Okay, so I decided to post the edits as a completely different story. It'll just be easier for everyone. So. Please review! Let me know if you like how I'm changing things. I love you so so so much!
The black-haired woman ducked down quickly as the knife flew past the space where her head had been just a minute before. Her ice-blue eyes roamed the graveyard until they rested on a figment of an old man with a bag of knives at his side. He was smiling broadly, and the girl stood and flipped over the open grave in time to avoid another knife. As she soared over the hole, she allowed a string of salt to land on the bones. She quickly grabbed her shotgun from beside her once she landed, and shot at the ghost. It disappeared in a puff of smoke and she couldn't help but be thankful for rock salt. She turned and quickly doused the bones with kerosene. Just before she lit the match, the spirit threw another knife. This time it embedded itself into her shoulder, the glinting blade piercing the jacket she wore. She let out a slight scream and wondered for a moment why Blake wasn't covering her. She shook herself violently, trying to force her mind off of it. She should be over this part of it already; he'd been dead for months.
Her process halted for a moment, as she thought of his lifeless stare and slack grip. She wondered absently why she didn't feel much pain over the thought of his death, more fear that no one was there to watch her back. She didn't miss the bar fights or drunken slurs, and she didn't miss his many debts to the loyal patrons of the Roadhouse. In general, she just didn't miss him at all. Odd, seeing as he once fell under the title 'boyfriend.'
She was pulled violently back to the present as another knife whizzed past her. She lit the match quickly and watched, transfixed, as the flames consumed the rotting bones. The image of the ghost flickered threateningly, like film held in place too long, before burning away. She flinched back from the screams and wondered if he'd always been that loud.
She gripped the hilt of the blade, jutting from her shoulder, and breathed a sigh when she found it only a quarter inch deep. It might need a butterfly stitch, but it was nothing serious. Still, pulling the sharp blade from her flesh made a cry of pain rip through her throat.
When she held the knife in her hand, she tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt with it. She tied the bandage around the open wound with her teeth, glad that it hadn't bled much. She sighed at the thought of the open wound and glanced at her callused hands. 'The Aftermath,' she thought disdainfully, picking up her shovel and filling the hole.
An hour later, when her back ached and her forehead was well past sweaty, she packed up her weapons and checked the cut. It was bleeding slowly, no more than a few drops a minute, and the makeshift wrap caught it. She mounted her bike and allowed herself a smile as it thrummed beneath her.
Then, the kickstand was up and her hair was flying behind her. The night blended around her until she couldn't be sure what was real anymore, and her thoughts wandered. She would have to stop thinking of Blake, she told herself firmly. What would he think, if he saw how distracted she was?
She knew exactly what he would say. He'd said it enough times.
"Kat! Pay attention! You can't go off into la-la land when a demon's trying to kill you! Why did I ever fall for you, you idiot?" He'd yell at her and then grow softer through the words, as if what he was telling her was really insightful and revealing to him. And she would say that she loved him as though she meant it. But she didn't.
It wasn't him so much as it was a combination of both her and him. He was loud, obnoxious, violent with other men, and too attached to her. She was quiet for the sake of watching instead of playing the game, opinionated amongst those she trusted to some extent, and distant. The last one she hadn't meant to be, but she was. It was something she'd come to terms with, and Blake hadn't.
At least he never tried to call her 'Kitty'. Too many people did that, and it was only afforded to a few. Blake was not one of them.
Of course, people thought it odd when she introduced herself as Kat and nothing else, but as far as she knew, she had no last name. And figuring it out would mean revisiting a past she'd prefer not to remember. Her twin, Jamie, on the other hand, had wanted to know. So shortly after John Winchester had left them on the side of the road, claiming that his boys were in trouble, Jamie left to find out as much as he could. She hadn't heard from him in over a year. Nor had she heard from John. She didn't think too much of it, from either of them. As far as she knew, Jamie had quit the life and John was back with the family.
And she wouldn't intrude on either of them.
After that, she'd had Blake. And he'd been okay. The closest thing she'd ever had to a female friend had left her to follow her brother. She'd gotten word that Jenna had died three months after that. She was even less saddened by this than she was when Blake died.
