Kat had known there was going to be some tension after their case in Iowa. She had not realized it was going to be this bad.

Over the next few days, Sam and Dean were impossible. It wasn't that they weren't speaking to each other, because they were. They talked about potential cases, directions, food, the weather. It was all painful small talk that would give way to heavy silence as soon as they'd exhausted a subject.

That was the best case scenario. Other times they would bicker and argue until one or the other stormed out of the room. It wasn't always about the siren case—not directly anyway. But Kat had lost count of the number of time Dean had sourly pointed out his own fear and weakness, or Sam had made reference to "the old Sam." Honestly, she couldn't decide which version of the Winchesters was worse: the volatile anger or the teeth-grinding civility.

She couldn't have been more thankful to have her own hotel room. And her own car for that matter. The more time she could spend away from their drama, the better. Even then, she spent her nights devising ways to diffuse the tension when they were together. She let Sam ride shotgun in the Prius. She started making their runs longer to keep him out of the hotel room. She watched shitty movies on TV so she'd have something to talk to Dean about. She even looked up concert tickets in the area to give them a break. She was prepared to subject herself to two hours of a Bon Jovi cover band if it got her some peace of mind.

But Dean nipped that in the bud right away. He shot her down, not because he hated cover bands, but because, "We should be focusing on finding a new case, not screwing around. That's what all the best hunters do. Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Sam had stormed out into the parking lot before Kat had even mustered up a dirty look.

In reality, she knew that Dean was being the problem child. He was always the first to pick a fight. But he was angry, and it was hard to fault him when Kat knew exactly what Sam could be holding back.

Her conversation with Castiel had been weighing heavily on her mind. Even if Sam was telling the truth and he was only talking to Ruby for intel, how long would it stay that way? How long would it be before she convinced him to use his powers again? When they'd faced off with Alastair, it had taken her all of sixty seconds. The longer the Apocalypse loomed over their heads, the closer Lilith got to breaking the final seals, the easier it was going to get. Kat didn't like to think it, but it felt like it was only a matter of time until Sam started using his abilities again. And that was if he wasn't using them already.

She had fully intended to keep these opinions to herself. It certainly wasn't going to make things any easier. But after so many days on knife's edge, walking on eggshells around the guys, she was more than a little irritable.

"I just don't get him," Sam complained to her one day, once they caught a moment alone.

They were in a deserted laundromat. At Kat's suggestion, she and Sam agreed to take care of the laundry if Dean paid for dinner. It would get them two or three hours of separation anyway. Kat had her feet kicked up on the center island, flipping through her old notebooks and trying to put them into chronological order. She was only half-listening to Sam's tirade.

"I've apologized to him like a thousand times. He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to get off my back. So what the hell does he want from me?"

"Uh huh."

"He knows as well as I do that I was only saying those things cause the siren made me. I was brainwashed. We both were!"

"I know."

"And he wants to pin this whole thing on me! As if I was the only one who said some messed up shit."

"Well…"

Kat didn't even realize what she'd said until the silence crept in. She looked up from her notebook to find Sam staring at her, his brow furrowed, a half-folded flannel dangling from his hands.

"Well what?" he demanded.

"Sorry," she sighed, shaking her head. "That's not what I meant. Obviously what Dean said to you was fucked up. It doesn't matter what you do, you're always going to be his brother. He's always gonna know you better than anyone else, and care about you twice as much. You're the world to him, you know? If you weren't, he wouldn't have tried to kill you in the first place."

"But?"

Kat looked at him, trying to remain sympathetic. "You don't think it's a little weird that when the siren infected Dean, he said a bunch of screwed up stuff he thought was true, and when you got infected you said a bunch of supposedly fabricated bullshit?"

"Supposedly?" He glared at her, astounded. "Kat, you can't honestly believe I think I'm better than Dean. Or that I think he's weak. What's wrong with you?"

"What's…?"

She cackled, and tossed her notebook onto the counter. All of her sympathy had burned up in an instant, like a brushfire going up in flames.

"Okay, Sam. You want honesty? I think that you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Sam spluttered. "Why the hell would I be jealous of Dean? He's been through hell, in Hell. You've seen how twisted he is over it!"

