Pamela might not have liked angels, but she certainly had other friends in high places. Kat had gotten an earful from Dean for not securing the astral projection ritual over the phone. They didn't have time to sit around and wait for Pamela—a blind woman, he felt the need to remind her—to make her way across several state lines on public transport. Kat had defended that Pamela was just as stubborn as she was, and wouldn't give up the info over the phone. It hadn't stopped him from chucking her lunch at her head and giving her the cold shoulder for the rest of the night.

This undoubtedly would've stretched on into a marathon event had there not been a knock on their motel door after dinner. Sam shot them each a confused look, then stood to answer it. He let out a breath of laughter, and stepped back to open the door.

"Pamela, how…?"

"Don't ask," she said, holding up a hand and walking into the room. "Just get me a breath mint, grumpy."

"A breath mint?" Dean asked. Sam had rushed to comply without questioning her. "Pam, you just made like a fourteen-hour trip in eight. Sure you don't need a Xanax?"

"You dealin'?"

Dean gaped at her snappy tone, and quickly held up his hands. Then he seemed to remember that she couldn't see that, and cleared his throat. "Uh…no."

"Then don't offer, sweetcheeks."

He wrinkled his nose at the name, but didn't have time to retort. Pamela tossed her bag to him, and it collided with his chest with a satisfying thump. She pointedly ignored his grunt of pain and brushed past him to hug Kat.

"Still the brightest light in the joint," she sighed, squeezing Kat tight. Then she smacked her ass for good measure. "With the cutest butt."

"I thought that was Sam," Kat chuckled, shirking away from the groping. Thankfully, Pamela got the hint, and released her with a smile.

"Well he was at the top of my list until you called."

"Pamela, we can't thank you enough for coming," said Sam, passing over the mints. He was giving her his best set of puppy dog eyes. They weren't all that effective on the blind. "Really. We owe you big time."

"Don't be a kissass," she warned, but she was smirking. "Honestly all three of you stooges just lost points in my book. I can't even begin to tell you how crazy you are. Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection?"

"Yo," said Dean, volunteering a finger in the air.

"Of course," Pamela snorted. "Chachi."

The slang flew right over Dean's head, but Pamela didn't slow down to explain.

"So, let's be clear—you wanna rip your souls out of your bodies and take a little stroll through the spirit world? Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?"

"Not really," Kat said with a shrug. "People talk about astral projection all the time."

"Not real astral projection," Pamela corrected. "Most of it's a bunch of meditative bullshit. This—actually going into the spirit world and seeing everything behind the veil, interacting with it, and expecting to come back in one piece—it's psychotic. The three of you have officially tossed what's left of your marbles down the drain. Blunt crayons, all three of you."

Kat thought the metaphors were getting a little heavy-handed, but she wasn't about to step in. It seemed Pamela had spent her whole trip preparing the different ways to berate them, and she was obviously on a roll. Unfortunately, they were also on the clock.

"We get it," Dean interrupted. "Lights off, no one's home, one brain cell between us. But we don't have a lot of options here. Maybe it's crazy, but the spirit world is where the reaper is, so…"

"So it's nuts."

"Well, not if you know what you're doing."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"No," Dean conceded. "But you do."

"Yeah, I do!" Pamela snapped. "And guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon, Soc-Greaser crap!"

"Then why'd you come?" asked Sam, torn between frustration and honest confusion.

"To rip you a new one," Pamela bit back. "And maybe attempt to talk some sense into you! Messing around with this shit, you might as well sign your own death certificate. I'm begging one of you to grow a brain and knock it off!"

"Hey!" Dean barked, and rubbed his hand down his face. "Look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one watching Judge Judy too."

"Nice. More blind jokes?"

"You know what I mean. We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothing. We need your help."

Pamela folded her arms over her chest, shaking her head at the ground. Dean's speech had been good enough that she didn't have an immediate retort, but she was clearly working on it. Kat couldn't blame her. She'd been dragged kicking and screaming into this mess too. It killed her to drag someone else. But she knew when she was out of her depth. They needed whatever kind of help Pamela was willing to offer.

Kat caught Sam's eye, and nodded toward the other side of the room. He grabbed Dean obediently, and tugged him away from the confrontation. Kat ambled over to Pamela's side, ghosting a hand over her shoulder. The mattress squeaked as the two of them sat down on the end of the bed.

