Cursed, Part 3
Author: lifeofsnark
Words: 4293
Summary: Kate and the Winchesters visit Garth, hoping he has information to help with their witch hunt. He agrees to ask around if they help with a local ghoul problem. He points them to New Orleans, where Sam's curse throws another wrench into things.
Warnings: Violence and some gore, fluff, cursing. Business as usual.
Kate sat in the back of the Impala- where she'd spent almost all of her time over the last few weeks- and thought about the nature of intimacy. It was just kind of an odd thing- she'd gone to Dean's room almost a month ago, lonely and vulnerable, and they'd had amazing, brain-melting sex. While she was certainly more comfortable around him now, she had never known anyone to the depth that she now knew Sam and Dean.
They'd made it over most of the continental US looking for clues as to the whereabouts of the witch that had cursed Sam in the last three-ish weeks. Most of the time had been spent driving, sometimes they would stay in a town somewhere to use the library or pursue a fruitless lead. They'd been in each other's presence constantly- Kate knew which foods upset Sam's stomach, how Dean wanted his burgers fixed, she could even differentiate their soft snores from each other. Idly, she wondered what the boys had picked up about her.
But despite her new-found knowledge and comfort with the boys, she still feared any real intimacy with them- to Kate, intimacy was trusting someone else with your fears and your hopes and insecurities. Intimacy was drawing someone a roadmap of your heart and trusting them not to misuse it. She knew she owed them both, but especially Dean, answers. This weighed on her conscience constantly, but always the fear of exposing herself won out.
The Impala rolled on, carrying her passengers over the country as she had been for many years, familiar with the rhythms of life on the road. After more than fourteen hours in the car, listening only to the low hum of the engine, Sam asked, "Maybe we should stop at this town up ahead, take a break. Maybe find a local case."
"Really, Sam?" asked Dean, tearing his eyes off the undulating blacktop to glance at his brother. "Now, of all times, you want to take a break? When you could die at any minute?"
"I could die anytime Dean, just like anybody else. One night of bad tacos could end it all," Sam shot back. "We aren't getting anywhere and we're all exhausted. Can't we take a night to call around, ask other hunters to keep an eye out?"
Dean didn't respond, but he pulled off the highway at the next exit and cruised past a sign that read "St. Paul, 74 miles". He pulled into the parking lot of the first twenty-four hour motel he saw, slamming the car into neutral. Dean checked them in, charming the old lady watching soaps behind the low Formica counter. He returned with keys and drove around back.
Kate followed Dean into the room, hoping this dinky little place would have rollaway beds- no such luck. Not even a couch. "Looks like you're bunking with me," said Dean curtly before grabbing his kit and walking into the bathroom. Sam came in with a pile of stuff right around the time the shower turned on, the pipes rattling in the thin walls. Sam dumped his stuff on the bed on the left side of the room, just as he usually did. Brushing his hair back from his face, he looked at the other double ruefully, and then Kate standing near it. "You could share with me if you want," he offered. "We've done it before in cases like this."
Kate sighed. Obviously Dean had spilled the beans to his brother. Honestly, was there anything they didn't know about the other? "This will cause less drama all around," she replied, sitting gingerly on the side of the sagging mattress.
Sam flopped onto the bed fully dressed, face down, arms wrapped around the pillow. Without looking, he grabbed his backpack and drug it onto the bed beside him, clearly intending to grab something out of it. Within seconds he was breathing evenly, and soon was letting out the soft rasps of air that were Sam snores. The shower cut off and Kate shifted, uncomfortable.
She didn't know what the hell to make of Dean Winchester. When he came out, beads of water clinging to his eyelashes and darkened hair, Kate scurried in for her turn. Too soon the weak spray of the shower inevitably ran cold, and she reluctantly dressed in shorts and an oversized tshirt before going out into the shadows of the main room. Sam was still out on top of his covers, fully clothed down to his boots.
Dean watched Kate move around the room like a sylph, lightly putting down her clothes, tucking her shower kit back in her bag, and making sure her gun was tucked under the bed where she could easily grab it. Quietly she slipped under the covers next to him, the rough cotton cloth rustling as her long legs brushed against his. Despite knowing he was awake, she lay stiffly beside him, eyes investigating the shadows of the room.
