"Earth to Dean."

"There's red meat within striking distance. He's not biting. Should we take him to a hospital?"

"I am a hospital," Katherine grumbles. 

The town seems to have forgotten about last night's shooting. The bar—the very one from last night—is going pretty steadily for a Wednesday evening...after a shooting. And Sam's right.

Dean isn't inhaling his food. He's not even sniffing it. Does he even know it's there?

He slides his phone closed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Dean snaps his phone shut and looks at the two with his usual brooding brow and pursed lips.

"How many times do I have to tell Richie he's going to get himself in trouble?" Dean grumbles.

"He still hasn't answered your texts?" Katherine asks.

"Or my nineteen phone calls," he replies.

"Dean, you're assuming he's missing," Sam says. Katherine steals one of Dean's fries. A test, of sorts. He didn't even blink. "I mean, maybe he just bailed." 

"He's a moron," Dean explains. "He's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I've gotta go find him."

"All right. Kat, you can go with Dean."

"Fiiinee..?" She frowns. "Not that I need your permission to trail whichever brother I think needs backup the most. What are you gonna do?"

"Trail this Trotter guy," Sam replies.

Her eyebrows tilt. "Serious?"

"Yeah—something about the way he was looking at me last night."

Katherine chuckles, rising to her feet. "Don't provoke the moose."

Sam frowns. "What?"

"Aw, nothin'." She ruffles his hair and follows Dean outside, taking the burger to go. "You know, we could just track his phone," she says to him. 

"That's just what I was thinkin', kid." 

Katherine hacks into Sam's laptop to find Richie's phone. Once she got an address, the two are headed about ten minutes outside of town. There's a house made of stone, hidden in vines and shrubs and overgrown trees, at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

No car in the driveway.

"I don't have a very good feeling about this," Katherine mumbles, tucking an extra clip into her jeans. Dean passes her a holy water flask. Their fingers brush, but he doesn't seem to pause. Not like she does. He just tucks his own into his jacket. "You're not hot in that thing?"

Dean shrugs. "Used to it, I guess." He reaches up to shut the trunk and looks at her with a thin smile. "You ready?"

Katherine offers him a shrug. The two begin to walk up to the house.

"How come guys' clothing has more pockets than girls?" She wonders aloud. Dean grins. "No, I mean it. It's annoying. I'd like to have a jacket pocket on the inside. What the hell?"

"Well, we'll get you a jacket that has a pocket on the inside," he hums. "Now hush." She throws him a cutting look from the side of her eye. After a moment, she's watching him walk. How the his tall posture and confident roll of his shoulders turns into a crouched slink, protective and experienced. 

They clear each level of the house together, if not shoulder-to-shoulder then just paces away from the other. They search everything. Cupboards, closets, bathrooms, loose floorboards, underneath furniture. 

A low whistle gets Katherine's attention from the kitchen. Dean is in the coat closet again, looking for something they may have missed.

Katherine rolls to her feet and starts down the hallway. Dean nods his head to a door he's nudged open. 

And then Katherine's phone rings. 

She jumps and quickly moves to answer it. "Hello?" She hisses, moving back into the kitchen.

"Hi!" Sophia trills. Katherine's head drops, and she touches her wrist to her forehead. Her heart hammers in her chest. 

"Sophia," Katherine whispers. "I can't—"

"Can you guys come for the fourth of July?" Siophia asks. "Chris wanted to have a big get-together—"

"Hey!"

"Why are you whispering—"

"I am working," Katherine hisses. "I'll call you later."

"Oh shit! Fuck, I'm so sorry! I'm sorry—"

"Sh! It's f—it's fine, just hang up!"

"Okay, bye!" 

The line goes dead. Katherine turns her ringer all the way down and stalks back to the closet.

Dean looks at her with mildly armused eyebrows. She cuts her eyes at him again and nods her head to the hidden door he's found. 

Dean leads the way inside. Into a damp passage that reeks of mildew, lit with torches of all things. It's all very medieval. 

The staircase is wide enough to comfortably fit the two hunters shoulder-to-shoulder. They keep their steps light, rolling their weight into the balls of their feet. Halfway down, Katherine notices a different smell. Not cobwebs and small fires, not mold...rotting.

A dead body.

Uneasiness spreads through Katherine, but she continues forward beside Dean with just a light nudge of his elbow. He looks at her, green eyes somehow tender and alert at the same time. She has to try hard to not stop and stare at him.

It really is hard, but she makes herself gesture to her nose. 

With soft eyes, Dean nods a little.

The basement is wide open. The floor has a nice rug, bookshelves line the walls, lit candles sit in sconces on cement pillars.

Dean checks the first upright wardrobe on his right. He only had to shift the door a little before a body collapsed onto him.

Richard O'Brien. Richie.

"Oh, God," He grunts, turning his head away. He extends his arms away from his body, elbows hooked underneath Richie's armpits.

"His head's all the way around," Katherine murmurs, not sounding entirely like herself.