"And the angels still picked him to spearhead the Apocalypse fight," she said. "I think you're pissed they picked Dean, after all the shit he's done, because you've convinced yourself that you're the one doing all the work. I think you're talking to Ruby again. I think you're sleeping with Ruby again. And I think you're using your demon powers with Ruby. Again. And that's got you feeling stronger, cause you can do all this shit the rest of us can't. And that makes you feel brave, because you're not afraid to use this dark shit inside of you that everyone else keeps telling you to swallow. And you're still lying about it, because you think we're all so innocent and naïve and dumb that none of us could possibly fathom what's going on in your psyche. How am I doing? Am I getting warm?"

Sam gaped at her. She would have been happier if he'd stayed that way. Instead, he gathered himself together to say the most profound, convincing thing he could manage.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Kat clenched her teeth, and stood up abruptly. "I can't believe you managed to lie to me for over a year. You're shit at it."

She rounded on the dryer, yanking it open before it had finished its cycle. Her clothes were dry enough. She just wanted out.

Sam beat her to it. She heard him scoff and storm toward the front of the store.

"I'm not watching your clothes," she called over her shoulder. "You leave, I'm gonna let someone steal it all. I'm not gonna fold your crap."

The bell on the front door rung angrily in response, and then slammed shut in finality.

"Whatever," Kat grumbled. "Have it your way."

She was doing the right thing. She just had to keep reminding herself. The nice thing? No. But that wasn't really her concern. It wasn't going to be her job to make Sam feel better about lying to her just because he had good intentions. As far as she was concerned, she'd tried that already. She'd found common ground, accepted that she lied about things too, and put it behind her. Her only condition had been that he didn't do it again. It was her one fucking rule. Not even that he had to stop talking to Ruby, just that he stop lying about it. And what did he go and do? Lie about it directly to her face.

Kat was done keeping the peace. Sam Winchester could fucking choke.

The problem was that she still felt bad about it. Who was she helping by railing on Sam? He clearly wasn't going to listen to her. Now she just had to put up with his bitch mood, or his sad puppy eyes and dejected attitude. She wasn't even sure if Dean would high-five her or make her apologize. And the more they fought about it, the longer it was going to go on.

She wanted to do the right thing. But the longer she travelled with the Winchesters, the more confusing that seemed to get.

Kat folded her clothes meticulously, glowering down at each item as she worked. This was why she'd never wanted to hunt full time. Nothing made sense anymore. There were no deadlines, no bills, no standards. Just the job, and saving as many people as she could before someone gutted her too. She needed some kind of structure or she was going to go out of her mind. She needed to know how to do something properly.

With her laundry loaded in the backseat, Kat climbed into the Prius and took off. She drove right past the diner where they were supposed to get dinner. She did not want to see the Winchesters right now. She'd asked the laundromat attendant to keep an eye on their machines until Sam got back, and that was the only courtesy she planned on extending them for the evening.

The highway stretched on for miles and miles. She wasn't even sure if she was in the same town anymore. It was a dumb idea to run off on her own, but she needed some distance. So she drove until she found a clearing off the side of the road, parked her car behind a patch of trees, and popped her trunk.

Everything was still jumbled up into a mess. Kat tied up her hair and put on her headphones. This, at the very least, was something she could handle.

Organizing turned out to be the distraction she needed. She took everything out of the trunk and sorted it into piles on the ground. She untangled the ropes, sharpened her knives, hand-picked each of the stray bullets rolling around the boot. For now it was all getting put back in quadrants—guns, ammo, and bulkier items over here, ghost essentials there, knives and everyday use. Everything was separated by a thin wall of scarves and mittens, something her mother had snuck into her backseat when they'd been at Bobby's. They did the job for now, but Kat was already planning a trip to hardware store to get a bunch of duffels and toolboxes. She wanted to make something with a trick bottom like Ellen had.

By the time everything had been re-sorted into her car, the sun was dipping behind the trees. Kat pulled on a sweatshirt and climbed into her backseat. She threw her legs over the front console, stretching out as much as she could, and fished her phone out of her pocket.

