"Okay, you guys, Corbett's not here!"

Everyone is shouting over everyone else. They all ran around screaming for Corbett, and no one could find him. And Katherine, the overstimulated, homicidal little psycho, picks up a vase, stands on the table, and lobs it against the wall.

Everyone ducks a little, covering their heads, and turns to her. "Shut the fuck up and listen," she lowly seethes. "We all need to get out of here and figure out what's—"

A long, deep scream echoes within the house.

"That's Corbett!"

"We're not leaving Corbett!"

"Dean!" Katherine shouts, gesturing to the amateurs, and the Winchesters act as crowd control, ushering them all through the tiny doorway of the Morton house.

"Corbett!"

"Stop touching my ass!"

"Corbett!"

"Keep it moving! Keep it moving!"

"Don't turn that corner!"

"Keep going!"

"Move, move, move!"

"Get that camera out of my—turn the camera off, man!"

"Don't touch the camera!"

"Wait!" Ed cries. "The footage!"

The hunters groan, watching the others rush for the equipment on the table. "Is it unethical to leave them?" Katherine asks, voice flat, as she stares at them.

Dean's shoulders are slouched like hers. "We technically don't have a code of ethics."

"Well, you know what guys, it's 12:04," Sam sighs, smiling tightly. "You happy?"

Katherine runs a hand over her forehead. "Fuck."

"Let's go hunt the Morton House, you said—"

"You were talking about the Grand Canyon, this is our Grand Canyon—"

"You said it was small fry—"

"You agreed!" Katherine squawks.

"Dean's got two months left, and instead, we're all gonna die tonight."

Katherine sighs, running her hands through her blonde hair, and ties it up into a tucked ponytail. Then she sniffs, putting her hands on her hips. Then she picks up the nearest chair and slams it against the doorknob, but it's like a rubber band, just transferring the force back into the chair, and it shatters.

"Whoa!"

"Blondie's got a temper."

"What's going on, guys?"

"What's going on?" Katherine growls, her hands finding her hips again as she starts pacing. "Every door, every window, every window in every door, are all sealed!"

"Wh-why are they all sealed?" The other girl asks.

"Why are they sealed?" Katherine repeats. "It's a supernatural lockdown. Whatever took Corbett doesn't want us to leave, and it's no death echo, this is a bad son of a bitch and it wants us scared."

"Or it just wants us," she hums.

Katherine smiles a little venemously. "Profound."

"Uhhh guys? The camera's fritzing again."

"Whoa! Guys, EMF's starting to spike!"

"It's gonna be a big one—"

"Everyone stay close," Sam orders, glancing around the somewhat illuminated lower level of the old house.

A simultaneous "whoa!" is shouted by at least half of the group, on the other side of Katherine. She and the Winchesters turn towards base camp, where another figure is stood with his back to the group.

"Is this the same echo you guys saw earlier?" Dean inquires, cautiously appraising the swaying figure.

"That's a different guy," Katherine points out. The other one was dressed in period clothes, maybe from the twenties or thirties. This guy looks a little more modern, dressed in an argyle sweater, trench coat, and khakis.

"Multiple echoes?" Sam asks. "What the hell's goin' on?"

"Beats me," Dean scoffs. "Okay...okay. All right, hey, buddy!" He shouts, and starts forward to round in front of the spirit. "Wake up! You're dead!"

"What's he doing?" Harry asks, following the scent of vanilla right up to Katherine's side. She's...an inch taller than him. Slightly degrading, but a good challenge.

"Trying to scare it out of the loop," Katherine answers. "Sometimes you can still get through to the part of the ghost that's still human, but...usually you have to have some sort of connection to it." She glances to him out of the side of her eye, noticing he's staring at her. After a moment, she raises her brow, Dean still yelling at the spirit, and turns to face him.

Harry smiles. "I'm Harry."

Katherine rolls her eyes and faces forward again before noticing the camera pointed in her direction. With a scowl, she smacks it the other way, and trains her gaze on Dean as he keeps shouting at the spirit.

Then she hears something like a horn.

"You guys hear that?"

"What's that sound?"

Katherine watches the spirit turns towards the group.

"Snap out of it, buddy, what are you waiting for?!"

"Is that a train?" Sam quietly asks.

"I didn't see any tracks coming up here," Katherine murmurs, shaking her head, and then a train's horn sounds, blaring through base camp, and the echo disappears.

"Where the hell did it go?!"

"He died," Katherine answers. "Again. We should look for Corbett...and anything else that could help get us the hell out of here." She tugs Sam forward by the elbow and Dean rushes to catch up with the two. "—the hell, man. There's no record of anyone getting shot here, no train tracks, nothin'!"

