Katherine lowers Dr. Gregg's notes from her line of vision, and Dean is quite amused to witness the expression on her face as she looks at Sam, who is passed out on the kitchen table.

She swings her head around to look at Dean on the other bed and tugs the gray hood of her jacket out of her field of vision. "Did he just moan again?" Dean holds the motel notepad up to show her a tally that had increassed by one.

"Dude's gotta get it somehow."

"This is just embarassing," Katherine mutters. She tears off a piece of paper from her notepad, wads it up, and chucks it at Sam's head. "Sam!" He shoots straight up and turns to look at her. Drool shines from the corner of his mouth until he quickly wipes at it with his sleeve and a frown.

"What?" He grunts.

"You were snoring."

"Moaning," Dean corrects. Sam turns pink. "So who was it?"

"What? No one. Nothing."

"Angelina Jolie."

Katherine sighs. "Can we move past this?"

"Brad Pitt."

"No," Sam says. Then he frowns at Dean. "No."

"Guys," Katherine chirps.

"Why does sex talk make you so squirmy?" Dean wonders.

"This is me not engaging."

"Why not?"

"Dean."

"Don't poke the bear," Sam grunts.

"Sex makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?" Dean asks with a grin. "Why's it make both of you uncomfortable?"

Katherine slaps her notes down beside her and points at him. "I had sex with you." She points at Sam. "You are like my brother. Sex does not need to come up in conversation with the three of us ever."

"Ouch," Sam mutters.

"Oh—okay, don't be like that." She holds her hand up and shakes her head.

"I mean—"

"I'm offended for you," Dean goads. Katherine gawks at him.

"No, that's not what I meant—"

"It sounds like it's what you meant," Sam says.

Katherine, frantic to just stop talking about it, finds herself saying, "Well would you have sex with me?!"

Sam just sits there. And blinks. Dean laughs. Katherine turns red.

"Anyway," Dean sighs. "I called Bela."

Sam clears his throat. "Oh yeah? What'd she, uh...what'd she say? She gonna help us?"

Dean scoffs. "Shockingly, no. KD and I have been trying to makes heads or tails outta the doc's research, but uh...he has worse handwriting than you do, so I'm still on page two. So...you wanna come help us with this or what?"

Katherine watches Sam glance down to his lap, and she quickly averts her gaze.

Then there's a quick knock at the door. Obviously feminine.

Katherine pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and crosses her arms as Dean crosses to the front door. "I thought you said she wasn't gonna help us?"

He starts pulling the door open. "Just because someone knocked doesn't mean it's—" He sighs as Bela pushes past him. "Her. As I live and breathe."

"I do have a name."

"No one cares," Katherine deadpans, picking up her notes and pen.

"Well aren't you just a grouchy little kitten?" Bela hums. Katherine flashes the Brit a sarcastic smile and rolls her eyes as she looks down at her lap. "You are the one who called me, remember? I am doing you a favor."

"You know what favor I am still doing you?" Katherine drily asks. "The favor of not killing you."

"I do enjoy being kept on my toes, waiting for the infamous Katherine Donovan to bring out her sharp kitty claws."

"I won't be the one killing you, Bela." She smiles lethally. "But I do hope I'm there to watch you die."

"A little cold, even for you." Katherine raises a brow. Bela sighs and reaches into her purse before handing Dean a large jar of herbs resembling twigs. "I brought you your...African dream root. Nasty stuff, and not easy to come by." She sets her purse to the side.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Dean asks.

"What?" Bela hums, pulling on the strings of her trench coat. Sam goes a little tense. "I can't do you a little favor every now and again?"

"No," Dean and Katherine chorus. "C'mon—I wanna know what the strings are before you attach 'em."

"You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?" Bela asks, and Dean nods. "Well, I'm doing it for him, not you."

"Bobby," Dean says, and Bela nods. "Why?"

"He saved my life once," Bela says. "In Flagstaff." The Winchesters stare, and she sighs. "I screwed up and he saved my ass, all right?"

