If there was one thing that Pamela hated more than angels, it was hospitals. She bitched at everyone in her vicinity, and told more than one doctor to get stuffed. Kat took charge of calming her down, running interference with the staff and getting her a female doctor. Dean wasn't sure what the big deal was, but he knew better than to ask. He let Kat shove him out of the room without making a fuss.
It was partly because he didn't want to deal with the drama. But mostly, he wanted to find Sam. They'd left him behind in Greybull to do cleanup. AKA, disposing the bodies, paying for the damage, and getting any cops off their trail. Dean had ridden with Kat in the Prius—a nightmare in and of itself—but Sam had sure taken his sweet time catching up to them. When he did check in, he could hardly look anyone in the eye.
Dean had already known something was up. He just didn't want to wait and find out what it was the hard way.
He found Sam milling around the lobby, amidst overpriced gift shops and vending machine food. He did not look especially happy to see Dean. But Dean took it in stride. There'd been a lot of that going around, lately.
"You're not actually eating any of this shit, are you?" he asked Sam, earning a reproachful look from the cashier. "I mean, I know we eat a lot of crap, man, but you gotta draw the line somewhere."
"Dude, have you seen you?"
"Yeah, but I'm me. You're..."
Dean trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Sam's body. Sam snorted.
"I think I'll survive an overpriced bag of Cheetos. Thanks."
"Alright, your funeral. But that cheetah will get you."
Sam paid for his food and led the way back into the waiting room. They found a couple of chairs in the corner, where Dean would stare expectantly at Sam and Sam could avoid his gaze. He managed a few minutes before he cleared his throat.
"How's Pamela?"
"Honestly, I don't know," Dean said with a shrug. "She's putting up one hell of a fight. And Kat's keeping up her guard dog act. It'll be a miracle if a doctor gets close long enough to set her leg."
"Sounds about right."
"What about you? What happened back there?"
"Oh. Uh…you know, standard clean up." He stalled, choosing his next Cheeto like it might be the president. "Cleaned up what I could, checked out, dumped the bodies on the way."
"Yeah, sure." Dean nodded in understanding. "What about the other two?"
"Hm? What other two?"
"The two that were knocked out. You know, the ones you exorcised."
"Dean…"
"Hey, I'm just making conversation," Dean said wryly. "I mean, you talk so much about saving the host, the least we could do is buy 'em a bus ticket, ya know?"
Sam glared at him.
"I was only able to save one of them. The guy in the room…he was already dead. I brought the girl inside, left her in the room. She should wake up okay."
"Wow," Dean chuckled. "So she gets possessed by a demon and then gets to pay for our trashed motel room. That is some get better gift."
"Look," Sam said carefully. "I know you're mad…"
"You're damn right, I am, Sam! I mean, how many times are we gonna go through this? These powers, they're no good for anyone!"
"I saved Katherine!"
A couple people turned to look in their direction. Sam looked like he was clenching about every muscle in his body trying to control his voice.
"What would you have done, Dean? I woke up, Kat was getting dragged down the hall, there was a demon standing over Pamela. He had the knife, and he was about to kill her. The only reason she's not dead is because I stopped him. And if I hadn't gone after Kat…"
"Then who knows where she'd be now," Dean finished gravely.
All he could do was run his hands down his face. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of going through the same arguments over and over again. Yeah, he was still pissed, and he still thought Sam was out of his mind. But maybe Kat was right. Maybe the best they could hope for was an open playing field.
"Look, man," he sighed. "God's honest truth, I'm glad you used your…your mojo or whatever."
"Right," Sam scoffed.
"No, I'm serious. You're right. If you hadn't, Kat could be in the wind. Pamela could be…man, who knows? I mean, as much as I hate it—and you know I fucking hate it—I get why you do it. I don't like it, but I get it. And I can't stop you. But…we gotta be in this together, you know? You can't keep lying to me."
"No, I—I know." Sam stared down into the bag. "I guess I…I just didn't want to fight about it anymore. So I figured we could just ignore it."
"And what? Fight about everything else?"
Sam chuckled at that. It gave Dean some peace of mind, at least. It felt like weeks since either of them had laughed at something that wasn't the other person's expense.
"Tell you what," Dean said, clapping Sam on the knee. "Why don't we wrap this up, drop Pamela at home, and head back to Bobby's for a while? Get some rest, get some grub. And then we can all talk it over?"
He'd thought it was a generous suggestion. But Sam stilled.
"Seriously, Dean?"
"What?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, I think we should talk about it. Family meeting. Or team meeting, or whatever."
"Oh, like an intervention?"
"I didn't say that, but…"
"Dean, this has got to stop." Sam ripped himself from his chair. He rounded on Dean, glaring reproachfully. "You can't keep going back and forth! One minute you tell me I can make my own choices, and the next your trying to control my whole life!"
"Hey, you've made it very clear I don't control anything okay?" Dean snapped. "But no matter how much good this thing can do for us, it's poisonous! I don't know what you want from me!"
"How about some trust?"
"And how am I supposed to do that when you've been lying to my face for the past few weeks?"
Sam didn't have an answer for that. He crushed the half-eaten Cheetos in his hand, and threw the whole thing into the garbage. Without a word, he stormed off toward the parking lot. Dean just let him go. Whatever was supposed to fix the situation, it wasn't coming around just yet.