"Did the echoes take Corbett?" The other girl asks.

"Unlikely," Sam says over his shoulder. "But we don't know what's doing what here—that's what we're trying to figure out." He glares, shielding his eyes from the camera beams that are following them. "So just...stay out of the way and quit asking so many questions. Please."

"And stay close," Katherine chastises. "But still...out of the way." The girl stares at her, and Sam notices the same inquisitive expression on all the amateurs' faces.

"All right, uh...death echoes are ghosts, okay? And ghosts usually haunt places where they lived or died—"

"Except these mooks didn't live or die here," Dean interrupts.

"So what are they doing here?"

"Give this lady a cigar," Dean jests, glancing at the girl over his shoulder, and Katherine snorts. Dean sighs, coming to a stop, and turns to face the girl with the camera. "All right, seriously—does looking at this nightmare through the camera make you feel any better about any of this?"

After a moment, the girl shrugs and shakes her head. "Uh...I...well—yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Dean brow raises. "Oh."

Don't judge," Katherine hums.

"I'm not," he says out of the corner of her mouth, then moves forward as he shakes his head.

"Found somethin'!" Sam calls from the other room, and the two hunters move towards him. "Freeman Daggett, the last owner." He holds up a shattered picture frame, holding an old document inside. "Officially commended for twenty years of service at the Gamble General Hospital."

"He's a doctor?" Katherine grunts, sifting through more old, wrinkled papers.

"Janitor," Sam corrects, shaking his head.

"When'd you say he died?" Dean asks.

"'64," Katherine answers, moving around the desk. "Heart attack."

"Are these c-rations?" The girl asks, and the hunters look up to where her camera light is pointed—a couple of cardboard boxes piled above a cabinet, covered in cobwebs.

Meal, combat, individual

Turkey loaf - B3 Unit

Meal, combat, individual

Chicken or turkey, boned - B3 Unit

"Yeah," Katherine hums, curiously starting over to the boxes. "Like, World War II, before MCIs." Then she crouches down, carefully, her flashlight dragging across more boxes with the same labels that she hadn't seen before. Then she laughs, or scoffs, and shakes her head as she comes back up and starts away from the shelf. "Like a lifetime supply."

"Was this all he ate?" The girl mutters.

"One-stop shopping," Dean hums. "Hey, this vault is locked." He turns to Katherine, pointing at the small safe up on the cabinet. "You got a stethoscope?"

"Yeah, let me just run out to the car and grab it."

"Heeey, don't get snippy with me."

"Well Dean—"

"Oh come on, guys!" Ed cries, throwing his arms up. "How is this supposed to help find Corbett?! We should be digging up the friggin' floorboards right now!"

"Look at this," Sam says, nudging Katherine's elbow, and points to an old photograph, presumably of Freeman himself.

"Survival Under Atomic Attack," she murmurs, holding up a faded instruction manual with a soft smile. "What an optimist." The two jump as Dean strikes the vault with a crowbar and pries the door open. "Way to warn someone!" She cries.

Dean just stares at her, all shitty-like, nonchalantly dropping the crowbar to the ground, and starts to sift through the safe. He's definitely a cat, Katherine seethes to herself. Then her eyes shift to Ed as he waves an ancient-looking EMF device around Dean. Then the oldest hunter turns around and sees the little wire antenna waving around his face.

And he just stares.

Katherine pulls Ed out of the way and Dean drops a metal canister onto the desk, flips the lid open.

"Crap," Dean mutters, tossing a letter to the side. "Crap. Crap..."

"Don't be rude," Katherine scolds.

He glances up and gently tosses a small booklet out onto the lid. "Taxidermy," he hums in a slightly lighter tone, and keeps sifting. "Daggett was a hospital janitor?"

"Yeah," Sam replies.

"Eeewww." But he's got a sick little smile. "Got three toe tags in here—death by gunshot...train accident...suicide."

"Shut up," Katherine mutters, picking up one of the tags. Train accident.  She sighs, rubbing her temples, and shakes her head.

"Eww," Sam mutters.

"What?" Harry asks, two steps away from Katherine. Her nostrils flare as she glares at him, and the camera is quick to capture it.

"The death echoes are here because he obviously brought these three to the house." She wiggles the tags and drops them back into the canister.

They don't get it.

"Daggett brought the remains home from the morgue...to play," Dean says.

Ed and Harry share a glance before simultaneously exclaiming "eeewww!"

