Katherine Donovan is a lot of things, but she doesn't consider "stone cold murderer" one of them. Despite vivid daydreams of just how she would kill Bela Talbot, despite smelling the metallic tang of blood that would be in the air after she did, the thought of acting on the impulse makes her sick to her stomach...more so than seeing the rotten wench again this morning.

She's so red with fury still that Katherine can't hear anything Bela is saying to Sam, Dean, or Peter Warren, the latest victim's brother.

She'll have episodes of rage sometimes. It's so blinding, so deafening, that she may not remember the circumstance the next day. She hasn't seen Yellow Eyes in a while...but she can still feel him. That part of him still nested deep in her brain, his own branch of neurons...listening. Watching. Behaving.

For now.

When Katherine comes off autopilot, they're standing at the trunk of the Impala, and Sam is looking at her expectantly.

"What?"

"Ghost," Sam says with annoying emphasis. Sometimes she'd like to push his face into cold cement. Hard. He holds a salt round up to Katherine. "Rock salt."

"Thanks for the deduction, Sam," Katherine mutters. "I haven't hunted in thirty days, I was in need of a crash course."

"Thirty?" Dean asks after a moment. Katherine nods without looking up.

"Addicts don't quit cold-turkey," she sighs, turning the salt round over between her fingers.

Dean appraises her for a moment. Maybe she is looking at that round like an alcoholic would a nice cold drink.

"You want to quit?" Sam asks.

Katherine purses her lips before loading her shotgun with the round. "Not necessarily," she says. "But I need to."

Because of Charlie.

"I see you got your car back," Bela Talbot chirps, heels clicking against the pavement as she crosses over to the hunters.

Without looking up from the trunk, Katherine sings, "Kitty's got a gun."

Bela sighs and rolls her eyes. "Oh, mind your blood pressure, darling." She purses her lips, observing the three hunters and their lack of acknowledgment. Dean is turning red. Bela cocks her head to the side. "Why are you still here?" A pause. "You have enough to ID the boat?"

"That guy back there saw the ship," Sam says. He closes the trunk once the hunters are done loading their weapons.

"Yeah? And?"

"And he's going to die, you scrubber," Katherine snarls. "So we have to save him."

Bela's unreadable expression turns to something more. Colder, more full of rage. Her lip curls and she lunges. Katherine, swift as a cat, deflects Bela's fist and twists her arm behind her back before shoving her into the trunk.

"Let me go," Bela snarls.

"How'd you get like this?" Katherine seethes. Her nostrils are flared and her pupils are blown. Dean can see the pulse in her neck throb. Bared teeth lower to Bela's ear. "Daddy not give you enough hugs?"

"I don't know," Bela pants. "Did yours?" Katherine's mouth tightens. Sam sees her hand twitch, and he starts to move for her.

Bela dead in the street wouldn't do anyone any good. Who knows what cameras are around here? And the police just a block away...they would know who to look for.

Katherine comes back. With a stone cold face, she steps away from Bela. The Brit clutches her arm to her chest, where a bright red mark is already blooming.

"Don't you look down your nose at me," Bela snaps. "You're no better than I am. You do what you do out of obsession. You're a stone's throw away from beind a serial killer. I, on the other hand, get paid to do a job, and I do it."

"I don't do what I do with my hand held out," Katherine evenly retorts. "I do it to help people."

"I do what I have to to survive."

"Bela, why don't you just leave?" Sam interjects. "We've got work to do."

"Yeah...you're 0 for 2. Bang up job so far."

Katherine takes a step forward. "You are alive because I allow it," she whispers. "Don't forget that."

Bela has enough pride intact to watch the Impala drive away.

The hunters cruise around town looking for a place to dump all of their belongings. The ride was quiet, spare the occasional word from Sam or Dean up front, or the radio. Dean's actually listening to the radio.

"What did you call Bela?" Sam curiously asks.

Katherine pulls her gaze from the scenery outside her window to look at him. "A scrubber."

"Yeah...what is that?"

She purses her lips. "Urban dictionary said it means prostitute in the UK. I doubted anyone actually used it, but..." A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Got her pretty worked up, huh?"

They found a house about fifteen minutes away from Peter Warren's. The lawn is overgrown, in need of an extreme weed treatment. The shutters are falling off of the house, the lattice is rotted. Breaking the deadbolt was pretty easy.