He'd screwed the pooch with Sam, so the only thing left for Dean to do was wait for his chance to talk to Kat. He wanted her side of the story, to find out what had happened while he and Sam were ghost walking.
But Kat wasn't making it easy. Pamela's leg turned out to be bad enough to warrant an overnight, and Kat had harassed the doctors into letting her stay after hours. Dean had stayed up, hoping to catch her when she joined them at the new motel, but that hadn't worked either. Kat must've slept like the dead, because she didn't respond to his knocking. That, or she was ignoring him, which was equally likely. After her irate neighbor stuck their head out the door to glare at him, Dean gave up and went back to his own room. Sam had been conspicuously missing. Dean didn't bother waiting up.
When they were cleared to get back on the road, they split boys and girls. Dean kept a steady eye on the Prius in his rearview mirror. He told Sam he wanted to make sure they didn't lose it, since Kat drove like a fucking grandma, but he was more interested in watching the passengers. Pamela and Kat were doing an awful lot of singing, Pamela's arms waving, Kat's hands drumming the steering wheel. Dean strained his ears at a few traffic lights, but all he could make out was deep bass. He doubted it was Alanis Morissette, anyway.
He nearly blew a red light watching them. After that, he kept his eyes strictly on the road.
Even when they got Pamela back to Iowa, there was no way to get Kat alone. Pamela ushered them all into the house with a reminder that they owed her dinner.
"Among other things," she'd added with a wink at Kat.
She gave Sam the name of the steakhouse where she wanted reservations, and warned Dean that he could touch the beer in the fridge and nothing else. Then she'd dragged Kat into the bedroom with the excuse that she needed help getting ready. Dean had made a crass joke about what they were really doing, which only made Sam storm off again.
But if Pamela and Kat were screwing, they were doing it quietly. Dean knew, because he was listening. When they emerged over an hour later, they looked exactly the same. All they'd done was change their shirts. But pointing that out had just gotten him smacked with one of Pamela's crutches.
As Sam assisted Pamela to the car, Dean had shot Kat a pointed look. She'd just brushed past him. It was becoming infuriating. She had to know he wanted to talk to her. Why else would she be ditching him over and over? Was it because she was pissed at Sam? Did she have something to hide?
Dean longed for the early days. At least then he'd known what the fuck was going on.
He didn't have time to worry about it during dinner. The food was too good, and the drinks kept coming. Pamela told a stories about some of her bat shit clients, and they traded her tales from the road. Kat talked about the Roadhouse in equal parts complaints and smiles, and Pamela had demanded their server take a picture of the four of them.
It was a nice change from diner food and take out. Until, of course, they'd dropped the check. Dean had choked on his whiskey. He was ready to barf his steak back onto the table if he didn't have to pay that tab. But Kat had snorted and slid the folder from his hands. She'd cover the bill, and he could cover tip. At least she had a real job.
He'd been so relieved, he completely forgot he was pissed at her.
"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone?" Sam asked, after they'd gotten Pamela back to her house. They were standing around her front porch, dawdling while Kat tried to find the right key to the door.
"I'm a big girl, Sammy," Pamela assured him, and she nudged his ankle with her crutch. "I'd invite one of you to spend the night, but I doubt I'll be getting into much trouble with this damn cast."
"I wouldn't put it past you," Dean said with a charming smile.
It made Pamela smirk. "Watch it, handsome, or I just might try."
"Gross." Kat gagged just as the door swung open. She dropped the keys on the inside table and turned back to Pamela. "There you go. House. Does this mean I can go?"
"Why the rush? I'm sure Dean wouldn't mind the company, sweetheart."
"Oh no," said Dean. "I think he would."
Kat rolled her eyes. "Who said I'd share?"
She kissed Pamela on the cheek, and tolerated the swat to her ass.
"Keep your nose clean, honey," said Pamela. "And remember what we talked about."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Salt over the left shoulder, pepper over the right. I'm not an idiot."
Dean quirked an eyebrow, but Pamela just chuckled. She kissed Kat's other cheek before ushering her off the porch, beckoning Sam instead.
"Come here, Grumpy. I got some words of wisdom for you too."
Sam grimaced as he stepped into her embrace. Spotting his window, Dean followed Kat down the steps.
"Hey, Kat, wait up. I, uh…I was just wondering…"
"Don't sweat it," she said, without looking at him. "I'll pick up a six pack on my way to the motel."
"What? No, that's not…"
"No, really. It's no problem. Catch you later."
She'd already climbed into the car and shut the door behind her. Dean stared after her, alone on the front path. Kat pealed down the street in her stupid tin can car, disappearing around the corner. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be pissed or impressed. She was almost as good at avoiding shit as he was.
"Hey, Chachi!" Pamela was yelling at him from the door again. "You trying to sneak off without a goodbye?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, Pamela."
Reluctantly, he headed back to the house. Sam brushed past him on the path, heading in the opposite direction. Dean tossed him the car keys, which he caught without looking. Just like Kat, he avoided Dean's eyes. He looked almost as shaken as he had back at the hospital. He hurried into the Impala, jumping in the driver's seat and opting to wait inside.
"Jeez," Dean sighed, ambling up to the porch. "What'd you say to the poor guy?"
