[identity profile] summergen-mod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] spn_summergen
Title: Behind That Pink Bottle
Recipient: [livejournal.com profile] kribban
Word Count ~19,000
Rating: none, really
Warnings: Possibly mild religion-bashing, but no specific religion targeted; the story basically ignores the final episode of Season 10, since I'm guessing darkness spreading over the entire world would sort of ruin anything that might come after it
Author notes: Many thanks to my amazing transcriptionist, my family's patience, and Lenore, Vicki, and Jessica.

Summary: Based on the following prompts: Prompt 1) Kate joins Garth's pack. Life as a friendly monster is sometimes tough, but it's easier when you're not alone. Prompt 2) During Claire's first summer in Sioux Falls she rediscovers two things she thought were lost forever; her childhood faith and a normal teenage life. Kate becomes a mentor. Claire isn't her little sister. There's school and a barn dance and discussions about faith. The key to the mysteries of the universe is behind that pink bottle.



"I was a dentist," Garth said.

Kate looked him up and down. He was leaning on his hoe, dusty in his denim overalls, too pink from the sun. In a few days he'd turn nut-brown.

Kate, who was leaning on her own hoe, was confused. "What?"

“Before I was a werewolf, I was a hunter. Before that, I was a dentist.” His smile was too genuinely kind to be condescending, but Kate hated it anyway. “It's okay to miss it.”

Kate looked down at her own dusty overalls. “Miss what?”

“What you had before,” Garth said. “You were going to be a lawyer, right?”

Kate blinked. “Who told you that?”

“Sam was going to be a lawyer.”

Garth resumed swinging his hoe with practiced grace. “But now he has hunting, and Dean. I think he misses it sometimes. A lot of times. It's way he's in books a lot. So it's okay for you to miss it. But try to find something in the here and now too, okay?”

“Okay,” Kate said, but it wasn't. She was a werewolf, not a hunter, and her sister was dead.

*

Sam and Dean - those tall oafs whose massive shadows loomed large and spread to every corner of her life - had warned her that what happened to her would turn her world upside down. Kate hadn't expected being turned into a werewolf to turn her world backward five decades. She was a werewolf now, not Amish. She might have complained more about sitting on a rocking chair in the den and slowly crookedly stitching up tears in her clothes if Garth hadn't been right there alongside her and Bess, doing the same.

Kate glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was as good at this sewing business as Bess was. An old battered radio was turned to some oldies station that played Free-bird every hour plus the occasional mournful Pink Floyd.

“I have a job for you,” Garth said.

Kate hated those words. Was it mucking out the horse stalls? Shucking corn? She kept sewing. “What job?”

“Got a friend of a friend,” Garth said.

Kate's hands stilled. Oh no. Was he setting her up on some kind of blind pity date with another werewolf or something?

“She took in a couple of teenage girls,” Garth said. “Alex and Claire. She's looking for a mentor for Claire. I said I knew a fine young lady - smart, well-educated, hardworking. Claire was a guest of the foster care system for a good long time and needs some help adjusting. What do you say?”

Kate glanced at Bess. She was beaming at Garth, like he was the smartest man in the world.

“Does she know what I am?” Kate asked.

Garth nodded. “She knows what all of us are.”

“What's the catch?”

Garth raised his eyebrows. “Catch?”

“With the kid,” Kate said.

“Is she a vampire? A baby hunter? What?”

“You'd have to ask her,” Garth said.

Kate resumed stitching, desultory. She remembered being in college with no cares in the world beyond her camera, her friends, her boyfriend, her family, and her dreams. She'd dreamed of being a lawyer and taking on big business, defending the environment from senseless selfish destruction.

All of that had disappeared with a single poisoned bite.

All of Kate's efforts to do good since then - saving her sister, protecting the world from herself with a silver knife - had gone terribly wrong. Now all of the good in the world she could muster up was mindless farm labor.

She remembered that conversation with Garth from a week ago, standing around in overalls and learning on their hoes and playing farmer. What was keeping her going now? What did she dream about now?

“Sure,” she said. “I'll say hi to your kid. See how it goes.”

*

Garth arranged for Kate to meet her mentee, Claire, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Garth had some errands to run around those parts, and he'd get them done while Kate was making friends.

The car ride was relatively quiet, except for Garth occasionally answering his cell phone. He'd promised Bess he was done with hunting, but he wasn't done helping, and he would answer lore questions for anyone who called. Kate ignored his low murmurs - no, Tracy I said an olive tree, not a love tree, there’s no such thing - and reread her copy of The Lovely Bones.