Katherine's allergies went full-tilt when Dean threw his bag onto the table and dust went flying. It covers almost all of the surfaces inside. Dust, dirt, pollen, leaves. She changed into something more comfortable and went downstairs to start research with Sam.

The plan was to stay here until nightfall, then go keep an eye on Peter Warren. If he saw the ghost ship with his brother, then he's the next victim.

Endless google searches of the ship's physical characteristics yielded a few specific ships, and inquiries were called in to the local library to see if there were any materials there worth looking into.

"I got nothing," Katherine sighs, sitting in the back of the Impala. "What about you?"

"Not much," Sam tells her. Dean starts the car. "Both brothers graduated from Duke, no criminal records...They did inherit their father's real estate fortune about six years ago."

"How much?" Dean asks as he pulls away from the house.

"One hundred and twelve million."

The Impala lurches to a stop, and Katherine, who hasn't done up her seatbelt yet, goes flying into the bench seat with a shriek.

Dean's head whips around to look at Sam. "I'm sorry," he says. "I thought you said one hundred and twelve million."

"He did," Katherine snaps. "Can you drive, please? Jesus." She quickly buckles her seatbelt.

"You can't tell me one hundred and twelve M's wouldn't give you pause," Dean jests.

"That wasn't a pause!" Katherine crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "What do people do with one hundred and twelve million anyway?" She mutters.

"I'd go back to school," Sam volunteers.

"Nerd," Dean scoffs.

"Why would people with a nice, cushy life see the ship?" Katherine asks. "The only three people to see this ship...what do they have in common?"

"Besides money?" Dean shrugs. "Nothing."

"No," Sam disagrees. "There's always something."

Sleep in the Impala comes easy for Katherine. It's the familiarity. The heater blowing, rattling whatever plastic is stuck in the vents up front. Dean's hand-drum sound effects. Sam's impatient sighing. It's like her own personal sound machine.

"Hey!"

Katherine starts, eyes flying open. Sam and Dean are looking off to the left. She sits up and looks at her watch, which reads just past nine PM, and squints in the direction they're looking.

A very blurry Peter Warren stands at the gate in his driveway, hands on his hips, looking less than intimidating.

"Shit," she grunts. Dean is already opening the front door.

"Look alive, Kat," he mutters to her. Katherine ducks her head and pats her face before opening her door. She follows the Winchesters to the driveway as Peter Warren shouts, "Are you guys watching me?!"

"In a less creepy way than you think," Dean calls to him.

"You guys aren't cops!" Down the street, a dog starts barking. "Not dressed like that, not in that crappy car!"

Katherine's face wrinkles, and she turns to look at the Impala. "Damn."

"No need to get nasty," Dean chirps.

"We are cops," Sam says, stopping just two feet in front of Peter. "We're undercover, and we're here because we think you're in danger."

"What kind of undercover cop wears pigtail braids?" Everyone looks to Katherine, who despite her best efforts is still groggy from her nap, and is trying her best to shield herself from the cold, hands jammed into her jacket pockets and arms huddled close.

Her face wrinkles. "Who gives a shit what my hair looks like? And they're not pigtail braids, they're dutch braids. Don't sexualize a hairstyle, creep."

Peter looks surprised. "Se—sexualize?! I wasn't sexualizing you!"

"Oh, really?" Katherine's eyebrows shoot up. "Then why'd you say 'pigtail braids' like the way you did? You probably wish I was ten years younger, don't you?"

He looks confused now. Katherine just blinks at him, expectant. Everyone blinks at Katherine. What's she winding him up for?

"You're not denying it," she says.

"Why do you think I need protecting?" Peter demands. "From who?"

"Maybe we can talk about it if you calm down a little," Katherine chirps.

"Calm down?!" Peter shouts. "You just accused me of harassment!"

The Winchesters look to Katherine. She shrugs. "Had to try to find something."

"You guys just stay away from me!" Peter turns on his heel and takes off for the house.

Dean huffs at Katherine. "'Don't sexualize a hairstyle'?"

She purses her lips briefly. "Okay, maybe I went a little full throttle there."

"Maybe?"

Katherine's mouth puckers at him, nostrils flare. Peter starts his car up, and she quickly rushes the fence. "Hey, you moron!" She shouts. "We're trying to help you!"

