Dean left that night and went to his room. He was back bright and early, though, before even Sam was awake. Getting into Katherine's room was easy enough. She was still in bed, a hand on the gun she had tucked underneath her pillow as she watched the door open, just in case it wasn't who she thought it would be. 

He rolled onto her bed and pushed her hair behind her ear. "I was half-expecting you to pull a gun on me." Playfully, she pulls the hammer of her beretta back, and Dean sees just the muzzle of the black pistol peek out from beneath her pillow. "That's my girl. C'mon. I'm taking you to breakfast, like I said I would."

Katherine frowns and pushes her torso up. "When was this discussed?" She asks.

"In Nebraska. I asked 'coffee or dinner,' and you said 'breakfast.'"

A wide smile tugs at Katherine's mouth before she pushes herself off of the bed and bounds into the bathroom. 

The sun has only barely risen when they're finished with breakfast, and they were considerate: they brought Sam something.

"What's the plan for today?" Sam asks, shoveling a bite of pancake into his mouth. Katherine gawks at him for a moment, her pen dangling between her teeth as she marvels at Sam's "bite." What was it, half of her face?

She shakes her head, drawing her attention back to the task at hand. "Uh...well, we need to look for documentation, if there is any, of what happened in the sixties," she says, clicking her pen. "Check the paper, the library...courthouse." She shrugs. "Dean knows Cassie, so I figured he could dig around with her and you and I can take whichever." She watches Sam a little curiously. Does he inhale or does he chew?

He chews. A little.

"Sounds perfect," Sam says around his food. Dean reaches over and hands him a napkin, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

"You've got ketchup and hash brown," he explains. Katherine snorts. 

"The library doesn't open until eight, courthouse opens up at nine, so we're stuck here for a while," she says, then looks to Dean. "If you want to get a head start...considering it could probably take you a while to get there. Old engine and whatnot." She clicks her pen and cracks her journal open, and Dean glowers.

"Her engine is not old. It's twenty-seven."

Katherine frowns and looks up at him. "That engine hasn't been changed at all?" Dean crosses his arms and Sam glances between the two. 

"So, Katherine," he says. "What are we doing for your birthday?"

"I want to find a damn chupacabra," she tells him. "Or a werewolf. Something I get to hit, y'know?"

"Aren't chupacabras really little?" Sam asks.

Katherine shrugs. "It's like punching the Tasmanian Devil."

"To Mexico we go," Dean hums. 

"When do we have to be in town for graduation?" Sam questions.

"Like...the Saturday before?" Katherine shrugs. "It sucks, though, because we all graduate at the same time. Can't watch Soph get her diploma." Her eyes shift to Dean as he rises to his feet.

"I'll see you nerds later," he says, moving for the door. Sam rolls his eyes as it shuts behind his brother. 

Just before they were leaving for the library, her phone rang—it was one of the officers from the scene yesterday, letting her know there had been another accident.

She glances over her shoulder, across the snow-littered grass, as the roar of the Impala's engine announces Dean's presence. He's frowning up at the sky, just like Katherine did when she saw the snow on the ground that morning. 

As he gets closer, a deputy moves forward with the intention to keep him from approaching the crime scene. "He's with us," Sam calls. After a moment, the officer nods and continues on his way.

"What happened here?" Dean asks, glancing at the yellow tape, and looks to Katherine. Little flurries of snow stick to her hair, but it's easier to see in the light brown roots of it.

"Mayor's bones were crushed—all of 'em," Katherine supplies, jamming her cold hands into her trench pockets. "Insides turned to pudding, no doubt. Boys in blue are stumped, but it looks like something might've run him over."

"Something like a truck?"

"Yup."

"Tracks?"

One head shake. "Nope."

Dean frowns, walking up the stretch of road with the other two. "What was the mayor doing here anyway?"

"He owned the property," Sam informs him. "Bought it a few weeks ago."

"Yeah, but he's white—he doesn't fit the pattern."

"The killings didn't happen up on the road—that doesn't fit the pattern either."

Katherine stops as a thin layer of ice shatters beneath her foot. Ice water seeps into her sneaker, then her sock and she groans, turning around and starting for her car. Dean frowns. "What's her problem?"

