The Impala rumbled and roared as it pulled down the pathway to Singer Salvage. The gravel crunched under the weight of the car, muffled country music playing through the windows. The moment the engine cut out, the passenger door flung open.

"Thank Christ," Kat groaned, practically leaping out of the car. "I take back everything I've ever said about rock. Your music is worse."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sam jumped from the driver's seat, running around the car to help her. "Would you take it easy? Otherwise your busted ankle's gonna be a broken one."

Kat rolled her eyes, but allowed Sam to sling an arm around her waist. It took the weight off her bad leg, at least. She resented being lugged around like a child, but Sam hadn't let up since they'd found out angels were looking to hand her over to the demons. It'd been nearly two months of helicopter parenting, and Sam still showed no signs of stopping. It was a miracle she hadn't killed him yet.

"Yeah, well if you were so worried about my well-being, you wouldn't have forced me to listen to twelve hours of country music."

"What's the problem?" he chuckled, as they made their way up the front steps. "You like country. You listen to like—Shania Twain and Faith Hill all the time."

"That is so not the same thing. Don't you dare tell me that's the same thing."

They bickered all the way into the house, hobbling sideways through the door. Sam only got halfway through thinking he could carry her when Kat smacked him. He cursed loudly, bumping into the corner of a table, and the argument started up all over again.

"Ah, cram it, both of you."

Bobby joined them out in the hallway. Clearly, he had his own priorities. He squeezed right past the place where they were struggling, heading to the table in the corner. He straightened the pile of books and papers that was stacked on top. As if they'd been in a specific order in the first place.

"She started it," Sam grumbled, making Bobby roll his eyes.

"Quit babyin' about it. Shania Twain ain't real country any more than that overproduced crap you listen to."

"Thank you, Bobby," Kat said pointedly.

"Wasn't a compliment. What happened to you?"

"Tornado."

"…come again?"

"I fought a tornado." She limped past him into the kitchen, ignoring his incredulous look. "The tornado won."

"Barely," scoffed Sam. He was hovering behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. "You're lucky you didn't break your neck."

"Yeah, well thank the angel on my shoulder."

"I did. Repeatedly. Just wish we had more angels to spare."

She collapsed at the kitchen table, propping her foot up on the opposite chair. Sam went to sit across from her but Bobby shook his head.

"Ah, ah. Don't go gettin' too comfortable. Supply run. Hop to it."

"Oh, come on," Sam groaned. "Seriously, Bobby?"

"Hey, don't look at me. You got a problem with it, take it up with Dean. He's the one who wanted a damn movie night. And if I heard right, you're the one who suggested it."

"Yeah, well that was before I drove all the way back from Oklahoma."

"Tough tarts, sweetheart."

Bobby held out a shopping list, and Sam sagged like a toddler.

"Why do I have to go?"

"Well Kat ain't driving with that bum foot."

"Yeah, well…"

Bobby gave him a warning look, and Sam deflated. Wordlessly, he snatched the list out of his hands and trudged back for the door. The Impala engine roared again, and Kat swore she could hear the gravel hitting the side out of house as he peeled down the path toward the road. She did her best not to chuckle openly.

"Drink?" Bobby offered.

"Please," she sighed in relief.

She leaned back in her seat, resting her eyes while Bobby rummaged through the fridge. She heard him pop the cap and accepted the bottle without looking. One sip was enough to make her wrinkle her nose. She peered down at the old-fashioned Coke bottle in surprise.

"Seriously, Bobby?"

"What?" he asked innocently, taking the chair across from her. "You got one bad ankle already. Don't need you any less coordinated."

Kat pouted, but drank the soda without complaint. Bobby's house meant Bobby's rules. She'd learned that one pretty fast, and didn't plan on arguing.

"So, how'd you get on the wrong end of a tornado?" he asked, tugging on his trusty trucker cap. "Witches?"

"Yeah, paired up with high-level demons. Not my favorite combo."

"What were they tryna do?"

"Bring a church down."

"Huh." Bobby didn't sound all that impressed. "Seems like a milk run. Not God's finest work, you ask me."

"It was more complicated than that," Kat said, waving a hand. "Something about bringing down an untouched house of the Lord with an act of God or whatever."

"And? Church still standing?"

Kat gave him a sour look. But Bobby never seemed that affected by her death glares. He just chuckled into his bottle of beer.