She hoped her sister was in Heaven, surrounded by dogs and happy.

By the time they made it to Sioux Falls, Kate had also finished To Kill a Mockingbird. That book was the reason she'd wanted to become a lawyer.

Garth parked in front of a diner and followed Kate inside.

His contact was an attractive woman with short dark hair and a sheriff's uniform.

“Jody Mills, this is Kate,” Garth said.

Sheriff Mills's handshake was brief, firm, confident. “Good to meet you, Kate.”

“And you,” Kate said. She'd left her life behind, not her manners. “How do you two know each other?” Was this where Garth had lived before, when he was a dentist?

“Hunting,” Sheriff Mills said.

“Sam 'n' Dean,” Garth added.

Sam and Dean. Always those two.

An awkward pause swelled in the air between them.

“Well, c'mon.” Sheriff Mills beckoned. “Claire's over here.”

Kate followed the woman across the diner. Garth was hot on Kate's heels, and when Kate looked back at him, he wore an expression akin to a child about to see Disneyland for the first time. Who was this Claire character?

She was sixteen or seventeen, with her dark gold hair pulled back in fancy corn rows. She had big blue eyes made bigger by her overdone eyeliner, and she was wearing a dark ratty hoodie.

“Claire,” Sheriff Mills said, “This is Kate. She went to college.”

Went, yes. Finished, no.

Claire flicked her gaze over Kate, unimpressed. Her eyes were full of distrust.

“Hi,” Kate said.

Claire arched an eyebrow. Sheriff Mills cleared her throat pointedly, and Claire said, “Hi”.

Sheriff Mills beamed. “We'll leave you ladies to it. C'mon, Garth, I think I uncovered one of Bobby's old book caches. Paranoid coot.”

Claire was drinking coffee and picking at some fries.

Kate slid into the booth opposite her.

“So,” Claire said, “how'd you meet Sam 'n' Dean?”

“They were hunting a werewolf.” Kate caught the waitress's eye and pointed at Claire's coffee mug then herself.

Claire snorted. “They save your damsel-in-distress ass? They get off on that kind of heroic thing.”

“Ah, no. I'm a werewolf.”

Claire blinked. “Your head is still on your shoulders.”

“I haven't killed any humans, so I get a pass I guess.”

“You said you met Sam 'n' Dean on a hunt.” Claire said their names like they were a single unit, like Rogers and Hammerstein.

“My professor was a werewolf too. He turned my boyfriend and his best friend, and they turned me, but I never ate any humans.”

Claire snorted. “And Jody wants me to go to college.”

It was strange, talking so openly about what had happened. Even with Garth and the rest of the pack, Kate had never casually discussed how she'd become one of them. Bess's voice was hushed whenever she spoke of before and after.

Kate shrugged. “College was pretty cool, up to that point.”

“So you didn't graduate.”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“I'm not sure.”

The waitress arriving with Kate's cup of coffee did little to ease the awkward weight that had settled over the corner booth. Kate poured two creamers and a packet of sugar into her coffee and used a swizzle stick to mix it all up.

“Was it hard to get into college?” Claire asked.

“I had to work hard,” Kate said, “but it didn't give me a nervous breakdown or anything.” Kate appreciated Claire making an effort to keep the conversation going. Judging by the sharpness of her gaze and the tension in her shoulders, she wasn't usually much for going easy on people. Kate sipped her coffee. She'd had much worse. “Do you want to go to college?”

Claire shrugged one shoulder. “I'm not sure.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I don't know. A hunter, maybe.” Claire's gaze strayed to a leather bound tome she'd pushed aside in favor of her plate of fries.

“Does Sheriff Mills want you to be a hunter?” Kate didn't think so, not if she was encouraging Claire to try for college.

“She says it's up to me, but she wants me to have options, so, college. Sam went to college,” Claire said. “Stanford. Almost graduated.”

“Almost,” Kate murmured. The word tasted like unsweetened coffee on her lips. Why did everything in her life circle back to Sam and Dean?”

“What college did you go to?” Claire asked.

Kate took a deep breath and dredged up her memories of college that were Sam-and-Dean-free.

Hours later, when Sheriff Mills and Garth returned, Claire and Kate were laughing over a prank Kate had pulled on her roommate, and they'd swapped phone numbers and email addresses. Sheriff Mills and Garth both looked pleased.

Kate was pretty pleased too, until she was halfway back to the pack HQ and realized she knew nothing about Claire.

