Since Kat had fallen asleep and Cas left without branding her ribs, Sam offered to drive her to the library the next day. Dean had refused, citing her "stupidity" in getting a job at a "time like this". Kat had used all of her poise fighting Dean and defending her position, but now she sat in the passenger seat of the Impala feeling utterly defeated.
"He doesn't hate you, you know." Said Sam soothingly. "He just cares, and doesn't know how to show it."
Kat stared at the Oldman Memorial Library's looming steps and couldn't will herself to move.
"I just…This is all too much. I mean I've never really had anyone in my life. Now I've got an extremely old witch possibly bent on killing me and you two. I've just never been good at staying put. I've run away from everyone but now there's actual danger, clear and present danger and I'm essentially powerless to stop it. The whole point of running before was that I was in control. Now that philosophy doesn't apply and…everything is just a mess." Kat blurted out. Her breath was coming in short rasps and she sunk her head into her hands.
She could feel pressure rising in her face as if tears were threatening to fall but they didn't. She felt entirely ridiculous having her long overdue self-doubt in front of Sam. Of the two of them, she knew he was probably the most empathetic but revealing herself, not matter to whom, was not her strongpoint. So, she reverted to anger.
More to herself than Sam she said, "No, no, now I'm gonna go to the job that was supposed to make me feel in control, and useful, even if it's mundane. Even though now, it'll probably make me feel as miserable as he did." Before Sam could respond she got out of the car and slammed its door.
She rubbed her eyes, expecting there to be bubbles of hot water but felt nothing. She stowed her emotion and pushed open the door and walked through the standing alarms that buzzed if some rebel tried to leave with a book.
She saw two women sitting at the large circulation desk. The taller woman, who looked about 30 wore a knee length sundress and a light blazer. Her blonde hair was pulled into a posh high pony tail. The other, had a younger face dotted with freckles. She was wearing a floral skirt with a black camisole and cardigan over it. She was flipping her red hair angrily off her shoulders. As Kat got closer she heard the conversation they were embroiled in more clearly.
"Well, Harry and Ron run into Neville at St. Mungo's and it's a scene they should've kept because his parents—who's names are…?" The red headed one spoke rapidly, but paused waiting for the blond to answer.
"I don't know April, just accept that I'm never going to read these books." She said, and it was definitely not the answer April wanted to hear. She shot her a grumpy look and went back to typing.
At this point Kat had reached the desk. "Frank and Alice. Their names were Frank and Alice." She said matter-of-factly. This statement stood as her introduction. April opened her eyes wide and smiled pointedly at her coworker.
"See, Ruth. They are a well worth it, and far-reaching series. She said smugly.
Ruth extended her hand over the counter and said, "You must be Katherine."
Kat reciprocated her motion and shook her hand back and said, "Kat. It's nice to meet you."
The work day passed quickly and Kat had forgotten about her eventful morning. It turned out Ruth Carter and April St. John were the only two librarians on staff. The few other workers were volunteers from the local high school who mainly put back books and texted their friends.
April was an excitable 22 year old with a boyfriend named Stewart, and a dog named Mimi. Ruth was a 32 year old with three cats and no room for nonsense. They were an opposite pair but somehow worked well off of each other. Kat wasn't sure where she fit between them, all she knew was, they were the perfect distraction.
Their workplace banter had turned into an invitation for drinks and Kat had no desire to go back to the bunker. Her head was reeling. There was the horrible sensation that everything in her life was out to get her. The feeling that her very existence was key some great plan; and there was Dean Winchester.
Throughout drinks with the women she made mental lists and charts of everything she felt towards him. Ultimately she was left asking herself 'so what'?
He'd said she mattered to him but did she matter just because he valued human life highly? Or, did he get the same tightness in his chest; the same warmth that crawled like vines up to her cheeks when he saw her, that Kat did?
When April asked if she was seeing anyone she had brushed it off because to Kat an emotional attachment was a daunting prospect. She truly didn't think she could handle it, giving a part of herself away that she'd carefully locked in the far recesses of her psyche. She knew him though, because last night he had told her something of his life. He'd told her of a father figure named Bobby and a friend named Charlie. These things obviously carried immense weight for him; but she knew that he was holding back. Was he only a serial adulterer who knew exactly what to say to keep her interested and feeling wanted?
Kat's doubt in her own ability to be loved was what kept her from hoping he matched her affection. Her mind was spinning. Possibly from the fact that she was running it in circles like a remote controlled car on a track, or from alcohol.
