It was quickly turning out to be one of the most boring cases Kat had ever worked. She hated the shitty motels they stayed out, she hated digging graves, and she hated lying to grieving family members. But worse than all that combined was sitting around and doing nothing. Which was about all she could do while they waited for Sam and Dean's spirits to get the job done.
Kat had gotten a few hours' sleep on the floor. The crick in her neck had woken her up, and while Pamela had griped that the room's energy was more peaceful when Kat was unconscious, she couldn't bring herself to go back to sleep. She'd heated up some leftovers, been refused an update from Pamela, and then decided that it was best to keep to herself and let the psychic concentrate.
Still, it didn't leave her with much to do. For a couple hours, she went back to digitizing her case notes. She liked having the little notebooks, but one good leak in her car could wipe them out. If there was one thing she'd learned from Bobby, it was to make multiple copies of anything you needed. She'd been typing up all the important information, adding headings and keywords as if she knew what she was doing. But she still didn't know how she wanted to order her notebooks. Chronological made the most sense, but what if she couldn't remember the date of her first shifter case? Would she just have to flip through all of them again?
When the notebooks got boring, Kat checked her email and did some paperwork for the gym. Harley was getting anxious with how long she'd been gone, but the building hadn't fallen down just yet. After the paperwork, she sent her mom an update about the case. Then she listened to some music. Then she played some solitaire. Then she contemplated forgetting about the lockdown and going to pick up Chinese food. Then she resigned herself to some granola bars and a water bottle, watching the sun set again outside.
This case had made her so utterly fucking useless.
After she'd typed up her notes, after she'd reviewed the case and won solitaire three times, she had to resort to Dean's way of killing time. That meant taking out her weapons, cleaning her guns, and sharpening her blades. She was too nervous to do any maintenance on the demon blade. There were a lot of intricate carvings, indicating magic that she knew nothing about. What if it needed to be cleaned with holy water under a new moon to maintain its magic, or some bullshit like that? She wasn't about to ruin the best weapon they had.
She cleaned the few knives and blades she kept in her normal duffel, then let her eyes drift to the beds. The Winchesters will still unconscious, showing no sign of rejoining the living. Pamela could've been dead asleep for all Kat knew, but she wasn't about to break the silence. It was getting late. Wherever the boys were, they had to find the reaper soon. But there was nothing she could do to help them.
Restless and frustrated, Kat grabbed the Winchester weapons bag. There wasn't much upkeep to be done. Dean cleaned his weapons compulsively, obsessively even, but it was nice to take a look at the armory without someone breathing down her neck. There were the standard shotguns, the saw offs, the pistols. Silver blades and brass blades and iron and gold. Sacks of powder and empty shell casings and a heavy, leather-bound book.
Kat picked it up with interest, running a finger down the worn spine. It didn't look like a lore book, more like a journal. But she'd never seen Sam or Dean write in one. She glanced over her shoulder at Pamela, then undid the leather buckle.
It was definitely a hunter's journal. Not all that different from Ellen's or Marcus's. But it was less organized, almost unhinged in places. Pictures and newspaper clippings were taped in at random, notes scrawled around the edges wherever they would fit. Some entries looked to be individual cases, some were summaries of creatures or monsters. It was a mishmash of valuable information, part diary and part crime wall.
Kat frowned and flipped to the back. How the hell did anyone find what they were looking for? Was there an index? A table of contents? A running list of dates? But the last few pages were blank, save for a list of contacts. She flipped to the front instead, and froze.
November 6, 1983
I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don't believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy…
She slammed the book shut. It made a terrifying thud, too loud in the quiet room. Kat winced and looked back to Pamela, knowing she'd been caught. But Pamela hadn't moved. Neither had the Winchesters. It was all quiet, and still, with nothing for her to do.
Kat chewed on her bottom lip. She eased the book open once more.
There wasn't a lot she knew about John Winchester. Sam had always avoided the subject of his family when he was dating Jessica. Even their family dinner at Bobby's hadn't revealed too many secrets. Their mother had died when they were young, and their dad took them on the road to find the thing that had done it. They grew up in a series of motel rooms while John worked odd jobs. When they were old enough, they learned the truth, and John started training them. Gun tricks, lore facts, hand to hand combat. Dean had taken to it naturally, no questions asked. He had problems with his dad, sure, but the life they lived didn't leave room for doubt.