Kate knew all about Sheriff Mills’s tragic backstory and all about Alexis, former vampire and Claire's foster sister. But Kate knew nothing about Claire, besides her name.

*

Kate could do this. She'd made friends with strangers before. By the end of freshman year, she and her roommate Skylar had been pretty close, close enough to plan being roommates for the rest of college.

Kate tried not to think about the rest of college.

Instead, she started small. She'd send text messages with innocuous questions like what's your favorite color? or selfies where she modeled farmer chic after hours in the hot summer sun.

Claire would respond with blue, you? and pictures of herself making a face with a blurry Alexis in the background.

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Kate learned that Claire's favorite song was Shake It Off by Taylor Swift, and her favorite book was Fahrenheit 451. So Kate listened to Taylor Swift and read Ray Bradbury and wondered if Claire would really grow up to be a hunter.

Claire started to ask questions beyond wondering what Kate's favorites were in turn, and so Kate told Claire about how she'd wanted to be a lawyer, and the basic elements of cinematography.

One day while Kate was regretting not wearing at least fingerless gloves to pick some raspberries, Claire sent Kate a question she'd never expected.

Do you believe in heaven and hell?

Kate snorted. No. A lot of supernatural weirdness is real, but that is taking it pretty far.

Claire didn't reply for so many days afterward that Kate thought she'd somehow offended Claire (although how anyone who lived with a former vampire could be anything but atheist was beyond Kate).

And then Kate started to wonder if Claire was hurt.

Two weeks had gone by, and Kate had almost mustered up the nerve to ask Garth for Sheriff Mill's number when her phone rang. It was Claire.

“Hey. School starts in two weeks. You should take me clothes shopping.”

Kate was so relieved to hear Claire's voice - she didn't know why except Claire had become her escape from the humdrum of farm life - and she said yes without even thinking.

Garth looked annoyingly smug, but he agreed to let Kate borrow his car to drive to Sioux Falls.

*

Sheriff Mills and her house of unfortunate girls wasn't in Sioux Falls proper. Rather, it was on the outskirts, in a place rural enough to warrant a sheriff. Sioux Falls proper was a bustling metropolis compared to the rest of the state, which was good, because Kate had been afraid there would be nowhere to shop for clothes.

“We could just go to Walmart,” Claire said. “They always bought our stuff at Walmart. Jody's on kind of a budget. Before, her husband had a job and they were only raising a little boy. Two teenage girls are more expensive, plus hunting’s expensive too.” She sat comfortably in the front seat of Garth's old beater, one arm resting on the passenger door, dangling tantalizing bits of other people's lives in front of Kate to avoid any personal topics.

They bought our stuff. Garth had mentioned Claire had been in foster care. Runaway foster kids probably made the perfect meals for werewolves and vampires and other monsters. Kate wanted to ride that train of thought to the end of the line, rail against the injustice of it, but she refused to let Claire distract her.

“Just because you're on a budget doesn't mean you're stuck going to Walmart,” Kate said. “Shopping at Walmart because you're on a tight budget only perpetuates the crushing grip corporate America has on the economically disadvantaged. We'll get your notebooks and stuff at the dollar store, and then we'll hit up vintage stores for clothes. If you want your clothes spiced up a bit, I can help. Bess taught me some tricks with a needle and thread.” In her early months at the werewolf farm, Kate had despised needlework, but once she accepted that everyone, regardless of gender, was pitching in, she decided it was relaxing.

Claire said, “What about corporate America? I just need some new stuff for school.”

Kate winced. Right. Rural midwesterners like Jody Mills were probably pretty conservative. And Claire probably spent most of her life worrying about getting sent to a new foster home instead of caring about politics.

“Sorry,” Kate said. “I didn't mean to get all crazy on you. We can go to Walmart if you want.”

“Nah,” Claire said. “I've been to Walmart hundreds of times. Let's go downtown.”

“Okay.” Kate smiled, relieved.

Claire had been in so many different schools that she had no idea what to expect for her class schedule. Kate had thought that a quick jaunt to the dollar store for school supplies would be a simple affair: one notebook per subject, a pack of her favorite types of pens, and a few one inch binders.

Claire didn't know how many subjects she'd face and admitted she'd probably be behind in all of them. She also didn't have a favorite type of pen. The last time she'd been in one school for a steady amount of time, students were still required to use pencils.

“Besides,” Claire said, counting eight notebooks into the basket Kate was carrying. “Pens are everywhere. Every house has pens. Clothes and a good pair of shoes - those are what matter most. When all your life fits in a garbage bag or a pillow case you don't bother keeping pens.”