Dean grits his teeth and shoves Richie's body off of him. It collapses like nothing. "I'm guessing that's far beyond the norm when you fall down the stairs," he chokes out, looking down at his clothes. No blood. 

"Way," Katherine agrees. "And why would he be in there?" She nods to the wardrobe. "It was that bartender, Casey."

"Had to be," Dean hums. "But why?"

"Bet money she's a demon and Richie sniffed too close."

"Yeah," Dean sighs. "I think you're right."

Katherine looks away from Richie, putting her hands on her hips as she shakes her head. "Poor bastard," she murmurs. "C'mon, let's get him out of here." She picks him up at the ankles and Dean grabs the arms, both of them working quickly to get Richie above ground. In the back yard, shielded by overgrown trees, they break down some wood for a small pyre and light it up.

"What do we do now?" Katherine asks.

Dean raises an eyebrow at her, rubbing hand sanitizer up to his wrists. "We've gotta gank the bitch."

Katherine turns her body to him, perplexed. Dean turns the key, and the engine cuts on. "How? In the middle of her shift? Or we could wait 'til she's done—"

"Or," Dean interjects, and Katherine pauses. "I...could be bait."

"Bait," Katherine repeats. "You...you wanna be the bait?"

"She was eyeballing me last night." Dean shrugs. "Now I'm sure I could get her to...y'know."

"Absolutely not." Katherine's reply is immediate and absolute.

Dean rolls his eyes and pulls out of the cul-de-sac. "I wouldn't actually do it, Kat. Lure her away, y'know?" He glances at her.

"And then what?" Katherine challenges. "We don't have that knife Sam said that demon Ruby had. We don't have the Colt. You plan on exorcising her?"

Dean shrugs. "Well sure."

"That could take all night! If Sam finds a lead, that leaves just me and him—"

"Katherine, she killed Richie, okay? Richie's never done anything—" Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head.

"I wasn't saying we do nothing," Katherine murmurs after a moment. "I don't want to walk in half-cocked and lose you."

There's a heavy pause. 

"I drew a devil's trap underneath that rug in the basement," Dean says.

Katherine frowns. "When? I was with you the whole—"

"When you were wrapping him up," Dean replies. "I went to go get firewood."

"What made you think to do that?"

"I just...if she did it to Richie, how many other people did she do it to?" He shrugs. "At least if she did it again before we caught her, she'd be stuck down there."

"Oh," Katherine murmurs. "Thas' smart." He's always been smart. She fiddles with her fingertips. "So what's your plan?"

✕

Katherine watches from the corner of the bar as a woman in a bright pink top creeps towards Dean. It's almost as if Katherine can hear the quiet tap tap tap of her fingernails against the stained bar top like quiet galloping hooves.

No, more like claws.

Did she like this plan? No. Absolutely not. But Dean has trusted her on more than one occasion, and that's saying something. He's even more hyper-protective than she is. Her subconscious glares at her over tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, reminding her of their rules.

No benching during hunts. This hunt is just like any other. So she's told herself she has to sit back and let Dean take the lead on this. Like a growing exercise or something.

That doesn't mean she has to like it. Because she doesn't. Not a lick.

Dean glances to his left as the pink-shirted woman creeps closer to him. "I've gotta tell you," she purrs. "Every woman in this place—they want to eat you up." Almost in a Freudian manner, Dean's eyes slip to Katherine in the back. The tight, cropped white shirt, tight black jeans, and her glowing features, the big blue eyes and the cut jaw...it was enough to draw the attention of every barfly in the joint.

Katherine filed into the bar first and went straight for the pool tables. Shrugged out of her leather jacket that didn't have an inside pocket and started to play. It wasn't long before people started coming up to her and asking for a shot, both at the game and her. Dean fell in a few minutes later and sat right at the bar and tried really hard not to look at her.

Katherine nods once at him, tucking her dark blonde hair behind her ear.

"Well hey," Dean hums, swinging his gaze back to cougar lady. "Anybody could've tackled that guy." Katherine probably would've punched him in the arm, if she was within earshot. "Wrestled the gun away...prevented mass murder."

The black-haired gal leans against the bar with a coy smile. "Here's what I'm gonna do," she says. "Normally, I charge four hundred a night." Dean remains perfectly still as she slides towards him, whispering in his ear. "Why don't we call it an even deuce and get the hell out of here?"

"What do I look like?" Dean asks, reaching for his drink.

"What do I look like?" The hooker scoffs, and starts away from him. "Cheapskate."

The bartender laughs after a moment. "Did I just see you strike out with a prostitute?" Casey asks. "How's that work?"

Dean smiles a little. "Bah, well, I just told her I had a thing for the bartender." He shrugs. "It was pretty easy."

Katherine wins her second game in a row and smirks, leaning against the pool table for her next competitor.

"Who says the bartender's available?" Casey hums.

"Good question. You got somethin' goin with a guy, oh, yea tall—" He holds his hand about Richie's height. "Wears a sweatsuit?"

