4Kat was on top of the world. After a week on lockdown at Bobby's, two days trapped in the car with the Winchesters, weeks under Ellen's watchful eye at the Roadhouse, and days crammed in the Impala before that, she was finally, finally alone in her own car.
After their faux-family dinner, they'd stayed at Bobby's for a few days. Kat would never admit it, but she'd been a little nervous. She'd been to the house on more than one occasion, and spent enough time talking to Bobby to feel comfortable with him. At least, she was pretty sure that he'd dropped the threat of kicking her into next week for hurting the boys. But spending downtime at Bobby's felt different.
Singer Salvage was clearly home to Sam and Dean. Sam helped himself to any books in the library, and Dean spent most of his time out in the yard working on his car. At night, they all drank beer and watched old cowboy movies on Bobby's crappy TV. Kat excused herself as politely as she could. She could still hear their laughter and light-hearted arguing from the spare bedroom where she stayed curled up with her laptop. She might've learned all the ins and outs of Bobby's linen cabinets and kitchen drawers, but she didn't belong here. She desperately wanted to escape out on a case, but that wasn't exactly the deal she'd made with Castiel. Sam and Dean were her bodyguards now. So she just had to suck it up and deal until their batteries were recharged and they were ready to hit the road.
Sam had obviously picked up on her discomfort. He tried to bribe her with bagels and burgers, whiskey and wings. Most afternoons she'd sit with him in the library just so he'd stop annoying her. All of Bobby's manuscripts and notes were very interesting, of course. But it wasn't exactly her idea of light reading. She wasn't interested in diving into thousands of accounts of pain and misery without an objective. She just wanted something to do.
Bobby had been the one who'd come to her rescue.
"Here," he'd said on day four, shoving one of his duct-taped phones into her hands. "Answer it, deal with it, make a note of it. Aliases are labeled on the wall, so just make sure you don't mix 'em up."
"Mike Kaiser?" Kat asked, peering at the note over the FBI receiver. "I'm not a bad actress, Bobby, but I don't think I'm that good."
"Just say you're my secretary and take a message. Or better yet, tell them DC has jurisdiction and they can shove their complaints right up their own ass."
Kat raised an eyebrow at him.
"Usually works for me," he offered with a shrug.
It wasn't exactly a shocker that it didn't work for Kat. Men in high government positions didn't take kindly to being told to go fuck themselves by an uppity secretary. Kat didn't have a real job she was worried about losing, but the last thing she needed was for some fed to file an HR complaint about a woman who didn't exist and blow some hunter's cover. So she used her most polite tone for as long as she could, and practiced drawing devil's traps from memory while the bureaucrats droned on about stolen cases and career integrity.
"Of course, Agent Sadusky," she said sweetly, on one of their final afternoons. "I'll pass on the message. And if Assistant Director Kaiser thinks it's worth a response, he'll give you a call."
She hung up before the man could reply.
"Don't hold your breath, asshole."
"You good?" chuckled Sam as he wandered into the kitchen. "You look uh…"
"Murderous?"
"Frustrated."
"Yeah, well that's not a surprise," Kat groaned, wiping her eyes. "I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but sometimes I'm glad we're not actually working for the federal government."
"I'll drink to that." He passed her a beer from the fridge, which she took gratefully. "Which one's worse? Working for the feds or working for Ellen?"
"Ha. Tough call. Hunters tip, but only if you let them brag. At least the feds can't see me rolling my eyes over the phone. They also can't grope me, which means I don't need to assault someone every couple hours."
"That's a downside?" Sam asked cheekily. "But you love kicking the crap out of guys."
Kat frowned thoughtfully, but gave it to him.
"What about you?" she asked, returning the phone to the hook. "What are you up to?"
"About to make a supply run. You need anything?"
"Nah, I'm good. But if you're going out, can I borrow your laptop? I got a call about some bodies in Florida. Might be a case."
"Hey, knock yourself out. Just don't work too hard."
He jogged out the front of the house without a second thought. Kat waited until she was certain he was gone. Then she wrapped up her notes from the phone and moved into the library.
She settled herself behind Bobby's desk, feeling even more out of place than she did in the rest of the house. She tried not to think about how ornate the desk was, or how old the papers and books on top were. All she needed was Sam's laptop, and her tiny case notebook.
The call she'd gotten hadn't been from a hunter. It was something more of a tip line Bobby had set up, where feds and cops he'd worked with in the past could call with their questions. Kat had spoken to a very concerned deputy who had was dealing with a pile of bodies. All women, all heartless, all buried in shallow graves in a park. Kat would have assumed werewolf, if it weren't for the graves. They didn't often double back to hide their victims. It very well could be a run of the mill serial killer, but she wanted to do some research before she passed on the case. And possibly take the asshole out anyway.
It was an hour or two before anyone interrupted her.
"What's the word, Tinkerbell?"
"Beer," Kat said without looking up.
"Gonna need another word."
"Please."
The fridge clinked, and a few seconds later a bottle dropped into her vision. She accepted it wordlessly, still scanning the crime scene pictures in front of her. There had to be something she missed.
"Whatcha working on?" Dean asked, peering over her shoulder. "Yeowch. Eat your heart out."
"It's not a werewolf," she muttered, more to herself than him. "Wrong part of the lunar cycle, no blind kills. But it's still just the hearts."