There was one missed message from Dean, asking where the hell she was. She texted him back to assure him she was alive, and passing on dinner. Before he could ask, she sent him directions to the clearing, only in case of an emergency. They were not invited, and she did not want to see them.

She flicked through her contacts and brought the phone up to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom. It's me."

"Huh, would you look at that. My daughter finally decided to check in. It's a miracle."

"Sorry," Kat offered, smiling sadly at her dashboard. "Last case got kind of tough."

"Yes, so I've heard."

"…from who?"

"Well I didn't have the number for your new burner phone. So when you didn't check in, I called Bobby."

Kat rubbed a tired hand down her face. "Of course you did."

"Don't sass me. From what I understand, I had every right to worry. A case like that and you ignored his explicit instructions to get out of town?"

"Yeah, well maybe I don't like following instructions."

"Ha! You don't need to tell me that."

"Wonder where I get it from."

"Yes, well. You don't need to tell me that either." Her mother chuckled—a low, warm sound. "Anyway, it sounds like you cleaned things up pretty well on your own."

"You know, I did," Kat agreed. "If it wasn't for me, Dean would probably be in prison, and Sam wouldn't have a head."

She could've laughed at the horrified silence that followed. Instead, she explained.

"Sirens brainwash you into killing the people you care about. By the time I showed up, Sam and Dean had both been dosed and they were getting ready to finish a death match. Had to wrestle an emergency axe out of Dean's hands."

"My God," her mom sighed. "I know I always ask you to talk to me, but sometimes I wish I didn't know what you were doing on your road trip."

"Sorry. Constantly toeing the line between honesty and blissful ignorance."

"How are the boys handling it?"

"Like a pair of middle school girls fighting over a guy. They're intolerable."

"Alright. Well, I meant with the trauma of almost killing each other, but it's good to know your opinion of them hasn't changed."

"Please," Kat scoffed. "Sam and Dean are always dying, and I'm sure they've tried to kill each other more than once. This is nothing new."

"Then what are they fighting over?"

Kat hesitated. Even after their faux-family dinner at Singer Salvage, she hadn't felt comfortable breaching the subject of Sam's demon powers with her mom. Sure, she'd loved Sam through everything else that had happened, but Kat wasn't sure how far her forgiveness would go. And as much as she hated Sam sometimes—most of the time, even—there was something in her that wanted to preserve that doe-eyed respect her mother had for him.

"They…said some stuff they didn't mean during the fight," Kat said carefully. "The brainwashing took control and targeted their insecurities. So Sam was going on about how he's so much stronger and better than Dean, and Dean…I guess he said something about how Sam wasn't a good brother. That he was a disappointment."

"Wow. No wonder they've been at each other's throats."

"Yeah, it's—it's been rough."

"I can imagine. Are you sure you three are really up to hunting like this? I mean, in this condition—maybe you should all just go back to Bobby's for a week or two. Or not Bobby's obviously. You're in hiding. Just taking a break from all these cases."

"We have been taking a break," Kat assured her. "Today I did my laundry, and right now I am actually cleaning out my car."

Her mother snorted indelicately. "They must really have you stressed if you're cleaning."

"Not funny."

"I know, I know. Just…think about it, okay sweetheart? I always wanted you to hunt with Sam because I thought you'd have reliable backup. But if the boys are preoccupied, that puts you in as much danger as them."

"I got it, Mom. I'll be careful. It's Sam and Dean, you know? I'm sure they'll bury their man pain pretty soon."

Her mother laughed. The sound made Kat smile, put her at ease. It was what she missed about home the most. Forget her routine or the gym or her bed. She just wanted her mom back. They fought constantly, but at least she made sense.

"I miss you," she admitted quietly. "A lot."

"Oh, sweetheart. I miss you, too. And I know that I spend a lot of time berating you for all these risks you're taking and not coming home, but…I'm really proud of you. I mean, Bobby told me how you killed that siren, and I was like, 'Yes! That's my baby! She's the one who saved everyone's asses!'"

"Maybe not everyone," she snorted. "Let's not get hasty."

"Hey, you are working to prevent the Apocalypse. If that's not saving everyone, what is?"

