"I don't know how I'm always the one singing."

"Because you have the voice of an angel!" Kaia shouts. She's in the kitchen, head buried in the refrigerator, arm stuck all the way in the back to get the last of the beer. And in the throatiest voice she can managed, begins to sing Lips of an Angel by Hinder.

"Because Russ plays the guitar," Patrick says, fists clenched around the drumsticks, sat on one of the chairs from outside, which has been dragged into the living room for this very special Sunday Night edition of the Taylor Residence. In a gravelly voice, he adds, "And I don't sing."

Katherine looks him up and down with a glower. "Whatever, Batman."

"You're just mad you can't sing (Don't Fear) The Reaper," Jackson drawls, sitting on the sofa with one of his arms thrown across the top. Where Kaia was sitting.

Katherine points a long, tanned finger at him, gripping the microphone near her mouth. "Nobody can sing (Don't Fear) The Reaper on key, Jackass." It echoes on the TV.

"How can you do Weezer but not Blue Öyster Cult?" Russell mutters, slinging the guitar strap over his shoulder.

Katherine taps her throat with two fingers. "Different set of pipes." She crosses her arms and kicks a foot out, shifting all of her weight to her right hip.

"We haven't done Wanted Dead or Alive yet," Patrick says, scrolling through the setlist. "That's the only one on 1 that we haven't done."

Russell looks to Katherine as every thought from her head clears, leaving nothing but black nothingness, an alarming vacancy in his mind. Her sharp blue eyes are trained on the television, shoulders stiff.

And then an overwhelming tightness in his chest. She's shaking her head, but Patrick isn't looking at her.

"And I'd be fine if we never did," Russell says, hoping Patrick moves right along. "Hate that song."

You okay? He pushes towards Katherine. Nothing.

Patrick inhales sharply, but keeps scrolling down the list of songs. "Blasphemous," he mutters.

"The songs on Guitar Hero are better," Jackson sighs. He holds up his index and pinkie fingers at the same time Katherine does to him, without even looking.

"Rock on, man," they chorus in that same flat, vocal fry tone.

"Rock on, man" had—for whatever reason—become one of their sayings. Just one.

"Rock Band 2 is better than either of 'em," Russell disagrees, shaking his head. "Kat killed the vocals on Man in the Box."

"The entire franchise only has a handful of Ozzy songs, and it's a goddamn travesty," Jackson proclaims.

Dean would love Rock Band. It hits Katherine like a sopping wet blanket.

She couldn't decide if he'd scrap for the microphone or the drums. He'd probably try to find a way to do both.

"Can we agree, though, that Guitar Hero II actually sucks?" Patrick asks, turning to look at the boys as he scratches his jaw. The other two immediately agree.

"Guitar Hero III is the best," Kaia says, plopping down onto the sofa with four beers held to her chest. Jackson takes two of them, and she sets the other two on the table.

"I disagree," he says. "How are you going to call the video game "Legends of Rock" and have no Ozzy and or Black Sabbath songs, and only one Metallica song? Literally called One."

"They were preparing you," Katherine hums, shrugging a shoulder.

"I heard the new one has Mr. Crowley on it," Jackson says. Russell looks to him with knitted eyebrows, and Katherine tilts her head.

Mr. Crowley? He asks.

In the song's defense, it was a song before we read about the demon Crowley, Katherine says. Jackson is looking at both of them with a puzzled expression. "That should be a fun one," she says to him, nodding, and turns to the TV.

Odds Ozzy ran into a demon named Crowley? Russell asks...half-kidding. Katherine doesn't have an answer for him.

"Okay, since we're playing Rock Band," Patrick pointedly says. "Can we figure out what song we're going to play? Or do we need to switch discs?"

"Switch discs," the other four chorus. "2 has Down with the Sickness," Jackson laughs, looking to Katherine.

Katherine makes a face. "I am not singing that one." The room descends into heckling and booing. "Well then you get up here and do it, Jackson, but I can't do that one!"

"She did start coughing the last time we tried," Patrick defends. "The chorus isn't a lady's friend."

"Well it's a good thing we made enough soup to feed a village," Jackson says. Kaia nudges him.

"Don't be mean," she says. "This isn't our band, we're just in the front row."

"Yeah, Jackson," Katherine mutters.

"Yeah, Jackson," Patrick pointedly adds, pitching his voice higher than usual. Katherine looks at him with hard eyes, and everyone laughs.