Kate nodded like Claire's wisdom was common sense and not depressing. Damn. Even while she'd been on the run, drifting from place to place, she'd always been safe, if only because she was a werewolf, and she'd always had everything she needed. Why had she been so emo about being a werewolf?

The hunger.

Kate smiled brightly. “I prefer the classic ballpoint - cheap, plentiful, and the ink doesn't get too smudgy if your notes get wet.” She added a pack to the basket. “However, for the aspiring artist, these fine tipped gel rollers are best, and you never know when you might need to stave off sleepiness in a boring class by creating the next Mona Lisa.” Kate added a pack of those to the basket. “And finally, for those who prize penmanship above all else, the pilot type rollerball pens.” Kate added them to the basket as well.

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Do I really need that many pens?”

“Yes. Sharing pens is a great way to make friends and meet boys,” Kate said. Her mother had always said the same thing,

Claire's eyes lit up for a second, and then her expression smoothed itself out. “Oh! Boys. They're a waste of time.”

Kate, who'd been studying a compass set so as to not tear up at the memory of her mother, frowned. “What makes you say that? Date the wrong guy?”

“Nope. Just don't need drama. It's me, Alex, and Jody, and that’s enough.” Claire perused a selection of pencil cases with studied nonchalance.

“I thought Jody was married once.”

“She was. That was before, though. Things are different now.” Claire picked a plastic zipper bag for her new stash of pens. Kate grabbed some fine-tipped sharpies - Claire would need to label her belongings and notebooks.

“Oh, well. You can never have too many pens.”

“Unless you're supposed to fit your life in a pillowcase at the last moment.”

“That won't be happening with Jody, though, will it?” Kate put a roll of tape in the basket, along with a stack of index cards.

Claire huffed. “For a girl who doesn't believe in God, you're pretty naive.”

Kate wasn't naive. She was a werewolf. She knew what went bump in the night. But she remembered Claire’s frosty text message silence and held her tongue.

“Hey listen, about that text message I sent, when you asked if I believed in God, I didn't mean to offend you.”

“I wasn't offended,” Claire said. “I just wanted to know how much you knew about hunting and the supernatural.”

Kate searched Claire's expression for any hint that the younger girl was being polite, but Claire looked perfectly serious.

Kate frowned. She knew Sam and Dean hunted monsters - werewolves and vampires and ghosts - but that was all. “The existence of of souls or spirits doesn't mean God is real. The Judeo-Christian tradition was hardly the first to consider the existence of souls.”

Claire put a stapler in the basket. “It's real! All of it,” she said. “Shiva and Buddha, Zeus and Odin. And God. He's real. And he's left the building.”

Kate followed Claire helplessly along the school supplies aisle. “Are you serious?” She kept her voice low.

“As a heart attack.” Claire's voice was equally low. “C'mon. Let's go pay for this stuff, and while we're buying clothes I'll tell you all about it.”

*

So they drifted through a series of thrift stores on the Fast Bank, and between questions about jeans and tops and jackets, Clair told Kate the truth.

The world had almost ended no less that three times in the last decade, and Sam and Dean had been in the middle of it every time. Dean, with his trouty pout and quick draw; Sam, with his Fabio hair and perpetual disapproval of everything and everyone: they had saved the world. Angels were real. Demons were real. God was real.

“Why haven't you told anyone?” Kate demanded.

Claire, posing to model a sturdy denim jacket, laughed. “Dude, it's just like the Bible. Prophets have been writing this nonsense for years. Granted, the really accurate stuff has been marketed as fiction, but it's out there. No one wants to believe.”

“Where can I find these books?”

“Amazon, obviously.” Claire tugged impatiently at the hem of her jacket. “Well?”

“Looks great,” Kate said.

Claire raised her eyebrows.

Kate took a deep breath. Then she smiled ruefully at Claire. “Sorry. It does look great. Do you like it?”

Claire turned to study her reflection in the dressing room mirror. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then let's get it.” Kate held out a hand. Claire shrugged off the jacket and handed it to Kate, who folded it and added it to the pile of clothes they'd accumulated in this store. Kate patted the pile absently and realized she was channeling her mother. Claire who'd closed the dressing room door to try on some more tops, didn't see the horror on Kate's face.

