𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

"I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town?" Katherine asks, pulling her leather jacket over the white thin-strapped tank top she wears. Her jeans are black, resting atop the crest of her hips, exposing a thin stripe of tan skin. The button snap on the collar of her jacket rests at the hollow of her throat.

She's a tall drink of water. Dean is parched. 

He tears his burning eyes away.

"It is," Sam says, glancing to his right. A redhead at the wooden handrail is eyeballing his party. "Supposed to be, anyway."

This place is crawling with women. Most are dressed similarly to Katherine, some in less.

"Well what are we waitin' for?" Dean hums. "Let's do some research."

Katherine rolls her eyes and starts down the street, glancing around at the activity with the smallest of smiles. Run Through the Jungle is blasting through the speakers of the neighboring bars. This place definitely isn't dead. There's energy here, laughter in the streets...amongst other things. Escorts waiting in cars, doors open and long legs on show. Multicolored umbrellas for to-go drinks.

"Seems kinda fun," Katherine says, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then her leg starts bouncing.

Dean smiles a little, watching her eyes brighten as she takes the place in. "You wanna dance?"

She looks at him in amusement. "Absolutely not," she chuckles.

"Oh, come on," he purrs.

Over Dean's shoulder, Katherine catches a glimpse of a bright pink shirt. She gasps, leaning away from Dean with a smirk. "Richie, Richie, Richie," she tuts.

"Look at you!" Dean enthuses. "Bringing satin back, huh?"

"Oh, you like this?" Richie asks, glancing to Katherine with a smile. "Try Thai silk." He rolls his shoulders, his smile growing. "Canal street. You have to pay three hundred dollars for threads like these, easy. Cost to me—forget about it."

"How much is 'forget about it'?" Sam wonders.

"Forget about it," Richie says, and Sam and Katherine laugh with him. Richie gestures between Katherine and Dean. "That's Trotter over there." Katherine turns, glancing into the back corner.

Three men.

"Black suit guy?"

"Uh-huh," Richie says, nodding. "He sits there all night. Can't touch 'em."

"So what do we do?" Sam asks.

Richie glances between the Winchesters. "Boys! You've got a perfectly good weapon right here." He gestures to Katherine.

She scoffs. "And what should I do? If he's got security, I can't slip holy water in his drink. I start speaking Latin, it's friggin all bets off."

"Whatever. You three figure it out." Katherine follows Richie's intense gaze over to the bartender reaching up to the cabinets. She's got shoulder-length dark hair and fair skin with a bit of a tan, wears a red shirt and tight black jeans.

"You got a thing for the bartender?"

"Yeah, we got a little somethin' lined up for later."

"Yeah right," Dean scoffs.

"Stings, doesn't it?" Richie sighs. Katherine shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair.

"I'm getting a drink," she says, turning on the leather soles of her boots. "You boys want anything?"