"Morning, sunshine!"

Katherine lets out a groan, stuffing her gun back under her pillow. "What time is it?" She asks, dropping her head back onto her pillow. She notices a heavy weight across one of her legs.

"5:45," Sam answers, glancing to the windows.

"In the morning?"

"Yep."

"Ugh." She pushes herself up into a half-assed updog position and looks to her right, letting out another grunt, mostly out of tiredness. "Dean," she mutters, drawing her leg out from under his. He grunts in response. "We're sharing a room upon your insistence...and a bed because you two have weird sleeping arrangement issues...please put on a pair of shorts before you get into my bed," she sighs.

"You're not wearing any," he tiredly protests.

Katherine tears her eyes from Dean's black boxer briefs. "The hell I'm not."

"These barely count!" He protests, looking to her bunched-up track shorts. "They're practically panties."

She raises a finger. "Do not say panties."

"Panties."

Katherine rolls her eyes and shifts towards the edge of the bed. "You are so aggravating."

"Aw, come on Kitty Kat," Dean coos through a mischievous smile, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You don't mean it."

"Absolutely not," she says, fighting his grip.

"Oh, guys—come on," Sam protests.

"I'm not the one with a morning anatomical
issue," Katherine bites, gripping the edge of the bed. Dean is still trying to pull her towards him, and the aforementioned anatomical issue. "And I thought Dean Winchester doesn't cuddle."

"He doesn't," Dean says, giving up his fight.

She drops back onto her pillow with a heavy sigh of relief. "Seriously, the least you could do is keep your five hundred pound limbs to yourself."

"Am I eating these by myself?" Sam asks, opening up the box of donut holes.

"You should be asleep," Katherine croaks. "You suck at sleeping."

"No I don't."

"Sam, you haven't gotten a good night's rest since I met you," she says. "And I know you slept like shit last night because you were up at three AM watching a George Foreman commercial. I know that because Dean doesn't know how to slide into a bed, he flops."

"It's entertaining TV," Sam defends. Dean doesn't bother to defend himself at all. Katherine burrows into her pillow and turns onto her side.

"Dean, I swear, if you do anything--"

"Relax, sweetheart."

Sam watches them for a few moments, tossing a donut hole into his mouth. "I'll just put your coffee in the microwave," he decides, grabbing the two cups from the holder.

"Dean. Get your leg off of me."

"You're hogging."

"No I'm not!"

"Are so! I'm on the edge over here."

"You have freakishly large shoulders!" Then she groans and stumbles out of bed and flops onto Sam's.

"Hey!" Dean whines. "You are such a grouch."

"When you wake me up at three AM, yeah!"

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. "You figure you two would be the related ones."

"Gross," the other two chorus. Katherine's phone rings and she groans even louder, more frustrated. She snatches the cell from the nightstand and frowns at the number before sitting up straight. Dean mimics her, hair splayed everywhere. "Hello?" She gruffly answers.

"Katherine, it's...Jerry Panowski. You and your dad helped me out a couple years ago."

Katherine sifts through the morning fog. "Oh. Oh, hey! Poltergeist, what's up?" Jerry laughs. Sam and Dean exchange bewildered expressions. "Hey, it's not back, right?"

"No, no, thank God. But this is something else, and frankly, I think it might be worse."

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk in person?" Jerry requests. Katherine moves the phone from her ear.

"I helped a guy in Pennsylvania a few years ago," she informs the brothers. "Says he's got somethin'."

"We can go," Dean says with a nod.

Katherine shifts her phone back to her ear. "Sure thing. We're leaving soon...we're about a day out."

"That's fine. Call me back when you're closer. I can give you the location." Katherine hangs up and lets out a heavy sigh. "Guess I'm not sleeping in, no thanks to you," she grumbles to Dean, setting her phone back on the table. He seems smug. "Yeah, keep smiling."

Stupid Dean. Stupid smirk. Stupid attractive face.

"You know," she sighs again, flopping onto her side, and stares over at Dean. "If you weren't such a pain in my ass, I'd say morning suits you."

"What can I say?" He says with a smile, closing his eyes. "You're a good bed fellow."

"I'm fantastic," Katherine coyly returns.

Crunch time results in shared bathroom time. Katherine showers and dresses herself before unlocking the door and trying to share a mirror with Dean.

"So who is this guy anyway?" Dean asks.

"Jerry Panowski," Katherine says from beside him, flicking her map open with a sigh. Sam is in the backseat for now. She shoves her tortoiseshell glasses further up onto the bridge of her nose. Her last pair of contacts floated away in Lake Manitoc, so she was stuck with the specs until she got back to New Haven. "I was...sixteen, I think. No, seventeen. Hunting with Dad up in Pennsylvania and this guy had a wicked poltergeist on his hands."