She smoothed the expression away and cleared her throat. She'd realized something. In Claire's telling of the Winchesters heroism (Claire seemed unimpressed by the brothers personally but respectful of their sacrifices), she hadn't mentioned how she knew them. “So, did Jody tell you all that stuff about angels and demons? Does she want you to be a hunter?” From what Claire had told Kate, being a hunter was a poor career choice. At least Jody had a day job.

“No.” Claire said.

“Did you read the books?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it all?”

There was silence from the other side of the dressing room door.

Kate bit her lip. Had she crossed the line?

Claire said, “I think I have enough clothes. Let's go get lunch. If I tell you this, you owe me food.”

Kate nodded and picked up the stack of folded clothes.

*

Over burgers, fries and shakes - being a werewolf had quickly put an end to Kate's vegetarianism - Claire told her story.

“Remember how Sam and Dean were the vessels for the archangels, Lucifer and Michael?”

Kate nodded. She suspected this conversation would require much nodding on her part and little speaking.

“All angelic vessels are genetically predetermined. Demons can ride anyone, but not angels.”

Demons could ride anyone? Or only humans? Kate squashed the urge to ask because Claire was speaking in a careful measured tone and studying her fries closely while she salted them, and she was practically vibrating with tension. One wrong word from Kate would send her running.

“The angel Castiel who pulled Dean from Hell, who opened Purgatory and helped Dean close it - his vessel was my father. Me too, in a pinch. Not my mom, though. Demon rode her. Then an angel killed her.”

Kate pressed her lips into a thin line. What could she say to that? Her family was still alive. Not her sister, but - that thought brought a pang that Kate quelled ruthlessly. She was here for Claire.

“The worst part of it, though, is that angels need consent. Dad prayed to serve God, to help people and God's answer was Castiel.” There was a hitch beneath the relentless bitterness in Claire's voice. “Dad raised me to believe in God, and when he finally came home after being Castiel's vessel, I was so confused about why he refused to pray before dinner. Turns out once you know God and his angels are real, you can't have faith in them anymore. Knowledge kills faith. Funny huh? You'd think knowing would justify your faith.”

Kate nodded. That made sense.

“It's pretty much the opposite. Knowledge kills faith. Killed my dad too.” Claire was building some kind of pyramid with her fries.

“But you said Castiel was still helping Sam and Dean.”

“When Lucifer killed Castiel in the cemetery, Dad's soul went to Heaven. When whoever brought Castiel back, it was in my father's body but there's no take-back with souls - unless you're Sam and Dean.” Claire put the final fry on the pyramid and sat back, eyed it critically. “After everything - Castiel leaving, Mom being possessed – Mom left me with Grandma. Grandma died. Mom stopped writing because an angel had caught her. And I became a 'troubled youth'.” Claire seemed more comfortable talking about her time in foster care. If her smirk was anything to go by, she was proud of her time as a foster kid, proud of being too much for any family to handle.

“And then Sam and Dean and Castiel showed up and now I'm living with Jody.” Claire took a sip of her milkshake.

“I'm guessing you quit going to church,” Kate said.

Claire snorted. “Obviously.” Then she frowned. “Jody still goes to church.”

“Even though she knows...?”

“Yeah.”

That made no sense to Kate, for whom religion made no sense anyway. “Did she say why?”

“‘Lying on a bathroom floor choking on blood because of witch-craft makes a higher power seem relevant’.” Claire had a pretty serviceable imitation of Jody.

“Choking on blood?” Kate echoed.

“Blind date with the King of Hell,” Claire said. She dipped one of her fries in her milkshake. “Stay off of dating websites. Those places are rife hunting grounds for vampires and werewolves and ghouls on the prowl.”

“But angels and God aren't anything like any church teaches,” Kate said.

“Actually, they're a lot like the wrathful ones in the Old Testament.” Claire caught Kate's gaze briefly, daring her to make fun of Claire for actually having read the Bible. “With the smiting and harsh judgments and all.”

Maybe Kate was the silly one for refusing to believe in higher powers now that she knew werewolves and other supernatural creatures were real. “So it's all real. God, the devil, angels, demons, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory?”

Claire nodded. “Yeah. But not like they say in church, for the most part. But everything else is real too. Greek gods, Hindu gods. They're weaker if they have no followers and they can be killed. They're still darn hard to kill, though. Or so Jody said. She helped Sam and Dean kill once once.”

“And Jody still goes to church?”

“She says it's comforting, that it makes sense.”

“Does she make you go?”

“No. Whenever I see angels in stained glass windows I want to smash them. Alex goes sometimes, though. I think just to keep Jody company.”