"I don't sound like that," she says through her teeth, mockingly swinging her fist at him. "Pick a song, dammit." Russell picks Psycho Killer.

Katherine supposes this is what any other family in America would be doing on a Sunday night. Arguing over which song to play, making fun of each other, friendly competitions. Beer, two bags of cheeseburgers dumped on the counter, five cartons of large fries, and two two liters of rootbeer and Coke.

Russell is the only other sober one in the room, in silent solidarity with Katherine.

Nobody is wearing pants that have a structured waistband.

Kaia is plastered by 11pm. "Russell," she says, resting her head on Katherine's shoulder. "You sleep with Jack. I'm sleepin' with Kat."

Russell looks at Katherine, who doesn't offer him much other than a gaze. "You're kickin' a man out of his own bed?"

"I'm assuming the gentleman is giving his bed to the lady," Kaia says, crossing her arms. Her eyes are closed. "This was girls slumber party night before you three Neanderthals crashed it!"

"They brought food we didn't have to pay for," Katherine whispers to her. "And we still get to wear matching PJs."

Not that they were anything fancy. Cute sets from Target, purchased earlier in the day for their slumber party. Both sapphire-toned satin tank tops and shorts.

Kaia hums in consideration.

"You can have the bed, Kaia," Russell acquiesces, smiling as he moves to shove the leftover burgers into the refrigerator. "You want a water, hon?"

"Yes, please," she sings. "Two, please."

"Atta girl."

"Let's go wash our faces," Katherine says, nudging Kaia. She helps the redhead to her feet and leads her to the bathroom in her and Russell's room, though shortly proves she can't lean over the sink without falling over.

Makeup wipes and sitting on the toilet it is.

Kaia's giggling the whole time. And while Katherine should be happy—and she is—she's...sad.

She'd had so many nights like this with Sophia. Someone she'd considered a sister for what felt like forever. She was so young when they met...and so much has changed since then.

"I'm glad to have a girl friend, finally," Kaia giggles. "It's been so long! And they don't all like you."

"Kaia, I think everyone likes you," Katherine murmurs, tossing the makeup wipe into the trash. "It would be crazy not to."

"I'm talking about the like without envy," Kaia murmurs. She opens one molten, glassy hazel eye. "I think I love you."

Katherine laughs, reaching for the moisturizer she packed. "Oh, Kaia. You're so drunk."

The redhead Muttley-laughs. "I know," she squeals, eyes teeming with delirious tears, as she reaches for Katherine's wrists.

Russell peers into the bathroom as he sets three bottles of water on the nightstand, and four tablets of ibuprofen.

All he sees are two girls, barely able to hold themselves up from laughing so hard. At what, who knows.

But Katherine is fitting in. Making friends. Smiling, laughing to the point of tears.

The personality he'd gleaned from being inside her thoughts, from what she said her life was like before...this is the personality that took a back seat this summer. The wit, the humor, the kindness. It's like the pieces of her are slowly being glued together.

Healing.

"Come on, you," Katherine chuckles.

Kaia is still maniacally giggling, letting herself be led from the toilet seat to the bed.

Jackson is leant against the doorframe, watching the entire exchange. Katherine coaxing Kaia to the bed, cracking open a water bottle, tossing ibuprofen into her mouth, fauceting water into her mouth.

"Like a baby bird," he coos. Katherine throws the bottle cap at him, and Kaia spits her water out, which makes everyone who witnessed it descend into the kind of laughter that makes your knees give out.

"Jesus Christ," Patrick mutters, cracking another can of beer open as he watches the silent laughter from the living room.

"No work tomorrow, huh?" Russell asks, leaning against the counter. Patrick shakes his head and plops down onto the sofa.

"What time are y'all headed to the ranch?"

"Bossman gave everyone the weekend," Russell answers. "We ain't goin' in."

Patrick raises his beer to his little brother. "To Labor Day Weekend."

Of course, Katherine's main worry is having those nasty nightmares resurface. It's what kept her from finding sleep for so long. Kaia woke up every so often to chug water, then flop back down.

What's wrong? Russell is still awake in the living room. Unsurprising, considering Jackson snores like a chainsaw.

I'm scared, Katherine admits. That when I fall asleep, something bad is going to happen.

You haven't had a nightmare in a week.

Then I'm overdue for one, right?

It looms between the two for several long moments.

I wish there was some kind of spell, Russell sighs.

There probably is and we just haven't found it yet. Lois has, like, a thousand books in that house.

