'm getting treated by Dr. Moore?"
"Easy." Kat shot the wipe into the garbage can and grinned back at him. "You're gonna tell me what happened. Dean wouldn't."
He let out a weak laugh, and she moved to find some bandages for the slash, still smiling.
"Well, you're not wrong about that. How did Dean get infected anyway?"
"Tequila shot. He and Nick were already drinking by the time I found them at the club. They roped me into some drinking game and—well, honestly I think Nick was angling to get me out of the way first. But I wouldn't take the shot, so Dean grabbed it out of my hand."
"Sounds about right," Sam chuckled.
"He started acting kind of weird after that, and Nick was suddenly trying to get me away from the table, so I put two and two together. I gave Bobby a call and had him run Nick's name. By the time he confirmed what was up, they'd already split."
"How'd you find us?"
"Lucky guess, really. I was back and forth on the phone with Bobby and Ellen. She was the one who suggested you were probably the target. Since you weren't at the bar or the hospital…"
"I was heading to the bar," he assured her. "But Dean called me. He said you were the one acting weird, that the siren had spiked your drink or something. I came here to regroup with him before you bought a plane ticket to California or something. Came in, Dean grabbed me, and...two and two jumped together pretty quick after that..."
With his free hand, he ghosted over the cuts on his neck. Blood had already dripped down to the collar of his shirt. It would probably take a while to heal, but they could easy pass as shaving cuts. It wouldn't be too noticeable for him to slap a few band aids on there. Still, she knew he was hurting.
"What about you?" she asked gently. "If Dean already had you at knifepoint, why poison you?"
"Ha. The drama, I guess. He uh...said that we had some stuff to unload, that we should work it out and then...whoever lived got to be with him."
"So what'd you say?"
Sam did not answer her. Kat did not find this particularly surprising. He was avoiding her eyes, fidgeting—something made all the more obvious by the fact she was still holding onto his hand. She let him stew until she's finished wrapping it up. Then she grabbed a fresh wipe for his neck and physically turned his head toward her.
"See, me asking was a courtesy. I already know what you said."
He jolted in her hands, eyes wide with fear. "You do?"
"Yeah." She tried to keep her voice casual, focusing on his cuts. "I got there for the tail end of it. Right before Dean went all Paul Bunyan on you. Apparently you think you're a lot better than him, and he holds you back."
"Of course I don't. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Dean. Or you. All that stuff was just the siren. Honestly, Kat. You have to believe me."
"Hey, I'm not the one you have to convince."
"Right," Sam scoffed. "Well I doubt Dean's gonna see it that way."
"What did he say to you?"
"Nothing he hasn't told me before. That I changed while he was in Hell. That he barely knows who I am, that I'm hiding things from him."
"Are you?" Sam glared at her, and Kat rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I have every right to ask if you're lying to me, and I know you are."
The curiosity that flickered across Sam's face gave way to resignation almost instantly. "Dean told you about the phone calls."
"Yeah. Probably would've figured out myself, seeing how obsessed you've been with your phone lately. Would've been nice to hear it from you, though."
"I wasn't lying," he said, very carefully. "I never said I was gonna stop talking to Ruby. She's just keeping tabs on demonic omens for me. To help keep you safe."
"Then why hide it?"
"Kat, you hate Ruby. So does Dean. And for what it's worth, she pretty much hates both of you. I just thought it'd be easier for everyone involved."
"Great. So we're going back to the plan where you take advice from Ruby without telling the rest of us. Cause that worked out so well for you last time."
She clapped a pile of gauze and tape into his hand, turning her back on him. She packed up her first aid kit as he patched up his neck. After that, Kat started pulling things out of her duffle while Seam went to wash his hands. She chose her pajamas, and he stood in the doorway to the bathroom, drying his hands past the point of dry.
Kat bit her lip. It was pointless to ask—but she had to try, didn't she?
"Is there anything else I should know, Sam? About what happened today? About Ruby?"
"No. I promise."
His voice was resolute, but with the bathroom light behind him it was hard to see his face. Kat could only nod. If he was lying, she'd find out the truth eventually. There wasn't much she could do about it now.
"Hey, one other thing," she said, fishing around her bag for her toothbrush. "How come you weren't answering my calls before?"
"I told you," said Sam, "Dean said you'd been brainwashed by the siren, so I didn't want to take any chances."
"Yeah, but I called you before that. Like, right after he got infected. I tried you like six times. Were you ignoring me?"
"No, no, I—not ignoring you, I just…I guess I was putting it off until I caught up with you guys at the club. You know, in case you were mad at me."
"Why would I be mad at you?"
His guilty face spoke volumes.
Kat grabbed the first shoe out of her bag and chucked it across the room at him.
"You fucking idiot! You slept with her? Literally right after I told you not to?"
"Hey, hey!" He yelped, dodging another shoe. "She came onto me!"
"Which is exactly why you should've shut her down! What if she'd been the siren, huh, Sam? Then I would've had to hunt your lovesick ass down and save your skin!"
"You had to do that anyway!"
She growled at him and marched toward the bathroom. She was very anxious to take her frustration out on the door, but Sam called her back before she could slam it shut.
"Kat! Hey, seriously, you…you really saved our asses this time. Between the interviews and the brainwashing and the sick knife throwing—you know, I really feel like you solved this whole case."
"Huh." She stood up a little straighter, replaying the past few days in her head. "I guess I did. Glad we agree on something."
"Thank you," Sam said earnestly. "Kit Kat saves the day."
Like that, her glare was back in place.
"Get the fuck out of my room, Winchester."
A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I've been sick this week (stomach bug, not The Virus™) so I slept through most of Tuesday. I hope you're all being safe and staying healthy. Recluse yourselves inside with some good reading and good shows, and hopefully we'll all live to tell the tale. Unless this is one of Chuck's alternate endings...
As always, thank you for reading!
-Brittney