"Whatever."

"So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," Dean says, moving for the closet. "I don't trust you in my car, let alone in Bobby's head." He spins the safe's combination lock, shoves the jar of dream root in right next to the Colt, and locks it back up. "No offense." Dean's body had blocked most of the safe from view, but Bela still saw the glistening muzzle of the pistol.

"None taken," Bela hums. A brief silence lingers.

"Oh," Katherine chirps, smiling as she gestures. "The door's right behind you."

Bela frowns. "It's two AM. Where am I supposed to go?"

Katherine slides off of her bed as Dean opens the door. "Get a room," he says. Bela isn't impressed.

"Oh, don't look so grouchy," Katherine says, imitating Bela in a manner that's creepily spot-on. "Should have minimal stains."

Dean nods. "They've got the magic fingers, a little, uh...Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. Y'know, if you're into heavily scripted, low-budget pornos." He glances to Katherine, just to get a rise out of her, like he'd done since she was nine years old, and she rolls her eyes.

Bela scoffs and mutters under her breath as she grabs her things and moves right into the hall. "Nice to seeing you—!" Sam calls, rocking to his feet, but Katherine pushes the door shut and flips the lock. "Bela."

Katherine narrows her eyes a little, padding away from the door. "What the Hell's the matter with you?"

"What?"

"You look dumb in the head." She starts for the kitchenette, slippers sliding against the carpet, because she refuses to go barefoot, sacrifice her socks, or pick her feet up when she walks. "You think they got a kettle in here, or...we gonna have to do a makeshift pot thing?"

Fifteen minutes later, she's staring down at the cup of opaque amber tea, leant up against the headboard, ankles crossed. "Well," Dean sighs. "Should we dim the lights and sync up Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of The Moon?"

Katherine's brows furrow. "Why?" She and Sam chorus.

Dean stares at them for a moment. "What did you do in college? Wait, don't asnwer that. You went to those stupid ass country bars."

"I studied." She goes to take a sip of the foul-smelling drink. "And went to cadaver lab. And went to the stupid ass contry bars."

"Wai-wai-wait!" Sam cries, reaching into his front pocket, and pulls out a small envelope. "Can't forget this." He opens it up and pulls a single brown and gray hair from the packet.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she whispers, watching him drop it into her drink.

"It's not that bad," Sam chuckles.

"You don't understand—I can smell this all the way across the room!"

"What is that, like, a time-of-the-month thing?"

"No, you fucking walnut. It isn't a period thing." Well, it might be. She sighs, squeezes her eyes shut, plugs her nose, and downs the whole cup in a few gulps.

"You're a child," Dean says, staring down at his empty cup.

She's still plugging her nose, but holds a finger up, breathing through her mouth for a few moments. "Block off the sense of smell and you can't taste shit either," she says, unplugging her nose, and grimaces. "You feel anything?"

"No. Do you?"

"No. Sam?"

He shakes his head. Katherine sets her cup to the side, frowning. "Maybe we got some bad schwag," Sam hums.

"Maybe you boiled it wrong," Dean mutters to Katherine.

"I didn't boil it wrong," she snaps. She grabs a pillow and hits him in the head with it. His eyes flash, but it isn't with annoyance.

It's the beginning of a pursuit.

"Guys?" Sam hums. "When did it start raining?"

Katherine throws her legs over the side of the bed and pads over to the window. She scoffs and throws the curtain back. When did it start raining upside down?

When she turns around, they're no longer in the motel room.

It's a larger room, dated maroon wallpaper with gold paisley accents. A three-seater green velvet sofa, two matching chairs, a coffee table with a bowl of cashews, book shelf...She looks back to the window, but it's been replaced with a wall and a fireplace. She frowns and faces forward again. There's the stairs, the kitchen...

"Okay," Dean begins. "I don't know what's weirder. The fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens."

"No," Katherine shakes her head, pointing to that familiar staircase. She would know it, she fell down them when she was ten and had to get stitches in her hairline. Her father wasn't even upset. "Imagine this with, uh...faded, old wallpaper, uh...dust, lots of dusty, dusty books...clutter..."

