Crossroads - Supernatural Rewrite

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Dean sat at the small table of their motel room scrolling on the laptop while Sam sat on the edge of his bed, absently sketching a tree. His pencil moved with a certain focus, as if his hand knew what to draw before his mind did. Kat sprawled out on the other bed, her dark curls cascading in front of her as she thumbed through an old journal.

Dean broke the concentrated silence, his eyes still on the screen. "All right, i've been cruisin' some websites—I think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali, its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas. And here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times." He looked up at his distracted brother and waved a hand dramatically. "Hey! Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?"

Sam quickly looked up, "No, I'm listening. Keep going."

Kat shifted, eyes narrowing as she recognized Sam's tone—knowing he wasn't really present.

"What's going on with you?" she asked softly, but Sam didn't respond, his pencil stopping for just a moment. She got up off the bed and stood next to him, peering over at his sketch.

"A tree?" She said, skeptical.

Sams head popped up in realization, "Wait. l've seen this."

"Seen what?" Dean questioned.

Sam stood abruptly, the sketch slipping from his fingers to the bed. Kat leaned over and picked it up, studying the drawing. Her gaze followed Sam as he rummaged through his duffel bag with growing urgency.

Kat's voice was calm but edged with curiosity. "What is it?"

Sam finally found what he was looking for, an old, faded photo. He held it up, his jaw tight as he compared it to his drawing in Kats hands.

"I know where we have to go next." He announced.

Dean had a deadpan expression. "Where?"

"Back home—back to Kansas." Sam responded urgently.

Kat straightened at the mention of Kansas, a place they rarely spoke of.

Kansas wasn't just where the boys lost their mother. It was where Kat lost hers, too.

The memory pressed against her like a weight she'd carried for years: her tiny hands gripping the phone, tears blurring her vision as she choked out words no child should ever have to say—She's dead. John had arrived a few hours later with Sam and Dean in tow, and that was it. From then on, her life had tied itself irrevocably to the Winchesters.

Dean, meanwhile, blinked at Sam, baffled. "Okay, random. Where'd that come from?"

Sam placed the worn photo in front of his brother. "This photo, it was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?"

Dean picked it up, examining it for a moment. "Yeah."

Kat moved closer, her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

Sam rambled on, "It didn't burn down completely, they rebuilt it right?"

Dean eyed him warily. "I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Sam's breathing came quicker. "Okay look, this is gonna sound crazy, but the people who live in our old house—I think they might be in danger."

Kat's brows furrowed, her gaze flicking between the photo and Sam. She could feel it now—that strange, pulsing pull that settled heavy in her chest.

"Why do you think that?" She asked.

Sam met her eyes, hesitating for a moment before answering. "It's just...just um...trust me on this, okay?" He turned, already moving to pack up, leaving Dean scowling after him.