"Pamela, I get that you don't want to get in the middle of this," she offered softly. "Trust me, I do. And we don't want to involve you any more than we have to. But we need your help if we're gonna do this."

"Haven't you been listening?" Pamela asked. "I don't want you to do this. Angels and demons aside, it's tricky and dangerous as hell."

"I get that, too. But we don't have a lot of options. So please, just…tell us everything you know. Lend us a few candles or talismans or whatever, write down the incantation, and we'll do it ourselves. You can hightail it a safe distance away, and we won't bother you again."

Pamela snickered, each breath more exhausted than the last.

"See this is what I'm talking about. It's a hell of a lot more complicated than some fancy words and sigils. Who do you think's gonna be able to pull this off? You?"

"I'm on lockdown anyway," Kat reasoned with a shrug. "And I'm a fast learner."

"Not fast enough, sweetheart. You don't got my mojo."

"I got some mojo though, right? Angel ears, shiny soul…"

"No, Katherine." Her voice was so stern, it was startling. "What you have isn't gonna help you do this ritual. In fact, it'd probably make it worse."

"Worse? How?"

"Imagine using a magnet to fish a thumbtack out of a pile of needles. Without practice, you're gonna pick up on a whole lot that's not what you want. If you're not careful, you could lose Sam and Dean and pull something else back into their bodies. Or worse, you end up on the spirit plane yourself with nothing to pull you back. "

"That sounds…bad," Kat agreed hesitantly. "But I guess I'll just have to be careful."

Pamela grinned. One hand reached over and caressed Kat's knee, squeezing lightly until Kat rested her hand on top. She was trying to remain calm and positive, but her worry kept creeping through. She watched as Pamela's smile faded. Underneath, there was just a bitter look of resignation.

"You're not gonna give up on this, are you?" she asked.

"No," Kat confirmed. "We don't really have the luxury."

"Well. Then I guess the least I can do is make sure you don't kill yourselves trying. I'm not making any promises, but you boys will be a lot safer with me than with Barbie Psychic over here."

"Hey!"

Pamela chuckled, and pushed her bag into Kat's lap. "Relax, princess. But if we do this, you're gonna have to get rid of those salt lines."

"What? No," said Sam quickly. "Kat's got Alastair and a team of demons on her tail. She'd be too vulnerable."

"And you'd be too trapped," Pamela countered. "Spirits can't cross salt. You wouldn't make it out of the room."

"Then just break the salt lines," said Dean. "Once we're gone you can…"

"I wouldn't be able to pull you back into your bodies. If you wanna do this, it means being vulnerable. One of the many reasons this plan of yours is so damn stupid."

"Well then we find another way. We're not gonna…"

"Yes, we are," said Kat firmly. "Guys, this is the only plan we've got. Seal can't break. You've gotta be ghosts to stop it. It's simple as that."

"Kat," Sam sighed, "we have no idea how long this will take. We could be gone hours, and if the demons find you…"

"Then salt's not the only way to fight back. I'll fill the whole ceiling with devil's traps if I have to. It's your security deposit, not mine."

"Oh, well thanks for that," Dean grumbled. Kat smiled, and he huffed in frustration. "You sure you wanna do this?"

"Positive. Pamela, what do you need us to do?"

"Huh. Grow some common sense. But, in the meantime, break the salt lines, close the curtains, and take some candles out of my bag. And find me a comfortable chair."

None of them needed to be asked twice.

Sam, Dean and Kat all jumped into action, following Pamela's instructions without complaint. Sam took care of the exits, closing the curtains and clearing the salt lines. Dean went around laying out candles wherever Pamela pointed, and lighting them up. Kat cleared the beds, and dragged the only chair they had between them. She also waved some incense around the room. It wasn't strictly part of the ritual, but Pamela insisted it would be easier to concentrate if the room didn't smell like dirty laundry and tomato sauce.

"Tell me something, geniuses," Pamela asked as they worked. "Even if you do break into the veil, and you find the reaper. How you gonna save it?"

"With style and class," Dean supplied, shooting her a dry smile. Pamela might not have been able to see it, but she snickered nonetheless.

"You're gonna be two walking pieces of fog who can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenseless, hotshot."

"I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts beating the crap out of us," Sam pointed out, which only made her sneer wider.

"Yeah, well, they had plenty of time to practice."

"Well, then, I guess we gotta start cramming," said Dean.

"Wow. You hear that, Kat? Couple of heroes."