Dean was not having this obvious separation between them. Scooting to the center of the bed, he tugged Kate against himself, letting her curl onto her side like she always slept. He stroked the fine hair at her temples back from her face, feeling her muscles slowly go lax against him. She smelled like shampoo and Kate- womanly, earthy, and erotic as hell. Dean held still, savoring the feeling of this prickly, independent woman slowly falling asleep against him.
When she brushed her lips against his chest in a brief kiss, Dean pulled back just enough to glance down at her. Her lips were barely parted, allowing her deep even breaths to puff against his shirt. Her thick lashes swept over high cheekbones, cushioned against his shoulder joint. Dean settled onto his pillow, reveling in the warm weight of Kate against him. He felt hope unravel a millimeter or two- Kate wouldn't have given him a little goodnight peck if she hadn't felt something.
When Dean woke up the next morning, weak light was filtering in the thin curtains and Sam's bed was empty. Kate was still curled against him, her chin tucked close to her collarbone, one hand fisted in his tshirt. Slowly, he unengaged his shirt from her grasp and slipped out of the bed. Kate rolled over, mumbling something. By the time he returned with coffee, she was sitting up in bed braiding back her hair. "Morning," she said, back to business as usual.
"Here," Dean handed her a coffee. She closed her eyes and inhaled the steam before taking a gulp. Dean shifted- he knew he was in a bad way when he got turned on by the way a woman drank coffee.
"Where's Sam?" she asked.
"Left a note saying he went for a run". He sat down at the little circular table, which wobbled every time he touched it and looked at Kate.
"What's going on Dean. You're looking at me like you expect me to bolt at any moment."
"Are you?" he asked seriously. "Last time you slept in my bed you were gone without a trace in the morning."
She shrugged, but kept eye contact with Dean. She knew avoiding this was the coward's way out. "I panicked. You're saying you never snuck out of a woman's bed before?"
Dean opened his mouth, closed it, and then managed to respond, "Okay, point made. But why did you panic? It's just… me." Gathering steam, he continued, "And why does Sam know so much more about you than I do? I don't get it, Kate."
"Sam knows more about me because we spend time together and he asks me questions. Then I'll ask him things. We're friends, it's not complicated," she said, matter-of-factly. She looked away from him, plucking at the sheets pooled around her hips. "I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize being able to stay with you and Sam. I like being here. I feel like I belong here."
"Hey. Look at me." Dean leaned forward, brows raised, eyes intent on Kate. "You and I got into this together. And we are not going to ask you to leave, not for anything."
Kate looked up at him, clearly skeptical. Dean gave a slight shake of his head, jaw tight. "You're family now, dammit. You'll never know all the crap that Sam and I have forced on each other, and yet we still stick together. Nothing, including death, has turned us against each other yet. And we aren't going to turn on you. You have a home with us- whatever home we have- for however long you want it."
Kate didn't know what to say. Thanks just wouldn't cut it in a situation like this. She smiled at Dean, though it didn't reach her eyes, and looked back down at the bed.
"Kate. Kate"- Dean waited until she turned his way again. "So that's it? I didn't do something?"
She gave him an eyebrow-cocked, corner-of-the-eye look. "Why in the world would you ask that? Something wrong? Please," she rolled her eyes with a scornful sound.
Sam opened the motel door and bounced into the room, his faced flush from the run. Picking up on the tension, he jerked his thumb towards the door. "Should I go again or…?"
"Nope, we're all good here," said Kate, moving to her bag and pawing out a pair of jeans. She slipped into the bathroom to change and brush.
Sam pointed to the bathroom door, one eyebrow up, head cocked. Dean threw his hands up in the air and shrugged. He didn't know what Kate was thinking, but he felt a little better. He didn't know what the hell they were doing, and clearly she didn't either- but despite that, she trusted him and wanted to stay. That was a start.
When everybody was clean and back in the room together, Sam said, "Okay. So I stopped by the library and looked through the newspaper records and we got nothing here. The most suspicious thing to happen was a kid's bike going missing. I called the Campbells, and they don't have any witch leads out west, that guy Craig up in the Adirondacks doesn't know anything either.
"What about Garth?"
