Crossroads - Supernatural Rewrite

Provenance

The bar buzzed with clinking glass and the low hum of drunken conversation. Dean leaned in close to a young woman—pretty, brunette, full lips curled into a smile.

He typed her number into his phone with ease. "So, is that Brandy with a 'y'... or an 'i'?" He flirted.

Across the room, at a table strewn with papers, Sam shot a look over at his brother and gestured once, calling him over. Dean caught the movement and threw up a single finger—saying 'wait'—before laughing at something Brandy whispered into his ear.

Kat sat beside Sam, bent over some newspapers with her usual focus, paying no attention to Dean's antics.

Sam's next look was sharper, waving Dean over more obviously this time.

Dean's smirk faltered. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back, okay?" He told the girl.

He turned away, smoothly pulling a silver flask from inside his jacket. He unscrewed the cap and, without missing a beat, poured holy water into Kats waiting beer that was perched on the bar. Sliding the flask back into his coat, he picked up their drinks and carried them to the table.

He hated it. Testing strangers was one thing, this was Kat. He replayed Michael's words about a hundred times in his head, trying to convince himself it was just the kid's imagination. But he couldn't ignore it—not when it came to possession.

Dean set the glass in front of Kat, trying to act as casual as possible.

"All right," Sam said, tapping the corner of a newspaper article with his finger. "I think we got something."

"Oh yeah, me too." Dean replied, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward Brandy and her friend. "I think we need to take a little shore leave, what do you think? I'm so in the door with this one." He tried to sound breezy, but his eyes flicked to Kat, gauging her every move.

Sam gave him a look. "So what are we today, Dean? Rock stars? Army Rangers?"

Dean grinned, "Oh, uh—Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills," he chuckled, "I mean hey, it's not that far off, right? By the way, she's got a friend over there, could probably hook you up, what do you think?" He said with a smirk, attempting to get on Kat's nerves.

Kat lifted her head from her research and met his gaze with a slow, unimpressed blink, her shoulders sagging slightly.

"No thanks, I can get my own dates." Sam said, patting Kat's thigh smugly.

She glanced at Sam, slightly surprised by the gesture.

Dean's smile thinned before he changed the subject. "What do you got?" he asked, his tone clipped. But still—his eyes were on Kat's drink. She hadn't touched it yet.

Kat leaned forward, flipping a page. "Mark and Ann Telesca, New Paltz, New York. Found dead in their home a few days ago, throats slit. No prints, no murder weapon, all the doors and windows were locked from the inside."

Dean took a slow sip of his beer, lifting his eyebrows. "Could just be your garden variety murder, you know, not our department."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dad says differently." He turned John's journal, pointing to a marked up map. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one in 1912, second in 1945, and the third in 1970, same M.O. as the Telescas—throats were slit, houses were locked from the inside. So much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern—except for Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we've got one," Dean said, setting his beer down with a nod. "All right, I'm with you. It's worth checking out...but we can't pick this up till first thing though, right?"