"Can't say I blame ya. Hell of a seal to take on. Who put you on the case?"

She gave him an even bitchier look by way of answering.

"Yeah," he sighed, nodding to himself. "That fits the bill."

"I swear, she's trying to kill me," Kat fumed. "All these tips she's been giving Sam have been the craziest, weirdest shit. I mean, look at me! How the fuck am I supposed to stop a tornado from levelling a church?"

"You tell Sam that?"

"I tried, but…" Kat huffed, glaring down at her soda. "Ruby's a touchy subject with him. He thinks I'm biased and I'm overreacting."

"Are you?"

She glowered at him, not that it had any effect. "Are you seriously defending a demon?"

"Course not. Just trying to figure where your head's at."

Kat pushed the soda aside, folding her arms on the table.

"Just look at everything we've done in the last few weeks. We haven't saved a seal since Wyoming. Every time Ruby gives us a tip, we're a man too short and fifteen minutes too late. And as soon as he calls her, she's got another useless tip. It just feels like she's only sending us places she knows we can't do any good."

"You think she's playing both sides?" Bobby asked.

"You don't?" Kat shot back. "I mean, if she's not biding her time until the Apocalypse, she must be hoping I'm gonna kick it on one of these stupid missions."

"What'd Sam say?"

"That she's 'doing her best.' You know, bad tips are better than no tips, we're lucky we know as much as we do. All that shit. And I get it, I just…I guess I'm just tired of losing."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. Then he drained his beer and fixed her with a frown.

"Well, boo hoo, princess. Huntin' ain't got a lot of wins. Losing is pretty much all you got on this job. You don't hear the rest of us complaining about it."

Kat rolled her eyes. She was as immune to Bobby's tough-love lectures as he was immune to her death glares. Every time he got grumpy, it just reminded her of Marcus. And she'd dealt with his bullshit too long to take it to heart.

"Actually I do hear people complain about it," she baited. "All the time. Every day. Kinda makes you wonder why we keep at it."

Bobby grumbled to himself, sitting back in his chair.

Before he could find anything else to complain about, the side door swung open. Dean was supremely underdressed for the weather outside. His single T-shirt was drenched in sweat, but it didn't seem to be bothering him. His hands were covered in grease, one holding an old car towel and the other one a manual. He tossed them both on the counter, ignoring Bobby's protests.

"Hey, I thought I heard someone arguing," Dean said with a lazy grin. "Welcome back, Kit Kat."

"Aren't you cold?" she asked as he ducked into the fridge. "I'm freezing just looking at you."

"Thanks, Kat. Just what every guy wants to hear."

She rolled her eyes, but he passed her a beer before she could snap back. She took it happily, sliding her half-finished Coke across the table to Bobby. She smiled pointedly, but he only shook his head. Apparently, he was too weary to comment.

"What happened to your leg?" asked Dean, nodding to her foot in the chair.

"Bad case," she answered.

"Yeah," Bobby added. "While you were playin' Mr. Fix-It, Kat was out bein' a regular Helen Hunt."

"Oh really?" Dean raised his eyebrows with interest. "As Good As It Gets or Twister?"

Bobby held up two fingers, which made Dean chuckle.

"Wow. Alrighty then. I rephrase—no place like home, Dorothy."

"Would you two stop talking in code?" Kat complained, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It makes you at least twice as annoying as you normally are."

Dean laughed and patted her on the back. She shirked away, swatting at him.

"Watch it!"

"What? I just—oh." He looked down at his greasy hands and winced. "Fair enough. Alright, well I'm gonna go shower and then I can fix the upstairs room for you."

"What?" Kat looked up in confusion as he walked away. "No, Dean, you don't have to…"

"It's fine, Kat. I got the spare room to myself for like, a month. But now you're the gimp, so you get the honeymoon suite."

He grinned cheekily, and disappeared up the stairs before she could argue.

Kat huffed, turning back to Bobby. She would've launched into another tirade about people making a fuss, but Bobby wasn't looking at her. He was still staring at the stairs, his face pensive and gloomy. Kat sobered instantly. She didn't have to ask, but she did anyway.

"What?"

"Hmph. Boy's worse off than I thought."

"Cause of Alastair?"

"Yeah, that too," he said darkly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Bobby sighed. He finally tore his eyes away from the staircase, shaking his head.

"This ain't the first time Dean's been through the ringer. Boy knows how to take a beating, but he ain't usually this…helpful."