Kate wondered how anyone could go to church after learning even a fraction of what hunters knew. And yet the world had kept on turning this entire time, despite humanity's ignorance of reality. Kate's world had turned before she was made a werewolf and her world was still turning. All her life, she'd prided herself on her intellect and rationalism, scorning the irrationality of superstitious believers. And yet all the rationality and science in the world wouldn't have saved Claire's mom from a demon, but an old Latin prayer would have.

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” Kate said finally.

Claire shrugged, her expression defiant. “It didn't just happen to me. It happened to all of us. I just got to see behind the scenes the angels and the demons.” Claire sounded bitter rather than grateful for the additional information.

Kate wished, every day that she'd never peeked at the man - the monster - behind the curtain. Then she asked, “What about Jesus? Is he real?”

The old intellectual in Kate - the part of herself she'd permanently sidelined when she realized finishing college and law school would never be an option - stirred to life. For centuries these questions had plagued humanity. Was any of it real? Were angels and demons real? Yes.

Kate's internal glee died when she looked at Claire whose life had been torn apart by this knowledge. Maybe all the old legends about sacred knowledge being only for those prepared weren't entirely about religious oppressing the masses. Maybe the knowledge had been kept back to protect people. How were people supposed to protect themselves?

Claire was halfway through her burger, and she paused at the question. “I don't know,” she said. “Doesn't matter, though. Because he hasn't helped either.”

Did Garth know about angels and demons? He'd been a hunter once.

“Do you need anything else for school?”

“Do we have time for shoes?”

Kate glanced at her watch. “Yeah. Eat fast.”

*

“Yeah, I know all about angels and demons,” Garth said. He and Kate were sitting on the back porch shucking corn for the weekly communal potluck. “I was looking out for the prophet Kevin for a while, before Crowley nabbed him.”

Prophet Kevin?

“Poor Claire,” Garth said. “She's been through a lot. Jody says Claire says she had a lot of fun shopping with you.”

“I'm glad,” Kate said, and it was true. Ever since their shopping trip, Claire had texted Kate daily. She was counting down the days till school started, and she accompanied her morning countdown text with a piece of hunting trivia: dragons are a thing. It pays to sleep around or you can cure a vampire as long as it hasn't tasted human blood and you have blood from its sire.

Kate asked Garth about Claire's tips, and he was pleased at her interest in hunting (which, understandably, none of the others at the farm shared, especially not Bess). Garth mentioned most hunters kept their knowledge of lore recorded in journals, which made hunting difficult sometimes, because there was no central compendium.

Kate ended up using a notebook to write down all of the hunting trivia Claire had sent her, as well as the cooking and farming tips she'd learned from Bess and Garth.

“Is there a centralized werewolf compendium?” she asked Garth with they were out weeding the cornrows,

Bess who'd been picking some green beans for supper, paused beside them, casting a welcome shadow over them. “Not an accurate one. Not written by werewolves. That kind of knowledge would be dangerous if written down, especially if hunters got their hands on it.” Bess cast her husband a pointed look.

Garth didn't rise to the bait. He was unnaturally easygoing. “Why do you ask?”

“I'm curious about my condition,” Kate said. “And all its variations.” Bess had been born a werewolf and could change at will, but unlike Kate, she didn't have enhanced senses or strength while in human form.

Garth only changed at the full moon, and he never retained memories of what happened when he changed.

“That's understandable,” Garth said. He glanced up at Bess. “I'll tell you what I know.”

“I will too,” Bess said. “And if you write it down, at least include that we can be civilized.”

“Of course,” Kate said. Was it fair, that being civilized meant being human? After all, humans were hardly the top of the food chain.

Kate's hands stilled at the realization that, for the first time she'd thought of herself as not human. In the months after her change, she'd screamed and railed at being turned into a monster, but the monster had always been a shell forced on her. She was always human at her core.

Not anymore.

Not when she could hear Luke's truck rumbling up the lane a full minute before everyone else.

“Sure,” she said. “I was pretty good at writing in college. I'm pretty sure I can compose an objective account.”

Bess smiled. “Thank you.” Though she'd been born and raised as a werewolf, she'd also been born in rural Wisconsin as the daughter of a farmer reverend. College had never been an option for her.

Kate said, “Luke's coming.”

Luke owned the farm adjacent to theirs. Where most people in town respected the werewolf community, Luke was regarded with suspicion. Like Kate, he'd taken to farming because he was running from something. No real Wisconsin farmer spoke the Queen's English like he did. Even though he drove a pickup truck and wore sturdy boots and flannel skirts and had work-callused hands, he carried himself like he was a posture model from an etiquette class and something in the sharpness of his features reminded Kate of pictures she'd seen of pinched-face inbred British aristocrats.