Sam drives when Dean can't keep his eyes open any longer, and soon they're meeting Jerry for the first time in an airline hangar.

"Good to see you again, Katherine," the balding man says, leading her into the building. "Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you a favor, not the other way around."

"No worries, Jerry," Katherine dismisses.

"The Donovans really helped me out," he explains to the brothers.

"She told us," Dean says. "Poltergeist?"

"Poltergeist?!" Someone cries. "I loved that movie!"

"Hey, nobody's talkin' to you," Jerry snaps. Katherine smirks. "Keep walking!" He turns to Dean. "Damn right it was a poltergeist. Practically tore our house apart. And lemme tell you somethin', if it wasn't for Kat and her dad, I probably wouldn't be alive." Katherine smiles, following Jerry around the corner. "I didn't think people grew up so much in two years."

"What can I say?" Katherine muses with a shrug.

"Still off at Yale?"

"I officially end my academic studies in two weeks," Katherine tells him.

"Oh, congratulations! Hey, I tried to get a hold of your old man before calling you but didn't get an answer."

"Yeah, he, uh...he's tied up," Katherine explains with a light shrug.

"Well, we miss Clay and get the Winchesters? Even trade, I guess."

"Not even close," Katherine sighs, shaking her head. Sam's the only one who heard her. The dejected tone. Someone who didn't know any better would've taken it the wrong way. "Three is definitely better than two," she says louder, smiling a bit, as if she might e heard Sam's unspoken thought.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Come 'round here, I've got something for you." Jerry leads the hunters to his office at the back of the hangar. "I listened to this, and...well, it sounded like it was up your alley," he says to Katherine, popping a CD into a computer drive. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485—one of ours."

The hunters listen to the recording intently—when the plane was going down, judging by the mayday call. A bunch of distortions and squalling, but Katherine isn't sure if it's exactly EVP.

"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south," Jerry explains. "Now they're saying "mechanical failure." Cabin depressurized somehow—no one knows why. There were over one hundred people on board and only seven survived. The pilot was one. His name's Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is...well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault."

"You don't think it was?" Sam asks.

"No, I don't."

Katherine rocks onto her toes. "We're gonna need passenger manifests, a list of those survivors, aaaand...is it possible to take a look at the wreckage?"

"Other stuff is no problem," Jerry says. "But the wreckage...the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance."

Katherine smiles. "Oh, but we do. We'll keep in touch." She pats the Winchesters on the backs. "Boys?"

"How do we have that kind of clearance?" Sam asks, rushing to Katherine's side as she and Dean stride out of the hangar.

Katherine smirks. "I know a guy who knows a guy," she says. "Actually, it's a guy who knows a girl, but semantics, right?" Katherine pulls her phone from her pocket and scrolls through her contacts for a brief moment before holding her phone to her ear. "Hey, Salazar! It's KD. Listen, I need a—yes, Donovan. Who the hell else?" She rolls her eyes. "No, dude, I just need to know where that ID girl is in Catasauqua. Well if you tell her I'm coming, maybe she wouldn't turn me away," Katherine says through her teeth. "I've got three IDs—tell you what, man, you're a pain sometimes. No, I'm not saying it." The Winchesters stare at her, puzzled, as she looks up to the sky with a sigh. "Please." She grunts. "Thank you," she sighs in exasperation. Then she hangs up, and Dean is smirking. "What?" She grumbles, opening the passenger door of the Impala.

"Katherine Donovan begged?"

"Hardly," she scoffs. But she has a thoughtful look as her eyes sweep his frame, up and down, and Dean's cheeks turn hot and his belly tightens. His imagination is definitely getting away from him. Katherine, obviously the more wise of the two, changes subjects. "Salazar's an ass, but he's the only person I know in a fifty mile radius that has a contact close."

"I don't understand why we need fakes," Sam says. "New ones, anyway."

"I don't think FBI would be real believable in this case," Katherine explains.

"FBI gets you into anything," Sam protests, leaning forward.

Katherine shrugs. "Call it adventure," she says with a smile.

The ID girl in Catasauqua is named Nadia, a tall Russian young woman who runs a copy shop with her cousin Liev. Nadia is quite enthralled with Sam, and shortly after taking his picture, Sam leaves in search of food and a quiet spot to do all of the "nerd stuff," as Dean called it, without Katherine.

Katherine notices a correlation between Nadia's expression and Sam's presence—or lack thereof.

"You guys were in there forever," Sam complains, leaning against the side of the Impala.

"You can't rush perfection," Katherine tells him, handing him the newest addition to their stash of illegal IDs. "That's yours. She liked you."

"Homeland Security?" Sam asks, gaping down at the white piece of plastic. "That's pretty illegal, even for us."

"Remember what I said about adventure?" Katherine asks him, opening up the passenger door with a smile. "So did ya get anything?"

