Title: Cursed, Part One

Words: 3750

Summary: Sam starts receiving mysterious injuries and he, Dean, and Kate must figure it out in between supernatural complications.

Warnings: I'm not good at warnings, I curse like a sailor. Nothing worse than an episode of the show.

A/N: This is just one part of my OC Kate's adventures with the Winchesters! Also, I love to receive messages and promise to respond. Contact lifeofsnark!

It had been a peaceful few days in the bunker. Kate, Dean, and Sam had successfully eradicated a pack of demons working together in a small Nebraska town, and since then everything seemed to be quiet on the supernatural front. Dean had tinkered with a few of the antique cars in the garage- they probably had never been in such good condition.

Sam had spent his free time assimilating Bobby's research library and records into those of the Men of Letters. Dean kept giving him crap about it, but it seemed to soothe Sam. He finally had time to organize something to his specifications; to know that he had the world's largest library of weird right under his fingertips.

Kate had made it through all of the Lord of the Rings movies. Despite his teasing and protests that the elves were a bunch of pansies, Dean had sat with her through almost all of them. She and Dean were spending more and more time together. It wasn't obvious, they never spoke about it or planned time for each other, but they spent almost every evening together, sometimes sitting quietly into the darkest, hushed hours of the night. Sam didn't comment on it- he noticed, but he was almost afraid mentioning it would break the spell. Dean and Kate were grounding each other, they reminded the other that they weren't the only one lost in the storm.

After they had been in the bunker for a week, Sam came back from his morning run earlier than he usually did. He walked into the kitchen where Kate was fixing coffee, rubbing the heel of his hand over his sternum. "You're back early," Kate commented, pouring him a cup. He took it, holding it loosely in his hands.

"Guess I wasn't feeling it today," he commented. He wandered out of the room.

That night, Kate knocked on the door of Sam's room- she could hear his hacking coughs from the library. "You okay?" she called.

Sam gave a wheezing cough, cleared his throat, and answered, "Yeah, must have a cold or something."

By the next morning Sam had a fever, and he was winded just making it from his room to his couch. Dean made his famous chili-chicken soup, but Sam wasn't getting any better by the evening. Kate and Dean were worried; the two of them hovered around Sam, making extra trips up and down the hall outside his room just to check on him.

At 3:00am, Dean knocked on Kate's door. "We gotta get Sammy to the hospital," he said, walking in and flipping on the light. Kate rubbed her fist against her eye, propping herself up on one elbow. Her shorts had ridden down and her shirt had worked its way up, showing Dean a tantalizing view of hip and belly. He turned away. "Sammy's fever just hit one-oh-five; it's time to take him in."

That drive in the Impala was unlike any other that Kate had been on before. She was in the backseat like usual, but this time Sam was there with her. She and Dean together had dragged him into the car, and now his head was in her lap, his long hair sticking to his clammy face. Kate was holding cold washcloths to his face and neck, humming to him quietly. Every so often she saw Dean's worried eyes flick to the rearview to check on them.

Finally the Impala came to a stop outside the closest ER. Kate staggered under Sam's weight while Dean parked. The waiting room was almost completely empty, only one other person was quietly sitting in one of the hard grey chairs.

Sam was rushed to the back on a gurney, and Dean followed, yelling to the nurses all the way out of earshot. Kate took a seat in a shadowed corner and leaned her head back against the wall, prepared for a long night of waiting.

Dean came to find her at about nine the next morning. She was still in the chair, her elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. She stood stiffly when Dean tapped her. "Pneumonia," he said gruffly. "Son of a bitch has pneumonia. We should probably be able to take him home tomorrow; his fever has already come down." He led her back to Sam's room.

He was hooked to several monitors and IVs slowly dripped into his arms. He was so pale that even his lips had lost their color. Kate sat down on the foot of his bed and he slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey," she said gently. "You had us scared for a while there."

"I must have scared you to end up in the hospital- I've been shot and received less attention," he joked quietly. Kate went down to the hospital gift shop and bought the latest Dean Koontz novel. While Dean drove home to bring Sam "real food" and some of his own clothes, Kate read out loud to Sam.

Dean came back with a bag of Sam's clothes and his homemade soup. Sam fell asleep soon after eating, and Dean and Kate sat quietly. He gestured to her book after a while. "I wouldn't mind if you kept reading," he said gruffly. Kate barely stopped herself from smiling- opening the book to the marked page, she started reading again.