"I don't think they get it," Katherine whispers, and Dean shakes his head. "All right, we're now attempting to locate Corbett and three skeletons." She turns around and stops, suspiciously eyeing the group of amateurs. "Where'd the girl go?" She asks.

"Maggie?"

"Maggie!" Harry cries.

"Maggie!"

"Aaaawww, I am going to kill all of you!" Katherine groans, storming out of the room. "Maggie!"

She's a few rooms over. Katherine's expression falls flat as she silently creeps into the room. Maggie, having just been spooked by a stuffed bird, turns around and almost collapses when Katherine's tall, pale figure comes into her viewfinder.

"Jesus!" Maggie shrieks. "You're so quiet!"

"Closer to the herd, Little Bo-Peep," she mutters, turning on her heel, and starts towards Sam and Dean.

"Maggie?" Harry asks.

"She's fine," Katherine flatly calls. She waits for Maggie to exit the room. A chill creeps across her jacket, and she shivers. "Aw, shit."

"Harry!" Ed cries. "Harry, I got an 8.6 and climbing fast! Something huge is coming--look! Something big is coming!"

"It's past 11 you guys," Harry announces, looking down at the EMF meter.

"Nobody move!" Dean calls. "Stay quiet."

"It's really cold in here," Ed whispers.

Dean glares, motioning for him to quieten down.

"Must've just been a surge," Harry mutters.

Dean sighs, turning to the hallway to share yet another annoyed glance with Katherine. But she isn't there.

His stomach drops.

"Kat?"

Sam glances to his left, where Katherine was standing in the doorway just a few moments ago. "Katherine?"

"Where'd she go?" Harry asks.

"Oh, no."

Sam stoops to pick her flashlight up from the ground.

"Son of a bitch."

Then it's a frenzied panic, everyone moving through the halls to find two missing people and three skeletons.

"Kat!"

"Katherine!"

"Corbett!"

"Corby?"

"Talk to us!"

"KD!"

"Corbett!"

"Katherine!"

Sam glances to his right, where Ed is physically attacking Harry, and Maggie is standing aside, helpless—and the other one, the quiet one, is just filming. "Hey, hey, hey!"

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Dean throws Ed off of Harry and glowers at the two. "Cut it out!" He grits his jaw, continuing his stare, stomaching his anxiety. "We are down by two people!" With one last sweeping glare, he turns out of the room, followed by Sam. "Katherine! KD!"

She flinches, almost starting awake, and grunts at the pain in her right temple. There's someone else at the end of the table with her. "Corbett?" She whispers. "Corbett—hey, Corbett." He starts to lift his head.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to—

Katherine looks around for the source of what is possibly the worst song ever written, but can't find much in the dark. "Hey." She pulls against the restraints tying her to the chair she's in. "Listen to my voice, bud, all right? I'm right here—stay awake," she hisses, and his head snaps up.

"Don't listen," a new voice says, and Katherine looks to the right at a black mass in the darkness. Part of an arm is illuminated from Corbett's camera light. "It stops hurting, so don't worry."

"Corbett," Katherine says, sitting up straighter, pulling her arms the best she can from behind her. "Listen to me, all right? Focus on me—" she watches the figure move into Corbett's camera light, holding some sort of skinny stick—a rod—up to Corbett's head. "No, don't! Don't! Corbett?! Corbett!" She watches the black figure retreat into more nothingness, and Corbett's camera falls from his hand.

Her right ear starts to ring.

"This won't hurt," the voice says. Daggett, probably. Right next to her.

"Stay the fuck away from me," she snarls, jerking away from the body beside her.

"It's okay. Just relax." His hands move over her face, and something is placed on her head. A string snaps against the soft underneath her jaw. She grits her teeth, watching Daggett retreat into the darkness.

He put a goddamn party hat on me. I'm not dying with a goddamn party hat on my head.

"We're gonna find her, Dean," Sam says.

"Daggett was a Cold War nut, right? An amateur taxidermist...he liked to slow dance with cadavers and all he ate were c-rations, so what the hell are we looking for?!"

"Calm down—we're gonna find something."

"Yeah, before or after we find her body?" Dean asks.

Sam can only shake his head. "Wait," he murmurs, moving back to the table he and Katherine were stood at perhaps half an hour ago, and he shifts through all the papers and pamphlets before holding one up—Surviving Atomic Attack. "He was scared," he realizes.

"Scared?"

"Of what?"

"He was scared!" Sam bolts out of the room and to the nearest staircase—down. It's all down.

"Sam!"

