Dean was not a happy camper when he woke up. His head felt like it had split in two, not to mention the fact that he couldn't move his neck. Whiplash was a bitch he wished he was less familiar with. He tested wriggling his body on the bed, and immediately let out a pained groan.
"Morning, princess." The smirk was evident in Kat's voice, somewhere on the other side of the room. "You get enough beauty sleep?"
"Okay, your sarcasm is literally causing me pain. So could you just shut up?"
"Ouch. Guess that means you don't want this."
He tensed as her footsteps grew closer, but there was no bodily impact. Instead she dropped something on the mattress next to his head. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. But then he felt the cold radiating onto his skin, and he snatched it.
"I take it back," he said, pressing the ice pack to his head. "You're sweeter than any angel."
"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. Aspirin and water on the night stand."
He heard her collapse onto the other bed, then start tapping away on her laptop. He appreciated that she didn't feel the need to make conversation. His brains were still scrambled, and he didn't know if he'd be up for it.
For a while, they just coexisted. Kat was doing her on thing on her computer, while Dean waited impatiently for the pain meds to kick in. He waited for his skull to stop throbbing, then waited a little more. He wasn't ready to sit up, but he managed to roll his head around and pry open his eyes.
He'd made it back to the motel. The curtains were closed, but he could see the sunlight fighting its way through the fabric. He instantly picked up on the smell too—salt. He couldn't see it, but someone must've lined the windows and doors while he was out. Dean pressed his head back into the pillow, feeling around for the tell-tale lump of his knife. As soon as he felt it, he relaxed.
Rolling the other way, he was about to ask for a status update. But something else caught his eye.
Kat was indeed sitting on the next bed over. Her legs were under the covers, her laptop balanced on her knees. She was tapping a pen against her chin, occasionally scribbling notes into a notepad he couldn't see. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head. And she was wearing a massive T-shirt.
Dean narrowed his eyes under the ice pack.
"Is that Sam's shirt?"
"Yeah, why?"
She didn't even glance over at him. Dean groaned.
"Great. I get a concussion, and you two get laid."
"Right," Kat snorted. "Otherwise known as your brother is the most over-protective babysitter on the planet."
"Gross. I don't need to hear about your roleplay."
That got her attention. She chucked her pen at him with deadly accuracy. It speared him point-first, and his laughter immediately turned to another yelp of pain.
"Ow! Fuck, come on, Kat. I'm hurt bad enough already!"
"Then maybe you should learn not to run your mouth. Besides, you weren't the only one who got knocked out last night."
"What does that mean?"
Kat looked over at him again, eyebrows raised. "Geez, how hard did you hit your head? You remember we ran into Alastair last night, right?"
"Well, yeah, we did. But you…wait, he found you?"
"Yeah. Why do you think I didn't flash my brights?"
"I didn't…but…if Alastair found you…"
He let the sentence trail off. If she'd gone toe-to-toe with Alastair, Kat was already scared enough. She didn't need Dean to point out the obvious. But the concern brewing in his stomach was definitely starting to weigh him down.
"I know," Kat said. "It leaves the cheery question: why didn't he just take me when he had the chance?"
"Any ideas?" Dean asked.
"One. Not all that comforting, though. Sam's talking to Bobby about it now."
"Is he…?"
"Fine," she assured him. The words were comforting, but he didn't miss the way she was glaring at her laptop. "More fine than he should be, really."
"Why's that?"
"You and I both got attacked last night. Sam didn't. You do the math."
Dean's stomach sank a little farther, and he pulled the ice pack off his face. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it himself. Sam had been acting weird—irritable, secretive, bitchy. It was worse since the siren case, but it had been happening longer than that. Something was up, and the signs all pointed to one thing.
"You think he's been hanging out with Ruby?"
"No, I know he's been with Ruby," Kat snapped. "We both do. Cas too, for that matter."
"Whoa, whoa—what? Since when?"
"The siren case. He popped up in my car to put me in time out."
"Why am I only hearing about this now?" he demanded. "Where the hell was I?"
"At the Honey Wagon, shacking up with Nick."