Kat's chest swelled with pride. Sure, they were fighting a losing battle, and she'd only saved half a seal yet. But they were doing good work, even if it wasn't a good job.

"I better let you go," her mom sighed. "I'm sure there will be some hobgoblin jumping out at you soon, and I don't want you caught off your guard."

"I love you, Mom," Kat giggled, shaking her head.

"I love you too, Kat. Get some rest."

The call ended, and Kat listened to the static of the dead connection for a moment. She couldn't even bring herself to put the phone down. All her exhaustion seemed to hit her at once, and she slipped down her seat.

She was tired of playing middle man. She was tired of living on the road. She was tired of second guessing her actions and her emotions and analyzing how she was allowed to feel and react to things. She was just damn tired. And she was going to close her eyes.

A sharp rap on the glass made her shoot upright, out of her skin. She grabbed her billy club and…

"Woah! Take it easy, Sleeping Beauty. Time to rise and shine."

Dean was peering in through the window, backlit by sunlight and a blue sky.

Kat looked around, disoriented. She was still in the backseat of the Prius, lying on her side with one foot tucked beneath her and the other propped on the front console. Her hair was sticking to her face, her mouth dry and tart, and all at once her migraine hit her like a truck.

"Fuck," she groaned, gripping her head. She blindly swatted at the door until the window rolled down. "What time is it?"

"About eight o'clock."

"And you just checking on me now?"

"What? You said we weren't invited." Kat glared daggers at him, and Dean grinned. "I'm joking. Sam blew his lid last night when you didn't turn up, so we followed you out here. Found you conked out, figured we'd crash ourselves."

She squinted past him to confirm that the Impala was parked a few yards away. She could see Sam milling around, brushing his teeth. He waved to her, looking surprisingly stony-faced for someone with a toothbrush dangling from their mouth. She waved back all the same.

"Did you seriously sleep like that?" Dean asked, eyeing her legs.

"Shut up. Do you have a water bottle?"

"Yeah, sure. Gimme a sec."

He headed back to the Impala, and Kat took a second to stretch herself out. She pushed her hair out of her face, tying it up into a knot on her head until she felt coordinated enough to brush it. Digging through her bag on the floor, she unearthed her hairbrush, toothbrush, a fresh T-shirt, and a fresh pair of underwear. Which of course, was Dean's cue to stick his nose in again.

The water bottle landed pointedly on top of her clothes. Kat didn't even bother looking up. She leaned up to the passenger seat, grabbed her gun, and held it up to the window. The grass outside crunched as Dean backed away from the car.

Washed and brushed as she could get out in a field, Kat hobbled over to the Impala. Even the overcast sunlight was too strong from her eyes. She clamped them shut, folding her arms on the roof of the car and burying her face. Dean gleefully took the opportunity to drum his hands next to her, making the metal vibrate under her head. She groaned.

"God, I feel like my head's gonna explode."

"Well how much sleep ya get?"

"I don't know. Maybe twelve hours?"

Dean whistled lowly. "Damn. Guess you needed it."

"Yeah, but not all at once. I hate sleeping this late."

"What?" He looked at his watch, then up at the sky again. "It's not that late. What time do you normally get up?"

"Usually around four, sometimes a little earlier."

For a moment, it really did look like he was going to hurl.

"What is wrong with you? Are you even human?"

"What? The gym opens at five. I have to shower, do my warm up, open shop."

"Gross. What about the days you don't work?" Kat's pursed lips didn't seem to deter him. "Right, okay. Your place, always working. There's gotta be some days you don't open though, yeah?"

"Well yeah. Then I wake up, go for my run, take a shower and go back to sleep. I like the routine."

"You are so weird," Dean scoffed.

Kat rolled her eyes, which hurt. "Fuck, it hurts to argue."

"Probably cause you haven't eaten," said Sam. He patted the hood of the car and headed for the passenger side. "Come on. Café down the road, we can grab a bite and look for a case."

Without further ado, he slipped into the Impala and shut the door.

Dean turned to Kat, eyebrows raised, but she just shook her head. "I don't wanna talk about it. Meet you guys there."

