𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗

"Dear God."

Katherine and Sam sag in frustration as Bela Talbot struts through the front door. With gritted teeth, Dean locks the door behind her.

"Are you actually squatting?" Bela demands. No one answers her. "Charming." She stops in the vacant living room and looks over Sam and Katherine with a smirk. When she still doesn't recieve an answer, she looks to Dean as he approaches her, sticking his gun in the holster at the back of his jeans. "That well, huh?"

"If you say 'I told you so,'" Dean lightly begins. "I swear to God, I'll start swingin'."

Bela sighs. "I think the four of us should have a good heart-to-heart," she says with a sweeping gaze.

"Okay, Tinman," Katherine mutters. "You first." Dean sits in a green velvet chair by the coffee table. Last night, he turned the cushion over to avoid the dust getting all over his clothes.

He doesn't even want his donut anymore.

When he looks up, Katherine is doing a low-energy rendition of the Tinman's dance. He barks out a laugh, and Sam hides his smile behind his hand. Bela scowls.

"Bite me," she snarls.

"I could contract some terrible disease," Katherine protests. 

Bela's gaze sweeps over elegant script on a rectangular piece of cardstock on the table amongst newspapers. Katherine clocks her before she even moves her fingers, and before Bela can swipe the save the date, Katherine sits on the edge of the table. Right on it.

She sighs and looks at the blonde huntress. "I'm sorry about what I said before," she says.

"I'm not."

"You don't believe in 'bury the hatchet', do you?" Bela hums.

"No." Katherine crosses her arms. "I sharpen them. The fuck do you want?"

"Everyone is so grouchy this morning," Bela protests. "I thought you might be happy. I've ID'd the ship." She unzips the portfolio in her grasp and lays out several documents. Dean picks up a dated photograph of a ship. "It's the Espirito Santo. A merchant sailing vessel...quite a colorful history. Kitty, please move your derriere." 

"I'll leave it where it is, thanks." Katherine twists to look at the photograph Dean set at her hip. 

"In 1859, a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven year cycle," Sam mutters.

Bela smiles. "Aren't you a sharp tack?" She starts flipping through the portfolio of documents. "There's a photo of him somewhere...Ah. Here." 

Dean frowns at it. "Isn't that the customer we saw last night?" He turns the photo around. Katherine tries to remember the face she saw in the darkness, but shrugs.

"I don't know...I was too far away."

"You saw him?" Bela demands, an odd sense of urgency in her voice.

"Well, yeah, that's him...except he's missing a hand."

"His right hand."

Dean frowns at her. "How'd you know that?"

"The sailor's body was cremated after cutting his hand."

"Hand of glory," Sam says.

"The hell's that?" Katherine asks, shaking her head.

Dean grins. "I think I got one of those at the end of my Thai massage," he says. Sam shakes his head. When he turns to his right, Katherine just blinks at him. His smile fades.