"Atomic attack! Nukes! If you were really freaked, you built bomb shelters!" He swings around the corner of the stairs and searches each door for another set of stairs leading further into the ground. That door is halfway from the front door to the kitchen. He bolts downstairs with the other camera guy right behind him, and before anyone can catch up, the door slams shut.

"Whoa!" Ed and Harry cry, slamming up against the door. "Hey, not funny!"

"Open the door!" Harry yanks on the knob.

"What just happened?" The camera guy asks. Sam doesn't bother to ask his name, but it's Spruce.

"It's trying to separate us!" Dean calls through the door.

"There's some salt in the duffle!" Sam shouts. "Make a cricle and get inside!"

Dean stares at Ed and Harry, shoving his annoyance and anxiety down his throat. "What the hell are you two waiting on, spring? Let's go!"

"Get...get inside the duffle bag?" Ed asks.

Sam hears Dean clear halfway down the steps. "In the salt, you idiot!" Sam chuckles, shaking his head, and continues down the stairs.

Dean growls through his teeth and runs to his duffle, hastily pouring a thick, curved line of salt. "Get inside-inside the circle!"

"Guys?" Harry whispers. "I—I don't want you to die—"

"Oh my God," Dean sighs.

"Hey, hey, hey," Ed comforts, gripping the collar of Harry's jacket. "Harry, listen to me—if we don't die, it's...it's totally okay if you do my sister."

"Oh my God, shut up," Dean snaps.

"Guys?" Maggie whispers. "It's coming again—my camera—"

"All right, pack it in," Dean says, pushing the three closer together, watching the flood flashlights flicker on the desk.

"Why does this keep happening?" Ed whispers. "Why does this keep happening? Why does this keep happening—?"

"Pull it together," Dean snaps.

Sam's flashlight leaves no corner untouched. Neither he nor the camera guy, Spruce, speak, keeping their ears receptive to the smallest sounds Corbett or Katherine could express.

Until now.

"So, uh...Katherine." Sam hardly glances over his shoulder. "Is she, uh—"

"She's married," Sam flatly answers, glancing around the dark, crowded corridor of the basement, and turns to Spruce. "And anyway—"

The softest syllables travel up the cement walls, like whispers in a field of flowers, and he's pulled to the left.

"Do you hear that?" Sam whispers. Spruce nods.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to—

"Is that music?"

"Yeah..."

"Sounds like it's coming from that way," Spruce says, pointing straight ahead. After a moment, Sam leans towards the wall and presses his ear up against the wood.

It's muffled, but it's there.

"Behind the wall," Sam murmurs, moving his eyes to the rusting cabinet before him. His hand slips between the wall and the cabinet and he pushes. After zero give, he pulls and pushes, the metal scraping along the floorboards at a high enough pitch that it could possibly make a dog's ears bleed.

"Wow...you're strong."

Sam only glances to Spruce, eyes a bit narrowed, and he looks at the wall.

There's a heavy metal door there. Not rusted, so it's not iron. Probably steel, since that's what would have been the most accessible, heavy-duty metal available to the public at the time. It's probably a solid foot of steel and bolts.

But it's unlocked, and after a good few shoves, the door swings open. The music is louder. The room is dark and smells like dust and...like a basement. Rotten corpses. Oh, and blood. Definitely blood.

"Katherine?!" She's straight ahead, bloodied...wearing a party hat...A figure moving beside her—Sam shoots, and it disappears after a round of salt is shot his way.

"Kat?"

"Sam," she whispers.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, no, but Corbett—"

"Oh my God," Spruce whispers. Katherine thinks he's found his friend, but he's actually surveying the collection of corpses in Daggett's bomb shelter.

"Please, just untie me," Katherine pleads. "Get me out of here before I hurl." She tilts her chin, trying to keep her eyes off the taxidermied, mummified bodies of old hospital patients dressed up for a party.

Sam moves to untie her wrists, and he catches sight of her face as Spruce pans his camera's light across the room. "You said you weren't hurt," he says, grasping her chin and tilting it towards him to get a good look. Her left eye is a bit swollen...red, shiny. A cut just above her cheekbone is bleeding. Was? It looks dry now—

"Just untie me," Katherine sighs. "I'm fine." She tugs at her wrist, prompting him. "We have to go before he comes back."

"What's this Daggett guy's problem anyway?" Spruce inquires, hatred biting at his tongue like metal.

"Lonliness," Katherine answers, moving to her other wrist once Sam has freed her right one up, and Sam works on the same-sided ankle as she does. And then they all walk out. Katherine shields her face from the bright light.

"Point that thing somewhere else," Sam says with a glare, and Spruce glances up to him from the camera monitor.