Garth and Bess looked confused, and then Bess shrugged it off and headed into the house. A minute later, Garth perked up, having heard the truck himself. People in town looked at Luke like they were Salem Puritans and he was Merlin incarnate, but no one could deny the quality of his squashes, zucchinis, and pumpkins, or his naturopathic remedies. He made his own sunblock, and it had to be good stuff, because he was pale as a ghost and had the kind of white blond hair Kate never saw on anyone past first grade.

During the weekly farmers' market, Kate ended up helping Luke at his stall more often than not because Garth liked to help Bess with their own. If Kate hadn't known Luke had owned the adjacent farm for almost twenty years, she'd have suspected Garth of trying to set her up with their aloof neighbor.

Luke parked beside the barn and killed the engine of his truck, then stepped out. He had boxes of produce in the back.

Garth straightened, winced at the popping sounds in his back. “Luke. What have you got?”

“Some aubergine, per Miss Kate's request. Also some zucchini, and some of that butternut squash Mrs. Fitzgerald likes so much,” Luke said. He heaved three boxes out of the truck and set them down.

Garth whistled, and Jeremy and Jacob emerged from the barn to help get the boxes into the house. The promptness with which the two of them responded always reminded Kate of two dogs heeling for their master. From the amused arch of Luke's brow, he thought the same but like Kate, he knew better than to say so.

“Kate,” Garth said, “help Luke pick some corn.”

Luke had a quaint wicker basket in the cab of his truck. “Miss Kate need not trouble herself,” he said. “I only need enough for myself.”

“And some to feed the chickens,” Garth pointed out before heading into the kitchen with the box of aubergine.

“True,” Luke said ruefully. He glanced up at Kate through his lashes. “If you would be so inclined to assist.”

“Any time.” Kate abandoned the little hook she used to weed and stood up, dusted off her hands. Together she and Luke picked through the corn rows in search of ripe ears, twisting them off the stalks and lowering them into the basket.

“Have you decided what you'll be presenting at the county fair?” Luke asked.

Kate blinked. “What?”

“The county fair next month,” Luke said. “Mrs. Fitzgerald typically submits an embroidery sample. Mr. Fitzgerald offered up a prize hunting rifle he had restored. The Reverend usually shows a lamb or two.”

“No one really mentioned it,” Kate admitted. These days her thoughts were filled with farming and Claire and the fact that she was no longer human. But come to think of it, Bess had been spending the majority her evenings of late sewing, and Garth had spent a lot of time in the workshop tinkering with...something.

“Ah. It's quite the spectacle. Homemade food, barn dances, prizes.” Luke didn't sound particularly impressed.

“What do you usually submit?” Kate asked.

“Music,” Luke said. “There are artistic submissions.”

“What kind of music?”

“I play the violin. Alas, all my years here have not endeared Scarlatti or Vivaldi to the locals. They much prefer the fiddle.” Luke sniffed. “Have any of the local lords come courting? Even though this is not high school, much effort goes into the procurement of an escort for the dance on the first night of the festivities.”

Kate paused mid-wrench of an ear of corn. Was Luke asking her out on a date?

“No,” she said. “No one's asked me. Besides,” she added, suddenly inspired, “I'll have a friend in town, and I promised to show her around.”

As soon as she was done harvesting corn, she'd text Claire and see if she wanted to visit for one last hurrah before school started.

Luke's lips twisted like he was fighting a smile. “Of course.”

“Are you asking anyone?” Kate asked.

“I am not much one for barn dances” he said, the same way Kate's mom said mosh pits. “However, if pressed upon, I will stand up for a reel or two.”

“Stand up?” Kate echoed. “Who are you, Mister Darcy?”

“People keep asking me that, and I assure you, I've never met this Darcy fellow in my life.” Luke eyed the contents of his basket. “I believe this is sufficient. Thank you, Miss Kate. Have a lovely day.”

“You too.” Kate said. Luke returned to his truck, and Kate puzzled over how he could be oblivious to an allusion to Pride and Prejudice. Oh well. She'd better see if Claire wanted to come see the county fair.

*
Like a sleepover? Claire asked.

Kate studied the text message for a long moment. Mostly she'd thought of the invitation as just an offer for a visit, a mini-vacation before school.

Another text message appeared.

Mom and dad never let me have sleepovers because they were sinful. And in foster care I couldn't go on them unless the adults in the house had background checks, and the other kids stopped asking me at all.

Kate stared at her phone, flummoxed. She'd never been queen bee in high school, but she'd had a good circle of friends. She typed back. Yeah. Just like a sleepover.

Claire's response was a smiley emoticon and a thumbs up emoji.

Kate realized she had zero sleepover supplies.

*

Kate couldn't decide. Should she spring for base coat and top coat and only a couple of colors or should she splurge for a whole bunch of colors or should she skip the colors altogether and buy a full manicure set?

“The key to the mysteries of the universe is behind that pink bottle,” Luke said.

Kate jumped startled. How the hell had he sneaked up on her? No one could sneak up on her. She turned and smiled at Luke who had a basket over one arm and was filling it with first aid supplies, from the looks of things.

“Luke,” she said. “I didn't realize you were so stealthy.”

“Constant vigilance, Miss Kate.” He smiled faintly. “You were staring at the nail paint rather intently.” He said nail paint instead of nail polish. Was it an English thing?

“Yeah. Just trying to decide what to get.” Myers Farm was productive enough that no one ever went without, but Kate didn't have nearly as much disposable income as she had before.

“What is the occasion? Not the county fair barn dance. I had thought you had no suitor to impress.”

Two years ago, Kate wouldn't have considered any of the flannel-clad young men a potential date, let alone a suitor. As a college student, she'd preferred more worldly types - educated, erudite, witty. Then she'd been bitten, and all thoughts of dating and romance had gone out the window.

“No, no suitors to impress. My friend is coming into town, and we're going to have a sleepover.”

“And you wish to impress your friend?”

“She - had a difficult childhood,” Kate said. “And she's never had a sleepover before.”

“I am given to understand, from my brief foray into chick flicks, that sleepovers are an important adolescent bonding ritual, and a first sleepover for a teenage girl is an important rite of passage.” Luck tapped his chin, expression thoughtful. “I can see why you're desperate to impress.”

Kate eyed the contents of her basket - Seventeen, Glamour, cotton balls, emery boards - and sighed. “Thanks Luke. That's really reassuring.” Would Claire - who'd seen Heaven and Hell and everything in between - even care about painting her nails or having crushes on boys?

The amusement slid off of Luke's face, and Kate wondered what he'd seen in her face, that he'd stopped toying with her. “In my limited experience with people who've had awful childhoods and are seeking normalcy later than their peers, what they want is...normalcy. So let them experience the ritual as typically as possible, and if they care to experience the ritual again, they'll let you know of any variations they prefer.”

Kate wondered which he was, the friend or the person with the awful childhood. “Were you a psychologist or something before?”

No one knew what Luke had been before. Kate wondered if she'd done something horrible by asking, but it was too late to take the words back,

Luke, however, shrugged the question aside. “What else does a sleep over entail besides that?” He prodded her basket.

“A manicure,” Claire said. “Usually the whole shebang - base coat, two layers of paint, designs if you're talented, top coat.”

Luck blinked. “Let's pretend I understood any of that. Then what's your dilemma?”

“I need to buy a movie and chocolate ice cream, and I'm not sure if I should skip the full manicure in favor of more color options or do the full manicure,” Kate said.

Luke nodded slowly. Kate wondered if she should've asked Garth or Bess for advice instead, but both of them were busy finishing up their projects for the fair.

“What is the purpose of the manicure?” Luke asked. “Besides beautifying the hands obviously.”

Kate paused. “I don't know that there's a specific purpose. It's just one of those things you do at a sleepover.”

“Is the purpose artistic experiment? To decorate oneself in as many colors as possible?” Luke eyed the veritable rainbow of nail polish bottles.

“No” Kate said slowly. She thought back on the sleepovers she'd had. “Usually while one of us paints, someone else reads out one of the magazine quizzes, and we all take turns answering.”

“Then perhaps a more thorough manicure is preferable,” Luke said. “Quizzes though? I had not thought sleepovers were particularly academic occasions.”

Kate laughed at his confused expression. “Not those kinds of quizzes.”

“I should hope not. Well, I wish you well in your social endeavor. I shall see you, I suspect at the fair.” Luke actually bowed his head at her a little before taking his leave. She was surprised he hadn't murmured a Miss Kate before going.

Kate grabbed the appropriate bottles of nail polish and moved on to the next aisle. She'd have to pick Claire up from the Greyhound station in a couple of hours.

Which movie should they watch?

Continue to Part Two
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