Casey's brow furrows. "Who?"

"No," Dean hums. For how hot his blood is boiling, he sure is good at keeping his cool. "My mistake. What do you say me and you grab a drink after your shift?"

"I say why wait, when we can go right now?"

Dean smiles.

When Katherine looks up from the pool table, she barely catches the last glance of the back of Dean's head as he exits the bar with Casey.

Wait for Sam. Wait for Sam. Dean told you to wait for Sam.

It's a good forty-five minutes. Fifteen minutes later than when Sam said over the phone to meet him there.

That same prostitute from earlier is eyeballing Sam. The younger Winchester scans the bar one more time before his eyes land on Katherine quietly playing pool in the corner. She's not trying to charm anyone. She's uncharacteristically stoic. Then she sees Sam.

Katherine shoves her cue into the hands of the nearest person, grabs her jacket in her fist, and hurries to him.

"You look kinda tense," the black-haired woman says. "You know, I know I surefire way to relax."

"Hi, honey." Katherine turns around the woman with a tight smile and a bit too aggressively pulls sideways at Sam's hip. "You're late," she says through her teeth. Sam smiles uncomfortably and pulls Katherine off to the side.

"She made me so uncomfortable," Sam says with the same stiff smile.

"Gee, couldn't tell."

"Where's Dean?"

"It's a bit of a long story," Katherine hums.

"Make it short."

"The bartender's a demon, she killed Richie, now Dean's trying to exorcise her."

"Wha--why aren't you with him?"

"Because he told me to stay here until you showed up," Katherine hisses, hurrying out of the front door.

Sam's brow furrows. "Killed Richie?"

Katherine throws an exasperated look over her shoulder at him. "What's goin' on with you today? Find anything?"

"Yeah," Sam says after a moment. "Trotter's not a demon. Or his henchman."

Her brow quirks, and as flatly as ever, she says, "Really."

"Yeah."

"So we've only got a lead on the brunette bitch, huh?" Katherine hums, opening up the driver's door of the Impala. It's a fifteen minute silent ride. They're each thinking about different things. Richie crosses the orbit a few times.

Katherine outs the car into park and thinks about Sophia. "Shit!" Sam jumps a little. "I forgot to call Sophia back." She sighs and pinches her nose. "Can you remind me if we make it back to the motel room?"

Sam almost laughed. "'If'?" She shrugs. Sam sighs and shakes his head, turning his gaze to the dark bushes and blue paint. "How'd you know where this place was?" 

"Dean and I tracked Richie's phone to here," she says, cutting the engine. Katherine pulls on the slide of her gun, pushes the body forward with her other hand, and climbs out of the car. It's a brisk walk up to the flagstone steps to the front of the house, behind the line of ferns, and—"Father Gil?" Katherine asks, her eyebrows knitting together.

The priest turns to look at Sam and Katherine, a small smile on his face. The whites of his eyes quickly darken to something darker than night. The hair on Katherine's arms shoots straight up. "So...insurance investigating. You enjoy the work?"

Katherine rolls her tongue over her teeth. "Gets a little messy sometimes," she says. Father Gil laughs. "Dean?!" She shouts. A long shot, but one she's willing to take. 

"Kat!" It's faint, his voice echoing up through the grate in the wall of the basement. "Kat, the basement caved in!" In one movement, Father Gil throws Katherine and Sam across the lawn, into the bushes. Apparently, it's a rose bush. There's a gunshot.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Bobby?!" Katherine fights against the thorns burrowing into the thin material of her tank top, some lodging into her bare shoulders as she wrestles with the bush. "Bobby!"

There the old man is, lying on his front beside a broken fountain statue.  Katherine moves quickly for him Sam behind her. His jacket is riddled with holes and thorns.

"Go!" Bobby says, pushing the Colt to Katherine.

"You heard the man," an new voice says. Not entirely unfamiliar. 

It's Ruby. Katherine doesn't give her presence much thought. Getting Dean out of that basement is her priority. Getting Father Gil is the immediate focus.

By the time she and Sam reach the basement, Father Gil has Dean up in the air, cutting off his airway and blood supply in his fist. Katherine doesn't hesitate to squeeze the trigger. "Katherine, no—!" The second shot rings out, and in less than a second, Casey is on the ground with Father Gil.

"What, what?!" She shouts. "She was a demon, wasn't she?!"

"Yes, but—!"

Katherine pushes up on the hammer of the Colt and stows it in the back of her jeans. "But what?!"

Dean doesn't have an answer for her. How could he tell her he actually didn't mind that demon? He couldn't, because that's stupid. You can't cherrypick which demons you like.

"I just..." Dean swallows. "Didn't know if the gun worked." He pants and gets to his feet. "What if it hurt you?"

Katherine's eyebrows knit together, and she studies him for a moment. "Shut up." Dean frowns a little.

"How do you have the Colt?" Dean asks.

"Bobby's here."

"Shit, Bobby." Katherine sprints for the semi-blocked staircase. "Shit, Sophia!"