"It's just bright is all, Sam," she murmurs. "He, uh...threw himself a birthday party. Only...stolen bodies from the morgue were the only people that came. So he went upstairs and OD'd on horse tranquilizers."

"How do you know this?" Sam asks, glancing into the shelter as they step out into the basement.

"'Cause he told me," she answers after a moment.

Sam's brows raise. "Oh."

"Yeah," Katherine chuckles.

"Were those real bullets?" Spruce asks.

"Rock salt," Sam answers, shaking her head.

"Can we get out of here now?"

"We're, uh...kind of stuck in here," Sam mutters. Katherine rolls her lips, twitching her nose, and looks around for something to break a door down with. She finds an iron rod and goes to town on the door. "Maybe you shouldn't—"

"Shouldn't what?" She grunts, looking wildly at him. Sam, knowing better, presses his lips together and shakes his head. Her glare turns to Spruce. "And you—why are you still filming? How?"

"It makes him feel better," Sam sighs. "Don't ask."

Katherine growls and jams the rod up against the wood again.

"Ah, hell—guuyss!" Spruce cries.

"What?!" The hunters shout.

"Get in your ghost-role thing, something's coming!" Spruce pans around, his flashlight sweeping the dark basement, and he screams as Freeman Daggett appears in the viewfinder. The next thing he knows, he's being launched across the room. In the air for most of the journey. Air stolen from his lungs, legs flailing, the general discomfort that comes with flying unsupported through the air.

Sam shoots a round of rock salt at Freeman Daggett, and he disappears. Katherine pulls Spruce up, a little embarrassing if he'd ever admit it. Her lips are very close to his face, but she rolls them in with exertion and leans away as she uses her body for leverage to pull him to his feet.

"You all right?" She asks. He's staring at his camera. Katherine huffs. "Just look up six inches, man, that's all I'm askin—"

"He's right behind you," Spruce whispers.

Katherine's brow furrows, and she reaches for her rod when Daggett picks her up, squishing her shoulders together, and throws her across the room.

"Hey!"

"Use the gun, use thegun, usethegun!"

Sam is launched the other way.

"Oh, shit—"

Just as Daggett is nearing Spruce, Corbett appears. Ghost Corbett, freshly pulled out of his death echo by Ed, all sorts of pissed off and vengeful.

It all happened very quickly. Spruce wouldn't have been able to tell you what happened, how Corbett and Daggett disappeared, without looking at the footage.

"Where'd he go?" Katherine asks.

"Cor-Corbett got him," Spruce says. "Corbett got him. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Katherine grunts, pushing herself to her feet, and touches her hand to the back of her head, checking her fingertips for blood. "Sam?"

"I'm all right," he calls.

Spruce shifts on his feet, still staring at Katherine. She's got a bloody nose now. "Here—you, uh..." He wiggles his hand back into his shirtsleeve and carefully wipes at the flesh underneath Katherine's right nostril.

She just stares at him.

"What is it with you guys?" Spruce mutters.

"Don't touch me."

"Yes ma'am." He sidesteps out of her way and she moves for the door, scooping up her rod on the way, and marches up the stairs. The Winchesters would try to break the door down first without testing the knob, so she tests the knob—and it opens.

"Dean?" Katherine calls.

He stands up straighter. "Kat? You all right?"

"We're fine," she answers, rounding the corner, and jolts back as Dean meets her there in a rush. Much to the amateurs' surprise, the giant hugs her, arms around her shoulders, one hand at the back of her head, and her face hides in his neck. Sam sighs and pushes the camera off of them.

"We can leave now?" Maggie asks.

"Should be able to," Katherine hums. "Corbett saved us."

"I think I see the sun," Ed chuckles, staring off at one of the boarded up windows. Sam moves for the door first. "Wa-wa-wait! We have to get a shot of us coming out of the house! Spruce, go!" Spruce runs for the front door and positions himself on the lawn before shouting when he's ready. Ed goes first. Then Dean breaks the board bisecting the doorway in half so he doesn't have to crouch down. Katherine rolls her eyes, walking out behind him, with Sam after her, and the rest of the Ghostfacers crew.

✕

"You sure you should be drinking that?"

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere," Katherine chirps, pouring out a shot of peanut butter whiskey.

"It's eight AM here," Dean points out. "And I meant because you were, you know, physically accosted and still kind of concussed."

"Oh. Then yeah, probably not." Katherine stares at her shot of peanut butter whiskey. "But whoever made it...I want to kiss them." She knocks back her shot and sighs, closing her eyes as the whiskey burns its way into her belly. "How's the face coming, Prince Charming?"