Kat grinned down at the carpet where she was leaning against the desk. She was smart enough to avoid looking at either Winchester when she answered.

"I know. But somehow they always manage to get the job done."

"See?" said Dean, brandishing a finger in her direction. "Thank you, Kat."

"Alright," Pamela conceded. She sat forward in her chair, and patted the end of the beds. "Lie down. Close your eyes."

"Uh, can we use the bathroom first?" Sam asked, raising his hand.

"Dude," Dean shot, while Kat giggled.

"What? Meditation requires focus. And you just ate, like, half a pizza."

"Shut the hell up, man."

Dean shoved Sam out of the way, then bolted for the bathroom before he could recover. Sam leapt after him, but not fast enough. Dean had already slammed the door behind him. Sam pounded a fist against it, Kat and Pamela laughing at his expense in the background, but Dean just jeered in response. When the sound faded away, he allowed himself to sag against the door. He pressed his head into the wood and closed his eyes.

Truth be told, he was glad to have a moment alone. It was nice not having to pretend for a few minutes. He didn't have a good feeling about this plan. If you could call it a plan, anyway. He knew they had no idea what they were doing, and he knew they had about a snowball's chance of pulling it off. But he'd feel worse if they didn't try. For that, they needed Pamela's help, and for that, he needed to at least seem like he was confident in what he was doing. It was exhausting, but he was also used to it.

He took his sweet time in the bathroom. It was half to piss off Sam, and half to enjoy the quiet before he'd have to stick his neck out again. When Sam started pounding on the door again, Dean splashed some water on his face and stepped out.

"Jeez, alright. Keep your panties on."

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust and slammed the door behind him.

Pamela sniggered in her chair, and Kat raised an eyebrow on the other side of the room.

"Did you even go to the bathroom?" she asked skeptically.

Dean smirked, but neglected to answer.

He crossed to the window, kneeling down where their bags had been dropped beneath it. He poked around the weapons bag, pulling out Ruby's knife and turning back to Kat.

"Here," he said gruffly, passing it to her. "You should probably hold onto that."

She took it curiously, inspecting the wooden handle and the symbols etched into the blade. "Wait, isn't this…?"

"The demon-killing knife, yeah. You're the one with demons after you, right?"

"No, yeah, I just…didn't think you'd trust me with it."

"Well, if you're not gonna have salt lines you're gonna need something to defend yourself. Won't do any good against Alastair, but if he sends any cronies you'll be set. Besides, not like it's gonna do us much good. You know, walking fog and all."

"Good point, I guess."

"Just uh…don't lose it, alright? Anything gets in here, you stab first and ask questions later."

"Yeah, I got it, Dad," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's my ass on the line, remember?"

"Hey, it's mine too," he countered. "I'm trusting you to take care of our bodies while we step out. Don't let me get stabbed, alright?"

Kat laughed quietly, shaking her head at him. "Yeah, I'll do my best."

Dean nodded, and tried to clear his throat. There was half a sentence stuck there, something he almost wanted to say, but wasn't sure about yet.

"Right," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "So uh…there's more salt in the bags for shotgun rounds, spray paint for traps, holy water, goofer dust. Just about anything you'd need to fight off unwanted company. But Sammy checked the hex bags, so…you should be good."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Yeah, so um…just…be careful, I guess."

"Uh…yeah. You too."

The toilet flushed in the other room, and Dean happily backed out of the conversation. He flopped back onto his mattress and had his eyes closed before Sam had reentered the room.

The darkness behind Dean's eyelids redoubled as someone turned off the lights. If he focused, he could still see the flicking flames of the candles. The other bed squeaked as Sam copied his stance, and he stretched out with an unnecessarily heavy sigh. Clearly, his time in the can hadn't been all that calming.

"You two ready?" Pamela's soothing voice asked somewhere below him.

"As we'll ever be," said Sam.

"Let's do this." Dean clapped his hands above him, wiggling back into the blankets. "So how do we get the ball rolling? Some weed? Some Enya? Light as a feather, stiff as a board?"

"You can start by closing your trap."

He feigned innocence, raising his hands before he folded them obediently over his stomach. Someone chuckled, but he couldn't tell if it was Pamela or Kat.

"Now," said Pamela, in her gentle, work-time voice. "I want the both of you to close your eyes and breathe. Breathe in…one, two, three…breathe out…pheeew…breathe in…feel the way your ribs expand to let in the air…breathe out…and in…count one, two, three..."