Sam smiles. "She's been grumpy since she realized it was snowing." The brothers turn to look at the receding young woman; she's shaking snow from her dirty blonde hair with one hand as she pulls her car keys out. "I'd better go catch up to her."

"To do what?"

"Research." He shrugs.

Dean frowns. "You guys aren't done yet? I thought you two supernerds were supposed to be, like, double efficient in each others' presence?"

"There are a lot of records to go through."

"And what do I do?"

"Go talk to Cassie."

Katherine swaps her shoes and socks for a fresh pair and her trusty leather boots before she and Sam head to the library and courthouse. After a good hour of finding nothing, Katherine meets Sam back at the courthouse.

"Miss me?" He teases.

"In your dreams," she says, smiling, and sits down at the table with him. "How are you faring?"

"Pretty good, actually. Well-rested, full stomach—"

"Research, Pumba."

"Right. I think I got somethin'." He snaps his notebook shut and starts outside. Katherine shakes her head once and her hands twitch, all spastic movements as if to say "what the hell" and she follows him. He's already on the phone with Dean. "—bought an abandoned property. The previous owner was the Dorian family, for like a hundred fifty years."

"Dorian?" Dean repeats.

"Yeah."

Katherine raises a brow at Sam and he shrugs. "That's interesting," Dean hums.

"What?"

"What, what?" Katherine asks.

"This, uh...Cyrus Dorian," Dean says. Katherine can't hear him. "He vanished in April of '63. Case was investigated but never solved—it was the time the string of murders was going on."

"Well I pulled up a bunch of information about the Dorian place. It must've been in bad shape when the mayor bought it," Sam says, starting forward again, and Katherine throws her hands into the air. She snatches Sam's phone and jams the speaker button before handing it back to him. He smiles apologetically.

"Sam," Dean grunts.

"Yeah, sorry. Katherine had a fit."

"My fist is about to have a fit with your nose," Katherine threatens.

"The first thing the mayor did was bulldoze the place," Sam continues his previous spiel.

Dean's voice is muffled. "Mayor Todd knocked down the Dorian place?" There's another murmur. "You got a date?"

"Third of last month." That's Cassie.

"Mayor Todd bulldozed the Dorian family home on the third...the first killing was the very next day."

✕

"This is giving me hives," Katherine mutters, crossing her arms as she stares up at the motel room ceiling of the Winchesters' room. "If all of this started after the mayor demolished the Dorian house, should we look there, see if doing something there settles it?"

"Like what?" Dean asks.

"I don't know," she mumbles. "A blessing? I have sage." She shrugs noncommittally. "Salt and burn whatever's left."

Dean's phone trills from the table. He reaches over and flips it open. "Yeah?" Katherine and Sam watch him go from annoyed to concerned in a second flat, and he's on his feet. "Slow down—lock the doors and the windows, lay a line of salt in front of each of—Cassie, just listen to me!" Katherine lurches to her feet and grabs her keys from the table, the Winchesters following after her. "Lay down salt on every window sill and in front of the front and back doors. Don't go outside, you hear me?" 

"You didn't see who was driving the truck?"

Katherine leans against of the support beams in the living room of the Robinson home; Sam offered his seat, but she refused.

Cassie, still shaken from the phantom truck tearing up her front lawn, shakes her head. "It seemed to be no one. Everything moved so fast...and then it was just gone." She glances steadily at each of the hunters, but her eyes land on Dean. "Why didn't it kill us?"

"Whoever's controlling the truck wants you afraid first," Katherine suggests with a noncommittal shrug. She purses her lips and looks at Cassie's mom. "Mrs. Robinson? Cassie said your husband saw the truck before he died."

Mrs. Robinson furtively glances Katherine's way. "Martin was under a lot of stress," she flatly says. It isn't shock, but she's still shaken, like Cassie. "We can't be sure about what he was seeing."

"Well after tonight, I think we can be reasonably sure he was seeing a truck," Dean quips from beside Cassie. "What happened tonight—you and Cassie are marked, okay? Your daughter could die. So if you know something, now would be a really good time to tell us."

"Dean," Cassie begins to protest.

"Yes," Mrs. Robinson cuts in. "Yes, he said he saw a truck."