Sam hadn't been so lucky. From what she could tell, Sam had butted heads with his father since he'd been old enough to form an argument. He hated moving, he hated hunting, and he wanted to be normal. He'd told Jess about the blowout fight, the breaking point when he'd left for Stanford. Jess in turn had told Kat. Sam wanted to go to college, and his dad had as good as chucked him out. Said, "Leave, and don't come back."
Kat couldn't imagine what that must've felt like for Sam. When Jess had told her, she'd started inviting him over to their house more, being a bit more welcoming. What kind of dad disowned his son just because he didn't want to be a mechanic? Even now that Kat knew the truth, she didn't quite get it. John sounded like a drill sergeant, unable to let go of his military days. It was one thing to prepare your kids, but to throw away their childhood to have them fight monsters? Because he was grieving? Because he was bent on revenge, and unable to cope?
Either way, Sam hadn't gone back. He'd come to Stanford, met Jess, got his life on track. Until that cold October Dean had come back into the picture looking for John. And then Jess had…
She shook off the thought, staring down at the book. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she was almost afraid to touch the pages. The inside cover had several pins, relics from John's military days. There was even a picture pinned to one of the folders, though whether it was John or a friend she couldn't tell.
He eyes drifted back to the untidy text. She knew she was trespassing, knew she could close the book and walk away, but she'd already turned to the next page.
December 4, 1983
Last night I was sitting in Sam and Dean's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises. Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was. But it sounded almost like whispering. Like someone whispering a name under their breath, again and again. Like something is out there in the dark, watching us…
I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them?
I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, ask if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night…
"Kat."
"Sorry!" Kat slammed the book shut, dropping it back into the duffle bag as if the pages had caught fire. "I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"
"Shut up," said Pamela tersely. "We've got company."
Her discovery long forgotten, Kat jumped to her feet. She grabbed the demon knife and joined Pamela in the middle of the room. They pressed their backs together, and circled the spot.
"Where?" Kat asked over her shoulder.
"I don't know yet," said Pamela. "It's not a specific spot. I can just feel the darkness closing in, smell it. They must be getting close."
"They? How many are we talking?"
"Two. Maybe three."
Kat forced a shiver back up her spine. She tightened her grip on the blade.
"Okay, well no one's getting in here," she said confidently, glancing up at the ceiling. "One step inside and the bastards'll be trapped and ready for exorcising. I'd like to see them fucking try."
What had made her say it, she wasn't sure. But a second later, she was already kicking herself.
Something cracked over her head, and white powder sprinkled down in front of her nose. Kat looked up again, just in time to see the fracture that was crawling through the sheetrock. The ceiling split, spidery lines stretching out from the center of the room and travelling out to the corners. The cracks split each of her devil's traps with deadly precision.
"Oh, motherfucker."
"Demons must want you bad," said Pamela. "They're not sending in any stooges."
"Great. Well, I'm flattered, but not interested." She pulled another knife from her boot, passing it back to Pamela. "Here. Just don't stab the shiny one, okay?"
"Thanks for the advice."
It was all the time they had to joke about it. Something creaked in the hallway. They both froze, and the next moment, Pamela screamed.
"Right!"
Kat swung on command, catching the demon right through the hand. He howled, until Pamela caught him in the neck. Kat swung again, stabbing him in the gut and watching the fiery light fizzle out inside of his skull.
"Cool," she panted, spitting the hair out of her mouth.
The door slammed open just as the window broke. Kat ran into the fray, but was immediately knocked off of her feet. She and Pamela both went flying back, pinned into the wall. They struggled, but just like with Alastair, they were held still by an invisible force. All they could do was watch as another demon climbed through the broken glass of the window, another two from the hallway.
"Well, well, well," said one of the demons, a girl with fiery red hair. "Isn't this a pretty picture. Both Winchesters half-dead, a blind psychic, and Hell's most wanted all tied up with a bow. Long time no see, Kat."
"Meg?" Kat asked through gritted teeth.
The girl's face fell.
"Ouch. Right in the feels. Meg and I actually had something of a…disagreement. Loyalty, family ties and all that. So I'm working with my Pop's now."
"Ah. Well, sorry to hear about the break up. Get fucked."
Lana grinned, and clenched her fist in the air. Immediately, Kat felt her throat tighten. She spluttered and coughed, already sore from Alastair's assault the day before. She floundered and gaped for a few seconds until Lana released her, laughing lightly.
"See that? That's why you've gotta stay in school. Meg and I went our separate ways, I went back to class, had a little soul snack, and I levelled up to a whole new kind of badass. Say what you will about him, but Alastair is a great teacher. But I guess you know that already, don't you?"
She grinned viciously, hungry eyes flitting over to Dean.
"I gotta tell you. It's kinda like meeting a celebrity. Lean Mean Dean did some great work down in the Pit. Kinda bummed I can't get his autograph. Maybe I'll have to take his hand instead. Killer souvenir."
"Didn't you hear her?" Pamela growled on Kat's left. "I believe the woman told you to get fucked."
Lana's smile fell. With a snap of her fingers, Pamela plummeted to the ground. There was a sickening crunch as something snapped in her leg. She screeched, collapsing forward to the carpet.
"Funny enough, I don't remember asking," Lana snapped. She gestured to the window demon, then the beds. "Kill all three of them. Meet me in the car. We're taking Barbie to go."
Kat only had a split second to prepare herself. Lana raised her hand again, ready to rip Kat from the wall. The moment she felt the tug, Kat focused all her energy into ripping her right arm from the control.
She threw the knife, and by some miracle, it hit its target. The window demon gurgled as his skull was lit up from the inside. Kat panted a smile, and was immobilized a fraction of a second later. Back into the wall, down to the floor, then her head collided with the bedframe. She'd barely caught her breath before a hand weaved through her hair, yanking her head back into place.
"You know," Lana growled, spittle flecking Kat's chin. "You have got to be the most annoying leech on this fucking planet. I cannot wait to fucking skin you."
Kat wanted to reply with something witty, but her head was still spinning. Lana's grip made her scalp feel like it was about to split, and the world around her was awash with sounds. Her pulse beating in her ears, Lana's heavy breathing, Pamela whispering on the floor behind her…
Kat sucked in a breath, and spat into Lana's face.
The demon let out a guttural roar of fury, and threw Kat across the room once more. Kat collided with the doorframe, and felt the sharp bruise the corner was going to leave. She could only hope the distraction hadn't broken her ribs.
"Kill them," Lana repeated to her final crony. "And don't forget the knife. But the bitch is mine."
She grabbed Kat by the hair again. Kat did her best to fight back. She kicked the chair across the room, hitting the demon in the leg. She tried to kick everything off the top of the desk, buy as much time as she could, but it was tough. Everything was tough when you were getting towed across the floor like a ragdoll. She grunted and huffed as Lana pulled her through the hallway, screamed for help. But either the demons had already killed everyone else in the motel, or no one was looking to get involved.
"You are so grating," Lana complained. "I gotta say, it's a tough call. I'd love to make you someone else's problem, but I'm way too excited to be the one who eviscerates you. You have no idea how excited Alastair is gonna be to get his hands on you. But maybe, if I'm just good enough, he'll let me carve out your tongue and slide it from your throat. Wouldn't that be a sight to…?"
Lana stopped walking. Her grip was still tight on Kat's hair, but her whole body seemed to be shaking. Kat twisted on the ground, struggling to look up. Lana was practically foaming at the mouth—black smoke seeping out instead of spit.
She dropped Kat, who immediately scrambled away from her. She watched as Lana clutched at her throat, more smoke pouring out by the second. The black flickered in her eyes. She fell to her knees, then forward on her chest. The black smoke swirled around her, then disappeared into the carpet in a pile of embers.
Down the hall, Sam let his hand fall down to his side.
"Kat?" he demanded, running toward her with urgency. "Kat, are you okay? Did she…?"