Dean tried his best to follow the instructions. It was hard. He wasn't good at instructions at the best of times, let alone when they were on a case. It felt like he was breathing too much or something. He didn't like it. He kept getting distracted, listening to the ticking of the clock on the nightstand instead of counting his breaths. But Pamela seemed to catch that too.

"It's alright if your mind wanders. But bring it back to center. Focus on your breathing…in…and out… Now, when you're ready, we're gonna practice letting the tension out of our bodies. Isolate one part, just your toes…"

The longer it went on, the less annoying her kindergarten voice became. Either he was tuning it out, or it was actually working. She had them tense every muscle and relax it again. Pretend their bodies were heavier than the bed could support, then lighter than air. It took all his self-control not to break the silence with the assertion that they were, essentially, doing "light as a feather, stiff as a board." He would've, if a seal hadn't been hanging over their heads.

Once they'd tensed and relaxed themselves into feeling like lead Jell-o, Pamela moved on.

"Animum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis…okay, guys. That's it. Showtime."

Dean held his breath. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but it didn't seem to be coming. He peeked one eye open, and looked up to see the same white, popcorn ceiling that had been above him however long ago he'd laid down. He huffed, and the sound seemed normal in his ears.

"Well," he grunted, sitting up on the bed. "Nothing like shooting blanks. What's Plan B?"

Pamela did not respond. She was still sitting in her chair, stroking her chin absently. Kat hadn't moved much either. Arms folded over her chest, standing at the foot of his bed, she looked about as disinterested as he felt. But she made no move to answer him. No suggestions or witty retorts. She wasn't even looking at him.

Dean followed her eyes to the other bed, where Sammy had yet to sit up. What? Had it worked on Sam but not him? He knew he'd been fucking breathing wrong…

But before he could complain, something moved behind him. Dean glanced around to find Sam standing on the other side of the room. A second Sam, who was grinning bemusedly and very much awake.

Dean looked up to his pillow, where his own body was still knocked out.

"Oh, I am so feeling up Demi Moore…huh. Or…"

His eyes drifted back to Kat, who was squinting down at his real body. He was out of his seat before Sam had even blinked.

"Dude…" Sam warned.

"Ah, come on, I know. I have boundaries. I just wanna see. I mean…Hellooo? Kat?"

Sam scoffed as Dean walked a circle around her. He called out to her, snapped his fingers, clapped right next to her ear. He stopped in front of her and held up his middle finger, pushing it right up to her nose. Kat just looked directly through him. Dean smirked to himself, leaning too close just because he could. Then he blew a cool jet of air into her face.

Kat wrinkled her nose, and he could practically see the shiver go down her spine. He cackled proudly, but the joy was short lived.

"If that's you, Dean, I swear to God," Kat growled, looking wildly around the room. "Knock it off, or I stab your defenseless body and we make this vacation permanent."

"Hmph. Whatever." He took several hurried steps back, and glared at Sam when he laughed. "Why does she assume it's me, huh?"

"Because you're you, Dean."

"Alright," Pamela interrupted with a smile. "I'm assuming that means you two are somewhere safely over the rainbow. Remember, I have to bring you back. I'll whisper the incantation in your ear."

She got up out of her chair, walking over to Sam's bed and leaning down over him. Dean couldn't hear what she was saying, but Sam snorted next to him.

"What?" Dean demanded. "What'd she say?"

Sam smugly refused to answer the question.

"Dude, come on. Do we gotta say something to get back into our meat suits? What is it?"

"Nothing," Sam assured him. "Just that we need to stay together. Now come on, we're on the clock."

He headed for the door without another thought. But Dean lingered a little longer. He dragged his hand through the desk, watching it clip through the surface. He looked back on their bodies, just making sure they were still there. Then he looked to Pamela and Kat.

"Well. Stay safe, ladies," he said softly, and followed after Sam.

Kat felt the room temperature go up, which assumedly meant that the boys were gone. It all felt a little anticlimactic.

"That's it?" she asked Pamela, who had collapsed back into her seat.

"That's it," she confirmed. "Now we wait."

"For what? I mean, are they gonna come back in here as ghosts? Can they contact you if they need to come back? What if something goes wrong?"

"Relax, sugar. If they need me, I'll know. Why don't you let me worry about the spirit boys, and you can worry about the corporeal ones?"

