Crossroads - Supernatural Rewrite

Something Wicked this Way Comes

The Impala rumbled down a lonely stretch of road, its black frame slicing through the morning haze like a shadow. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken worries. Dean had one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually over the steering column. Sam sat in the passenger seat, flipping through notes with an increasing edge of frustration. And in the backseat, Kat leaned her head against the cool window, arms crossed loosely over her chest, listening.

"Yeah. You probably missed something, that's what," Dean said, not looking away from the road.

Sam exhaled hard, shaking his head. "Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers—I couldn't find a single red flag. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?"

Kat watched the two brothers with the calm patience of someone used to their dynamic.

Dean didn't flinch. "Yeah, I double-checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important, Sammy."

"Well I'm telling you I looked and all I found was a big, steamy pile of nothing." Sam snapped. "If Dad's sending us hunting for something, I don't know what."

In the backseat, Kat leaned forward slightly, "We should check it out anyways. Just in case."

A grin tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth. "See? I'm sure there's something in Fitchburg worth killing."

Sam wasn't finished. "Yeah? What makes you so sure?"

Dean kept his eyes ahead, his voice matter-of-fact. "'Cause I'm the oldest. Which means I'm always right."

Sam groaned. "No, it doesn't."

"Definitely not." Kat added.

"Totally does." Dean bickered back.

She didn't respond. But the corner of her mouth twitched like she might've smiled if she weren't so exhausted.

The Impala cruised past a faded sign on the side of the road: Welcome to Fitchburg. Population 20,501. And whatever was waiting for them there—they were about to find out.

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The quiet hum of traffic was distant as Sam leaned against the side of the Impala, eyes narrowed.

Kat crossed the street with two steaming cups of coffee in her hand, boots thudding softly against the pavement. Dean trailed behind her, holding his own cup.

Kat stepped up beside Sam, her shoulder brushing his for just a second as she held out his coffee.

Sam took it, fingers brushing hers for a second longer than necessary. "Thanks." He looked at her, soft-eyed and quiet, and she felt the familiar ache settle in her chest.

He was right there, and yet, she missed him. Lately, it felt like they were always moving—crisis to crisis—even more so now than before. It was like whatever they had between them just kept getting buried. They hadn't had a moment to just be. And maybe it wasn't fair to want more in the middle of everything, but she did.

"Well," Dean began, interrupting her thoughts. "The waitress thinks the local Freemasons are up to something sneaky, but other than that, nobody's heard about anything weird going on."

Sam's gaze fixed ahead. "Dean, you got the time?"

Dean glanced at his watch. "Ten after four. Why?"

Sam jerked his chin toward the small park across the street. "What's wrong with this picture?"

Kat followed his line of sight, brow furrowing. The playground, a set of swings, a rusty jungle gym, and one lone child climbing aimlessly, was eerily empty.