"There's definitely EVP on that cockpit recording," Sam says. The two up front turn around to look at him and his computer. Sam hits the spacebar and looks up at the two. They have mirror expressions, brows furrowed and lips puckered in concentration as they stare at the laptop's lid.

"That just say 'no survivors'?" Dean asks.

"That's what I heard," Katherine confirms. "What does that even mean, though? Jerry said there were seven."

"So what are we thinking? Haunted flight?"

"Well, there's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships," Sam explains.

"Like phantom travelers," Katherine hums, nodding, and so does Sam. "Flight 401?"

"Riiight," Dean says. "Airline crashed, the parts were salvaged and put onto other planes, and the spirits of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights."

"Maybe we got a similar deal," Sam suggests.

"Who do we talk to first?" Katherine asks. Dean watched her fingertip run over the gilded Homeland Security badge of the black fold-out in her hand.

"Max Jaffey," Sam says. "He's third on the list, and he's from around here. I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him—a psychiatric hospital."

Katherine's brows shoot up. "Recently admitted?" Sam nods. "So maybe he saw something freaky."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"You two check that out," she says. "Drop me off at a motel. I'll do some web-surfing, call around and see if I can get anything freaky while you guys talk to Max."

"Efficient," Dean says with a nod, shifting the car into drive.

Two streets away is a relatively clean and quiet motel. Sam leaves Katherine his laptop and the passenger manifest. Strikethroughs have been placed over names of the passengers who didn't survive. She's just beginning to make her first call when Sam and Dean appear in the doorway—and Sam doesn't look so good.

"What the hell?" Katherine asks, shutting the lid of his laptop.

"I think I have food poisoning," Sam sighs, collapsing onto the bed with a groan.

Her eyebrows knit together. "What, from today?"

"I don't know."

Dean gestures to Sam with a flat expression. "Fix him, Doc Donovan."

Katherine rolls her eyes and moves to her med bag, pulling out her thermometer and slips. "Come over here," she says to Sam, waving him over. She puts the thermometer underneath his tongue and waits. Only when it beeps, she pulls it from his mouth with a furrowed brow. "Well, you're not dying," she hums.

"You can tell if he has food poisoning with that?" Dean asks.

Katherine gawks at him. "It's a thermometer." Dean stares at her. Katherine blinks twice before shifting her attention to Sam. "What've you been feeling today?"

"Uh...sick. Can't concentrate."

"Sleepy?"

He nods. "My back hurts, too."

Katherine nods to herself. "Been running to the bathroom?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, I don't think you have food poisoning. I think you're sleep deprived." Sam sighs, and she smiles. "Told you yesterday morning, didn't I?" She pulls Sam up and moves him to the bed. "So. You are gonna stay here and catch some z's—"

"But what about—"

"And I will go with Dean," she finishes, nodding. "If you need sleeping pills, I have some melatonin supplements in my bag." Sam presses his lips together. "I'm gonna vote yes." She moves to her backpack and roots around for the little white bottle. She drops a blue pill into her palm and grabs a water bottle for him.

"This looks like Aleve."

"Well, it's not. Blue actually promotes sleepiness," she says, nodding. "It's associated with calming sensations, which stimulates your ganglion cells, and—never mind." She pats Sam's shoulder. "Get some sleep. And if you call me or I find out you're still awake in two hours, I'm gonna knock you out. With my fists."

"Yes ma'am," Sam chuckles, resting back on the pillows.

Katherine turns towards Dean and nods to the door. "Shall we?"

"We need to get into that warehouse," Dean tells her.

Katherine lets out a breath. "Well you won't get in there looking like that," she says, gesturing to his outfit. "There's a shop a couple blocks away, I saw it on the way here." Dean's eyes narrow. "Would you stop looking at me like that?" She asks, moving to the Impala.

Getting Dean into a semi-decent suit is like pulling teeth. He rejects every single one of Katherine's interjections and ideas, so eventually, she goes off on her own to help herself. And then Dean starts trying to help her.

"Don't they have any shorter skirts?"

Katherine snorts. "Dean, the idea is women in the workforce, not women in the beginning of your pornos."

Dean frowns. "Porn's in the workforce."

She purses her lips. "I mean, I guess," she mutters, picking up a lilac blouse.

"What about this?" Dean asks, holding up a powder blue camisole. "You look nice in blue."

Katherine smiles a bit, taking the hanger from him. "Dean Winchester, are you trying to seduce me?" she hums, moving past him and towards a dressing room. She hangs her stuff up and shuts the door behind her. "Don't wait outside—please find a suit so we can get going."

"Whatever, mom."