"Ah, nothing you haven't said before, I'm sure."
He raised his eyebrows again, to no response. "That's it? Anything else?"
"Nope," she said with a wide smile. Pamela tugged him forward by his arm, planting a kiss on his cheek and then tapping it none too gently. "Just be careful around him. And go easy. I know it's a rocky path he's on, but if you get so mad that you push him away, you might just push him over the edge."
"Wow. How poetic of you."
Pamela smacked him a little harder this time.
"Same goes for Kat. The three of you are slamming into each other like rats cooped up in a cage. But she's got enough to worry about. Between that angel curse and those demons…"
She shuddered visibly.
"Figured I'd save you the trouble of going over it," said Dean, casually as he could. "It was that bad?"
"I'll say this. They're not little leaguers. The one who was taunting her—Lana, I guess—her aura was something awful. Dark, rancid. She's one twisted cookie. I'm lucky I got off with a broken leg. And if she's got beef with Kat…"
"Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on her."
"Ha! Yeah, I'm sure you will."
Dean wrinkled his nose. He didn't love her suggestive tone. Pamela was smirking at him something awful, making him fidget.
"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, whatever that means. Take care of yourself, Pamela."
"Right back at you, hot stuff."
He rubbed her shoulder, almost ready for it when her crutch came up to poke him in the ass. Still, he half-tripped down the steps. He scrambled to recover, smiling awkwardly and rubbing his butt in pain. He almost made it to the Impala before she called him back.
"Hey, Dean! One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"You know I love you boys like family…well, maybe a little more," she added with a chuckle. "So I mean this with all the love in my heart. You lose my number until this angel crap is over. I got lucky this time, but…I don't want there to be a next time. Clear?"
Dean nodded, trying to stomach his guilt. "Crystal."
"Good. Now get that pretty ass in that pretty car, and give a good kiss to my girl, alright?"
"Oh, gross."
He gagged, and climbed into the Impala. Sam revved the engine for her to hear, and Dean leaned over to blast the horn. Then they pulled out onto the road.
It was mostly quiet as they drove. Sam was deep in his head about whatever Pamela had said to him. Dean didn't need to guess. He wasn't sure if Pamela had heard it, felt it, or if it was her psychic, ESP thing. She knew exactly what kind of "rocky path" he was on, and she didn't like it. He was itching to ask Sam how many objections he needed to flip his case. Dean, Kat, Bobby, Cas, Pamela—the evidence was piled high, and Sam's head was still up his ass. But if only because Pamela had asked him, Dean kept his mouth shut. He wouldn't start a fight if he could help it.
Thankfully, Sam did it for him.
His phone went off, like it had been non-stop for the past few weeks. Sam rushed to check it. Dean swallowed his dry comment about texting and driving. He maintained a careful expression of disinterest.
"Anything good?" he asked, as Sam read the message. "Case?"
"Uh…yeah, maybe."
"Cool. Where to?"
Sam tucked his phone away, looking stony. There were several seconds of silence. Dean hoped that whatever lie Sammy was cooking up this time, it was at least well done.
"Okay," Sam sighed instead. "You want honest, right?"
"Yeah," Dean said, looking at him in surprise. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it."
"Fine. It's Ruby."
Dean's pursed his lips and looked back out the window.
"Dean, you said you wanted honesty."
"Yeah, well I didn't say I'd pretend to like it. What's ol' black-eyes got to say about her friends?"
"Lana's not her friend," Sam said tersely. "Sounds like the opposite, actually. Ruby says she's a real fanatic. Kinda deranged, even for a demon."
"Right. So like she blenders her babies instead of flaying them."
"Dude, I know you're joking, but…that's exactly what I mean. She's got a rep for being nasty, not playing well with others. Probably why she and Meg got on so well."
"Great," Dean groaned. "Just what we need. A pair of unhinged, demonic gal pals."
"Kat said they broke up, if it makes you feel any better."
"Yeah, you know? It…doesn't." Dean scraped his teeth over his tongue, trying to get rid of the bad taste the thought left behind. "Demons having personal lives. Gives me the creeps. Like I said. Strange lives."
"After everything else we deal with?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "I don't know. Not that strange."
"Yeah. Well, you would say that."
He didn't miss the bitch face Sam sent at him, but he did ignore it.
"Anyway," Sam said stiffly. "Ruby said she'll meet us a few towns over. She's gonna dig up some more on Lana, and track down some other leads."
Dean grunted in response. He didn't trust himself to say much more. But apparently mute civility wasn't going to cut it with Sammy's pissy mood.
"Look, I know she's not exactly on your Christmas list, but if she can help us protect Kat, get to Lilith…"
"Hey, man, work with Ruby, don't. I don't really give a rat's ass."
"What's your problem?"
"Pamela. She didn't want anything to do with this, and we dragged her back into it, Sam."
"Dean, she's fine," Sam scoffed. "She didn't have to help us, but she did. She knew what was at stake."
"Oh yeah, saving the world," Dean huffed. "And we're doing such a good job of it."
"Dean…"
"No, Sam. You know how scared Pamela was? She just told me not to call her until the angels go back to kingdom come."
"What?" Sam gaped at him, the steering wheel forgotten. "But what if we need…?
"Then we don't! She's off limits, Sam. Pamela's done getting thrown around and beat down because of our shit. And you know what? Good for her!"
"Dean, you don't mean…"
"Yeah, I do. I mean it. First her eyes, now her legs. What'd you wanna take next time, Sammy? Call her cause we need—I don't know, uh—psychic blood to save a seal? Ask her to chop off a limb and lend us a hand? Where's the fucking line, dude?"
"I know it sucks," said Sam, visibly grinding his teeth. "But we never thought this was gonna be easy. If we catch a fresh trail…"
"Then we follow it, no hesitation, I know. I'm just…I'm tired of scaring people away."
Sam didn't have anything to say to that. Dean was thankful. He was tired of fighting too.
They pulled up to the motel not long after that. They both shot out of the car, like it was the Impala that was really causing the problems. Dean dragged his feet as he followed Sam to the room. It was just the way they'd left it—do not disturb sign, bags under the beds, sheets unmade. The only difference was the small table by the window, where a fresh six-pack was waiting for them.
Sam turned to him, confused. Dean had to swallow a smile.
"Shower?" he asked instead, throwing his coat on the bed.
"Yeah. Go ahead."
"Nah, I'll give you dibs tonight."
Sam's confusion deepened to suspicion. "Seriously? Dude, you always go first. And I mean, like…always."
"What can I say? I wanna get a head start."
He held up one of the beers with a grin, and Sam rolled his eyes. But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He grabbed his sweats and a toothbrush, then retreated into the bathroom.
Dean waited until he heard the water. Then he grabbed a second beer and headed back into the hall.
Kat's room wasn't far away. She always tried to stay close, but at least two rooms away. The last thing she wanted was to suffer thin walls if Sam or Dean brought back guests. Dean had thought she was being overly sensitive…right up until he'd picked up a cute bartender last week and sexiled Sam. They hadn't been happy, but at least he didn't have to deal with complaints of their virgin ears.
He looked up and down the hall, checking for stragglers before pressing his ear to the door. She was definitely awake. He could hear her walking around, at least. There was a good chance she'd ignore him anyway, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.
Dean cleared his throat, leaning on the wall next to the door.
"Hey, Kat," he called. "I know you're in there, so…I'm about to knock. And if you don't answer, I'm gonna assume you're in trouble and uh…I'm just gonna pick the lock. Fair warning."
The movement inside stopped. He waited a few seconds, then raised his knuckles to rap on the door. He was rewarded with a three-inch gap, and Kat's disgruntled face. Even with her hair up in the stupid, lopsided bun, she looked about thirty seconds away from murder.
"Before you say no," he offered, holding up the beers, "I figured you ought to indulge."
Kat didn't look impressed.
"How generous of you, seeing as I bought them."
"Well, yeah. I know it's kind of a weak bribe. I mean, it's not an inedible bagel, but…"
"Shut the fuck up, Dean."
She grabbed the beers from him, but stepped aside to let him into the room.
Dean darted in before she could change her mind. His eyes cased the place out of habit—bags on the floor, unmade bed, just like their room. It was neater than he remembered. The last time he'd seen one of Kat's motel rooms, papers and clothes had been spread across the room like a damn explosion. He wasn't sure if that was because she'd been working a case at the time, or if she was just getting better.
He figured he'd ask. It was a safe place to start anyway. But when he turned around, the question died in his throat.
Kat had beaten them back to the motel. He'd known that. Clearly she'd already gotten ready for bed. She wore a beat up pair of sweats that sat low on her hips, and a T-shirt with her gym logo on it. She'd shrugged on a flannel too, a beat-up grey one with sleeves that were too long. She hadn't bothered cuffing them. She just shook them back every few seconds as she attempted to open the beers.
"You changed."
It wasn't what he'd meant to say. Kat gave him yet another unimpressed look.
"Yeah, no shit. I didn't want to sleep in jeans."
"No, I just meant…where'd the flannel come from?"
"Um…I don't know." She looked down at it in disinterest, passing him his drink. "Thrift store, I guess? Either that, or I stole it from Bobby's."
"Huh. Yeah."
He took the beer, still eyeing the shirt. Kat walked past him, and without thinking, he reached for her sleeve. She'd slapped his hand out of the air before he could even brush her.
"Hey!"
"Sorry!" He held his hands up instantly, nearly spilling the beer. "I wasn't…I was just trying to see…may I?"
He gestured at the sleeve of the shirt again. He didn't want to move too quickly. Kat had recoiled faster than he'd ever seen. It wasn't like he hadn't grabbed her arm before. But her cagey eyes made him reluctant to try again.
Kat looked at him suspiciously, then held out her arm.
Dean was careful not to touch too much. He barely ghosted his fingers along the fabric, looking intently at the lines in the plaid. He traced around the elbow, doubting himself, but…
"Aha!" He grinned, tapping the discoloration in the fabric. "There she is! Ectoplasm stain. Got it from a souped-up ghost down in New Orleans. Man, that was a nasty job. I'll say this, they don't call it the most haunted city in America for nothing."
"Oh." Kat retracted her arm, looking down at the sleeve with a frown. "That's…gross."
He laughed, but the sound petered out pretty quickly. She was still staring down at the shirt, not looking at him.
"Uh…sorry," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean to…"
"No, I'm sorry," she said. "Do you want it…?"
"No, no. It's fine. I mean…I left it at…it's…probably got your cooties all over it anyway."
Dean took a harsh swig from his beer. When did he become such a fucking loser? He wished they were in a room on a higher floor. Then maybe he might've been able to do some real damage by flinging himself out a fucking window. At this height, he might twist an ankle, break a leg if he was lucky. That wouldn't be enough to save him from Kat's disbelieving smile.
"Right," she laughed. "If by 'cooties' you mean 'real laundry detergent,' then yeah. It's covered."
"Hey, I use laundry detergent."
"Yeah, powdered soap you can steal from the laundromat. I'm talking about actual detergent."
"Oh, well, sorry. I didn't realize we were in a Tide ad."
He screwed his face up in an attempt to mock her, but she seemed to sense that she still had the high ground. She was still laughing at him, anyway. Dean took another surly sip from his beer.
He really owed Kat for letting him off the hook.
"So," she said, plopping onto the bed. She tucked her legs up underneath her. "You come over here to get dragged about laundry?"
"I came over here to check on you," he said pointedly.
"Well, I'm breathing, so. I'm good."
"Uh huh."
He took a sip from his beer, watching her steadily. Her chipper smile faded into one of annoyance.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Dean. Did the demons catch up to me? Yes. Was I scared? Yes. But they didn't get me, and we'll all be more careful next time."
"And that's it?"
"Yeah. That's it."
"So what about Sam?"
Kat dropped her eyes to the beer bottle. Dean wasn't about to push her. He just grabbed the chair from the table and dragged it closer to the bed. He sat down, focusing on his own drink, and letting Kat pick the label on hers. They both waited.
"The demons got there about twenty minutes before you," Kat said softly. She still wasn't looking at him. "They broke the devil's traps, broke inside. Pamela and I killed the first one, but then Lana showed up. She had us pinned to the wall before we knew what happened."
"Didn't think she had that kinda juice," said Dean.
"I don't think she did," Kat admitted. "Not at the Roadhouse anyway. She was talking about how she'd gone back to Alastair to learn a few things, power up or whatever. After she split with Meg anyway."
"Huh. Well, good riddance."
It coaxed a small smile out of her at the very least.
"Anyway, I let her do her monologuing, and then when she tried to take me I took out the second guy. I knew Pamela was trying to bring you guys back, so I was trying to cause as much chaos as I could. Lana dragged me out into the hallway, and she had this...like this seizure. She was coughing up smoke, or...I guess the host was coughing up her...and when she collapsed, I just saw Sam at the end of the hallway."
Kat took a shaky sip of the beer. Dean tried ignore the way her fingers were trembling.
"I thought I got it," she whispered a few moments later. "I mean, the way he talks about it. Sure, I knew it wasn't good, but I knew why he was doing it. But seeing it for real...nothing about that was normal."
"Yeah, well. Since when is anything we do normal?"
He tried his best to laugh it off. But when Kat looked up at him, it was with wide, haunted eyes. She almost looked tiny in his oversized flannel.
"Dean, no one should be able to do stuff like that. I mean, the look in his eyes…I was more scared of him than I was of Lana."
"Hey, it's—it's still Sam," he assured her, despite how much he agreed. "He'd never hurt you."
"Maybe not on purpose. But…I don't know. Watching him use his powers…it's a miracle he hasn't slipped up already. He has to know he's playing with fire. I just don't get how he can keep justifying this shit."
"Because he saved you," Dean said earnestly. "At the end of the day, you're alive. That's good enough for him. Hell, it's good enough for me."
"Dean," she sighed, but he cut her off.
"I know it's not good. Hell, I'm with you every bit on that. But you wanna know why he does it? That's why. He knows it's bad, and it's nasty, and it's probably gonna bite him in the ass. But he's willing to take that chance if it'll keep you safe. That's just Sam, you know?"
Kat was still frowning, but she nodded. "That's what Pam said."
"She gave me the same speech if it makes you feel any better."
"It doesn't, but thanks." She smiled, and pushed her hair out of her face. "You two are exhausting, you know? I mean, you've had me playing peacekeeper for like a week. And it sucked. You're fighting to the death one minute, defending each other the next."
"That's family for ya," he said with a hollow smile. "Sure you and Jess were a riot."
"Yeah," she chuckled. "But I never had to defend Jess from anybody. Everyone loved her. Most of the time, she was defending me."
Kat polished off the rest of her beer, and smiled sadly down at the bottle. Dean hesitated to push the subject. He knew families could be a touchy subject for Kat. Just like her sister, or high school, or her mentor. That he could relate to. He was the last one to bring his traumas to the table for show and tell. But some part of him wanted her to keep talking.
A knock on the door interrupted them. They both froze, reaching for weapons in unison. But when Dean got up to check the door, he relaxed.
"Speak of the devil," he said, stepping aside to let him in.
"We've got a problem," said Sam. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he was looking around wildly. "They were just standing there when I got out of the bathroom, and then I…"
"Who?" Kat demanded. "Demons?"
"No, the…"
"Angels," Dean finished, glaring right at the problem.