The next day, over twenty-four hours after being admitted, Kate pushed Sam out of the hospital while Dean pulled around the Impala. Sam leaned against Kate; his color was a little better, but he was still shaky and easily tired. Eventually they got him situated on the couch where they could check on him. Kate flipped on some documentary on Rome Sam had been wanting to watching and sat with him under an afghan.

"How do you think you ended up with pneumonia?" she asked during the commercials. "We haven't been out in the cold recently, I don't think. And of the three of us, you are definitely in the best shape."

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "The doctors asked me a dozen questions and couldn't figure it out either. Guess it's one of those fluke things." They focused on the TV, and Sam was asleep almost immediately.

Over the next two weeks, things were quiet in the bunker. Sam spent much of his time sleeping and reading through the Men of Letters' journals. Dean and Kate floated around, going away for a night on a local salt and burn. Dean threatened to drug and hogtie Sam if he so much as set foot outside the bunker- Kate added that she would help Dean out with this.

About three weeks after their late-night flight to the hospital, Dean got a call from Garth. After stuffing his phone back in his pocket, Dean yelled to Kate, "We got a werewolf case up in Nebraska. We leave in the morning. Early!"

Sam moseyed into Dean's room, leaning against the doorframe. "Garth have any information for us?" he asked. "Hunting ground, that kind of thing?"

"Us? What us?" Dean asked. "You're staying here."

"Dean, I've been here almost a month. I need to get out, I'm going crazy! And I'm fine. Really!"

Dean looked at his brother, his expression cold. They had been down this road before- Dean could do what he knew was best for his brother, or he could extend his baby brother the trust and faith he wanted. Both of those options were potentially disastrous.

He met his brother's gaze. "Okay. You can come. But you hang back. You aren't up to speed and both of us know it."

Sam put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. I got it." He ducked out of the room to savor his victory.

The ride in the Impala was unusually tense. Dean was worrying about Sam, Sam was trying not smother under Dean's concern, and Kate was trying not to get in between the two brothers. Most of the legwork was done; they knew the hunting ground was a stretch of road along the riverfront in an older part of the city. All they had to do was gank the monster and get back home.

After dropping their gear in a motel on the outskirts of town and arming themselves with silver bullets and blades, they headed out into the night. It was the last night of the full moon; the last night of the month they could catch this monster.

Kate and Sam lurked in a shadowed area along the footpath. Dean was stationed across the street. As they waited the moon grew high, its silvery light appearing like a hazy halo against the navy of the sky. Kate could feel her body getting stiff from staying too still, and she could tell Sam was starting to get fatigued.

A twig popped somewhere down the path- Kate turned in that direction, shifting her weight. Sam stood, gun raised. Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him into the guardrail running along the river. He wobbled for a second before flipping over the side. Kate heard him splash into the river, but couldn't go after him. "Dean!" she screamed, facing the glittering eyes of the werewolf crouched in front of her.

Kate's heart thundered in her ears. The gripped the butt of her pistol. She got off a shot, but the werewolf dropped to the ground before leaping at her. She feinted left and he almost missed her; instead of pinning her down as was his clear intent, his claws dug into her side and ripped. Kate rolled and came back to her feet, ignoring the burning beneath her ribs. She could hear Dean's boots slamming into the path as he ran her way.

She circled again, looking for the telltale reflection of the monster's animal eyes. She caught it to her right, and fired again; it was too dark to get a clean line of sight. A growl was her only warning before a blitz attack; she fired her weapon twice, three times, again- she heard a yelp. Stepping forward, she strained her eyes into the dark, hoping against hope he was down.

In a sudden head-rush she slumped down to her knees, landing hard enough to jar her bones. Knowing adrenaline couldn't keep her going for much longer, she raised her weapon again- she'd been counting, she had two bullets left in her clip. Two last chances. Straining her ears, she could hear distant splashing-hopefully Sam was okay- and the deep, throaty growl of the werewolf: a growl as old as time, the deep chest-rumbling grumble of a wounded animal threatened and cornered with nothing to lose.

Dean came pounding up to Kate and placed himself between her and the wounded creature. "Come on, you son of a bitch," he called. "Let's finish this."