Katherine smiles a bit before trying on her first suit—a pantsuit. She has a navy one somewhere in a bag in her closet in New Haven. Katherine tucks the lilac blouse into her black slim pants. There's a bit of a flare at the hem of the legs. She blouses her top a bit and shrugs the black jacket on over and buttons it. Then comes the skirt suit.

"How is everything going for you?" a man calls from the outside of the stall. He's the very one who stuck with her and Dean since they first set foot in the store.

"Fine, thanks," Katherine tells him, shrugging her jacket over the light blue camisole. "I think I'm done, actually."

"Everything work?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll go get you ringed up."

Katherine slips on the pumps with a frown and jams her street clothes into her backpack. Dean is standing by her stall with a grimace. "They're all monkey suits."

"No, they're not."

"Well easy for you to say," Dean scoffs. Katherine sighs, pulling Dean back to the men's section of the outlet.

"Do you have anything on you like this?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Not from when you were eighteen years old."

"No."

Katherine nods once and turns back to the coats before handing Dean her backpack. "Do you have any preferences?"

"I prefer to not look like an idiot."

"Right, then." Katherine turns to him with a frown. "Do you know your measurements?" Dean smirks. "Ugh. Dean, please."

"You asked."

"You know what I meant."

Thirty minutes later, Dean is finally not complaining about everything Katherine holds up, and the two are on their way. "Man, I look like one of the Blues brothers."

"I don't understand that reference, but no you don't," Katherine says, shutting the door to the Impala behind her. "When you stand up, you button up your jacket. And your tie needs to be tighter."

"It's gonna choke me if I do it any tighter."

"No it won't." Katherine flips open her badge and stares at the card. "Valerie Parks," she says, gesturing to herself. She points to Dean. "Jake Hamilton." He nods and she tucks her badge into the inside pocket of her jacket.

It takes some time to find the warehouse, but it's a piece of cake getting in—Katherine even flashed her world-class grin, and left more than the security guard stunned. She had to nudge Dean to get his feet moving.

She's better at that than he is.

Not all of the wreckage had been recovered. The nose of the plane, both sets of propellers, none of the wings or tail's framework. Lots of wiring. "What the hell's that?" She asks, nodding to the device in Dean's hand.

"An EMF detector," he tells her, shoving an earbud into his ear. "It reads electromagnetic frequencies."

She chuckles. "I know what an EMF detector is," she says. "But why does that one look like a busted up walkman?"

Dean turns to her with a grin, looking down at his little invention. "'Cause that's what I made it out of," he proudly states.

A grin tugs at Katherine's lips, lopsided, and dimples on full show. "Sick," she says. Smiling still, Dean turns on his heel and gets to work. Katherine rounds to the other side of the plane, looking for anything freaky. Dean's EMF starts to jump and he looks over at her.

"Kat."

She looks up from the propellor and crosses over to him. "So what did what's-his-face tell you about the flight anyway?" She asks, hands behind her back as she approaches him. "Max."

"Said some guy sitting right in front of him pulled open the emergency door mid-flight."

Katherine frowns. "No way. There's, like, two tons of pressure on an in-flight emergency door."

"Right," Dean says with a nod, and gestures to the emergency door handle. "This sucker lit up like the fourth of July." He touches the door handle. "What is this stuff anyway?"

Katherine's expression turns almost blank as she stares at the beige-ish substance crusted onto the metal. "Got a knife on you?" Dean scrapes off a bit of the stuff on the handle and Katherine touches her fingertips to the fine powder. Hesitantly, she lifts it to her nose and gently sniffs. "That's sulfur."

"Sulfur?" Dean shrugs.

Katherine suddenly straightens out and glances over her shoulder. "We need to leave."

Dean grins. "Spidey senses?"

"Oh shut up." She moves quickly to the back door, Dean following after her. They make it around the corner of the warehouse before the alarm starts to sound.

Then they start to run.

Of course, there's a fence.

There's always a fence.

Dean throws his jacket up onto the top and leaps. Katherine lobs her shoes onto the other side to him and makes quick work of the fence before her pant leg catches on a barb. "Damn," she mutters, tugging her leg to the side with a growl. She drops onto the pads of her bare feet and the two sprint down the street. She mourns the ripped hem of her pants in the Impala and slips her shoes back on. "Sulfur," she grunts, digging around for the sewing kit in her backpack. It's an easy enough stitch.

Dean blinks a few times. "Sulfur," he repeats.

"Is there anything else Max said about his in-flight experience?"

"Besides the emergency door? Black eyes."

"Demonic possession."

"You're sure?"

"Surer than sure," she assures him with a nod. "Only a few nasty things leave behind sulfur. And black eyes are the tell-tale of demons. I mean, it would explain how that guy had the strength to open that door on the plane." Katherine crosses her leg and squints at the rip in her pants. "Let's get back to Sam, do some digging."

"I like the way you think."