"Could be a skinwalker," he suggested. "Or just about anything else that eats long pig. Just because some monsters can eat anything don't mean they don't have preferences."
"A monster with standards and taste. Just what I need."
She took a couple more notes, but closed out the pictures. She didn't want to look at their faces without any solutions.
Dean was still hovering behind her. His ring made a clinking noise against the glass as he tapped his fingers on the bottle. "So uh…you wrapping up soon?"
"I guess. Why?"
"Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to hop on the computer."
"Alright. I'll let you know when I'm done."
"Uh huh…Could I just borrow it for a hot sec? Give it back in ten minutes?"
Kat cut her eyes to him suspiciously. "Why?"
"None of your business," he said stoutly. When she continued to glare at him, his frown turned into a familiar, leering smirk. "Look, a guy's got needs. I need to do some stuff I'm not proud of…well, actually I'm really proud of, but you're not invited."
"God, you're disgusting," she sighed, pushing back from the desk. "Take it."
"Thank you!" he said in a singsong voice, snatching it up and hightailing out of the room.
"Just sanitize it for the love of God! And if Sam asks, I didn't see this!"
He didn't answer her. Just slammed the door to the bathroom. She slipped on some headphones and did her best not to think about the conversation she'd just had.
The next day, they were packing their bags. Sam had agreed that her find was interesting enough to merit a visit to Florida. Bobby passed off a few of his more helpful books, and then they hit the road.
Kat hadn't realized how much she'd missed it until they hit the interstate. She could sit back in her Prius and enjoy the silence. She didn't have to tune out the shitty cassettes or put up with the smell of stale beer and fast food wrappers. There were no annoying side glances or pervy jokes. Just her and the open road and the wind in her hair.
They drove until nightfall and stopped at a motel in Tennessee. Sam and Dean took care of the rooms, and Kat volunteered to pick up dinner. By the time she was strolling up to the Winchesters' room with their takeout, the screaming had already started.
"Dean, how many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff? It's my one thing! You have your own laptop! So use your own damn laptop!"
"How many times do I gotta say I didn't do it? Cool your jets, man, it wasn't me."
"Oh, right! And I guess my computer searched Busty Asian Beauties on its own?"
"Maybe it did. Your laptop's got better taste than you."
Kat let herself in, trying very hard to keep her face impassive. "Grub's up. What's going on?"
Dean made a beeline for the food, while Sam rested his hands on his hips like a suburban mother.
"Someone messed with my laptop," he said snidely, "and now I can't get it to work."
"It's frozen?"
"No, it's—I have no idea what's wrong with it. I'm typing and none of the right letters are coming up. I can't write emails, can't search online. All I can do is click."
"You think it's a virus?" she asked, passing him his food.
"Ha, probably. Considering my browser history is full of porn sites."
"Oh, gross."
"Hey," Dean interrupted defensively, a few noodles hanging loose from his lips. "Watch your step, man. Last time you accused me of fucking with your stuff, it was the Trickster."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sam laughed. "When the bodies start dropping I'll be sure to issue a full apology."
"I'm just saying, man. Might not be me. Kat, you like busty-asian-beauties-dot-com?"
"Uh, no," she chuckled, plopping down on a free bed with her rice. "Not exactly bookmarked on my homepage."
"Well then, we've got our answer. It was Bobby."
He smiled proudly. Kat smothered her laughter with more rice. And Sam looked positively on edge of breaking something in half. He closed his laptop with an incredible amount of self-control. Then he grabbed the closest thing—a half-empty water bottle—and hurled it across the room at Dean's face. It hit the mark with a thunk, and Dean yelped while Kat burst into laughter. Sam stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
"Fuck," Dean groaned, rubbing at his head. "Not funny, Kat."
"Of course it is," she giggled. "You sound like a startled pigeon."
"Alright, yeah. Laugh it up. Guess this was you, right?"
"Uh, no? You were the one defiling Sam's computer, remember?"
"Yeah, but I didn't download any viruses," he defended. "I've been surfing porn sites long enough to know how to avoid the dodgy stuff. And if I didn't do it, then it must've been you."
"I wish. But I don't know anything about computers, just like I don't know anything about cars. I figured it was you."
Dean frowned at her for a few seconds, but ultimately shrugged and went back to his food. "Huh. Maybe it was."
Kat gaped at him. "You…don't even remember?"
"Nah. It was the heat of the moment, you know. And I'm uh—usually less discerning when I'm on someone else's laptop. So you uh, might wanna throw a password on yours."
She wrinkled her nose, and Dean smirked. Kat threw a napkin at him.
"Laugh now, Dean. But if you infected Sam's computer, it means he's out of service. Which means you and I are gonna be on research duty."
That made him groan, and he slunk down in his chair. "Damn it. The price I pay for getting off."
He grumbled into his food, grabbing the paper so he could start reviewing the details of the case they were heading toward. Kat speared one of her dumplings and kept her smile to herself. This prank war was going to get messy.
A/N: Hey everyone! Happy Lazarus Rising Day, and happy one year anniversary to Gospel of the Chosen! I'm still working on Act II, but I wanted to do something special to celebrate. I'm expanding on a few one shots I wrote a year or two ago, to give you this mini series between Acts I and II. Hope you enjoy, and hopefully Kat will be back in full sometime soon. Thanks for reading, and again for all your support!
-Brittney