"I can't believe we ran out of soap," Dean mutters, rubbing at his face with a wet towel.

"You're just a priss," Katherine hums. "We don't need Hibiclens. Regular soap will do."

"I like it," Dean grumbles, turning to look at her. "Have a good shower? Get all the Daggett off you?"

"Ew." She grins, picking up her pen. "Please don't ever say that again."

Dean grins, tossing his towel onto the tile in the bathroom, and sits on the bed beside her. He watches her journal for a few minutes.

"Why're you staring at me?" She asks, smiling still. Dean rests on his side.

"Just lookin' at your beat up face, wondering when Charlie's gonna kickt he shit out of us for letting you get hurt," Dean hums.

"My face isn't that beat up," Katherine mutters, closing her journal, and sets it off to the side. She puts her chin in her hand and stares at Dean. "And he knows the risk, so."

"Just until May." Katherine grunts, tearing her eyes away from his face. She looks down at her fingernails. "Your head okay?"

"She's all good." Katherine wiggles her fingers.

The door to Katherine's motel room opens, and Sam holds up a grocery bag. "I have acquired the soap," he says. "Katherine, chopped pineapple." He sets it on the counter. "A leap year card, because why not?" He sets that down, too, and Katherine chuckles.

"They really do make cards for everything," Dean muses, leaning onto his elbow.

"I am going to sleep," Sam pronounces, balling the bag up in his fist, and looks tiredly at the two. Mostly at Dean. "I see the whiskey is out. I am going to sleep for at least eight hours, so when you come back, don't be fucking loud or I will stab you in the fucking neck with a fucking spoon."

"Fuck," Dean says. Katherine throws her head back in laughter. Sam gives the two a salute and heads for the door. When it closes, she's still laughing, turning to Dean, who looks at her out of the corner of his eye with raised eyebrows. 

"He fuckin' hated that hunt," Dean snickers. Katherine, somehow laughing still, can't get a breath. "Jesus, Kat, breathe," he laughs. "Breathe!" He claps her on the back and she sucks in a deep breath. "That's called delirium, kids." She rolls onto her back, laughing still. "New Katherine noise unlocked: wheeze." He watches her with a smile as she wipes her face of tears.

"Oh, shit, that was funny," she giggles. "With a spoon." The beginning of a laugh starts, and she looks to Dean. Then her eyes get all squinty, and she starts up again. "With a spoon!"

"You are so damn loud," Dean chuckles, glancing to the wall. "He's gonna stab us both with spoons." There she goes. "Jesus Christ, are you drunk already?"

"Noooo," she admonishes, sitting up on her elbows, smiling. "No, not drunk. Are you drunk?"

He scoffs and raises his eyebrows at her, watching her glittering blue eyes turn to him. "High on life, my dear."

"Oh, I bet," she snorts. "Hey, you should journal before you forget everything."

"Oh, I don't journal," Dean hums, shaking his head, and twirls her pen around his fingers. "Shit's stupid." She frowns. "Except when you do it, you thorough little nerd." He flips her pen into the air a few times. "Hey, uh...that crocotta last week." Katherine sits up on her elbow. "I, uh...gave you and Sam a hell of a time on that one."

"Ah." Katherine waves a hand at him.

"No, you were right."

"Forget about it." She drops down onto the comforter, her head by his elbow.

"I can't." He catches the pen one more time. Katherine turns her head to look at him, wondering how they just went from 100 to 0 so quickly. She studies the wrinkles in his forehead as his eyebrows shoot up. The slightest bump in the bridge of his stupid perfect nose, the cursed reach of his eyelashes. He looks down at the comforter, at her arm. "I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way out of this. I mean, I'm...staring down the barrel of this thing...you know, Hell." Frosty green eyes move from the comforter to her own. Big, blue, deep pools of liquid sapphire. "For real, forever, and I'm just..."

"Yeah." Her voice is soft. Her eyes become glassy.

"I'm scared," Dean whispers. His eyes don't leave her face. She can see the tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm...really scared."

"I know." He looks at her fingers move to wrap around his palm, soft and warm. She curls towards him, the fingers on her other hand lightly running over the back of his.

"I guess I was willing to believe anything," Dean murmurs. "You know...last act of a desperate man." He smiles a little.

"There's nothing wrong with having hope, Dean." He closes his eyes at the sound of her voice saying his name. It's so soft, so sad.

"Hope doesn't get you jack squat, KD. I can't...expect my dad to show up with some last minute miracle." He scoffs and shakes his head. "I can't expect anybody to. You know, the...the only person who can get me out of this is me."