"It's Bobby's house," Dean hums.

"Yeah," she scoffs, shoving the hood off of her head. "Holy cow." Katherine puts her hands on her hips and sniffs. "Who knew he had a table, huh?"

"Bobby?" He calls into the void.

Sam glances behind him to the window, unable to ignore the sensation he's being watched.

"Hey," Katherine murmurs. "I'm gonna go look outside."

Sam scoffs in amusement. "What, in your motel crawlers?" Katherine looks down at her socks and slippers with a frown.

"Dammit," she mutters, and starts for the back door.

"No, no, no," Dean hisses. "Stay close."

She frows, shaking her head. "I'll be fine."

Dean shakes his head, too. "I'm coming with you."

"Stay with Sam. I'll be right back, Dean." He doesn't look like he wants to budge. "We have to find Bobby."

He mashes his teeth together. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I never do anything stupid," she mutters, turning for the back door, and starts down the hall.

It's different outside. Much different. It's daylight, for starters. The lawn is green and flowers are everywhere, and there are wicker rocking chairs on the porch and the house is a pretty robin's egg blue...Bobby's car has paint!

The door slams shut and she jumps, turning around to look at it. She twists and rattles the door knob before slapping her palm against the door. "Dean! Sam!" She moves to the window and beats on the glass. She can see Dean inspecting the fireplace. "Dean! Don't pretend you can't hear me! I hate when you do that!" She growls and pushes herself away from the bright house to walk along the wrap-around porch to the front door, but that's locked, too.

There's a little garden here, a pond to go with it. Clothes and sheets pinned up on the lines. It smells like freshly-cut grass.

Perhaps it's karma, all those years of clobbering monsters with her baseball bat, but now she knows how it feels. A wooden one, right across the gut, is enough to cripple her, stun her for the briefest of moments.

She just barely recognizes her assailant's face. "You don't belong in here," he snarls.

"You're one to talk! You're in my friend's head!"

"You got a poor choice in friends," Jeremy scoffs. "This is self-defense. He came after me. He's trying to hurt me."

"Ever think it's because you're a murderer, you son of a bitch?!"

"You should be nicer to me," he whispers, crouching before her. "In here, you're just an insect. I'm a God." He raises the bat again. She starts to roll to her feet to beat the living daylights out of the guy, but then she's opening her eyes.

There's a heavy fog on her brain as her eyes scour the room before her. The motel room. Sam is sititng at the edge of her bed, and her head is resting back on the bed frame. She's still sat up, like she was when she drank that god-awful tea. Dean is inspecting his cup with a frown.

"That stuff's wicked," he mutters. Katherine grunts and shifts, and his eyes snap to her, softening. "Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey." She takes a deep breath and sighs. "Did it work?"

"Well, we're awake," Sam says. "That means Bobby's awake, and we need to go talk to him."

"I saw him," Katherine says, looking to Dean. "That guy Jeremy."

"The one with CWS?" Sam asks. Katherine nods and pulls her sneakers on.

"What did you guys see in Bobby's head?" She asks.

"Bobby's wife," Dean tells her. Katherine looks at him with a knowing, but questioning frown. Dean nods, lowering his gaze.

"I think we rolled past Jeremy a little too quickly," Sam says. "What the hell was Jeremy doing in Bobby's head."

"Controlling Bobby's dream. He called himself a god." Katherine scoffs, shaking her head. "I eat bitches like that for breakfast."

"I don't want you going near him," Dean says. "Sam and I can take care of him."

"You aren't the boss of me," Katherine sings.

"I'll go," Sam volunteers, getting to his feet. "You guys talk to Bobby."

Katherine frowns at him. "Sam, the guy's dangerous."

"And I can't handle 'dangerous'?" Katherine gives him a look. "He doesn't know me," Sam points out. "I've got my guard up—I'll be fine."

"Famous last words of all three of us," Dean mutters. "Always."