"Seriously?" Kat chuckled, surveying the unconscious bodies sprawled on the beds. "What do you want me to do? Tuck them in?"

Pamela got up from her seat and turned the chair toward Kat with a pointed look. Well, as pointed as it could be with blind eyes.

"Why don't you get a jump on those devil's traps? You know, to stop the demons after your ass?"

"Right…but what are you…?"

Before she could finish the thought, Pamela gave her a sly smile. She patted the chair again and moved to sit on Sam's bed instead. She curled up next to his head, one hand wandering over his shoulder and up to his hair. Kat shifted uncomfortably. When she cleared her throat, Pamela scoffed.

"Relax, sugar. I'll be on my best behavior. But you did promise I'd get laid on this trip."

"I know. Just wait until he's conscious, maybe?"

Kat pulled the chair to the door, and rummaged through Dean's bag until she found the spray paint. She still had to reference her notes to draw a devil's trap correctly. She'd been practicing doing it from memory, but now would not be the time to screw up. She didn't want to get killed because she'd messed up the order of some sigils.

She wasn't the most accomplished artist. Spray paint was definitely not her chosen medium. Her circles were a little lopsided, some of her lines dripping with paint. But after a few minutes of work, there was a definite devil's trap over the door. She just had to hope it was functional.

She took a step back to admire her work, only to frown. It looked a lot smaller from a distance. Weird, how a couple lines in the right shape could stop something as old and arcane as a demon. Assuming you could trick them into the trap, of course.

Kat's eyes trailed over the rest of the ceiling, all the blank space that was left over the beds and the desk. Well. She'd already flushed their deposit down the drain. No point not being thorough. She'd warned the Winchesters as much.

She dragged the chair all around the room, filling up the rest of the ceiling with paint. When she ran out of that, she switched to markers. She'd cover every flat surface with a trap if she had to. No one was blinking inside the room on her watch.

It was grueling work. Kat nearly tipped over more than once, and her neck and arms hurt from craning back. Luckily, she had Pamela to keep her company.

"So these demons," she asked as Kat tried to coerce more ink out of a Sharpie. "What do they want with you?"

"No idea," said Kat. "But whatever it is, they want me alive. That gives me an edge, I guess."

"That's certainly comforting. And you think it's got something to do with your aura? That voice you were hearing?"

"That's about the only special thing about me. Well, that and the fact that I can rap 'Lose Yourself.'"

Pamela didn't laugh at the joke.

"So you know what it is?"

"Uh…sorta."

"And?" asked Pamela expectantly.

"And I'm pretty sure I said we'd discuss it after the reaper was safe. Patience, Pamela."

"Ha, not one of my virtues," she said wryly. "But fine. Have it your way. I just thought you might want to take advantage of the little girl time we've got. While the Wonder Twins are still knocked out."

Kat hesitated. She looked down on Sam's limp body, sprawled across the mattress below her. Pamela made a good point. He was a hell of a lot less annoying unconscious. Less overbearing too.

She capped the Sharpie and climbed down from her chair. Pamela moved to the edge of Sam's bed in anticipation. Kat sat across from her next to Dean. But she didn't say anything.

Kat had explained her situation to a lot of people. To Ellen, to Jo, her mom. But she had no idea how to explain herself to Pamela. There were a hundred times she could have reached out to her—when they'd wrapped up Anna's case, at the Roadhouse, on the road. Kat could never bring herself to do it. It was the same reason she'd put off calling Cole Griffith's mother the day before. She'd been through so much. How could Kat even begin to tell Pamela—Pamela, who had dark glasses and plastic eyeballs because she couldn't do what Kat could.

Pamela was waiting expectantly while Kat wrung her hands.

"Jeez, girlie. After this much build up, it better be cancer or something."

"What? No! No, I—I don't have cancer."

"Are you dying? Is it terminal?"

"No. Seriously, I'm fine."

"Then just spit it out," Pamela insisted. "I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

Kat was sure that was true. She just didn't know if Pamela would handle it by lashing out at her. Still, it didn't look like she had much of a choice.

"Okay," Kat sighed in resignation. It still took her a few tries to find the next sentence. "So I can…There's not…I don't know if there's a word for it, really. Castiel just says I'm chosen."

Pamela raised her penciled eyebrows. "Castiel? And he's dishing details, now?"