"Yeah, no kidding," Kat snorted into her drink.

"No, not like that. I mean when the kid gets in his head, he tends to be a workaholic. An alcoholic too, for what it's worth. Instead he's sitting around here, cozied up in my spare room and fixing cars all day long."

"Well, Sam benched him," Kat offered. "He got his ass kicked within an inch of his life. And Anna didn't end up helping that much, being on the run. Maybe he's just…"

"Healing?" Bobby finished doubtfully. "And since when you seen that slow him down?"

Kat chewed on her bottom lip. She knew she was making weak excuses. All of them had been. The fact was the Dean hadn't shown the slightest interest in hunting ever since Alastair. Even when she and Sam had been out every week defending the seals. Kat hadn't known him all that long, but even she knew that meant trouble. She knew what it was, too. But none of them had said it out loud. Then they'd have to face just how impossible it was to solve.

"I'm worried," Bobby admitted softly. "We've gotten a lot of bad news this year, but this…this's gotta take the cake."

"It's Dean," said Kat, trying to be supportive. "He'll bounce back. Soon as your TV breaks or you run out of cars to fix."

"Yeah, maybe. Still think you oughta talk to him about it."

"Me?" Kat blinked at him. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Well, he listened to ya last time, didn't he?"

Kat couldn't form a response to that. She floundered, and before she could articulate exactly how crazy Bobby sounded, he got up from his chair. He pulled the beer out of her hands, swapping the Coke back. Then he ambled out of the room, saying something about popcorn.

Alone in the kitchen, Kat frowned down at her soda. Fine. So maybe Dean had listened to her last time they'd had a dramatic heart to heart. But what they'd been talking about at the Roadhouse had been different. She couldn't exactly relate, but she knew what was going through his head. She knew what it was like to run from yourself and bury yourself in work and danger. All she'd done was give it to him straight. Needlessly risking his life wouldn't fix the lives he'd hurt.

Well. Wasn't that what he was telling himself now?

Kat did her best to shake off Bobby's words. Dean was Dean. He wasn't going to listen to anyone but himself. If Bobby couldn't get him to shake his guilt, and Sam couldn't get him to shake his guilt, then it might as well have been superglued to him. Kat wasn't going to open that can of worms and trauma.

She put it out of her mind for the moment, distracting herself by picking up the wall phone. One of the benefits of being at Bobby's was that she could call her mother whenever she wanted. Her mom called the place enough that it didn't look suspicious. Kat had still been concerned at first, worried about raising red flags, but it turned out that Bobby had taken to calling her mom pretty often too.

"Not like that," her mother had said, the moment she sensed Kat's suspicion. "He's been setting me up with my own FBI line."

"Your own…what?"

"FBI line! So hunters in the field have someone to call if they run into law enforcement."

"And you're down with that?" Kat asked with a smirk. "Lying to law enforcement?"

"I was hesitant at first. But it's actually kind of fun. Most of the people I get are grumpy FBI men or police commissioners, so I get to yell at them not to question my authority. It's almost…soothing."

Kat had grinned openly at that. And the Winchesters wondered where she got it from.

Even as her mother got more and more comfortable with hunting, she didn't know everything. Kat kept her on a need to know with the seals. Partially because she had no intention of telling her mother about how she'd tried to fight a tornado-wielding witch, and partially because she still couldn't bring herself to tell the truth about Sam. Her mom didn't know anything about his demon powers, nothing about Alastair or Ruby. As far as she was concerned, all of Kat's missions were coming from Castiel.

Their conversations about angels had done something of a one-eighty. A few months ago, Kat had been cursing out every angel she could think of while her mom reminded her that they were doing their best. Now she was the one being harsh on Heaven. She couldn't imagine a good reason to send her baby girl into battle instead of a fully-powered angel. Kat didn't defend them, but she didn't tell the truth either. Her mom was already losing it because she hadn't been home in so long. The last thing she needed was to find out Kat had to watch her back for rogue angels too.

They were still chatting about her mom's last phone call—a grumpy district attorney in Florida—when Sam got back from the store. He was grumbling to himself, something about having to do the shopping while Dean sat around all day doing nothing. Kat couldn't believe he was still going. It was quiet enough that she couldn't catch every word, but loud enough that her mother picked up on his oh-so-dulcet tones.