Peter swings his car around the semi-circle drive. Just as he's getting to the gate, his car squeals, and it sounds like the engine is dying, trying to turn over, and the lights shut off.

"That can't be good," Dean mutters.

"Salt gun," Sam says, pushing at Katherine's shoulder. The Winchesters may be taller than she is, but if she isn't just as fast, she's faster. Besides, they're more muscle.

She bolts for the Impala, and the Winchesters throw themselves over the fence.

When Sam reaches the driver's seat of Peter's car, his head is resting on the steering wheel, and there's someone else in the passenger seat. It looks like he got caught in a rain storm.

Dean tries the handle—no budge. He takes a step back and throws his boot up against the window. Nothing.

Katherine, running up behind Dean, shouts, "Move!" and gives him about half a second before she pulls the shotgun's trigger. The bullet shatters the glass, the salt disperses the ghost.

And Peter has drowned in the driver's seat of his Benz.

Katherine is deathly silent in the back seat, radiating a palpable chill in the Impala, despite the heater being on full blast. With gritted teeth, she focuses her icy gaze on the rattling air vent up front. Dean frowns at his vent and adjusts it before giving it a gentle bump with the heel of his palm.

Cold air. Just for a second.

"Damn," he mutters. "Just replaced that shit."

"What?" Sam asks.

"I htink the heater's going again."

Sam grunts and turns his gaze out of the window.

Katherine remains silent.

Dean sighs and looks at her in the rearview mirror. "Do you want to say it, or should I?" He asks, shifting his gaze to Sam. He looks puzzled, and his response his clipped. either out of annoyance or confusion, Dean doesn't know.

"What?"

"We can't save everyone, guys."

Katherine's hard haze is on Dean now. If looks could kill...the rearview mirror might break.

"Right. You feel better now?" She flatly asks, aggressively shrugging her shoulders.

"No, not really."

"Yeah. Me either." Her hands snap the denim jacket she's wearing as she turns her gaze to the black scenery outside. "We should be able to save someone, though."

Sam didn't think adding his two cents would be productive. Katherine said it best, anyway. Somehow, she always does. Even if it isn't how he would say it.

Katherine is still pissy in the morning, even with Sam. She didn't want any coffee...even if he offered to spike it.

She's playing with a beige envelope when Dean comes downstairs. Sam is thumbing through a book about shipwrecks.

"You nerds hit the library earlier?" Dean groggily asks, rubbing a hand over his hair. "I smell coffee." Sam points to the to-go cup still in the drink holder.

"Donuts in there, too," he says. "And yes, we went to the library."

"Donuts are a consolation for taking the car without telling you," Katherine murmurs.

"Consider me consoled," Dean mutters, squinting one eye into the bag. "Bavarian?"

"The last one," she replies.

Dean lowers the bag with a frown. "Well why don't you have it, then?"

"S'okay." Katherine shakes her head and stands up from her chair. "Uh...this is for you guys."

Sam looks up from his book. Dean hesitantly bites into the donut, eyeballing the envelope Katherine has a death grip on. There's no writing on it, but the envelope has a round dent in it from her thumb.

Dean grins. "This a warrant?" He asks around a mouthful of bavarian cream. She chuckles, brows knit together. "A summons?"

"...of sorts." She twists her engagement ring. "Charlie and I set a date."

Dean didn't want the donut anymore. He might shit his pants, actually.

Sam, grinning, picks the envelope up. "Yes, I will be your maid of honor," he says. Katherine laughs a belly laugh, fingers wrapping over the kitchen chair as Sam opens the invitation. She's careful not to look at Dean. If she did, she'd find an unreadable expression but eyes that said everything.

Their names are written in pretty script. Dean can only see that. Sam sees a pretty, all-caps typeface with all the details.

join us as we celebrate the union of

KATHERINE LOUISE DONOVAN

and

CHARLIE TAYLOR

DECEMBER | 20 | 2007

at 5 o'clock in the evening

4 Points Farm

3692 Old Birds Creek Rd

Sevierville, TN 37876

"I get a destination wedding?!" Sam cries. Katherine grins. She opens her mouth, about to say more, but the relief she feels at the excitement of one Winchester quickly fades with a knock at the door.