"And me," Katherine murmurs. "And Sam."

Dean levels his gaze at her. "'And me'?" He asks.

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"A man bares his soul to you and what you come back with is 'and me'?"

Katherine's eyes turn mockingly tender. "Do you want a poem?"

"Moment's gone," Dean says, turning his head away from her in theatrics. Katherine giggles. He smiles, fingers curling around her hand. "Unbelievable." Her hand slides down his wrist. Dean watches her fingers blindly trace over the veins in his hand. "You've gotta stop touching me," Dean whispers. Katherine looks at him, and he turns his gaze to hers.

The butterflies in her stomach flutter. He swallows the lump in his throat.

"Fuck it."

Dean's warm mouth touches hers, heavy and tasting faintly of mint. Her grip tightens on his hand until he moves over her, fingers sliding down his forearm. It's like muscle memory, finding his hip. Her heart hammers in her chest, and a million alarms start going off...and she ignores them.

How can something feel so right?

Dean's teeth briefly latch onto her lower lip, and he lowers himself down onto his elbows as he pulls away from her. Katherine's leg hitches around the bend in his knee, her fingers curling to rest on his bicep, and they stare at each other for a few moments.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

Katherine lifts her head and kisses him. A whole lot less urgently than Dean kissed her. A million times softer, the soft, warm tip of her tongue just touching his lower lip. He leans into it, savoring it, wanting more. Her hands slide up the back of his neck, fingertips raking through his hair, and he feels a tug in his belly. Damn it. He'll take what he can get, but damn if he isn't a shitty man right now. Be the man, be the man, be a man. Dean's hips involuntarily drop, and he grunts, pulling them right back up.

"Hmm-mm." Dean pulls away from her, and her mouth chases his. "We...shouldn't do this." But she just stares at him, fingers...bunching in his t-shirt near his belly. She pulls her upper lip between her teeth, weighing the consequences as she stares at his eyes, his lips, feels his breath fall on her skin. "Shit."

"I want you to."

Fingertips hit the flesh of his sides as he leans down to kiss her again. He drops his weight at her behest, fingertips digging into his hips, and she sighs into his mouth. The moan that comes from his chest is entirely involuntary. Her sigh, her needy hands, her mouth, the feel of her breasts against his chest...

His pants are very uncomfortable. And she must know, because her knuckles are sliding against his belly as her fingers move for his belt. The tip of her tongue is elusive, and he stays chasing it. Peanut butter whiskey on her lips, her hands pushing his jeans down. Then one of them presses up onto his briefs, firmly slides up the hard length of him underneath the cotton. He groans into her jaw, spine curling, the scent of her shampoo all but distracting, and she breathes out a quiet laugh.

"When's the last time you fucked someone?" She whispers in his ear. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Jesus..." Dean swallows hard and opens his eyes to look at her. "You." Her eyes soften. "I, uh...I came close, but it made me feel gross."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She doesn't say anything, because Dean is sliding her long sleeve off, hands pressing deliciously into her skin as he lifts her shirt. The soft wine-colored bra she wears has no padding. He can see the weight of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. He noses one before closing his mouth around it, tonguing it through the fabric.

He likes it. Does he want it on or off?

If this is the last time he's going to fuck someone, he might as well do it right and get her naked. Dean's eyes flit to hers. She doesn't even let him take it off of her, the eager little shit. Off it goes. He slides his hand against the curve of her other breast before cupping it in his palm. As his mouth trails down her body, still tasting peanut butter from her tongue, his fingers run right over that bump, and she sighs heavily. Dean gently nips the soft of her belly before pulling down her pants and underwear, no time to waste. He doesn't let her stay cold for long. He presses his mouth and tongue against her center, reveling in her whine, her fingers at the back of his head. He almost finishes right then. Her inner thighs brush his ears, and his hands curl around her hips, pulling her towards him. Last time, she didn't let him stay here for long. He takes his time, licking, kissing, carefully hiding his teeth. He slides two fingers into her like it's nothing, and he curls his fingers against her once before she unravels.

Dean pulls himself up to hover over her, and she watches with heavy eyelids as he licks his fingers. Her own loop into the waistband of his briefs and push them down before they wrap around his aching erection. Dean winces, sinking onto his elbows, pushing his hips forward as her fingers slide around the bone and settle at the very top of his hamstring. As he slides into her, her lips part and her eyes close. He doesn't make a sound, intent on listening to the ones she makes for the moment.