Dean glared at her, and chucked the pen back at her. It wasn't very satisfying. For one, he missed, and it took so much effort that his head began to throb again. He grunted, and pressed the ice to his head.
"Well, what'd he say? Cas?"
"Not much. Just that there were demons nearby and he knew Ruby was keeping tabs on them. Angels think that means she's still working with Sam, and that means he's probably working with his demon blood powers again."
"Probably not wrong," Dean admitted grumpily.
"Yeah, I told him. I also told him that, no matter what I say or do, Sam's not gonna stop. I mean, I've tried explaining, I've tried threatening, I've tried kicking the crap out of him. Sam's gonna do what he thinks is right—heaven and hell be damned."
"Careful," he said with the ghost of a smirk. "Sounds like you're pretty close to taking my side."
He could just see her roll her eyes over the edge of his ice pack. But she didn't bite back. She just stared at her computer, looking dejected.
"The stupid thing is that it's not even what I'm mad about. Sam's stubborn. So what? So am I. So are you. I get that he has to make his own choices, and I get why he's doing it. I hate it, but I get it. What's pissing me off is that he's lying about it. Continuing to lie about it, no matter how high the evidence stacks up. And he can't even be bothered to lie well."
"Yeah. Welcome to my world."
Kat snorted, finally turning to look at him. "Your world kinda sucks."
"Ha. Tell me about it."
He shot her a bitter grin before retreating back into the comfort of his ice pack and shutting his eyes.
It was a long time before Sam came back. Kat was clearly getting restless. She went back and forth checking her phone and the door, looking for news. The longer Sam was gone, the worse it looked. No phone call to Bobby should take this long. But they were both talked-out, and didn't need to voice the thought. Dean dragged himself out of bed long enough to change into new clothes. Then he collapsed onto the bed again, ice over his face, and listened for the sound of the motel door.
When it did finally open, Sam did not excuse his lateness. He just snorted at Dean's prone figure.
"How you doing?"
"I'm in pain," Dean answered grumpily. "That's how I'm doing. I think I have a concussion."
"You want some aspirin?"
"Ah, no thanks, House. Dr. Cameron beat you to it." He reluctantly sat up, only to do another double take when he saw his brother. "Seriously, are you two swapping clothes now?"
"What?" Sam looked down at himself in surprise. "What's wrong with my clothes?"
"That sweatshirt is like three sizes too small, dude. You get it at a Juicy Couture sale or something?"
"Dude."
"Hey, Dean," Kat interjected. "Never say the words 'Juicy Couture' out loud again. It's super uncomfortable. Thanks."
"So what? I talk to a lot of different chicks in bars. And sometimes I even listen."
She rolled her eyes again, turning back to Sam. "You grab my shit or not?"
"Yeah, here you go." He tossed Kat's duffle bag on the bed, then nodded to Dean. "I told Kat she could stay with us until we figure out what's going on here. Figured it's safer that way."
"Hey, I get it," Dean agreed. "So, demons, huh?"
"Yeah. So much for miracles."
"And uh…what the hell happened with Alastair again?"
Sam paused, looking shiftily between Dean and Kat. She was ignoring him, focused on the contents of her bag, and Dean maintained an expression of causal innocence. Sam cleared his throat.
"Um…well, it's like I told Kat. He took her out, used the same caretaker ruse on us. Then after you passed out he tried to fling me, or whatever, and it didn't work, so he bailed."
"Well, how come he couldn't fling you? He chucked you pretty good last time."
"Got no idea."
Immediately, Dean noticed what Kat had been complaining about. It had taken Sam several seconds to respond, and that was still all he'd come up with. They were professional liars, for God's sake. It was like he wasn't even trying, but he still insisted on lying at every turn. It was insulting.
Kat was still looking into her duffle bag, but her derisive scoff was unmistakable. Dean glanced at her, and squeezed his hands into fists.
"Sam, do me a favor," he said gruffly. "You're gonna keep your little secrets, and I can't really stop you, but…just don't treat us like idiots, okay?"
"W-What?"
Again, Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Kat. He looked pretty damn shocked. Like he'd only just realized they might be able to talk to each other when he wasn't around. Kat seemed pretty taken aback too. But Dean kept his jaw set, staring Sam and waiting for his answer.