Uriel and Castiel had joined them without warning. They were both dressed in the same stupid suits, still clean and cheap and snazzy. Dean wondered idly if they ever had to do laundry, or if they could just miracle themselves back to normal. After all, he'd stabbed Cas in the chest the first time he'd shown up. And he still looked dandy, if a little forlorn. He was hanging back in the shadows, while Uriel took the mainstage.
"Winchester and Winchester," he said with a smug smile. His eyes drifted to Kat on the motel bed. "And Miss Moore, of course. I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
"Oh, we did," she said stiffly. "But you were a little busy trying to kill Anna."
Her jab didn't faze him. He was still watching superiorly as she got to her feet, joining the Winchesters on the other side of the room. His smirk widened, and he glanced over his shoulder at Castiel.
"I see why you're so fond of her, brother. This one, she's…so willful, defiant."
Castiel did not respond. He only stared at the wall ahead of him.
"Alright, can we cut the crap?" Dean huffed. "It's a little late for your usual douchiness."
"How unfortunate," said Uriel flatly. "You are needed."
"Needed? We just got back from needed."
"Now, you mind your tone with me…"
"No! You mind your damn tone with us!"
Sam grabbed him by the shoulder before he could start swinging.
"We just got back from the hospital," he said. "Pamela's leg was broken in three places. She's lucky she didn't end up in a wheelchair!"
"Pamela," Dean repeated, glowering at Uriel's indifferent face. "You know, psychic Pamela? You remember her. Cas, you remember her! You remember that? Good times! Yeah, now she's a cripple cause she helped save one of your precious seals."
"Your friend will recover," said Uriel.
"She shouldn't have to! And I don't see you stepping up to the plate to help her out! So maybe you could stop pushing us around like chess pieces for five freaking minutes!"
"We raised you out of Hell for our purposes," Uriel reminded him.
"Yeah, and what were those again?" Dean asked. "What exactly do you want from me?"
"Start with gratitude."
"Gratitude?"
Dean was surprised that it was Kat who stepped forward, her almighty death glare fixed fearlessly on the angel in front of her.
"Gratitude for what? Why should we thank you when all you do is treat us like some inconvenient garbage until you remember you need us? When you preach this hypocritical bullshit about protecting God's creations and then blow cities up without a second thought? Or how about the fact that you lie, and cheat, and break promises left and right, but still have the fucking arrogance to think you're any better than humans?"
She'd grown closer to him with every word, stalking forward like a predatory ready to pounce. She still looked incredibly small in the flannel. But Dean knew better than to try and hold her back. He wasn't about to get in the way of her fury.
Uriel stared down his nose at her, all amusement gone.
"Remember your place, girl."
"Katherine…" Castiel had finally woken from his stupor, his voice pleading. "We know that this is difficult to understand…"
"And we," Uriel interrupted, "don't care."
Dean watched with fascination as Castiel shut down once more. He turned back to the wall, fixing his posture like a good little soldier standing at attention. Something was definitely up. Sure, he and Uriel had come off as paper-filing dicks more often than not, but Cas had been his own man. Dean had assumed Cas and Uriel were equals, at least. Now it seemed Uriel had him on a leash, muzzle and all.
When he was sure Castiel was on lockdown, Uriel continued.
"Now, seven angels have been murdered—all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."
"Demons?" Dean asked, unable to deny his interest.
Uriel merely cocked his head.
"How they doing it?" he asked.
"And will they teach us?" Kat added in a grumble.
"We don't know," Uriel growled, glowering at her.
"I'm sorry," said Sam, "but what do you want us to do about it? I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?"
"We can handle the demons, thank you very much," Uriel said coolly.
"Once we find whoever it is," Castiel conceded.
Dean looked between the two of them, taking in their discomfort.
"So you need our help…hunting a demon?" He shot a side glance at Kat. "Well, isn't that ironic?"
"Not quite," said Castiel. He stepped forward from the shadows, taking a place at Uriel's side. "We have Alastair."
"Great," said Dean. "He should be able to name your triggerman."
"But he won't talk. Alastair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse."
"Well, yeah, the dude's like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league."
"That's why we've come to his student," said Uriel. "You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got."
Dean's blood ran cold. Colder than the Midwest ice outside, colder than it had been in Hell. Everything else in the room had come to a frozen halt. He could feel the walls he'd been patching in his head already beginning to break down, leaks of buried memories surging forward. The cold, the quiet, the screams…
"Get fucked," said Kat, the first to recover from the shock.
"Silence," Uriel spat. "Don't presume to speak about what you don't understand."
"Don't understand? What I understand is that you two are asking…"
"Dean." Castiel cut off Kat's tirade, looking solely at Dean. "It is paramount that we discover who is killing the angels. But questioning Alastair also has...other benefits."
"Like what?" Sam demanded, sounding just as outraged as Kat.
"Like finding out what ends the demons intend to use Katherine."
Something inside Dean made him pause. The cold had stopped, something else surging forward in its place. It wasn't enough to eclipse it. He could still feel the shiver creeping up his spine, the block of frostbite weighing down his stomach. But it was enough to clear the ice from his mind. His eyes drifted back to Kat, and her jaw dropped in horror.
"Fuck no! Dean, you can't even—absolutely not!"
"Katherine," Castiel said again, closer to his usual exasperation.