"I got nothing. Maybe he changed phones?"
"Changed phones? The man must have six." Dean rubbed his hand through his hair. "Anybody up for a drive to Mississippi?
"God yes," said Kate. "No snow. Who is this Garth?"
Sam glanced at Dean before turning to her. "Well, he's kind of the new Bobby. He handles phone calls, fakes background checks, helps amateur hunters out. That kinda thing."
"Huh. Sounds useful," she responded, shouldering her bag. Dean grunted. Once again they were in the Impala, Dean captaining his baby over oceans of tarmac as they headed south. Dean stuffed a Styx cassette into the cassette, idly tapping along to the beat. When he began singing along to the chorus of Come Sail Away, Kate joined in from the back. Dean's eyes flicked to hers in the mirror and he grinned. Soon the three of them were singing along, laughing and teasing each other when they forgot the words. Apparently Sam and Dean had played this game before, soon they were each trying to out-parody the other with outrageous song lyrics. Kate just laughed.
They finally pulled into Garth's base in the late afternoon of the next day, the watery winter sun hitting the little two-seater pickup rusting in the driveway.
A skinny little guy with floppy brown hair, patchy scruff, and an Adam's apple to shame all others wandered onto the low covered porch, shielding his eyes. "Sam! Dean!" he called, grinning. He gangled his way over to the Winchesters, hugging them in turn- they seemed less surprised about it than Kate expected.
"Hey Garth," said Sam. "This is Kate, I know you guys haven't met up 'til now,"
"Hi miss," he said, nodding in Kate's direction. "You sure you wanna hang out with these baboons? I could probably find you a job 'round here somewhere," he drawled teasingly.
The group walked inside, settling in a room full of old journals, handwritten loose notes, empty coffee mugs, textbooks, research books with the library barcode still on, miniature sand gardens, at least five landline phones, a potted rosebush, and a framed photo of Garth and what had to be his parents. He and his mama had quite the resemblance.
After passing out beers, Garth asked, "You guys here 'bout that ghoul problem over in 'Bama?"
Sam shook his head. "No, actually we had a couple questions for you but you didn't answer the phone."
"Oh right, right. I went after a damn drowned spirit and it took my three cells. Hadn't put you guys in the new ones yet. Sorry 'bout that. What did ya need to ask me?"
"We're looking for a witch. We know her name was Abigail Bishop when she lived in Eerie Pennsylvania and that she left right around January of last year. You see any local witch activity?"
"Not off the top of my head," he burped and glanced at Kate, "but I'll call my people and ask around."
Dean nodded, looking amused. "You have people?" he asked teasingly.
"Yup. Got me a regular network set up now."
"So you said something about ghouls?" asked Sam, putting on what Kate referred to as his 'student face'- eyes intent, eyebrows drawn together, and air of intense concentration.
"Uh-huh. There's a bunch of 'em down state- the river flooded and there's a high body count so they came swarming. I need some backup for that mess."
"You make those calls and we are in," said Dean.
"Thanks, guys. I'll go clear a space out for you upstairs. Y'all are in charge of dinner."
Kate and Dean wandered into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. It was surprisingly well-stocked. "Can you believe this guy used to be a dentist?" he asked, looking at the salt shells scattered over the table.
"Um, no." Kate made a face, "I would not want his hands in my mouth." Dean laughed.
"Just wait, he grows on you."
After dinner, Kate and the boys dragged their stuff in from the Impala. Garth acted like some kind of stewardess- "There's a bed upstairs and a couch down here. You guys figure out amongst yourself who gets the floor. Later." Garth walked out of the room, mumbling into one of many phones.
"Couch!" called Sam, sticking his finger on his nose.
Kate rolled her eyes. "I'll sleep on the floor guys, just help me find some blankets." She went upstairs in search of a linen closet, Dean followed her up with his bag. As she headed a back to the stairs with an armful of old quilts, Dean stuck his head out of the guest room/ ammunition storage room/ makeshift library.
"You could bunk with me, there's enough room," he said called. Kate paused at the head of the stairs, weighing her options. It didn't take long. She hurriedly put the blankets away and went to grab her stuff. By the time she made it to bed, Dean was already stretched out on his back, arm across his eyes.