She turned her back before he could say anything and sank into her car. Sam's bitchiness was an inevitability, but she would've loved to push it off a little while longer. She would've gone back to sleep to avoid him if she didn't feel so disgusting. And now that he'd said the word "eat" out loud, her stomach was doing jumping jacks.

Well, she could stand the cold shoulder for a hot breakfast.

The ABC Café was a small building tucked next to the railroad tracks. The parking lot was barely enough for five cars, and there were only a handful of people inside. Dean sauntered up to the counter, flashing a smile at the waitress behind the register. He turned back to them, but Sam was already heading off on his own.

"Yo, dude, you want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," said Sam, without looking back. He grabbed a table, pulling out his laptop and getting straight to work.

"Whatever, weirdo. Hey there, uh—Rosie—hi, can I get a Coke, a double bacon cheeseburger and a side of fries, please?"

"Seriously?" Kat asked, wrinkling her nose. "For breakfast?"

"Hey, it's dinnertime somewhere."

He winked at Rosie the Waitress and she giggled. Kat's head throbbed with her revulsion.

"Of course. I'll take an egg sandwich with bacon and cheese, cup of coffee. Thanks."

She slapped a ten on the counter and retreated to the other side of the room. She was hoping to stand in a dark corner until her food arrived, maybe enjoy the quiet chatter of the restaurant. But of course, the heavy, ambling footsteps behind her chased that daydream away.

"Told the waitress to give you some extra grease," said Dean, joining her at the window. "Best cure for a hangover."

"I'm not hungover," she grumbled. "I just have a migraine. I just need to eat, and sit in silence."

He hummed in understanding and held up his hands. Kat started a mental countdown. And in three, two…

"So what happened yesterday? I mean, what did you even say to him?"

"To who?"

"To the Dalai Lama," Dean shot. "Sam. He was actually quiet last night for a change. Like, emotionally constipated. And I didn't do anything worse than usual, so. What did you do?"

"Nothing," she sighed. "Just spoke my mind for a change."

"For a change?" he echoed, and Kat glared at him.

"I don't think you two realize how much energy it takes for me to keep myself from routinely beating the shit out of you. You're both immature, irritating, and dumb as hell. So yes. For the sake of my sanity, I try and stop myself from starting fights. Because no matter how many times I've tried talking to Sam, or yelling at Sam, or punching Sam, he continues to lie directly to my face. And I'm sick of it. So I called him on his bullshit and told him to fuck off."

Dean stared at her. Kat fidgeted, checking over her shoulder for Sam. He was still sitting at the table, his back to them, no sign that he was listening in. Even if he was, what did it matter? What she'd said to his face had been just as bad.

"Wow," Dean chuckled. "I didn't think it was possible, but you are definitely grumpier when you're hungry."

"Shut up, asshole."

"Hey, happens to the best of us. Honestly, I'm more surprised about you taking my side."

"I am not taking your side," she said, jabbing him in the shoulder. "You are causing just as much damage by nagging him about it non-stop."

"You heard what he said to me," he hissed. His humor evaporated in an instant. "Calling me weak, dumb. I'm just supposed to let that go?"

"You're supposed to talk about it."

"This is me talking about it!"

"No, this is you complaining about it," Kat snapped. "This is you two constantly pretending everything is alright, burying your issues and your fucking trauma, cause God forbid you express a genuine emotion and communicate for once."

"Look who's talking."

Kat folded her arm over her chest. "At least when I bury my emotions, I don't put other people in the middle."

"Bullshit! I was always in the middle when you and Sam were bitching at each other! There's three of us. There's always someone in the fucking middle."

"Well fine! Then it's time for you to take your turn!"

Dean growled, his hands flexing it a way that made it very clear he wanted nothing less to strangle her. But he caught sight of the waitress heading to their table before he could. Kat followed his gaze, looking longingly at her sandwich. They glared at each other, and nodded in silent agreement.

"This is not over," said Dean. "My burger's just more important than you."

He smacked the jukebox in frustration as he passed, and led the way back to the table.

"Okay, Bobby," Sam was saying into his phone as they sat down. "Thanks."

"What's up?" asked Dean.

"Uh, Bobby found something in Wyoming."

"A job?" asked Kat, around a mouthful of eggs. "About time."