Dean wouldn't call this fucking. It's something entirely different. It always was with her. Maybe it's because of the feelings involved, why it feels different. He's gone slow before, he's felt everything before, but this...he felt the heavy pulse in her throat underneath his parted lips as he slowly drove into her tight, wet heat. Felt her moan in his chest. Felt each intentional tightening of her muscles as he pushed in and pulled out. He watched her chin tip back, face slack...and there it is. He couldn't move as he came, gripping her and moaning into her delicious, soft skin.

Dean took them both to the shower again. Helped her clean up. Put a hand on her back so she wouldn't slip as she leaned up to kiss him. It was a good thing they were in the shower, because he doesn't know what she would do if she knew he was crying.

She braided her hair as Dean channel surfed. Mostly, he was watching her, not paying much attention to what was on the television.

He ached for her again.

Katherine slides onto the bed beside him and rests her head in the crook of his shoulder. Dean's arm moves across her abdomen, covering her hand with his, and hooks his fingers between hers. "What are we watching, Katherine Louise?" He quietly asks, turning his chin to look at her, and presses a kiss to her temple.

✕

One of the last scenes of the spliced footage was Harry grabbing Katherine and leaning for her face with closed eyes. He only had time to grab her elbow and close his eyes before her fist turned with her shoulders. It laid Harry out.

"We thought we'd leave that in there," Ed says. "Women's empowerment and everything." He glares at Harry. "Also. No one makes out with my adopted sister and tries to make out with another woman on the same day. Jackass."

Dean chuckles, a little smug, as he leans back in his chair and drapes his arm around Katherine's shoulders.

"So, guys?" Ed hums, rocking onto his toes. "What'd you think?"

"It was kind of half awesome," Dean admits after a moment, turning his gaze to Katherine, then Sam on her other side. She hums in agreement, eyebrows raised, and looks to Sam, too.

"Half awesome?" Maggie repeats. "Well that—that's full-on good, right?!"

"Yeah, I had a chuckle," Katherine says, turning to face the amateurs. "I don't know how y'all were able to honor Corbett's memory and simultaneously exploit the disgusting, horrific manner of his death," she hums. While she's got the crew distracted, Dean slips the USB drive from the external computer into his jacket. "Bravo for doing that in the ten hours it's been since we've seen you."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, nodding vehemently. "That's a real tight rope you guys are walkin'."

"We've gotta go," Katherine hums, rolling to her feet, and steps out in front of the Winchesters, totally ass-in-face, as she slides past the two.

"That was reality, man," Ed refutes with furrowed brows and crossed arms. "Corbett gave his life searching for the truth, and it is our job over here—" he gestures to his crew of idiots "—to share it with the world."

"Right," Katherine hums, brushing her thumb over the itchy, healing wound underneath her eye.

"Well in our experience, you know what you get when you show the world the truth?" Sam asks.

"A straight jacket," Katherine chirps with her signature sarcastic smile.

"Or a punch in the face," Dean adds with a cocked brow. "Sometimes both."

"Oh, come on guys," Harry scoffs. "Don't be 'Facer Haters because we happen to have captured the footage of the century."

Katherine grins, showing off dimples and bright white teeth, and she shakes her head a bit. "Sure did," she chuckles, glancing to the computer setup, and then to Dean. He smiles warmly at her, oakleaf eyes twinkling with mischief and their shared inside joke. Her cheeks burn, and she forces herself to look away. But who's she hiding from? Sam? Katherine turns on her heel and heads for the door. With a light smile, she calls, "Bye, Harry," in a very Old-Katherine reminiscent way. Dean smiles and looks at her. "What?" She murmurs.

"I just miss you is all," he quietly tells her.

Ed shuts the door behind them.

"Dicks," Harry scoffs.

"Totally," Ed agrees.

"Except the chick," Spruce says. "She was hot."

Sam grins, turning to face Katherine, and she smiles a bit awkwardly.

"What?" She asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You're kind of a genius," he says.

Katherine chuckles, leaning over the bench seat. "Yeah, well, didn't I tell you that when I first met you? Come on, drive—they're gonna notice in about three seconds and I want a milkshake."

"Who even thinks about building an electromagnet to wipe out hard drives?" Dean scoffs, twisting the key in the ignition.

"Me," Katherine says, reaching into his jacket pocket to obtain the only remaining evidence of the encounter at the Morton house. "Obviously." She turns her focused gaze from the USB drive to Dean, sarcasm practically stamped into her features—the raised brow, the hard blue eyes and the judgement on her lips. He'd very much like to kiss those lips again.

"No, no, no, no—!"

"Drive, please," Katherine hums, pulling away from him, and flips the USB into her palm. Dean peels out of the driveway with the scent of her shampoo stuck in his nose.