He reached out to her, but Kat shirked away from his touch. It hurt more than it should have. But he backed off, letting her crawl up the wall by herself. He'd been so focused that he hadn't stopped to think. Kat had never seen him use his powers before. She was probably terrified.
"Kat, I—I'm sorry. I didn't know what to…"
"I'm fine," she said shortly. "It's fine. My head hurts like a bitch, but…Pamela?"
"She's good," he assured her. "I woke up before the demon could get to her."
"Right. And then you…? You did your…?"
She couldn't even bring herself to say it. Sam frowned.
"I exorcised him," he said with a nod.
"With your…?"
"Yeah, with my powers."
He watched her nervously. Kat's hair was sticking up in different directions where the demon had been holding her. She was squinting her right eye shut, and she winced every time she moved. She was probably hiding more bruises than he could imagine. She'd taken out two of the demons on her own, and it'd been four against two. He wanted to suggest a hospital, or at the very least an ice pack. But he had a bad feeling that anything he suggested right now would get shot down faster than lightning.
"Hello?" Pamela's irritated voice called down the hallway. "Can somebody get me a drink, please?"
Kat brushed past him, marching lopsided back to the motel room.
The room was a wreck. The ceiling was cracked twelve ways to Sunday, and a thin film of white powder covered the floor. The beds had been knocked askew, and everything blown off their nightstand. The window was broken, the door crooked, and there were two dead bodies for them to deal with later. Not to mention the unconscious one Sam had dropped.
In the middle of it all sat Pamela, slumped back against the nightstand, her leg twisted at a bad angle in front of her. Kat was already kneeling beside her.
"Are you okay? What happened? Did he…?"
"Oh quit your nagging," Pamela groaned. "It's a broken leg, not stab wound. I'll survive to get worse, I'm sure. Sam, get the whiskey."
"Pamela," he sighed, shaking his head. "You need a hospital. You both do."
"Whiskey," Pamela repeated tersely.
He wasn't surprised when Kat turned to glare at him. "You heard her, asshole. Get the drink."
Resigned, he followed their orders. Kat whispered soothingly as she tried to assess the damage to Pamela's leg, and Pamela laughed in pain every time she moved too much. She practically drained the flask the moment Sam handed it over.
"That's the stuff," she said with a hearty grimace. "Better than any anesthesia. More fun too."
"Well, enjoy it while it lasts," Kat scolded. "As soon as you get Dean back, we're taking you to a doctor."
"Great. A blind cripple. Sure that'll go over well with my clients."
"Where is Dean?" Sam asked. A look at the second bed confirmed his brother's body was still motionless. "I mean, shouldn't he have come back with me?"
"Yeah," Pamela winced. "And he would've if you two bozos stuck together like I asked. What happened on your end?"
"Oh my God, the seal," Kat gasped, her head rocketing up. "Did you guys…?"
"It's fine," said Sam. "We got to Alastair in time."
Kat sagged back in relief. Sam could almost see her smile, but it was gone as soon as it had come. She turned back to Pamela, passing over another drink and some aspirin. Then she fixed Sam with another hard stare.
"So. What happened?"
"Wha—We stopped it." Sam looked around, gesturing toward Dean's body. "Can't this wait? I mean shouldn't we…?"
"He's busy," Pamela interrupted.
"What is that supposed to mean? Is he fighting? Is he safe?"
"You're brother's fine, Grumpy. But he's got some friendly company, and it seems like you boys left a hell of a mess to clean up. So start talking. What happened?"
Sam sighed yet again. He didn't want to get into it just yet. Not until Dean was safe in his body. None of it felt real. But Pamela and Kat were both battered and bruised, clearly chomping at the bit after being cooped up all day. So he held his tongue, and sat down on the mattress next to his brother.
"We found Cole Griffith," he started, trying to bury his guilt. "He was the last person to die in town, but the demons kidnapped the reaper before it could take him to the other side. He's been in his old house, watching over his mom, hiding from the black smoke. I guess the demons were tailing him, waiting. We got him to tell us where they were working, teach us a few ghost tricks. But then the demons came again."
"For Cole?" asked Pamela.