"Did he know who it belonged to?" Sam inquires.

"He thought he did."

"And who was that?" The blonde teenager questions.

The woman hesitates and sways a bit in her chair, as if she's nauseous. "Cyrus." The three hunters glance between each other, wide-eyed and a hundred different levels of 'oh shit,' before looking back to Cassie's mom. "A man named Cyrus."

Dean pulls a slip of paper from his jacket and holds the newspaper print up for Mrs. Robinson to see. "Is this Cyrus?"

Cassie's mother doesn't look at the paper. "Cyrus Dorian died more than forty years ago," she says.

Katherine frowns and cocks her head to the side. "How do you know he died?" She quietly asks, recalling what Sam caught her up on earlier.

"The paper said he went missing," Dean murmurs in agreement. "How do you know he died?"

"We were all very young." Katherine quietly sighs, mostly to herself, as she leans further into the pillar. Cassie is on the edge of her seat, perhaps unsure of where this story was headed.

From that one sentence, though, it's evident to Katherine that Cyrus was murdered by someone Mrs. Robinson knew. That's the "we" bit of the sentence. Supporting evidence: she knew the Cyrus guy was dead. And no story that begins with "we were all very young," ever ends well.

Ever.

"I dated Cyrus a while. I was also seeing Martin—in secret, of course. Interracial couples didn't go over too well then." Mrs. Robinson takes a deep, steadying breath. "When I broke it off with Cyrus, and when he found out about Martin...I don't know. He changed. His hatred was frightening."

Katherine lifts her gaze to Sam. "The string of murders," she says. He nods.

"There were rumors," Mrs. Robinson continues. "People of color disappearing into some kind of truck, but...nothing was ever done." The woman exhales heavily. "Martin and I were gonna be married in that little church near here, but last minute, we decided to elope because we didn't want all the attention."

"And Cyrus?" Dean prompts.

The silence is filled with a quiet half-sob from Cassie's mother. "The day we set for the wedding was the day someone set fire to the church. There was a children's choir practicing in there. They all died." Katherine looks down to the damp toes of her boots, hands jammed deep into her coat pockets as tears prick at her eyes.

Katherine can't disguise the thickness in her low voice. She doesn't move her gaze from her boots, too afraid to let the heavy tears slip from her eyes. But there's also a faint wave of nausea hitting her. She's too afraid to move. "Did the attacks stop after that?"

"No—there was one more." Mrs. Robinson is still crying. "One night that truck came for Martin. Cyrus beat him something terrible. But Martin—you see, Martin got loose, and he just started hitting Cyrus. He just kept hitting him and hitting him." Katherine lurches, holding the back of her hand to her mouth, and hurries for the front door. Her lungs are on fire and her stomach is churning. She can just barely make it to the edge of the property before she vomits, holding her hands up on the fence to support herself.

She lets out a groan and moves for her car. She grabs her water bottle from earlier and rinses her mouth out. As she's doing so, the Winchesters are emerging from the house.

"You all right?" Sam asks after her.

She lets out another groan, spitting water from her mouth. "Yeah," she grunts, standing up straight. "Sometimes it's too much."

"It?"

She chuckles wryly. "The Thing." She shrugs a bit. "It comes and goes when there's a lot of emotion in the area. Kinda like a medium." She reaches into her car and digs for her backpack, in search of a piece of gum. "I just needed to get out of there before I ruined that rug." She tosses a stick of peppermint gum into her mouth. "What did I miss?"

"Uh...well, Martin killed Cyrus, and Martin and all of his buddies covered it up, rolled Cyrus and his evil truck into the swamp at the edge of his truck," Dean summarizes. "Mayor Todd kept it quiet."

Katherine nods, sitting on the hood of her car. "God, my life was so much simpler six months ago," she says, letting out a heavy sigh. "Exams, papers, cadavers...an occasional salt and burn." The brothers chuckle. 

"So I guess I saved you from a boring existence," Dean chirps.

Katherine grins. "Yeah, well," she sighs. "Sometimes I kind of miss 'boring.'"

"I think you miss conversations that don't contain phrases like "killer truck," Sam says. Katherine laughs, then nods.