Kat texted Sam the name of the bar and asked for a ride back to the bunker as April and Ruth left. She prayed she could just sneak in and lock herself in her room. She made another mental note to have Cas do whatever-it-was to her ribs so she didn't have get carted around like a pubescent teen.
She was happy she'd gone today, happy she worked, and met people. It had removed her from the tornado she had stepped in. With her head clearer—at least in the crazy witch sense—she felt she could go back to researching and actually find something. Instead of what she'd been doing, which was: read the same sentence twenty times with no takeaway.
She shivered absentmindedly and a gravelly voice sounded from behind her. "Cold?" it said. She turned and saw a man with brown hair who was dressed a little too sharply for the bar whose front steps she sat on.
The suit was black and the tie red. He made the hairs on the back of Kat's neck stand up. "A little." She said warily.
"Please, take my coat." Said the man courteously.
Kat held up her hands in protest. "No, no. My ride will be here soon." She hoped very much that Sam would be.
"What an interesting tattoo." He continued smoothly, taking a step closer. Kat stood then, he defenses eyes shot to the anti-possession symbol on her forearm that was visible past the rolled up sleeves of her thin sweater.
"Thanks, its new." She retorted shortly.
"Does it have a special meaning?" he pressed.
"It was more practical than anything actually." She responded quickly. He took another step closer. This time she backed up and just as she did, headlights spun into the dirt lot. The Impala pulled up between Kat and the stranger. It was not Sam that exited the driver's side, but Dean. Looking enraged, holding a gun aloft.
He moved to stand in front of Kat holding his hand behind him and finding her wrist. He pulled her close to his back, so close she could feel the heat rolling off of him.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you right now Crowley." Said Dean coldly.
Despite her fear, Kat couldn't help but roll her eyes at the new development in the craziness.
"I'm protecting my investment. Where's your moose?" demanded the man named Crowley.
"Researching ways to kill your mother. Thanks for the help by the way. All of this is because she wants you dead. And what the hell is your investment?" Dean demanded.
"All in good time squirrel. At the moment, I'd rather Rowena not get her hands on that pretty little thing there." He cooed with a devilish and confident grin. He pointed at Kat.
Dean stepped forward dragging Kat with him, gun still raised. "Dammit Crowley, what do you want with her!"
"Not so fast Dean. Don't want to cut the foreplay short, do we?" Crowley retorted, smarmily.
In the second it took for Kat to poke her head around Dean's shoulder Crowley's eyes had turned red. He raised his thumb and forefinger and snapped his fingers. Kat focused intently on him. He disappeared instantly, leaving her alone in the lot with Dean. His sudden departure ignited Kat's final alienation from sanity.
"What the hell what that? This is a family affair now? Because maybe this is a case for child services, not Winchester Inc. plus, Katherine Louise Taveras!" Kat yelled, ripping her arm away from Dean.
"This is why, when I told you not to go…you shouldn't have gone!" Dean growled condescendingly. As he spoke he turned to face her. His lips were pursed acting as a bulkhead for his rage.
"This is going to happen no matter where I go, what I do, or who I'm with." she asserted, furious that he was rehashing this morning's feud.
"But there's a way to be safe about it. You do it smart or you don't do it at all!" said Dean, his voice rising slightly in volume and in fervor.
"This life can never be simple like that. I can't just help from afar occasionally and other than that I'm uninvolved. They are after me, and every time this bitch makes a move something bad happens and ultimately, it's my fault. Do you not see that? Do you not understand why I'd need to get away from that?" Kat implored, in an attempt to reveal her understanding of everything to Dean. She didn't know how to openly admit to feeling hysteria cloud her brain. The loss of her cognizance to the outbreak of helplessness was the root cause, but how did she explain that to Dean; who saw the world in black and white?
She paced as her lungs began to grasp for air, like leaves crave water as the seasons change from summer to fall.
"It is not your fault. So… to put it simply—because you could probably find a way to overcomplicate the game of Candyland—don't do stuff that will make you feel that way. Like put other people in danger by going to work! You won't make it through this if you carry all that guilt with you!" Dean exploded. He waved his arms in exasperation, unashamed of the spectacle they were becoming.