Gingerly, she crawled over the foot of the small bed and between Dean and the wall. Shifting onto her side, she sighed. She felt safe, and it was a wonderful new feeling. She drifted for a time, caught in the warm, soft place between consciousness and sleep. She felt Dean's arm slip over her side and tug her against him, his nose grazing the hair at the nape of her neck. Just before falling asleep, Kate snuggled back more tightly to Dean's solid warmth.
Dean propped himself up to look down at Kate. She was so different asleep; usually she radiated a sense of awareness, like she was prepared to flee at any time, like she was watching the whole world. Now she was softer and younger and, apparently, quite a cuddler. Breathing in the soft scent of her hair, he fell asleep.
Garth ducked as a ghoul lunged at him, jumping off the top of an exposed coffin. The cemetery was a madhouse and reeked of decay. Muddy, sodden coffins had erupted out of the soil during the flood, and the receding waters had left bodies in various stages of decomposition open to the sun. Under the sounds of fighting, the drone of thousands of flies buzzed over the field. Garth, Dean, Sam, and Kate each batted a small group of ghouls summoned to the burial ground- for them, this was a feast for kings.
The ghoul after Garth grabbed him and tossed him into a gaudy stone monument sporting frolicking cupids- it seemed quite out of place in its surroundings. He thumped to the ground behind a twisted casket lid.
Sam swung his machete through the neck of a ghoul that had taken the form of a small child. Another jumped on his back, digging its teeth into his shoulder. Sam backed into a monument, stunning the ghoul long enough for Sam to reach behind him and yank the creature off over his head. With one giant hand splayed over the creature's bony chest, Sam pinned it to the ground and beheaded it with an overhand swipe. He spin around, hair sticking to his sweaty neck, to face the next group of ghouls.
Dean was busy playing a sick game of hide-and seek with a particularly vicious ghoul. This particular creep had taken the form of a young bride, wedding dress included. Dean felt like he was hunting some sort of pissed-off bridezilla- this was not the average hunt. She'd taken a hunk out of his forearm earlier when he'd led with his machete and she had dodged into the swing instead of feinting away. Now she was dodging between rafted coffins, old marble monuments, and concrete monuments, her bloody and muddies wedding gown a macabre addition to the already gory scene. Dean slid his back around the corner of an old civil-war era family mausoleum, machete held tightly at his side. He caught site of his quarry dancing along the sandy levee. She grinned at him, her teeth the rusty brown of dried blood.
Kate popped up behind the levee and neatly decapitated the bride. She had blood matted in her tightly tied-back hair, a bruise across her temple, and mud on essentially all of her. "Rough day at work, honey?" called Dean as Kate hopped down.
"You should see yourself," she called back before loping away to help out Sam. Dean skirted to the outside edge of the cemetery to look for any more ghouls thinking to escape into hidey-holes. Catching site of three adult ghouls dragging a corpse into a muddy grave, Dean grinned and set to work.
As Kate caught up with Sam, two more ghouls jumped him. Kate took them on, caught in that adrenaline-fueled moment of pure and total life-preservation. It was them or her; a response born in the first fish to crawl its way out of the primordial soup. Kate didn't fight with the innate grace and efficiency of Sam, but she got the job done.
Well, she got the job done right until the moment the ghoul knocked her machete out of her hand. It grinned, and Kate lunged down to pull her bowie knife out of its ankle holster. Those books about the Winchesters were right- they really should put these things on bungee cords. The ghoul grinned at Kate, who held her ground. She knew that for this little knife to work, the thing had to be in close.
The ghoul lunged and pinned Kate's wrist to the mausoleum behind her. It grinned; its warm breath carrying the stench of rotten meat left out to bake in the dry sun- like low tide in August. Kate head-butted the thing, but only ended up with a headache and blurry vision for her troubles. Right as she accepted that, well, this was it, Garth's thin face popped next to hers. "That ain't no way to treat a lady," he chided the ghoul before beheading it. Warm blood splattered over Kate's already tacky face.
Dean jogged up, grinning. "Told you he'd grow on ya'," he said. Sam walked over to join you, breathing heavily. I think that's it. Dean, you scout around the perimeter?"
"Yep, I think out work here is done. And we all have our limbs. If that don't call for a beer, I don't know what does."