"Dean," Sam said shakily, "I'm not keeping secrets."
Dean hummed. Not the reaction he was hoping for, but pretty much what he'd expected.
"You're right, Kat," he offered. "Like he's not even trying."
Kat raised her eyebrows at him again. He might have imagined the small smile on her face, but it was hard to focus on anything with Sam spluttering angrily.
"So—So what?" he scoffed. "You two are ganging up on me now?"
"No one's ganging up on anyone," said Kat. Her game face was back on. "What'd Bobby have to say?"
"Yeah," said Dean. "What's this theory you two have about Alastair? Why didn't Kat get swiped?"
It took Sammy a moment to give in. But working a case was better than arguing his own.
"Probably cause Alastair's got bigger things to worry about," he informed them. "He told Kat that he had an errand to run before they could, and I quote, 'have fun together.'"
"Oh, gross."
"Shut up, Dean," Kat ordered. "Not just an errand, he said he orders. A deadline."
"Right," Sam agreed. "And then he told us that he had 'a date with death.'"
"Definitely sounds like a reaper," said Dean.
"Exactly. So I called Bobby, and he did some digging." Sam raised his own notebook, flipping it open. "He thinks the reaper isn't just gone, but taken. Listen to this. 'And he bloodied Death under the newborn sky, sweet to taste, but bitter once devoured.'"
"Swanky. The hell's that mean?"
"Well, it's very a very obscure, very arcane version of Revelations."
Dean wasn't really sure that his stomach could sink anymore, but it certainly felt like it was crawling across the floor at this point.
"Which means what I think it means?"
"A seal," Kat agreed. Then she wrinkled her nose. "So what? The demons are gonna eat the reaper?"
"Little less literal. Basically, you kill a reaper under the solstice moon—tomorrow night, by the way—you got yourself a broken seal."
"How do you ice a reaper?" Dean asked in resignation. "You can't kill Death."
"Normal people can't," Kat agreed. "But that's the whole point of the seals, right? Twisted, cosmic balance. Unkill a graveyard, hunted hunting hunters, and now I guess…killing Death."
"Right. Well, leave it to demons to push the envelope."
"Where are the angels is what I wanna know," Sam complained. "We could use their help for once."
"Any word from Cas?" Dean asked, turning to Kat. "He's supposed to be on your shoulder, right? Watching your back?"
"I don't know," she sighed. "Kinda got into it with him last time we hooked up—and if you make another sex joke before noon, I will not hesitate to make your concussion worse."
Dean raised his hands in surrender, and Sam chuckled.
"Wait, so what did you argue about?"
"Nothing new," she lied easily. "Basically us not taking the seals seriously enough. Anyway, I haven't heard from him since. I think he's still mad at me."
"Mad enough to abandon you?" Sam asked, and she shrugged.
"Well, he is a couple thousand years old," Dean reasoned. "Probably pretty good at holding a grudge. You know what they say about age differences in a relationship."
"Get fucked, Dean."
"Not until my head heals, Kit Kat. But thanks for the offer."
"Dean," Sam warned with a grin. "She's already on lockdown. I wouldn't push her."
"Ah, fair enough. Either way, looks like we're gonna have to take care of this one on our own."
"What are we gonna do?" Sam asked. "Just swing in and save the friendly neighborhood reaper?"
"You got a better idea, I'm all ears."
Sam looked between Dean and Kat again, as if this was another big conspiracy they'd been working on together while he was on the phone. But Kat just shrugged.
"Hey, don't look at me. I don't know shit about reapers."
"Yeah, well they're invisible. The only people who can see them are the dead and the dying."
"Well, if ghosts are the only ones who can see them…then we become ghosts."
Dean grinned, and held the ice pack back up to his head. He savored the incredulous looks on Kat and Sam's faces.
"You do have a concussion," Sam observed.
"Sounds crazy, I know."
"It is crazy." Sam pursed his lips, but nodded. "How? I mean, making ghosts isn't really an exact science."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but 'death' is usually step one." Kat pulled a large knife out of her duffle bag, and brandished it with a smile. "Which of you boys wants to go first?"
"Take it easy there, Buffy," Dean said, smirking. "I'm thinking something with a little less stabbing."