"Is that Sam?" she asked, her voice perking up. "How is he?"

"Sam's fine. Hold on."

She slipped out of the seat, ignoring Sam's protests and handing him the phone. He frowned at her, but plastered on a smile as soon as he spoke into the receiver.

"Hey, Grace! Yeah—Yeah, it's good to hear from you too…"

Kat smirked. He was such a people pleaser.

She hopped across the kitchen to inspect the shopping bags. She put away what she could, half-listening to Sam's excuses as to why he never called her mother personally. She started the popcorn in the microwave, put the fresh beers in the fridge, and was just trying to grab a bowl from a high cabinet when Dean swooped in behind her.

"Will you knock it off?" he scolded, snatching it out of her reach. "You're gonna break another ankle."

"I am not," she snapped. "And it's not broken. Gimme that."

"What, and let you screw up the popcorn? I don't think so, sweetheart."

"It's popcorn! How do you screw up popcorn?"

"Overcook it. Undercook it. Add some weird, unnecessary toppings like peanut butter and cream cheese."

Kat shoved him, careful to keep her balance. "Shut the fuck up, Dean."

"Or what? You gonna try and beat me up? You and your gimp leg?"

"I'll kick your ass with my gimp leg."

Sam stepped in before either of them could start swinging. He forced the phone back into Kat's hand and pushed her back toward the table, taking her spot at the counter. Still, Dean glared at her over his shoulder, holding a hand up to his ear and miming at her to finish it up.

"Everything alright?" her mother asked, voice full of amusement.

"Oh yeah, it's fine. I've got all the time in the world."

Kat flipped off Dean when he scoffed at her.

Despite her best efforts to drag things out, her conversation with her mom wrapped up shortly after that. There were only so many times she could ask how Harley was doing, or how the gym was fairing without her. She had a sneaking suspicion her mom was trying to get rid of her, actively trying to end the conversation so she had to join the stupid movie night. What she'd done to deserve that, she didn't know.

Sooner than she would have liked, Kat wound up in the den, draped sideways over an armchair with a book and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Sam and Dean had been arguing about something for the better part of twenty minutes, but she was doing her best not to get involved. Of course, the moment she thought it, Dean waved a hand in front of her face.

"Earth to Tinkerbell. Hello?"

Kat smacked his hand out of her face. "What?"

"Favorite action movie star. Go."

"I don't have one," she said dismissively, turning back to her book.

"Fine. First one that comes to mind. Anyone."

"I don't know," she sighed. "Vin Diesel?"

"No," said Dean, screwing up his face. "Like a classic action movie."

"…Bruce Willis?"

Dean looked down on her in contempt. Then he shook his head.

"Alright, you're banned from this conversation."

"Thank God."

He ignored her remark, launching back into his argument with Sam. She swore he was getting louder just so she'd have to listen to him.

"You know what, Sam? I don't need to hear your shitty opinions. If you're gonna blaspheme like this, I'll just pick the damn movie myself."

"It's not blasphemy!" Sam disputed, half-laughing. "I'm just saying—look, you can't really compare…"

"I don't even know you right now! There's not even a contest!"

"It depends on the criteria!"

"Survival is the only criteria, alright? And when the crap hits the fan, it's not about who has skill. It's about who's the bigger badass!"

"Sounds like something someone unskilled would say," Kat baited before she could stop herself.

"Oh, ha ha!" Dean rounded on her, "You are not even close to being qualified enough for this conversation."

"Oh boo hoo. Whatever will I do?"

Dean tried to grab the book from her hands, and she promptly smacked him with it.

"Knock it off, idjits," Bobby ordered as he walked past.

"Bobby! Will you please tell Sam that Chuck Norris could kick Jet Li's ass?"

"Leave me out of it."

"Ha!" Sam laughed victoriously. "You see? That's cause he agrees with me!"

"He did not agree with you. He just doesn't have the patience to deal with your dumbass opinions. Hey, Bobby, can you grab me a beer while you're in there?"

"Yeah, make it two," added Sam.

"Three, please!" Kat called.

"Two," Bobby called back. "And this ain't a damn Roadhouse!"

Kat sunk gloomily back into her seat while Dean laughed. He made a show out of picking a DVD, and setting it up on the TV. Then he hurried back to his seat on the couch, shoving Sam out of the way.

"Alright, scoot, jerk-face. Show your elders some respect."