"No, Cas! I don't need to know why the demons want me. Alright? All I need is the common sense not to get caught. And I didn't, by the way, not that it matters to you."
"Of course it…"
"I'd rather go back to your Wi-Fi-free security bubble than listen to this bullshit plan. So fuck this, and let's figure out something else."
Kat folded her arms over her chest, fiery determination spitting off at her in waves. She glared at each of them in turn, daring anyone to disagree.
But Dean was smarter than that. He cleared his throat, forcing the uncomfortable something out of his bloodstream. Then he plastered on a short-lived smile.
"You heard the lady. No can do, fellas."
"Dean," Cas tried again, his voice softer. "You're our best hope."
"No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas, not this."
He held Castiel's gaze, begging him silently for all he was worth. Castiel considered him, his head cocked to the side the way he often did. Like a confused animal trying to place a sound. He almost looked concerned, if angels could feel that sort of thing. God, Dean hoped they could. Because if he was Cas's best chance of breaking Alastair, Cas was his best chance at staying whole.
But Uriel was already striding forward, playing front man one more time.
"Who said anything about asking?"
Dean blinked. The motel room was gone. Instead, he was standing inside an abandoned factory. The chill was stronger here, icy wind making its way through the rust-eaten walls. It was a large room with columns and scaffolding overhead, but no other identifying markers. He could've been down the block or in Russia, with no way to tell the difference.
"You know, fuck you guys," he grumbled, turning on the spot to take in the limited sights. "Why don't you just move to Vegas, huh? Set up your disappearing act, get your kicks there?"
"Aw," Uriel chuckled. "The monkey's got jokes."
"Yeah, the monkey's also got a box cutter in his pocket. I might not be able to kill you, Chuckles, but I'm sure it's a lot tougher to be a douche in a vessel that can't breathe."
Uriel raised his hands in surrender, but the gesture was so full of mocking amusement that it didn't give Dean any satisfaction.
"Here."
Castiel's voice rang out from the other side of the room. He was standing next to a door, a small window shining with light from the other side. Against his better judgement, Dean wandered over. He peered through the glass, knowing exactly what he'd find, and somehow still shaken to the core.
It was Alastair. He was strung up in chains, being forced to stand on his tip toes. He hung limply, head drooped low, but a smear of blood still visible on his chin. The restraints bound him to a giant star, six points made out of solid iron if he had to guess. White paint stretched across the floor, making symbols and shapes Dean only vaguely recognized.
"This devil's trap is old Enochian," Castiel explained. "He's bound completely."
Dean allowed himself another moment to look. Another moment to see Alastair chained up good and tight, where he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. He'd savor this image. At least as long as he could fool himself into believing Alastair hadn't tricked his way out of it. Then Dean turned his back.
"Fascinating. Where's the door?"
"Where are you going?" asked Castiel.
"Hitch a ride back to Iowa, thank you very much."
He walked fast as he could for the door. But travel was a lot faster with wings.
Uriel materialized in front of him, blocking his path to the door and making Dean take a step back.
"Angels are dying, boy."
"Everybody's dying these days," Dean snapped back. "And, hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this!"
"This is too much to ask," said Castiel. "I know. But we have to ask it."
Dean turned around to look at him. Castiel's eyes were wide, baby blue's still begging Dean to see things his way. But there was something else there. Like Alastair wasn't the only thing Dean needed to understand.
Dean turned back to Uriel, his jaw set.
"I want to talk to Cas alone."
Uriel's smirk floated to the surface once more. He looked at Dean, then over Dean's shoulder at Castiel. Dean was glad he found something funny, at least.
"I think I'll go seek…revelation," he said, after several seconds of thoroughly creepy staring. "We might have some further orders."
Dean nodded. "Well, get some doughnuts while you're out."
Uriel laughed. The sound was almost as unsettling as the cold.
"Ah, this one just won't quit, will he?" he asked, looking Dean up and down. "I think I'm starting to like you, boy."
Before Dean could fully process that disturbing thought, the man disappeared in a ruffle of feathers. Dean shook himself off, turning back to Cas.
"You guys don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby."
The jab didn't compute with Castiel. He just squinted. Dean deflated. He hated explaining his own jokes.
"You know, I'm starting to think Junkless has a better sense of humor than you do."
"Uriel is the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone."
Dean decided to drop the subject.
"What's going on, Cas?" Even though they didn't appear to have company, Dean lowered his voice. "Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"
Castiel frowned, avoiding Dean's gaze.
"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies."
"Your sympathies?" Dean repeated.
"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You."
"And Kat," Dean guessed.
Cas's eyes shot up to meet his. Half warning, half fully admitting guilt.
"They feel I've begun to express emotions, the doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment."
He turned on his heel, facing the wall again. It seemed to be the safe-pose of an angel in distress.
"Well that's a load of crap," Dean scoffed. "Okay, I get it. Kat's cute, but…it's not like you crossed any boundaries, right? Unless holding a grudge counts as emotion. Kat said you had a little domestic back on the siren case and you tapped out on her. Hell, you haven't seen her in weeks. Why bring down the hammer now?"
This time, when Cas looked up, Dean was shocked to find him glaring.
"Katherine is my responsibility," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I warned her about the narrow view of her perspective. But I would never abandon her."