"No, for Tessa. She's another reaper, one that Dean tangoed with a couple years back."
This made Kat wrinkle her nose. "God, is there anything your brother won't sleep with?"
Pamela swatted her on the arm. "Don't be jealous, sweetie. Reapers ain't the type to get attached."
"No kidding," Sam said dryly. "But I guess she must have a soft spot for Dean. We got her to hold off on taking Cole, but then she got taken too. Apparently you need to kill two reapers to break the seal. So Alastair was just waiting for someone else to show up and finish the job."
"Great," Kat sighed. "Woulda been nice if Bobby had mentioned that."
"I don't know how much it would've helped," Sam admitted. "The demons were all holed up in the funeral home, covered in protective sigils. Alastair had a scythe to kill the reapers, his spell all set up. By the time Dean and I got there, they already knew we were coming and what to expect. They had iron chains and rock salt just waiting for us."
"Well they're evil, but they're not stupid," said Pamela. "Demons can see through the veil like a dang window. They probably saw you boys coming a mile off."
"Right," he said sourly. "Well. Woulda been nice if someone had mentioned that."
Pamela snorted. "They're still departed souls, Sammy. Doesn't exactly take a genius to make that jump of logic."
"Hold on," said Kat, shaking her head again. "If you were trapped, how'd you stop Alastair?"
"Ghost mojo," he explained. "Crashed a chandelier on his reaper sigil, set Tessa free, then she returned the favor."
"Wow." Pamela pouted, looking honestly impressed. "Look at you, Casper."
Sam grinned. "Not bad for a walking piece of fog, huh?"
"Not bad at all."
Kat made a gagging noise at Pamela's obvious flirting. It earned her another whack from Pamela, but brought Sam back to attention.
"What about you?" he asked. "What happened here?"
"Pretty self-explanatory," Kat said curtly. "Demons came, demons fought, demons lost. We can all move on."
"But how did they even find you? We had the hex bags and everything."
"Sam, we're not the hardest people to find. They knew we were in town. Alastair probably sent Lana to check out every seedy motel in a twenty-mile radius until she found us. We're kind of creatures of habit."
"Lana?" Sam repeated. "Like Lana and Meg?"
Kat's jaw clenched, and he wished he'd saved the question for later.
"Yeah," she answered. "Except she doesn't run with Meg anymore. I guess she's pretty tight with Alastair. He sent her to kill you guys and collect me. That was her that you…"
She trailed off, glancing down at Pamela. Sam was grateful, but it made his stomach churn with anxiety. Pamela was sharper than people gave her credit for. He'd used his powers twice—once to save Kat, and once to save Pamela. She might not have seen him do it, but there was no telling what she could sense. And he was already in enough trouble with Kat.
But if Pamela had noticed anything odd about his actions or the conversation, she kept it to herself.
"Was Lana the ringleader?" Pamela asked, turning to Kat. "I figured you two must have history. She certainly had an axe to grind with you."
"Yeah," Kat chuckled. "She and her girlfriend came pretty close to catching me a while ago. Possessed a few of my friends as leverage. I exorcized them, but I guess I didn't send them far enough."
"Had to be quite an exorcism if she's that anxious for your head on a platter."
"It was," Sam eagerly chimed in. "It was inventive and bloody, and Kat had it all wrapped up before Dean and I could get there."
Kat saw through the hopeful flattery in an instant, and rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, it's a stellar story. And I'll tell you all about it over drink when we get the hell out of here. But first you're gonna need to bring back Winchester Dos. Think you can manage that?"
"Guess I'll have to," Pamela said with another grimace. "One of you help me closer to his bed? And the other can get me another shot."
Sam helped moved Pamela across the floor, while Kat refilled her flask. Pamela chugged some more whiskey, which was probably inadvisable with the pain killers, then completed her incantation before she lost focus. The Latin sent a shiver down Sam's spine, like his spirit could sense the magic that had just so recently brought him back. But it wasn't him this time. And a moment later, Dean sprang up on the bed.
"What the—ow!" He groaned, clutching his head and immediately falling back to the mattress.