"So..." she says. "Evil dude infects evil truck, truck goes Flying Dutchman. Swamp becomes the tomb, the spirit was dormant for forty years...what woke it up?"

"Construction on his house," Sam says. "Or...destruction."

Katherine nods. "Good thinkin'. So the guy who tears down the family homestead stirs up Cyrus' spirit...but also kept his murder quiet and unsolved. Spirit awakened, out for blood." 

"Who knows what ghosts are thinkin' anyway?" Dean grumbles.

Don't say it...don't say it...don't say it...

"You know we're gonna have to dredge that body up from the swamp," Sam says. Katherine and Dean hang their heads almost simultaneously.

"You had to say it," she sighs.

"You were both thinking it," Sam protests, standing away from the car, and moves to the back seat. Dean wraps his arm around Katherine's shoulders.

"What happened to the whole 'let's keep it a secret'?" She murmurs.

"I do this all the time," Dean says just as quietly. "You sure you're okay?"

"Oh yeah," she nods. "Mouth is tingly like peppermint."

"Yum."

She snorts. "Don't be gross," she mumbles, twisting her ring around her finger. Dean smiles and kisses her head. Her ears ring with the approach of someone new, and she looks up from her hands to find Cassie approaching the two.

"Hey," she murmurs, and Katherine smiles a little. "I, um...just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah," Katherine says a little weakly, Dean's arm suddenly feeling like a thousand pounds on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she nods. "My mom just fell asleep." Cassie lets out a heavy sigh. "So what now?"

"You stay and look after your mom," Dean tells her. Katherine slips off of the hood of her car and twists her keys around. "We'll be back. Don't leave the house." Katherine gives a salute to Cassie and slips into the front seat. Then she turns around to look at Sam.

"You can sit up here you know," she says to him.

Sam shakes his head. "I've learned that if Dean's not in either front seat, he's grumpy."

Katherine lets out a quiet laugh and shifts the car into reverse. "So the swamp is on the Dorian property," she says. "And the truck, which has the body in it, is in that swamp. And we have no idea where in the swamp it is."

"This is gonna be a long night," Dean sighs. 

"Say we do find it," Sam says. "How are we getting it out of the swamp so we can salt and burn Cyrus? We can't burn the swamp."

Katherine's brows shoot up. "We could," she says slowly, her voice ticking up at the end.

"Speak, nerd," Dean says.

She rolls her eyes. "Just get a flammable liquid and throw a match on that sucker. It's not rocket science."

"We're not lighting the swamp on fire," Sam says.

Katherine lets out a sigh. "Dude, you are so not fun," she mumbles. 

"We can grab a tractor from the construction site," Dean offers.

"I have tow cables in the trunk," Katherine agrees with a nod. 

As Dean walked up to the construction site to jack a tractor, Sam and Katherine threw heavy stones to find the truck. If they didn't hear a decently metallic thunk, then the truck wasn't there. How far in could the truck really go? Katherine, of course, made a game out of the work. Let's see who can throw it the furthest. 

Sam likes that about her. If it were just him and Dean, Sam would still be the one throwing rocks, but it would only be him. No fun in the mundane.

The rain is light, mixing with the snow in the air.

"So we found it," Sam says in a sigh. "How are we gonna attach the tow cable?"

Katherine crosses her arms and looks to Sam with an expectant eyebrow. He makes it a task to stare up at the stars, rubbing his head. Katherine lets out a drawn-out sigh that finishes in a frustrated growl as she throws her head back. When she's done being dramatic, she storms to her car, muttering and cussing. Sam chuckles, watching her in amusement as she pulls a rubber fishing suit from the trunk.

"Why...the hell...do you have that handy?"

"Water spirit up in Maine," she vaguely answers, pulling the shoes over her boots. She ties her hair up and they wait for Dean to roll in with the tractor.

Dean grins, putting the tractor into park. "Well aren't you just an irresistible bag of hotness."

"You wish you looked as good as I do," Katherine retorts, grabbing the tow hook, and storms into the water. She lets out a deep breath and lowers herself to the water, careful to not get smelly swamp stuff on her clothes.