"You scoot, ass-hat," Sam snorted, and threw popcorn in his face.

Bobby returned before things could get out of hand. He passed the boys their beer, Kat a fresh Coke. She thanked him quietly, even though she was seething. Bobby snorted, and tossed an ice pack into her lap as well.

He crossed to the opposite armchair next to Dean, who was rifling through the rest of the shopping bags.

"Did we get licorice?"

"No, we did not get licorice," said Sam through a mouthful of jerky. "We got good snacks. Licorice is disgusting."

Dean's jaw dropped. He looked downright offended. Kat couldn't help but snicker into her soda as he gaped at his brother.

"I—I'm sorry, I didn't quite understand that, uh Mr. Peanut-Butter-and-Banana Sandwiches?"

"You know what? I stand by that sandwich!"

"Oh, well of course you do! You and your girlfriend, Miss Peanut-Butter-and-Cream-Cheese over here!"

"Oh my God," Kat groaned, letting her head drop back. "Will you get over the fucking bagel?"

"No! It's a crime, okay? It's a crime against breakfast of all kinds! Peanut butter should only be paired with two things, and that's jelly and chocolate! End of discussion!"

"Right," Sam snorted, "well, I'm not gonna take advice from someone who likes licorice. Nobody likes licorice! I-It's—It's made of dirt!"

"It is a classic movie food! It's right up there with popcorn!"

"Popcorn? Really?"

"Yes!"

"You're out of your mind!"

"What? It's—It's like little, chewy pieces of Heaven!"

"Oh, chewy pieces of Heaven if you're a girl…"

"Hey," Kat snapped, brandishing a finger at him. "Stop being fucking sexist, and do not drag me into your bullshit."

"See? Even girls don't like licorice!"

"Fuck you, Sam! Licorice is fine!"

"Excuse me?" he choked back at her. "No. No, now you're just trying to disagree with me."

"I am not! But there are different kinds of licorice. There's black licorice, and then there's red licorice like—like Twizzlers or Red Vines…"

"Red licorice is not licorice," Dean snapped.

"Then why is it called licorice, huh?" Kat demanded.

"Because people are cowards!"

"Fine. I'm just saying, if you want to win an argument, it would be smarter to include…"

"Okay, I do not need your help with this," Dean sneered, shaking his head.

"Trust me," Kat laughed, and flipped him off again. "I am not trying to help you, jackass."

"Will the three of you knock it off?" Bobby hollered. "Or else I'm taking all the damn food and you can argue in the yard tonight!"

Sam, Dean and Kat all exchanged sullen looks. Each of them hugged their snacks close, and sank down in their seats. The argument was closed. For now.

Kat allowed her attention to drift to the television. She had no interest in watching action movies, especially the masturbatory, macho-men ones that Dean held so dear. She wasn't sure which Chuck Norris film he'd put on. She also wasn't sure if it mattered. All she knew was that she only made it about twenty-five minutes before she was praying for a way out of her current situation.

The image on the screen flickered, and disappeared.

"What?" Dean sat up abruptly, sending popcorn flying in all directions. "Dude, what the hell?"

He smacked Sam on the chest, who smacked him back. He threw more popcorn in retaliation.

"Don't look at me! You picked the movie!"

"Will you two stop trashing my house?"

"Relax!" Kat called over the commotion, and she clambered out of her seat. "I think that's my cue for a status report."

"Now?" Dean whined. "It's just getting good!"

"Oh, don't pause on my account. You can explain when I get back. Or not."

He rolled his eyes, reaching for the remote to rewind. Sam was already half out of his seat.

"You need some…?"

"Sit, Sam," she ordered. "Seriously. I can make it to the yard without dying."

None of the men seemed to believe her, but she disregarded all of their concern. One hop at a time, she made her way to the back door. She shivered in the night air. Still, she didn't want to waste the time turning back for another sweatshirt. Instead, she made a break for the nearest abandoned car and hoped that Castiel would be quick.

It seemed he was waiting on her. No sooner had she propped herself on the hood of the vehicle than the temperature around her spiked. Her vision filled with light, and she stopped shivering at once. She grinned at the air above her.

"Coming in clutch tonight. Thank you."

"You were praying," Castiel's familiar presence seemed to say. "I merely answered."

"Yeah. I just wish I could be as helpful."

Kat frowned at the grass in front of her. Castiel's form didn't have hands in any way she could fathom, but she still felt as though he'd laid one on her shoulder.