There's only a small hum in response, an agreement.

I'm proud of you, he says.

And he doesn't have to say what for. She can see it, a replay of tonight that he keeps running over. Of her goofiness, her willingness to be teased and dish it back. To laugh. Over and over again. Allowing herself to feel happiness without the guilt that had come with it this entire summer. How light she felt without it dragging behind her like some ball and chain.

And then there was so much hope. So much to look forward to. What he thought it might look like...there are dogs and cats, there are friends, lots of outdoor gatherings. Hiking, traveling...endless possibilities of the future.

But that hope comes to a cold, screeching halt as he replays what he saw in Katherine's mind just once...what she sees over and over and over again.

The faces of the men who killed Charlie. And with that comes the resolution that none of that happiness he pictured, that lightness, can come until they're dead.

Katherine turns to look at the open door, as if she can see Russell's face through the darkness of the house. He turns to her, too.

We're not getting a cat.

Russell grins in the darkness, preparing for some semblance of a comeback, when his phone rings on the nightstand on Kaia's side of the bed.

Who the fuck is calling at four in the morning? She asks, flying up to silence it. Russell pushes himself up from the sofa to make for the bedroom.

Katherine hits the end button, looking the unsaved number over, and turns the volume all the way down.

475 area code, she tells him, moving to meet him in the living room. You got a girlfriend in New Haven?

You knowing cities' associated area codes is freaky.

I'm a genius, what good am I without useless knowledge?

His phone lights up again, and the same number pops up. Katherine looks at him with furrowed brows, passing the phone to him. Russell shrugs, shaking his head.

I don't know this number. He passes the phone back to her. She watches it ring. You look like you're thinkin' hard.

The phone is dark for a few moments...and then it lights up again. Same number.

Katherine looks at him with a frown before moving for the back door with Russell hot on her heels. She pushes the phone towards him once he's turned the porch light on and the door is closed.

The bone-chilling air makes her regret not pulling a blanket from the chair inside, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Answer it," she murmurs.

Russell isn't the type to hide things. He wears everything on his sleeve, gives gentle advice, but doesn't withhold information. It's not like she suspects him of cheating anyway, though she'd deserve as much. She sees everything that flies through his brain. There's a lot of sex in there, a lot of ranch things, and the ever-present loop of Cantina Band, which Katherine has yet to see Russ or Jack play.

"Hello?" He answers.

There's a sigh on the other end. "I was wondering how many times you'd send me to voicemail," an unfamiliar man says.

Russell's eyebrows knit together. "Who is this?" He asks. "For calling three times this early, someone better fuckin' be dead."

"Oh," the man scoffs. "They're not yet, but they will be soon." The hair on Russell's neck stands on end. "You're with my daughter. I want to talk to her."

Russell looks to Katherine, whose scowl is so deep-set in her face, it might just freeze there from the cold. "You're Clay," he says. That scowl goes slack with shock, and her jaw drops.

"So she did tell you about me," he says, almost purring.

"Nothin' much," Russell retorts. "From what I hear, there isn't much to tell."

Clay sighs, almost bored. "I know you're with her. Put her on the phone."

"How'd you find this number?"

He scoffs. "What, did...did you think she's so resourceful because she was born that way? I taught her everything she knows, including tracking someone off of something as inconsequential as a receipt, and something as big as a social security number."

"If you were able to find my number, why not hers?"

Clay sighs. "While it may be four in the morning in Winchester, Wyoming, it's six here in Georgia...and they don't have much time...Familiar.

It clangs through Russell, cold and sharp as an icicle. Katherine sees that word in his mind, and her eyes widen before she practically snatches the phone from his grip. He's pushing thoughts to her almost simultaneously, overlapping. He knows where we are—

"What do you want?" She coolly asks.

"My girl," he sighs again. "You warded yourself against me. That takes very powerful magic."

"Yeah, I didn't quite like the idea of you being able to find me whenever you felt like it. Gave me the ick, ya know? Super invasive."

"There was only one place you could've learned how to do that," Clay says. "And I'm lookin' at it."

Katherine's blood runs cold. Colder than the air biting at her skin.

"But I guess that means what I've always suspected," Clay continues. "That if you're able to use their magic...you really aren't mine." She tries like hell to keep her breathing even. She says nothing. Russell watches anguish turn her cold steel eyes molten. "I figured it out a long time ago," Clay says. "You have 24 hours to get here before they die like your mother and father."