"Wait, you're actually thinking of something?" Sam asked. "An actual idea? Not just a shot in the dark?"
"Yeah, Sam. It's been known to happen."
"No, I just meant—what'd you come up with?"
Dean put his ice pack aside again. "Back when I was still on the waiting list for Hell, we were doing all that reading on spirits and immortality. How to keep a body ticking. And I came across a couple things about astral projection."
"Astral projection?" Sam repeated dubiously.
"Yeah, you know. Out of body experiences, spirits leaving living bodies to roam. You know, like Charmed."
"Dean, this isn't Charmed!"
"I know. You're way uglier than Shannen Doherty."
"Okay," Kat interrupted, "once more for all of us who didn't grow up glued to a TV. I thought astral projection was just a means of meditation. Tensing and relaxing your muscles, expanding your mind and stuff like that."
"Part of it," Dean agreed. "But that's just the prep work. If you know what you're doing, supposedly you can actually roam the spirit plane. See other places, even interact with your environment."
"Yeah, that's the problem, Dean," said Sam. "We don't know what we're doing."
"But we know someone who might. Someone with enough mojo to kick us over to the other side."
Dean waited to see if the light would flicker behind Sam's eyes. He was praying that it would. He didn't want to say anything more out loud, because he had a bad feeling about the reaction he'd get. Unfortunately for him, Kat was quicker on the draw.
"No," she said, almost instantly. "Absolutely not."
"Kat…"
"No, Dean! We're not dragging Pamela into this again!"
"She's helped us before…"
"Yeah, and look where that got her! Last time you asked for her help, I had to drive across two state lines to get her home cause you scared the living shit out of her!"
"Okay, well I think that's an overstatement," Dean laughed weakly. "Pamela's got a set of stones on her. She doesn't scare that easy."
"She is terrified of the angels," Kat seethed. "She doesn't want any part of this battle, and I don't blame her. This whole thing is a mess, and we are not dragging her down with us! Keep her out of it!"
"Kat, I don't see a lot of other options," Sam pleaded. "We need to find this reaper, and to do that, we need to see it."
"You know what I can already see?" she challenged. "Demons! So why don't we do what we do best and go find the sons of bitches and save the seal that way?"
"Woah, now hold on," said Dean, raising a hand. "You're not going anywhere. Lockdown, remember? If anyone's fighting demons, it'll be me and Sam. And even if we do find them, that's not gonna tell us where they stashed the reaper. Hell, they could've taken 'em completely off the reservation. Save the reaper, save the seal. That's all there is to it."
Being prepared for her five-star death glare didn't make it much easier to handle. Even in borrowed pajamas she was a sight to behold. He knew logically she wouldn't hurt him, but…well, there was still a knife in arm's reach.
"Fine," she bit, deflating slightly. "But you can keep me out of it. I don't want that on my conscience."
Sam and Dean traded another hesitant look. Dean quirked an eyebrow in invitation. He wasn't about to bite the bullet twice.
"Kat," Sam sighed. "I think it's gotta be you."
She redirected her glare. "And why's that?"
"Because you're right. We've dragged Pamela into one too many bad situations, and I doubt she trusts us like she used to. We can ask, but she might not want to help."
"For good reason, Sam!"
"But we need her to," he finished firmly. "The clock's ticking, and this is our only shot. More than half the seals have been broken, and if we don't do something soon, we're gonna have a full blown Apocalypse on our hands. So, I know you don't want to. But…we need you to call her."
Kat frowned at her duffle bag. Dean was almost worried she was about to go for the knife again. But when she moved it was just to run her hands down her face.
"What does it even matter?" she asked. "You really think she's gonna listen just cause it's me? Why should she?"
"Cause you're a chick," Dean said simply. That incurred her wrathful gaze, and he raised a hand. "Sorry, but—I mean, you two had that sleepover, right? Bonding badass to badass? At least she might be willing to hear you out."
Kat bit back a groan. Her jaw clenched tight enough that it looked painful, and finally, she smacked her duffle bag in frustration.
"Fine! Whatever, fine. I'll talk to her. But I'm not making any promises."