"It was a difficult seal. I don't know that there is much you could have done."

"Feels like we've been saying that a lot lately," she lamented. "I don't suppose you have anything more constructive for us to do?"

Castiel did not answer.

"Yeah," Kat laughed dryly. "Yeah, I figured as much."

"My information is limited. Especially since the incident with Uriel. My superiors feel that the less knowledge is shared with us, the better."

"Right. That's super comforting."

"It's for your security, Katherine."

"You say that," she bit back. "And for the missions, I get it. Sam complains, but I get why you don't want to get the other angels involved. But I don't see why I should trust your so-called superiors with my safety. Not after what they did to Dean."

"We don't know those orders came from Heaven," Castiel reminded her, not for the first time. "Uriel may have been acting in their stead. Their willingness to compromise is a direct result of his actions."

"Great," she laughed. "So Dean might be emotionally crippled for life, but at least I'm kinda safe. That's a win."

She huffed, wrapping her arms around her torso. She knew it was pointless to argue the same points over and over again. But she couldn't help herself. She didn't feel like she was getting anywhere with Dean, and she couldn't help but feel like it was her fault. If everyone was less concerned with her security, maybe everyone would be suffering less.

Castiel knew her position on this. Unlike Kat, he had the sense not to address it.

"How is he?"

"Peachy," Kat answered tersely. "Just fixing cars and watching movies and making my bed for me."

"Has he shown any progress?"

"Well, he's making good headway on the cars in the yard. He fixed a Camaro the other day."

"Katherine…"

She frowned at the sky.

"No, he hasn't shown any 'progress.' I keep telling you. He doesn't want anything to do with hunting these days. He barely asks for details after we get back from a case. It like…like he's so mad at himself he feels like the world is better off without him. He keeps to himself. If I had to guess, he's afraid that meddling will do more harm than good. I don't know if you noticed, but the last time he tried to help someone, it didn't go great."

A warm wind swirled around her, as if Castiel had sighed.

"That is not good."

"Yeah, no shit," she scoffed. "Bobby's worried, Cas. What if he can't bounce back from this?"

"He has to."

"Yeah, and I'm trying to be optimistic too, but…"

"No. Dean has to recover. It is prophesized."

Kat stared up into the light. It took a moment for the fury to sink in. It felt like every time she let herself have a little faith, it was tossed straight into the fire.

"Prophecy?" she demanded. "Jesus Christ, Castiel! Is that all you care about?"

"No. But it is a concern. And it should be for you as well."

"Why? Why should I care?"

"Because Dean is the one who has to end it. Because the Righteous Man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. That is why he was raised from the Pit."

Kat sat frozen, staring up into the sky. Sometimes, looking at an angel could be overwhelming. But at the moment, the horror inside of her was so much worse than the grace above her. She felt like she was going to be sick, and it was only Castiel's presence that kept the bile down.

"God," she breathed, shaking her head. "Please tell me you weren't stupid enough to tell him that."

"He was looking for answers. A sense of purpose…"

"That's the last thing you gave him!" she roared. "You just told him that you would have left his ass in Hell if you didn't have to save him, and now you wanna know why he's not chomping at the bit to go to war for you? Jesus Christ! No wonder he's holed up watching Chuck Norris movies!"

"Katherine, if Dean proves unwilling to play his part, my superiors will take it upon themselves to become involved."

"Great!" Kat threw her arms into the air. "Bring 'em on down! I'd love to have someone explain what the fuck is going on these days!"

Her arms hadn't even made it back to her sides before she felt the change in the air. It wasn't concern, necessarily. The best word she could come up with was dread.

"Katherine, my superiors are not to be trifled with. They are not as understanding as I am, and are infinitely more creative. Having them on Earth would not benefit you any more than it would me."

And because she could feel his very being swirling around her, Kat knew he was telling the truth.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, defeated.

"Talk to Dean. Help if you can. If not, I fear there will be more troublesome problems on the horizon."

On that cheerful note, he vanished. Kat was left alone again in Bobby's car lot, with a cold wind and a busted ankle.

She was not as successful at putting Castiel's words out of her mind as she had been with Bobby's. She limped inside to find the Chuck Norris movie still going. Dean was energetically trying to explain what she'd missed, but Kat was barely listening. She didn't hear most of the movie, or the sequel they put on afterwards. She didn't hear Sam and Dean's continued argument, or their increasingly wild suggestions about who would win in a fight. She didn't hear them say goodnight, or Sam's words of caution as she braved the stairs alone to go to bed.