"If I had wanted you to read me a fortune cookie. I'd 'ave asked Winchester! Let's try to think with a little ingenuity." The nasty, sarcastic remarks flew out of her mouth before she could stop them because the terror she felt had begun to externalize in irrationality. She scuffed the arid dirt in her frustration and it dislodged some tightly packed stones. It seemed she had used more force than she meant to, because her foot flew into the tire of the Impala. It hit with a rubbery reverberation. The tiny pebbles bounced off of the wheel well like hailstones.
Kat felt her body leave the ground as Dean grabbed her shoulders. To her astonishment, in the next moment she found herself pinned to the side of the car.
"I don't care how mad you are at me, or the world, but do NOT KICK MY CAR!" roared Dean pointing a finger right between her eyes.
Kat didn't know what do. She was staring into piercing eyes; the color of the Atlantic Ocean. They were as turbulent as the storms that pass over it. She was scared, for the first time since meeting him. Kat felt her throat close and her whole body start to shake. Her lungs had finally run out of oxygen. Any attempt to force air through the increasingly small passageway was futile. Seeing that Kat's energy—and air—were fading fast, Dean released her. She stumbled, coughing as she rummaged through her bag, which she'd conveniently discarded on the ground nearby, for her inhaler.
If she weren't so terrified she'd feel asinine falling to pieces like this. She took one huge drag of the steroid and immediately felt the pressure in her chest recede. She could feel the redness ebbing away from her cheeks and she looked back at Dean who was frenetic. Partly over the car, and Kat's meltdown simultaneously.
Enabling her lungs to work gave her body the green light to translate the renewed deep breathes into sobs. They were almost impersonal, like tears were the logical next step in her shakesperian-like descent into madness. Her small frame was wracked with sobs that she neither wanted nor actually cared about. She purged, but not because her emotions had gotten the better of her. It was because she had lost the energy to do anything else.
Dean knelt down beside her and reached under her arms and stood her up. She immediately burrowed into his chest. Her hands reached upwards to cover her face. They acted as a barrier between the smoky smell of his jacket and her tears. He wrapped his arms around her. As an added comfort, he rested his chin on top her head. Dean didn't say anything; feeling partly responsible for her capricious outburst. Somehow he remembered the times he had stood in her shoes but had been unable to act on it. For a reason he was only beginning to come to terms with; he wanted more than anything in this moment to erase her pain.
A drunk couple loudly stumbling down the steps broke Kat and Dean apart. They looked at each other and immediately parted, heading to the driver and passenger doors of the Impala.
After about three minutes of quiet contemplation Kat said brusquely, "Well…that was embarrassing. Of all the times I've imagined having my epic catharsis, it was never in front of someone.
Dean laughed. It was the type of quick and carefree eruption that follows something serious. Almost as if to counteract the dark, his brain supplanted unavoidable light. The kind of laugh that bubbles up at the absolute worst time but there's no way to hold it back. "Honestly…I was waiting for it. We've put a lot on you these past few weeks. But...you know what I'm hung up on is… 'Louise'…" he responded with a sly grin.
She turned to face him, with a look of lighthearted skepticism on her face. "Really? That's your takeaway? Yes, my middle name is Louise…whaddayah gonna do?" she said, a slight accent peeking through in the last phrase.
"Ah, don't be too hard on yourself, I don't even have a middle name." Dean comforted.
"Well. I believe that puts me at an advantage." She paused. "But really, I'm sorry about before. I was acting ridiculously." Kat looked down.
"Having emotions isn't ridiculous. And…uh…don't feel like you can't talk to me about stuff." Dean kept looking at the road as he stumbled around the way to tell her what he wanted to. "I don't like to see you upset" he added.
"Wow. That might be the most affectionate thing you've ever said to me." Kat mocked.
Her reaction was opposite from what Dean had expected. "Well, now you ruined it." He joked back, feeling a little sheepish. He threw his left hand up from the wheel for a moment and smacked his lips for emphasis.
Kat laughed heartily and Dean smiled because of it. Kat crept her hand over to Dean's knee. She placed it there softly, rubbing her thumb back and forth over a centimeter of the denim. He stared at it amazedly, through his periphery. Then, he actually looked at Kat who was focusing on the flat, dark landscape passing outside her window.
Unsurely, Dean took his right hand off the wheel and put it on top of Kat's. He felt it jolt almost imperceptibly at his touch. But he left it; encompassing hers.
A/N: Again, I don't own anything but Kat. Also, I'm unsure if the Winchester's actually don't have middle names or they are just continually unspecified. And, if anybody's interested, the song that acted as my personal backdrop for this chapter is: Colour Me In by Damien Rice. Until next time, Kelly.