"Uh…okay," Dean said, a bit shaken. "But you did kind of drop of the radar there for a while."
"Just because I was off your radar does not mean I abandoned my post."
"Okay, fine. Then where the hell were you?"
Castiel continued to stare ahead. Dean was ready to start screaming in frustration, but he reined himself in. He waited, like he had with Kat, and eventually the angel sighed.
"After my…'domestic' with Katherine, I thought it would be best to maintain my distance. I was frustrated with you, and despite her efforts, I was having difficulty understanding your resistance. So I thought I would stay back, observe, watch you solve the case on your own. Until, of course, it was necessary to step in."
"Step in?" Dean echoed.
"Yes. You and Sam are far too adept at killing things to make mistakes. When you were fighting each other, I needed to ensure neither of you would succeed. Or hurt Katherine in the process."
"You…dude, you weren't there. I know I was a little drugged up, but I know that much."
Castiel finally turned to him, giving him an exhausted, pitying look.
"I am an angel, Dean. Just because you could not perceive me does not mean I wasn't there."
"What?" Dean gaped at him. "You…? You can be invisible?"
Cas almost managed to roll his eyes.
"I can avoid detection, just as I can manipulate human voice or memory. I was the one who told Katherine to find you and Sam at the hotel, just as I told Sam to travel to Wyoming for this case. And I protected you during the brawl, just as I protected Katherine from the demon Lana."
Dean could only stare. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it was creepy as all hell. He knew Kat had complained about Castiel watching her, that the dude didn't have any sense of privacy or personal space. He'd thought she was joking for the most part. But hearing that an invisible entity had been tailing him for the better part of two weeks, listening in on his conversations and watching his every move... It made his skin crawl.
On the other hand…it was Cas. After all Dean's bitching about how the angels didn't really care, Castiel had still been there. He'd had their backs, and not even brought it up. So he was uncomfortable, sure. But he couldn't help feeling a little thankful. Not that he was prepared to say that out loud.
"Well," he said instead, "don't tell Kat that. She thinks it was her badass knife-throwing that got her away from Lana."
"Katherine fought admirably," Castiel assured him. "I merely helped her overcome Lana's demonic influence. I intended to intercede, but…your brother arrived before it became necessary."
Castiel's tone wasn't lost on him. Dean frowned.
"So you saw him? Saw what he did."
"Yes," he said gravely.
"Alright. Then why isn't it Sam chained up on your little rig in there? Why's he still walking and talking? Cause I remember you saying pretty clearly that if Sammy kept using his powers, you were gonna stop him yourself."
"Would you prefer that?"
Dean did not answer. It was clear Castiel hadn't expected him to. He turned back to his trusty wall, his jaw set.
"What I saw was Sam interceding on Katherine's behalf. I chose not to act. It's one of the many reasons my superiors have asked me to step aside."
"That's what this is about?" Dean asked incredulously. "The coach put you on the bench for giving a crap?"
"Yes, Dean! That is exactly what this is about!"
Castiel was seething. It made Dean take a step back. He often thought of Cas as a wimp, just a nerdy guy with a crooked tie. It was easy to forget the dude was a freaking angel. When he got angry, it was a lot easier to picture the whole "warrior of god" thing.
"I disobeyed a direct order," Castiel reminded him furiously. "I interfered to protect you. I looked the other way, to protect you. Angels are not meant to 'give a crap,' as you say. We are meant to carry out our missions. And that's why you need to do this, Dean."
"Oh, for you? So you can go back to checking your boxes?"
"No. For Katherine."
Dean tensed. His eyes drifted back to the door on the other end the room, dim light shining through the window. He felt bad even thinking about it. Kat had made her opinion on the matter perfectly clear. She didn't want to be helped, not like that. Still, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it.
"We need to do this," said Castiel, sensing Dean's hesitation. "This information—it could be the difference between life and death for her."
"Kat knows what she's up against," said Dean. "It's her life, her choice. You heard what she said. All she needs to know is to not get captured. If it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me."
"And what if it's not good enough? What if Alastair sends ten demons next time? Or twenty?"
"Then we'll just have to protect her."
"But I can't, Dean," Cas said imploringly. "Not anymore. I know what I'm asking. And for what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this. But…I need you to...to give a crap. For both of us."
His eyes were so pleading that Dean had to look away.
Of course he gave a crap. That was exactly why he couldn't do it. Kat didn't want him to. But it was more than that. If he opened that door, if he tapped into that part of himself...he wasn't sure he could even face her. Not after she'd been so scared of Sam. And she'd been terrified. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, so afraid that she couldn't look at him.
He knew that was stupid. Kat already knew what he'd done down in Hell. She'd as good as told him she didn't care. But that had been when the past was behind him. And yeah, there were a lot of reasons he didn't want to start torturing again. A lot of really good fucking reasons. One of them was just that he wanted to protect her from that part of himself. Protect everyone.
But tearing into Alastair was protecting Kat. Cas was right. They'd been lucky ditching the demons so far. They'd had his help. But if Castiel was out of the picture, their luck was bound to run out soon. If Kat was in danger, wasn't it better to wipe the threat off the board? If she was gonna be scared, wasn't it safer to be scared of him?
Dean clenched his jaw, and nodded.
"When do we start?"