"That's fine," Sam assured her, jumping on the opening. "That's all we can ask."
"Good. And I want the both of you to clear out."
"What?" Dean demanded. "Why?"
"Because I'm the one on lockdown, and I'm not having this conversation with you two breathing down my neck. You want my help getting Pam's help? Then you can skive off. And buy lunch while you're at it."
Dean was going to argue, but Sam gave him a stern look. This was their only plan, and pissing off Kat would be screwing it right in the face. So he pressed his ice pack over his eye, and kept his complaining to a low grumble.
"Touchy, touchy…ow!"
He didn't dodge the pen she lobbed at him again.
Half an hour later, the Winchesters had gone and Kat was left alone on the second bed. She'd changed into fresh clothes, brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, changed her clothes again. When she'd run out of excuses, she'd opted for just sitting on the blankets and staring at her phone. It was incredible how much she didn't want to pick it up.
She knew what Dean had been trying to do by bringing up the last case. He wanted to remind her how helpful Pamela had been, how easy she'd been to talk to. Pamela probably wouldn't be angry with Kat for calling. It was precisely the reason Kat didn't want to call.
Talking to Pamela was nice. She was funny, tough, relatable. She'd offered to help Kat even when they didn't know each other all that well, because that was simply what she did. She helped people. She liked helping people, just like Kat did. And Kat knew that she wouldn't exactly be repaying the favor by asking Pamela to ride a few states over and step in front of some demons.
Kat's phone buzzed on the mattress. She flipped it open on instinct, scanning the new text message.
"Call her now or you can buy your own lunch."
She huffed, and deleted Dean's message. But her phone was already in her hand. She might as well get it over with.
Her contacts folder was empty. There was no point typing it all in when she kept changing phones so often. She had to look up Pamela's number in one of her old case notebooks, then plunk it into her phone to call. She waited as it rang, half hoping there would be no answer. But then…
"Pamela Barnes. What can I do ya for?"
"Uh, hey Pamela. It's Kat. Katherine Moore."
"Well what'dya know?" Pamela's voice carried a smile through the tone, which only made Kat feel worse. "How've you been, sugar?"
"I've been better," Kat said weakly.
"Not really surprising. You are staving off the Apocalypse, after all."
"Honestly, hanging out with the Winchesters is worse than fighting the Apocalypse most days."
Pamela laughed. "Wow, you're still with the boys?"
"Yeah. Yeah, unfortunately."
"Boys plural, right? You didn't go and off one of them yet?"
"No. But I figure the end won't come for another couple months, at least. There's still time to change my mind. Anyway, uh—what about you? How've you been?"
"Not bad. Having the Apocalypse brewing is actually pretty good for business."
"What?" Kat squinted at her bedspread. "But…it's not here yet."
"No, but that doesn't mean things on Earth haven't gotten screwy. All these seals breaking, the demons let out last year. It changes the energy on the planet. And you don't have to be psychic to feel it. A lot of people pick up on it subconsciously."
"Great. Even when people aren't getting attacked by monsters, we're ruining their lives with our bullshit."
"It's not all bad, sweetheart. Sometimes the bad stuff gives us the push we need to reach out for help. Which I'm guessing is the real reason you called."
Kat sighed, and leaned her head back against the wall. "You've still got time to hang up on me, Pamela."
"I could. But I like to let people shoot their shot before I turn 'em down. Clears my conscience. So, how can I help?"
"Actually, I'm hoping you can't."
"Katherine…"
She sighed, and finally relented.
"We're in Greybull, Wyoming. People haven't been dying around here for a few weeks, and we think it has something to do with the local reaper. Specifically, the local reaper being kidnapped by demons."
"Uh huh. And that's a bad sign of the be all, end all?"
"Yeah. We don't know how, but Bible says if you manage to kill a reaper under the solstice moon, you break one of the seals on Lucifer's cage."
"And you think I can help you? Well I'm sorry, baby, but I don't know much more about reapers than you do. They're kinda the underpaid service workers of the afterlife. No one seems to talk about them much, let alone how to kill them."
"No, we—we don't need to know how to do it. We just…need to be able to see them."