"Maybe." He was already clacking away on his laptop. "Small town, no one's died in a week and a half."

"Okay," said Dean, looking for the catch. "That so unusual?"

"Well, it's how they're not dying. One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch."

"Capped in the ass?" Kat elbowed Dean in the arm, only for him to swat back at her. "Yo, watch the burger! It's a valid question."

Sam snickered, clearing his throat so he could read from the press release. "Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter."

Dean paused, fries halfway to his mouth. "And he's not a donut?"

"Locals are saying it's a miracle," said Sam, shaking his head. "It's gotta be something nasty, right? Like people making deals or something?"

"Are we sure these people are people?" Kat asked. "I mean, in my experience, you shoot something and it doesn't bleed, it's not human. Demons, shifters taking people's places, you name it."

"Good point," Dean agreed. "Not that that's gonna make our lives any easier."

"Better get a jump then, huh?" Sam closed his laptop, already collecting his things. "Alright. Get those to go."

"What?" Kat moaned. "No, Sam, we just sat down."

"And? I just found a case, so let's go."

"No! Just do your—your call ahead thing. You know, ask for the files, set up interviews. You can wait twenty minutes until I finish my damn sandwich."

"Yeah, I could," he said tersely. "Or you could eat your sandwich in the car and I can make the calls while we're driving, and maybe save us twenty minutes. Relax."

"Do not tell me to relax."

"Fine! You stay here and take your time, and Dean and I will do our jobs."

"You see this?" Dean interrupted, pouting at Kat. He pointed at himself in annoyance. "The middle."

"What?" asked Sam, ask Kat rolled her eyes. "Whatever, just come on. You've been asking about a job for ages."

"I also haven't eaten in ages," he reasoned, waving a hand. "Look, if you're so anxious, why don't you go ahead and get the jump, and we'll catch up with you later?"

Sam gawked at them, his eyes looking back and forth to see who he believed less. After a moment, he wheezed out a laugh.

"And what? You're gonna catch a ride in the Prius?"

"So what?"

"So, most days you'd rather die than even touch Kat's car."

Dean took a moody bite out of his burger. Kat focused all of her attention on her own sandwich. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough she wouldn't have to deal with the shit storm around her.

"Sure you want me going with you?" asked Dean.

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Sam, though how he could be so clueless was a mystery.

"I don't know. I don't want to be holding you back or nothing."

Despite Kat's hopes, Sam's eye roll still washed over her like a very annoying wave. She dropped her breakfast sandwich again and kicked back in her chair. "Why do I bother?"

"Dude, I've told you a hundred times," said Sam. "That was the siren talking, not me. Can we get past this?"

Dean did not answer.

"Well, that settles it," Kat sighed, propping her elbows on the table. "Guess I'm getting you guys one of those time-out shirts for Christmas."

"I will not hesitate to shoot you," Dean warned.

"Where we're going it sounds like you couldn't kill me anyway. It's that, or two neck holes, two arm holes, and too much time in close quarters with your brother."

"You're such a fucking bitch," he snarled, throwing his burger into the basket. "Whatever. Let's just go."

He did not ask for his burger to go. He didn't even leave a tip on the table. He just stormed past Sam and out into the parking lot, the door slamming heavily behind him.

Sam pursed his lips, looking down at Kat. "You coming?"

"I'll catch up," she assured him. "With you losers gone, I can actually eat my breakfast in peace."

She kicked her legs up on his vacant chair and smiled at him. Sam's nostril's flared, but it seemed he'd had enough confrontation for one morning. With a bitter smile at the waitress, he followed his brother outside.

Kat's smile faded the moment he was gone. The breakfast sandwich didn't even taste good anymore, and the headache that had been fading was already creeping back. She had no idea what she was going to do about the Winchesters. Even if she called Bobby and had him yell at them, she didn't see any way for them to work through their issues in a timely manner. Dean was too proud to admit he was hurt. Sam was too proud to admit he had lied. They were both too proud to admit they were wrong. What was there to do about that except slowly let it go?

She drained her coffee, fishing some tip money out of her pocket. If there was one good thing about this case, it was that when Sam and Dean finally snapped and tried to kill each other, they might not be able to manage it.