Well, died probably wasn't the proper term. Drained by vampires was more appropriate.
Nowadays, Kat worked at the bar, putting up with drunk hunters and civilians alike and Ash's constant stories of how exactly he'd bested the Yellow-eyed demon when he'd tried to blow up his 'baby'… Tried being the operative word, because no one messed with his bar if he was around.
Most of the patrons knew it had been a whole lot of luck for Ash and whole lot of help from the thirty or so hunters that happened to be in that night. But, of course, Ash never did tell it that way.
Ash didn't know that she still hunted, or rather, didn't want to know. He'd rather think that she was taking long drives to clear her head, and came back the way she did because of *insert Ash's tall tale of the week here*. She figured that was only so he didn't have to be the one to tell Singer that she'd directly disobeyed him. Though, she'd argue that it was a friendly suggestion that she quit hunting. After what happened with Blake, Bobby didn't think it fit for her to run around half-cocked without a partner.
She hadn't spoken to him in the two months since Blake's death, and she wouldn't be surprised if he thought she'd been burned on her own pyre. It wasn't as if she did it on purpose, but most hunters took lack of communication for lack of life.
She drove to the bar, and walked around to the small shack just behind it. She dropped off her duffel, taking the time once inside to pick up her sketchbooks. She really ought to put the medical equipment in there, she thought to herself, looking over the inside. The metal-sheet walls were covered with hunts- newspaper clippings and post-it notes all trying to connect to the center. But nothing ever did. All dead ends and disappointments. She closed the door behind her and walked into the bar. Her body ached and her eyes were heavy… Sleep would be welcome. Very welcome.
She walked easily into the Roadhouse, dodging Ash as he was flung by one of the patrons. He jumped up, a grin on his face and a glint in his eyes.
"You watch yourself Tanner, I'll get you back!" He shouted, his southern twang prominent. He saluted Kat as she walked in and noticed the wrapped cloth around her arm with distaste. Instead of saying anything, he muttered something about headstrong dumbasses, and led the way to his office.
The little sign proudly proclaimed 'Dr. Badass is In' and she thought of it as 'home'. She'd long ago gotten used to the smell of old sheets and week-old pizza. She folded herself onto the couch and sat quietly while Ash handed her a bottle of whiskey and the med-kit. "The whiskey's for the cut," he said as she brought the bottle to her lips.
"Ash…" she complained as he took the bottle from her, wincing as it jolted her arm. A small trickle of blood was seeping from under the tie.
"Shuttup," he said gruffly, untying the piece of shirt and tossing it aside. He appraised the cut and doused it with whiskey without a word. Her gasp of pain and twitch of muscles were enough to make him smirk. "Be more careful then."
"Bastard," she growled, a hint of a smile on her face. Ash grinned to himself, knowing he wouldn't get much else out of her. Smiles had been hard to come by for her, and he took every moment he could to tease her openly.
"I got people comin' here tonight, be on your best behavior," he said sarcastically.
"Just…friends. Haven't seen 'em in these parts for a while."
"Would it happen to be that Prettyboy and Batman you keep talking about?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting.
"They don't exactly know I call them that," he said with a nervous glance.
"Hunters?" she asked, jerking suddenly as Ash nicked her with the needle slightly. "Go," she said at his unspoken question. She hissed sharply as the needle pierced her skin. "Just a butterfly."
"Gotcha. And yeah, they are. So try not to make these ones enemies," he said.
"I can't help it that people don't like me," she said softly, her eyes screwed shut from the pain. She felt her blood rush through her veins and the steady thrumming of her heart and knew she was alive. That was the upside to moments like these. If you could feel the pain, you were feeling something. And something was infinitely better than nothing.
"You could try to be nice?" he asked, glancing at her face.
"And you wonder why you don't have many friends," Ash grumbled. "Does that hurt too much?" he asked as he poked through her skin again.
"S'okay. Pain's good," she mumbled, a little louder than she'd intended to.
"Kinky." A deep male voice threaded through her hazy thoughts and her eyes snapped open.