"Alright. Well, I can't do that either. Psychics talk through the veil. We tend not to poke our heads through. Kind of impolite."
"Yeah, well the Winchesters aren't the most polite kids on the block," said Kat dryly. "I wouldn't ask you to do it for us. I just wanted to know if you had any info on astral projection."
There was a moment of silence, which allowed Kat to prepare for the tirade to come.
"Are you out of your god damn mind? I knew you kids might have a few screws loose, but this? You have got no idea what you're messing with here, sweetheart!"
"I know, Pamela. I was just calling to…"
"I know damn well why you were calling! Astral projection—good lord. You know, there's a reason it's not common practice. It's cause it's tough. And it's dangerous. And it leaves you open to all kinds of nasty outcomes that you can't control, cause your body can't move, and your spirit can't defend itself. But sure. You just want a crash course in twenty-four hours."
"I did warn you it wasn't gonna be a good proposal."
"Don't get sassy with me. 'Specially when I can't smack you on the ass."
Kat breathed a laugh. "Well, if you wanna do that, you're gonna have to catch a ride over."
"Catch a ride? You ask a blind woman for help and then tell her to find her own way over? What kinda cheap date are you?"
"Ha, I know. I'd pick you up if I could, but…I'm kind of on lockdown."
"Lockdown?" Pamela repeated. For the moment, her rage seemed to be traded for curiosity. "To keep you from going, or other people from coming in?"
"Both, honestly."
"This have anything to do with your little angel problem?"
"Yeah. Everything to do with it. And I'll tell you all about it as soon as these demons are dealt with."
She held her breath as Pamela chuckled. It didn't sound happy—not by a long shot. Kat knew Pamela was probably furious underneath the façade of cool casualness she always maintained. But at least her fury wasn't so strong that the façade was broken. Yet.
"No one likes a tease, Katherine," Pamela finally scolded her. "The trouble I go through for you idiots, I better get laid this time."
"I'll put in a good word for you. You like 'em tall or overused?"
"Ouch. I don't know. How about blonde and angsty?"
"We'll see," Kat said with a bittersweet smile. "That mean you'll help?"
"I don't know about helping, but I'll definitely come. If nothing else, I owe you a smack to the face, and you owe me a drink. And you're paying travel too."
"Woah, hang on," she said, shaking her head. "Pamela, I was kidding about the ride over here. You don't actually need to come."
"Oh, and miss out on the chance to kick your ass? I don't think so sweetheart."
"Pamela, this is dangerous. The demons already know we're here, and it's only a matter of time until they find us. Not to mention, we're kind of on the clock. Even if I did want you in the middle of this, we don't have time for a day drive from Newton to Wyoming."
"Relax, Kat. I've got connections, and more than a couple tricks up my sleeve. And if this is as pressing as you make it sound, I'd rather do it myself. I'm not gonna talk you through astral projection over the phone. I'll be there."
There was a beat as Kat hesitated. Nothing else really needed to be said. There were several things she wanted to say, but almost all of them were counterproductive. Still, she was having a hard time keeping her silence.
Luckily, she was talking to a psychic.
"Well, don't go getting too excited," Pamela chuckled. "You might pull something."
Kat cracked a smile. "Sorry, it's just…"
"I know, chickadee. Don't sweat it."
"You don't have to do this, Pamela. You really don't."
"You're right. I don't. But I know that you wouldn't call me if it wasn't important. Hell, you wouldn't be there yourself if it wasn't important. Just that's enough to pique my interest."
"Right," Kat sighed. "Well, I've got a bad feeling you should un-pique it."
"No offense, sugar, but I'm the psychic. Still, I appreciate the concern. I'll take a couple extra precautions, bring some extra mojo, drive the speed limit. Don't you worry that pretty head about me. Now where am I headed again?"
Kat pushed her worries aside as she read off the motel name and address. She gave Pamela all the details she could so the woman might be able to get a jump on research and revision on her way over. And despite her previous concern, Pamela hung up the phone with a cheery kiss and a flirty remark.
Biting her lip, Kat tossed her phone back onto her bed. Pamela was right. Kat wasn't a psychic. Sometimes bad feelings came from anxiety, and that's all they were. For once, she was really hoping that was the case.