"Don't get it on you!" Dean calls. "It's infected swamp—"

"Sorry," Katherine calls, turning around. "I don't speak 'little bitch'!" Dean gawks and Sam bursts into laughter, keeled over and supporting his weight on his knees. "I don't know what you're laughing about, Samantha! A friggin' girl is mucking around in this swamp—" she fishes around for a bit before she attaches the hook to what feels like the bottom of the truck. Katherine doesn't finish her sentence as she gags, the stench of the water too close for comfort to her nose. She quickly removes herself from the water and peels the suit off as Dean pulls the truck from the water.

"That was undeniably awesome," Sam tells her. "The little bitch part, namely."

"You're both a couple 'a little bitches," she says, tossing her never-to-be-used-again suit into the woods. Thing's ruined, there's no coming back from it. No amount of washing could get rid of the stench, she's sure of it. Anyway, who would want old racist truck energy on waders? 

The brothers smile at each other as she stalks to her car trunk again, looking something like a disgruntled puppy. She returns with a can of gas and a flashlight. Katherine slaps the can into Dean's chest and makes for the gunk-covered truck with him following behind her. She pulls the handle of the truck and gags, turning her head to the side as Cyrus Dorian's corpse tilts towards fresh air for the first time in over forty years. "God, that's rich," she says, and gestures to it for the Winchesters. "Get to it, would you?" The boys drag the waterlogged corpse to a wood pallet. Katherine soaks it in gas, Dean goes over it with salt, and Sam drops the match. Katherine tosses her rubber glove into the fire. "Gross," she mutters.

"Worse than Maine?" Sam asks.

"Far worse." She sighs. "You think it's done?"

Behind them, an engine revs—not the Charger. Headlights cast their shadows onto the trees. "I'm gonna go with 'no'," Dean says, staring at the phantom truck.

God, Katherine's life sure did go down the tubes.

"So burning the body had no effect on that thing?" Sam questions.

"Oh, sure it did," Katherine disagrees as she nods. "Now it's really pissed."

"But Cyrus' ghost is gone, right?"

"Apparently not the part that's fused with the truck," Dean says.

"Boys." Katherine points to the gas can. "I'm gonna lead that thing away—find a way to torch that truck." She bounds for the trunk and throws her weapons bag to the brothers before moving driver's side. She twists the key in the ignition, watching the phantom truck start for her. 

"How the hell are we supposed to burn a truck?!"

"Figure it out!" Katherine slams on the accelerator, peeling out of the snow-littered grass, and onto the road.

She drives faster than what would be considered safe for a slick, winding, dark stretch of pavement, but when chased by a pissed-off Monster Truck, she'd rather take her chances.

Furiously, the brothers flip through their father's journal to find anything—anything.

A few minutes in, she calls Dean. "We're workin' on it," he says.

"Work faster!" Katherine shouts.

"Give us a minute—"

"It's been four, and I don't have another minute!"

"Let me get back to you." Dean hangs up and she cries out, tossing her phone into the passenger seat. Her car lurches as it shifts gears. For a moment, she panics, as it looks like the truck is gaining on her. But as always, her baby comes through, and when Katherine pushes on the pedal harder, the Charger puts more room between their bumpers. 

"Call Cassie," Sam says after a moment.

"What?"

"Cassie! Her mom said that a church was burned to the ground, that some kids were burned alive when it went up."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Hallowed ground!"

Katherine glances in her rearview mirror. "God, my mom is so haunting my ass after this." The truck taps her bumper, sending her swerving. "Hey, you son of a bitch!" she shouts. "Watch the paint—" Her phone trills. "This truck is still on my ass," she aggressively sings to whoever is on the other end of the line.

It's Sam. "Where are you?" 

Her eyes widen. "In the middle of freakin' nowhere with a killer truck on my ass! It's like it knows we torched Cyrus or somethin'!"

"Kat, calm down and listen to me—"

Cue flames on top of head. "I am calm!"

"Katherine, this is important. I have to know exactly where you are."

She groans, glancing around for a mile marker or something. "Decatur road, like, two miles off the highway."

"Headed east?"

"Yes!" She shouts. The truck hits her bumper harder this time and she drops her phone, swerving into a field. "Damn—argh!" She ignores the pain in her neck and kicks her phone back up to her. "Sam?!"