The werewolf must have agreed; he charged Dean, who squared to his target, let out a deep breath, and fired off three shots into the beast's chest. It fell to the ground, and Kate watched in horrified fascination as its claws turned back into human nails and its eyes faded to human once more.

"Help," it gurgled, a thin line of blood bubbling out of the corner of its mouth. Dean stood over it, gun held loosely.

"Sam's in the river," Kate said, holding her side. "He fell in a few minutes ago. I got this," she gestured with her gun. Dean nodded, dropped his gun in her lap, and jumped over the guard onto the riverbank, calling for Sam.

Kate watched the werewolf's breaths become more and more shallow. Eventually the face went slack, and he breathed out his last breath.

As the adrenaline faded from her body, the slashes in her abdomen hurt more and more. She slumped on her other side, her hand clasped over the sticky and hot wounds gaping in her skin. She could smell her blood on the air, tangy and metallic. She really hoped Sam was okay.

Kate drifted in a not-unpleasant hazy state for an unknown amount of time. She knew where she was and what happened, but it wasn't a pressing concern; it was distant from her in the here and now. Eventually, footfalls jarred her back to reality, and she wrapped her hand around the gun, training it on whoever approached. She released the hammer of the pistol when she saw it was Dean, his arm around Sam's waist.

"Sam," she croaked. Dean's eye's narrowed in worry when they focused on her.

"Hey, Kate," said Sam. He pulled himself away from Dean, who was at her side in a few long strides. He yanked a navy bandana out of his pocket, wadded it up, and pressed it against her side. He pressed hard, and she gritted her teeth.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Dean asked quietly, intensely. "Sammy's fine, he's just exhausted from swimming until he found a spot on the bank low enough to pull himself out. And now you…" a muscle jerked along his jaw.

Sam walked over and stood behind Kate. "Go get the car, Dean. I can shoot as well as ever," he said. He picked Kate and Dean's guns off the ground and leaned back against the low wall. "We'll be fine."

Dean looked torn, but he placed Kate's hand over the bandana and jogged away into the dark. Eventually the three of them were safely back in the Impala and rolling towards the hotel. Kate's head was in Sam's lap while he held the blood-soaked scrap of fabric to her side.

Once the car was parked, the neon of the flickering sign reflected in its black paint, Dean carried Kate into the room while Sam slowly made his way in with the suturing kit. She passed out a few stitches in, Dean methodically pulling the silk filaments through her torn skin. He taped gauze over the whole thing and sat back to review the results of tonight's shitshow.

Kate was unconscious on his bed, her skin almost translucent from blood loss. Sam was exhausted from swimming almost a mile after a bout of pneumonia- goddamn pneumonia. Fat chance of him believing one of Sam's I'm fine's again. "I'm fine" was currently sleeping deeply on the other bed in the motel room, belly-down with his arms around the pillow. Dean smiled a sad little smile- Sammy had always slept like that when he was little and had been up too long. Looked like some habits stuck around.

He rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn't take care of both Sam and Kate; he had no idea what he was going to do. They both deserved better; they deserved real lives and someone who would be able to give them what they needed. Kate moaned a little in her sleep as she tried to roll onto her side, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight at the sound before getting up and sitting next to Kate on the bed, pulling her against his side to keep her from shifting around.

Dean felt himself drifting off, and gave in to the temptation to just fall asleep next to Kate. She's had to share a bed with me or Sam before, it's not a big deal he told himself as he drifted off.

Kate woke up to a raging headache, an achy side, and an overwhelming sense of warmth. Cracking her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Dean's jaw above the collar of his worn denim shirt. Ah. That explained the warmth.

She drifted somewhere between waking and sleeping until Dean slid himself away from her and went into the bathroom. She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, doing her best to ignore the way her stitches pulled. Dean came back out of the bathroom and took a seat at the rickety table in the corner.

"How you feelin'?" he asked, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

"I'm up and moving, which means I'm fine," she responded, slowly swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and shuffling her way into the bathroom. Dean rolled his eyes.

An hour later Sam woke up, and it seemed that the long night of uninterrupted sleep had worked wonders. He still didn't seem ready for his usual five mile run, but he was moving with a confidence Kate and Dean hadn't seen in a while. They packed themselves into the Impala and headed home.

About an hour from the bunker, Sam let out a cry and grabbed his shoulder. Then, with a grunt, he rubbed his other hand over his eyes. Dean pulled the Impala over and slammed it into neutral when he saw blood soaking into Sam's shirt. Kate scooted over in the backseat to take a peek.