"Sort of," Kat said with a wince. "He found us after we saved Anna. Not to fight, just to talk to me. He's supposed to be keeping an eye on me with the whole…demon-hit list thing."

"Comforting. Where is he now?"

"Around," she answered, hoping it was true. "He likes to keep his distance."

"Smart choice," Pamela called, tilting her head up to the ceiling. "Cause if I'm ever presented with that feathery ass again, you can bet your religion I'm gonna kick it all the way to Revelations and back!"

Kat snickered. She savored the few free seconds before Pamela returned to her questioning.

"So what's that mean, 'chosen'? Why you? Because of your aura?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It's kind of its own whole chicken and egg thing. I don't know if it's because of my soul, or if someone actually chose me to have these…abilities."

"Like hearing angels," Pamela supplied. "Sometimes."

"Yeah. As far as I can tell, I'm just sort of…angel sensitive. Or receptive, or whatever. Cas was rambling a lot about destiny and being a messenger of Heaven."

"A messenger? Like a prophet?"

"Oh, fuck no." Kat laughed nervously. "No, no one's giving me any kind of instructions. But if they needed to…I don't know. It just means that I can communicate with angels who don't have vessels. I can hear them, and…well…I can see them. If they're there."

Kat braced herself for impact. Pamela had gone very still. Her big, dark sunglasses did a good job obscuring her face. It was hard to read her expression. Her eyebrows had disappeared behind the lenses. All Kat had to go on was Pam's tight lips, pressed into a thin line. Her hands balled into fists on her knees, then forcibly relaxed.

"I see," she said, with a bitter laugh. "Well, I would, anyway."

"Pamela…"

"Don't suppose that's contagious, huh? Love to contract that handy condition."

"Even if it's a death sentence?"

"At least you could see it coming," Pamela snapped.

Kat didn't dare argue. They sat across from each other in tense silence. Kat wouldn't have been surprised if they spent the whole day in silence. But eventually, after what felt like hours, Pamela spoke again.

"These demons," she said, her voice much softer. "That's why they want you?"

"Yeah. Looks like it."

"Any idea why?"

"Not beyond the usual, no."

Kat looked up at the ceiling, covered in her own hasty devil's traps. Even with twenty, they didn't offer her any security. It felt like she was trying to tape her door closed because she couldn't lock it. What good would any of it do against Alastair and his forces?

"No one's actually said it," she mused quietly. "Not out loud, anyway. I guess we're all avoiding the subject. But sometimes the obvious answer is the right one. They're probably looking to take me to some secret demon facility, torture and dissect me until they figure out what makes me special. I mean, immunity to angels…I'm the first place project at the demonic science fair."

"No one's gonna let that happen," Pamela assured her.

"Not really looking like anyone has a choice, though. My guardian angel's on vacation, my mom's got a heavenly security detail in California. I've got two lame excuses for bodyguards, and they're dead for all intents and purposes…"

"And then you've got me," Pamela said firmly. "Now I might be blinder than a bat, but this bimbo's still got some juice. And if you think I'm letting you get kidnapped on my watch, you've got another thing coming, Katherine."

Kat mustered a smile, but couldn't bring herself to respond. Optimism wasn't exactly her strong suit, any more than patience was Pamela's.

"Now," Pamela said firmly. "Why don't you finish up these devil's traps and then take a damn nap?"

"No. I'm not gonna leave you…"

"Say 'defenseless' and I kick your sorry ass back to your own hotel room."

Kat pursed her lips and held up her hands. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, sugar. I got to catch a few Z's on the way over here. Now I can't exactly see you, but I know you look like shit. You're stressed and depressed, and I need you bright eyed if you're gonna fight off any demons headed our way. So kip next to one of the boys, and maybe you'll stop being so cranky."

"Right," Kat chuckled. "I'd rather sleep in the bathtub."

"Whatever floats your boat, kitten."

Kat followed her instructions. She hopped back on her chair, hoping that the rest time she'd given the Sharpie would make it work a little better. When the traps were all done, and clock was ticking further and further into the day, she finally traded her jeans for sweatpants. She grabbed a spare pillow from Sam's bed and curled up in the corner of the room. She knew Pamela would wake her up the moment she sensed trouble, but she still wanted to stay close to the weapons bag.

"Hey Pam?" she asked before she closed her eyes. Pamela hummed in response, and Kat bit her lip. "Just…thanks."

"You got it, Kat. Now shut the hell up and go to sleep."