Even as she struggled into her pajamas, she was debating with herself. Why should it be her job to change Dean? It should be Sam's job if anything. He was Dean's top priority after all. Or if Bobby was so concerned, why didn't he pull Dean aside for a heart-to-heart? If Castiel was so worried about getting in trouble with his boss, why didn't he wing down and talk to Dean? Why should she have to do anything?

She was about to turn in for the night when there was a knock on the door.

"Uh—yeah. Come in."

Dean poked his head through the door, his eyes comically squeezed shut.

"You decent?" he asked.

Kat was sure to wipe her smirk off her face before she answered him. "I wouldn't have said 'come in' if I wasn't."

"Yeah, well a guy can hope." He raised his hands in surrender before her glare even reached full power. "Sorry. Just wanted to grab something before you knocked out."

He walked over to the bed, and Kat scooted back on instinct. But he wasn't interested in her. Instead, he stuck a hand under the pillow, pulling out a large hunting knife. He waved it at her in a tiny salute, and made his way back to the door.

Kat's words got stuck in her throat. If there was ever a time to ask him…

"Oh!" He beat her to the punch, stopping halfway to the door. He turned back to her with a grin. "Meant to tell you before. Your car? Is the worst."

"Shut up," she growled, crossing her legs under her. "Is he that bad?"

"He has definitely seen better days. When was the last time you gave him a tune up?"

"Okay, well I don't give him a tune up. I bring him to the dealership."

"Bougie," Dean accused. "Fine. When was the last time you brought him in?"

"I don't know, May?"

For a moment, it really looked like Dean had choked.

"M-May? You—You haven't looked at your car since May?"

"He's fine," she said defensively. "Scotty's a hardy car. I never have any problems with him. There aren't any lights on, right?"

"Lights? You wanna know if…?" Dean smiled incredulously, spinning on the spot. "Jesus Christ, Kat. It's a miracle you haven't broken down. Do you know how many miles you've driven between now and last May?"

"…am I supposed to answer that…?"

Dean was too furious to even glare at her.

"You know, what?" he laughed. "It doesn't matter. I'm gonna take care of it. Soon as I can make sense of your stupid manual. Damn thing reads like stereo instructions."

"Well, yeah, Dean. It's a manual."

"No, I didn't mean—it's a quote from—you know, never mind." He waved her off, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Anyways, I'll uh…I'll give Scotty a full look over and have him road-ready in a couple days. He'll be riding better than he has in years."

"Dean," she sighed, "you don't have to do that."

"Sure I do. You think I want that sardine can out on the open road in that condition? I don't need that shit on my conscience."

He gave her another salute with the knife, and headed for the door again. Kat blurted out the words before she lost her nerve.

"Are you gonna come?"

Dean paused, looking back to squint at her. "Come where?"

"When…Scotty's road-ready. Are you gonna come?"

He didn't need more of an explanation than that. In an instant, his joking mood evaporated. The exhaustion sat plainly on his face, along with the hurt.

"Kat…"

"I'm not trying to rush you," she said quickly. "Or push you, or tell you what to do. I was just asking."

"Why?"

Kat bit her lip. What could she say? That she'd gotten a threat from the angels about getting him back on the job? That everyone was whispering behind his back, waiting for him to crack? That they were worried he was too broken to function?

She sighed, locking those thoughts away for another day.

"Because I hate working with your brother," she said with a shrug. "I don't know how you do it. And if you value his life, you might want to tag along as a buffer."

Her response allowed him to put his guard back up. He chuckled, and almost sounded like he meant it.

"I do care about his life. Guess that's why I'm sitting out. I think I've done enough for one creation, you know?"

He sent her a bitter smile. Kat's heart sank.

"Dean…"

"I'll have your car ready soon. You rest up. Thank ankle ain't gonna heal itself."

He was gone before she could even imagine what to say next.

Kat deflated, hiding her face in her hands. Why did she think she could talk to him? Why the fuck did everyone want her to talk to him? When had that ever done anyone any good?

Stomach heavy with guilt, Kat turned out the light and curled up under the covers. Castiel could take his warnings and shove them. It was going to take a miracle to get Dean Winchester back on track.