"What the hell?" sputtered Dean, pulling Sam's hand away from the wound so he could get a look. "This looks like a bullet wound! What did you do?"

"I was just sitting here Dean, you tell me! Ouch!" Sam slapped at Dean's hand, which was poking at the wound.

"Seriously, this is a bullet would. And you have a black eye!" Sure enough, a bruise was rising on Sam's left cheekbone.

Kate chimed in, "There's not a bullet in the seat. What is going on?"

"I don't know," said Dean, "but we are going to go back to the bunker before anything else weird happens. He set the Impala rolling again, blazing through the gears until they were flying down the asphalt on the way home.

Sam and Kate staggered down the stairs of the bunker together, Sam dropping into a chair in the kitchen while Kate went to grab one of their many first aid kits. Dean came in and sliced the sleeve off of Sam's flannel, taking a better look. "It's a gunshot alright, God knows I've seen my share." He prodded it a bit, ignoring his brother's curses. "It went in right under the collarbone, and came back out the back. Small caliber, judging by the size of the hole."

"Great, Dean," Sam muttered.

Once everyone was patched up, Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey to split and the three sat around the kitchen table.

"Like I said, there wasn't a bullet in the seat, which there would have been if Sam had actually been shot."

"Kate, I'm pretty sure I was shot. I've got the bloody wound to prove it," said Sam.

"No, I mean shot normally," she defended. "This was like… a virtual shooting," she said lamely. She grabbed the Jim Beam and took a swig, made a face, and put it back in the center of the table.

"Ice bullet," said Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ice bullets would shatter or melt before impact. And it couldn't have come from outside the car because there is no hole in the windshield or seat.

"I don't know. First inexplicable pneumonia and now a bullet would that may just be a spontaneous injury. This is weird," said Kate. She stood and walked to the library, her hand against her side to prevent her stiches from tugging as she moved. Dean watched her go.

Kate was still in the library reading when Dean got up the next morning, her forehead resting on the heel on her hand, elbow on the table. She rubbed her eyes and turned a page, still reading on.

"Find anything, college girl?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

"No, there's not enough to go on right now. We don't even have proof it's related to the world of the supernatural. But that would be a hell of a coincidence."

The three of them lazed around the majority of the day. Kate was reminded of that famous quote about war- something like it's "long periods of boredom punctuated by short bursts of intense terror." Unfortunately, the Winchester's personal life-long war seemed to include far more terror than opportunities to be bored.

That afternoon Kate and Sam were lounging on the couch reading when they heard an ominous crunch followed by a yelp from Sam. He gingerly tugged off one wooly sock to reveal his smallest toe sticking almost sideways off his foot- it was starting to turn purple.

He looked at Kate, his hazel eyes wide and confused. "I- I was just sitting here! Just sitting!" Gritting his teeth, he yanked his toe pack in place with a pop.

Kate got up and scurried into the library, looking for a book she had read recently. It was back in its spot on the top shelf of the oak built-in. Stretching on her toes, she ignored the yanking along her side and grabbed the book. Sam limped into the room.

"I was reading this book on witches a few weeks ago- I wanted to know more about what they were capable of manipulating- and there was a spell that sounded kind of like this." She flipped through the yellowed pages until she found what she was looking for. "This spell allows the witch to transfer all bodily harm onto someone else. It's part of the process they use to remain young and beautiful for longer than the average lifetime."

Sam read over the passage. "You're right, this would make sense. But it says here she would need some part of my essence, like hair or blood. Blood is the strongest link for this kind of spell. We haven't been on any witch hunts recently."

Sam carried the book towards Dean's room and explained about his toe, the book, and their suspicions.

"Okay. So assuming it's this spell… how'd she get some of your essence? You get lucky lately?" He winked at his unamused brother.

'No, Dean. Really."

Dean raised his hands up to go with the whole I'm innocent face. "Really, Sammy, we bleed all over. We've bled in almost every state of the country, and hell, we've died in more than a few!"

"This would probably be something more recent. Like in the last few months," Kate chimed in.

"Look, I don't know! I'll work on it!" Sam said, flustered. "I'm just glad we figured this out."

Dean rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, his eyes tired. "Yep. Once again, a Winchester got cursed."