Garth hosed the whole group off in the yard. Really. He said he didn't have enough hot water to handle the mess of four people, and that this would just be easier. It certainly was humiliating. After everyone was showered and inside and fed, beers were finally consumed. Garth chugged down a whole beer in one go, belched and then giggled into the air. Kate watched in horrified fascination while the Winchesters watched Kate.
"Okay, so you hear from anybody?" Sam asked Garth.
He hiccupped. "Yup. Couple of my gals said there's been some weird stuff down in New Orleans, but I don't know if that'll help you none. The place is chock-full of hoodoo."
Kate thought about that. "It's actually really smart. If she went to New Orleans, she's hiding somewhere full of background witchcraft, which makes finding one specific witch that much harder."
"Y'all could just go rolling around and see what happens to Sam," suggested Garth. Dean glared at him, menace in his stiff posture.
Garth held up his hands in surrender. "It was only a suggestion, calm down!"
"We'll figure something out!" Dean insisted.
A day later, nothing had been figured out. Kate was curled up in the backseat reading a book on witchcraft, Dean kept flexing his fingers around the steering wheel, and Sam was sitting calmly in the passenger seat doing his calm-Sam thing. Kate suspected that Sam knew his preternatural calm irritated Dean, and he did it just for that reason.
As the Impala rolled into the outskirts of New Orleans, the gaudy neon and party lights reflected in the midnight black of the paint, Sam broke. "Dean, seriously. Let's just cruise around and see if that spell that repels me kicks in. We know that all we have to do to fix it is turn around and go the other direction."
"But what if it doesn't thins time, Sam? What if it kills you?"
Sam gave his older brother a level stare. In those few seconds of eye contact, Kate witnessed the brothers have an eloquent discussion- Sam was okay with dying. He'd done it before, he knew he'd do it again. The only question in Sam's mind was the when of the inevitable. Dean knew Sam felt like that, and Dean would let the whole world burn before he allowed his brother to die again. Dean's entire existence boiled down to the preservation of Sam's. And that was all there was to say.
Kate looked away. This moment was almost too intimate for her to watch- she knew she was the odd man out in this little group.
"What choice do we have, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, gently. "We can't find her in a city of witchcraft. We can't summon her. This will at least get us close."
Dean didn't respond, but he cruised through the town, occasionally muttering about traffic and witches and fate and bodily fluids. They'd worked their way through the garden district, the art district- which seemed to personally insult Dean- the downtown industrial area, and finally into the oldest French Quarter. Sam was fascinated by their surroundings; his nose was practically against the glass of his window for most of the drive. Kate knew that under different circumstances, Sam would love to explore all of the cultures of the old delta city.
As Dean turned onto Conti Street, Sam slapped his hands to his eyes. "Dean, I can't see," Sam yelled, voice panicked. He began to cough and wheeze, his hands shaking.
The road was one way and far to narrow for Dean to turn around, even if he wanted to. Without a word, eyes rock hard, Dean threw the old car in reverse and slapped his right hand on the back of the seat. Looking out the back window, Dean floored the Impala. Tires squealed, and the Impala flew backwards, Dean masterfully spinning the wheel one-handed. He neatly avoided a car turning onto the street by putting the wheels of the car on the sidewalk and spinning right past it. At first chance Dean pulled onto a side street and drove away.
Sam's breathing had grown less and less labored as the car spun away from that block of the city. Blinking hard, he said evenly, "I still can't see."
Dean pulled his eyes of the road long enough to glance into his brother's sightless ones. "Still? We got away!" he yelled. Dean yelled when he was afraid.
"I know. We probably have to kill her to fix this one." Sam was visibly trying to keep himself calm. He kept taking big, even breaths, rubbing his huge hands along the tops of his thighs. Silence descended on the car once more.
Dean drove until they were outside the central part of the city. Under a flickering motel sign boasting of color TV and air conditioning, he brought the Impala to a stop.
Sam felt the motion stop. Voicing what was on everyone's mind, he asked, "How can I fight blind? How can I do any of this blind?" His voice was tinged with rising hysteria. Sam was trapped in the dark- a dark he knew held all sorts of deadly forces. And most of them were after him.