"What happened?!"

"Keep talking!"

"Turn right, up ahead." Katherine drops her phone into her lap and turns the wheel with both hands, tires screeching beneath her. she holds her phone back to the shell of her ear. "You make the turn?"

"Yes I made the turn!"

"Do you see a road up ahead?"

"No!" Katherine glances in her side mirror as the truck starts gaining alongside her, and then— "Wait, yeah!"

"Turn left."

Her jaw drops. "I—what?!" She glances at the truck again. It's literally coming up on her side.

"Left!"

She drops her phone and slams on the brakes, cranking her wheel at the same time. Probably not a safe maneuver at all. Rolling is quite possible. She picks her phone up again. "Dude, if I don't die tonight, I am so rebooting Dukes of Hazzard."

"Go exactly seven-tenths of a mile then stop."

Katherine's eyes blow wide again. "Seven-ten—Sam!"

"Exactly seven-tenths." Katherine inhales deeply, attempting to adopt Sam's calmness. How the hell do you read seven-tenths of a mile? She hasn't looked at the odometer in years. Wait, odometers read in tenths. A mile is 5,280 feet. Seven-tenths of that is...3,696 feet. 

She glances down to the odometer and swears under her breath. She didn't even need to calculate it—damn mental math—because to the right of everything is a slowly-changing number four to five. Bingo.

She drops her phone and eyes the turning dial on her dashboard, glancing up every few moments to ensure she isn't going to smash into something. Katherine doesn't pay attention to her surroundings, however, as she suddenly slams on the brakes and whirls her car around.

"Katherine?" Sam asks, glancing to Dean. "You still there?"

She picks her phone up from her lap with trembling hands. "Yeah," she whispers, staring into the distant headlights of the truck.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know," she murmurs, tears pricking at her eyes. "I don't—I don't—"

"What's wrong?"

Katherine drops her hand from the wheel and presses her hand to her forehead, a quiet sob escaping her lips. "It—I don't know, I...it's just staring at me, and I can't...I can't think straight, I hurt, it—" Stops, watching the truck speed down the road. "Sam, it's comin' at me—what do I do?"

"Just sit there," he coaxes. "You're fine. It's all right."

"Sam—" she whimpers.

"Katherine, you're okay."

She drops her phone, knuckles turning white as her fingers curl into tight fists, and she recites a prayer her mother taught her when she was little, her speed increasing as the truck grows closer. She reaches up to grip the left-most medallion on her necklace.

"Saint Michael, the Archangel, Glorious Prince, chief and champion of the heavenly hosts; guardian of the souls of men; conqueror of the rebel angels! How beautiful art thou, in thy heaven-made armor. We love thee, dear Prince of Heaven." It's halfway down the road now, gaining speed, so she speaks faster and skips a verse. You'll understand, right, Michael? "O standard-bearer of our salvation, be with us in our last moments and when our souls quit this earthly exile, carry them safely to the judgment seat of Christ, and may Our Lord and Master bid thee bear us speedily to the kingdom of eternal bliss. Teach us ever to repeat the sublime cry: "Who is like unto God?!" She squeezes her eyes shut, uttering the last word in a cry as the truck is just feet from her.

But nothing happens.

The despair she felt just a minute ago is gone, the only evidence of it in her memory and the tears on her cheeks.

Her name is spoken in Sam's voice from the phone in her lap. With shaky hands, she holds it to her ear. "Yeah," she whispers. "It disappeared. Why—"

"You're sitting where the church was," Sam tells her.

"The church?" She squeaks, a fresh tear falling from her eye. "Where Cyrus..."

"Yeah."

That would explain it. The agony, the sadness. Completely overwhelming. "Hallowed ground," she utters.

"Yeah," Sam repeats. "I figured...maybe it would destroy the evil spirit."

"Maybe," Katherine croaks, weakly nodding. "Maybe?! What if it didn't work?!"

"Honestly, that thought didn't occur to me."

The teenager lets out a wry chuckle and hangs up before tossing her phone into the passenger seat. She groans, reclining her seat back, and closes her eyes, crossing her arms. "Oh, I'm gonna kill them," she moans. She sits like that for a few minutes before speeding down the road back to the swamp.