"Dean?" Sam rushed forward, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"Dude, relax," Dean groaned. "Spirit travel is fucking rough with a concussion. I'm good, dude."
"Welcome back to the land of the living."
Kat grinned, and passed him his own drink. Dean threw it back appreciatively, his free hand roaming his torso.
"You didn't actually stab me, did you?"
"I resisted the urge," Kat said stiffly. "Though I suppose you'll want this back."
She passed over Ruby's knife, the blade still coated in dark, slick blood. Dean wrinkled his nose at it, and finally looked around the room. Sam watched his eyes flick from the debris to the bodies and back up to the ceiling, covered in broken devil's traps.
"The hell happened here?" he asked.
"Self-explanatory," Sam quoted, looking back over at Kat. "Demons came, demons fought, demons lost. Kat handled it."
"Well, I don't know about that," she said, not meeting his eye. "You certainly held your own, Sam."
His blood ran cold as Dean's gaze pierced him. Sam refused to meet his eye. He knew it was pointless lying to Kat and Dean. He knew they'd find out one way or another, that they already knew he was using his powers again, that it was only a matter of time until they found out the cost. But he couldn't bring himself to have that conversation. So if a couple weak excuses could put it off, he was glad to keep doing it.
"So uh—what took you so long?" he asked, turning to Dean with desperate, pleading eyes. "Pamela said you had company."
Dean considered him for a moment, but let him off the hook. For now, anyway.
"Take your pick," he said grumpily. "You talkin' about Alastair catching up, Cas showing his hand, or Tessa and I going…?"
"Castiel?" Kat interrupted him, her eyes wide. "Cas was here?"
"Yeah," said Dean, though he didn't look pleased. "The angels were here alright. Just letting us do all the heavy lifting so they could capture Alastair."
"They captured Alastair?" Sam asked in awe. "How?"
"I don't know, man. Some angel-lightning cage or whatever. Point is, we risk our hides saving the seal so they can swoop in like vultures and claim the touchdown. They planned this whole thing start to finish. And lied about it, of course, but that ain't new."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it wasn't Bobby you were on the phone with. Either time. Guess Cas is one hell of a voice actor."
"What? No, I—I called…" Sam floundered. "Why? Why lie?"
"Because, and I quote, 'Everything he asks, we seem to do the opposite.'"
"Yeah, well he's not wrong there," sighed Kat.
"What does that matter?" Dean snapped. "Just because he's right don't mean he's right!"
"Hey, I'm pissed too," she bit back. "I'm just saying we haven't been the most agreeable."
"Oh well that's rich, coming from the chick who dukes it out with him in the first place. You two had your tiff, he goes AWOL. You're probably the reason he's lying in the first place."
"Oh, I'm so sorry for arguing with the angels! Next time I won't fucking defend you!"
"Right, defending us. That's what this is about."
"Do you want me to stab you? Cause there's still time to change my mind."
"Children!" Pamela shouted from the floor, waving her arms between them. "Both of you knock it off! Whiskey, food, and medical attention! Preferably in that order."
Dean and Kat's bickering stopped instantly. With a commiserating look, they both moved to help Pamela up from the ground.
"Yeah, fat chance of that, Pam," Dean grunted, hauling her to her feet.
"Hospital first," Kat agreed. "And we'll do Chinese food later."
"Oh screw Chinese food," Pamela groaned as the three made their way for the door. "You're buying me a prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, and the most expensive wine on the menu."
"I think we can manage that."
"With real money, Dean. Otherwise the apology doesn't count."
"Cut a guy some slack, Pamela…"
The bickering faded as the three of them worked their way down the hall, leaving Sam behind in the mess they had made. None of them had even spared him a glance.
Sam's jaw clenched. He'd screwed up a lot in his life. Dean and Kat had done their best to ignore it. They'd given him the benefit of the doubt, given him time to explain himself, even when they knew the truth. But he hadn't told them. And now they'd found out the hard way. But he'd saved Kat, hadn't he? Saved Pamela? That had to count for something.
He looked around the room at the limp bodies and crumpled ceiling. It was a hell of a mess to clean up. He just wasn't sure where to start this time.