Crossroads - Supernatural Rewrite

Nightmare

Sam jolted upright, his pulse hammering in his ears as flashes of his nightmare pictured in his mind. For a second he just sat there, his body catching up to the waking world.

Beside him, Kat lay curled under the thin motel sheets, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. He hesitated, not wanting to wake her—not if this was nothing—but something inside him screamed that it wasn't.

"Hey, Kat," he murmured, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up."

She stirred, groggy and disoriented, blinking up at him. "Sam?" she muttered, her voice thick with sleep.

He didn't answer, instead he casted a glance over at the opposite bed where Dean lay sprawled out, undisturbed.

Sam flipped on the lamp, "Dean," He said sharply, shaking his brother's arm. "Dean. Wake up."

Dean grumbled, rubbing his face as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "What are you doing, man?" he rasped, squinting against the light. "It's the middle of the night."

Sam was already moving, grabbing his duffel from the floor, shoving things inside without care. "We have to go."

"What's happening?" Dean asked, still hoarse.

"We have to go. Right now." Sam insisted, then he was at the door, yanking it open and stepping out into the night without another word.

Dean watched Sam disappear through the door, the cool night air rushing in before it slammed shut behind him. He let out a slow exhale, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning to Kat, who was still sitting up in bed with a furrowed brow.

"What's his deal?" Dean asked, voice rough with sleep.

Kat met his gaze and shrugged, she was just as lost as he was. She ran a hand through her messy curls, still blinking off sleep as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Dean sighed, dragging himself up and moving toward his bag. "You've been glued to his side lately," he said, his voice casual, but there was something underneath it. Something pointed. "Figured if anyone would know what's up with him, it'd be you."

Kat didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she got to her feet, stepping beside him to rummage through her own bag, pulling out a pair of jeans.

Dean paused, watching her for a second before adding, "Just saying—first, you switch beds..."

"Dean." Her voice was firm, cutting him off as she turned to face him.

He held up both hands in mock surrender, but the smirk he offered didn't quite reach his eyes.

Kat rolled her eyes and pushed past him, heading for the bathroom without another word.

Dean watched her go, his smirk fading the moment the door clicked shut behind her. He let out a breath before reaching for his jacket.

His teasing, his little comments—they were nothing more than a well-worn deflection strategy. Deep down, he knew Cassie was a mistake—a desperate, misguided attempt to bury what he felt for Kat. An attempt that had backfired completely.

Instead of dulling the pain, Cassie's presence only drove Kat further away, leaving Dean to watch as she gravitated closer to Sam. The irony cut deep: every careless word, every ill-conceived act of denial, pushed her right toward Sam—and it wasn't just jealousy gnawing at him; it was a bitter cocktail of regret and self reproach.

It had always been the three of them, and with Sam constantly pining for her with those puppy dog eyes of his, it wasn't exactly a shock that something had shifted.

Still, that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

A sick thought twisted in his gut—maybe this was how Sam felt all these years. Watching from the sidelines while Kat and Dean moved in sync, caught in their own unspoken gravity.