Crossroads - Supernatural Rewrite

Phantom Traveler

Dean and Kat were asleep, sharing a bed the way they always did when the three of them ended up in another dingy roadside motel. Sam usually claimed the spare bed without question—it was an unspoken arrangement that worked for them. Years of hunting had taught them to make do with what they had: too many nights squeezed into single rooms, side by side with loaded guns under pillows and knives within arm's reach.

The soft creak of the door woke Kat first. Instinct had her fingers slipping beneath her pillow before her eyes even opened, palm closing around the handle of her knife. She cracked one eye open to find Sam pushing through the door, balancing three cups of steaming coffee. Her shoulders sagged in relief; she let out a quiet breath and pressed a hand over her face.

"Jesus, Sam," she muttered, voice muffled in her palm as she pushed herself up.

Sam gave a soft smile, warm but shadowed by the bruises under his eyes. His attention shifted to Dean, who was beginning to stir with a low groan.

"Morning, sunshine," Sam said to his brother, his tone light.

Dean cracked open an eye, squinting. "What time is it?"

Sam checked his watch. "Uh, it's about five forty-five."

"In the morning?" Dean and Kat chorused, their voices overlapping in sleepy disbelief.

"Yep." Sam crossed to Dean's bedside and handed him one of the cups.

Kat was already crawling out from under the covers, feet hitting the worn carpet with a dull thud. She was in plaid pajama shorts and a loose gray tank top, hair a tousled halo around her face. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist, and padded toward the bathroom.

Dean's eyes followed her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Sam glanced too—just a flicker of his gaze before he forced it away.

Kat caught their looks in the mirror as she reached for her toothbrush. She arched an eyebrow at their reflection.

Dean just grinned, unrepentant, while Sam dropped his gaze to the floor, his cheeks coloring. Kat rolled her eyes, kicked the bathroom door shut with her heel, and let the soft hum of running water drown out the boys for a moment.

She could still hear them, though—Dean's gruff voice carrying through the thin door. "Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked.

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," Sam answered, his tone just a little too casual.

Kat glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes narrowing slightly, knowing he was lying.

"Liar," Dean shot back, proving he wasn't buying it either. "'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial."

Sam's laugh was hollow, just enough to fill the silence. "Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV."

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Dean pressed.

Kat twisted off the faucet, the pipes groaning in protest. She stepped out of the cramped bathroom, and leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes settled on Sam—really settled, in that way only she did.

"I don't know, a little while, I guess," Sam said, avoiding her gaze. "It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is," Dean said, leaning forward, the mattress creaking under his weight.

"Look, I appreciate your concern—" Sam began.

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you." Dean's mouth twitched into half a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp."