#01x19

The Hudson Valley Beacon newspaper sits between you and Sam “Couple’s throats slashed in own home” written in bold letters right on the front page. You grimace and put your hand on the paper and Sam sighs. “Gruesome, huh?” You nod and he waves at Dean from across the bar. He’s leaning over some girl with that look in his eyes that’s reserved for only securing a hookup and you can almost hear him groaning as he has to walk away. 

He walks over with two beers and although yours is sitting in front of you, now flat and warm, you grab one from his hands. Sam doesn’t seem to notice or care, so you sip on it as it talks. “I think I’ve got something,” he tells his brother. 

“Oh, yeah, me too,” Dean smirks and looks back at the girl at the bar. Her hair is blonde and goes down to the middle of her back and she looks skanky. You don’t say anything. “I think we need to take a little shore leave. Just for a little bit. What do you think, huh?” Dean asks. “I’m so in the door with this one.” All three of you look at her and Sam finds the whole thing amusing as always, so he teases Dean. 

“What are we today, Dean? Rock stars? Amy rangers?” 

“Reality TV scouts. Looking for people with special skills,” Dean replies quickly. The smile on his face grows as you watch him and the words leave your lips just as quickly. 

“And what’s her special skill?” Dean laughs your question away and you roll your eyes as he takes a sip of his beer, nodding it toward the girl at the bar. “We have a case here,” you speak again when he doesn’t acknowledge you. “If you don’t mind paying attention.” Sam chokes a laugh and Dean whips his head toward you. You smile at him and tap the newspaper with your fingers. “Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their home just a few days ago.” Dean mumbles and looks back at the girl. She waves and throws her hair over her shoulder. You speak louder. “Their throats were slit and there were no fingerprints, no murder weapons,” you continue on but it’s painfully obviously he’s no longer paying attention so you throw your arms across your chest and pout. “I give up,” you say to Sam. 

“Dean?” Sam calls, getting his attention. “No prints. No weapons. All doors and windows were locked from the inside.” 

Dean nods and says, “could just be a garden-variety murder. Who dug this one up? Her?” He laughs and nods his head toward you and you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh, yn, you know I’m teasing. What else you got?” 

“Dad says differently,” Sam pulls the journal from under the newspaper you were looking at. It’s still open to the page you guys were reading earlier. As Sam explains, he points at the map on the page. Three red dots all in the same area of New York. Each a different murder. “First one, 1912. Second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. All the same M.O as the Telescas - the throats were slit.” 

Dean looks down at the page and you can see his brain working behind his eyes. “Still think I don’t know what I’m talking about?” You snap. Dean's eyes flash to you and then back to the paper. 

“It’s worth checking out,” Dean finally agrees. “We can’t pick this up until first thing, though, right?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says. Dean smiles, mumbles a great, and darts away from the table. You can hear him from your table and you roll your eyes, pushing yourself away from the back of your chair. 

“He’s relentless,” you complain. Sam laughs and shrugs his shoulders, seemingly unbothered by Dean’s antics. You don’t let it bother you because Sam is smiling at you the way you like and he grabs your hand. 

“Maybe. But at least he’ll be gone all night, right?” 

+++ 

Dean’s hungover the next morning, rolling out of bed barely alive it seems. He throws sunglasses on his face to hide his baggy eyes but you see them and you laugh. “Was she worth it, at least?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He mumbles and pushes past you toward the Impala. The sun is bright and the day is warm and Sam kisses the top of your head where your hair is collecting the heat. 

“What's up with you guys lately?” He asks and you knit your face together and look up at him. “You guys have been short with each other. It’s not normal.” 

“He’s just hungover,” you try to explain it away but it wasn’t the drinking that bothered you or even that he could barely hold a conversation the night before without looking at somebody's ass. It was more than that but you don’t tell Sam that, you just get into the backseat and stay behind Dean so he can’t look at you. 

You go inside the Telesca’s house with Sam and sweep the house with EMF. You check for anything out of the ordinary but there isn’t anything. The house seems perfect except for the fact that it’s completely empty. There isn’t a piece of furniture in sight. “Isn’t that weird? That all their stuff is gone?” You ask Sam as you check the living room for the second time. 

“I guess so. There are no signs of anything paranormal here, though,” he says, looking back up the set of stairs that had nail holes from a stair runner that’s now gone. 

“What if it wasn’t the house but something in it? How are we gonna find it all?” Sam just shrugs and he nods his head for you to leave the house. Dean is passed out in the car, his head leaning against the window. Sam shushes you and holds out his palm telling you to stop moving so you do. You don’t even put your hand on the door handle. Sam can’t help but smile as he reaches his arm inside of his open window and smashes his fist on the horn. Long and hard. It’s so loud it makes you jump but then you laugh at Dean who’s startled awake and strings together a line of profanity. 

“Not cool, man,” he says as you get inside of the car but Sam is just laughing which makes you laugh, too. 

“The house is clean,” you tell Dean. “We check the history of the house last night and there’s no evidence that it’s ever been haunted. Nothing weird about the Telesca’s either.” Dean tips his glasses off his face and sinks further down into his seat. 

“Well if it’s not the house and it’s not the people, then maybe it’s the contents. A cursed object or something,” he suggests. 

“The house is clean,” Sam says again. 

“Yeah, yeah, you said that,” Dean says. 

“No, it's empty. No furniture, nothing,” Sam clarifies. This gets Dean’s attention and he sits up further and you’re hoping for something profound to come out of his mouth to make it make sense but instead he asks the question you both have been thinking the entire time: “where’s all their stuff?” 

It wasn’t really hard to find the estate sale online. It’s a huge attraction it seems: rich family dies young, everything must go. You three stand out like a sore thumb. Not just you and your street clothes but the Impala, too. Every other car is pristine and expensive and the Impala was barely hanging on. Everyone stood around in suits and drinking champagne and they were shopping like it was a fucking furniture store and not dead people’s belongings. It made you shiver. “Estate sales are like garage sales for W.A.S.P.S if you ask me,” Dean complains as he snatches an hors d’oeurve off a waiter. 

“Can I help you three?” A voice booms from behind you and you whip around to an older man wearing a tuxedo and too much gel in his hair. 

Dean smacks his food next to you and you elbow him in the side, making him groan. “I’d like some champagne, please.” 

The man’s face drops, clearly offended by the question and you can hear yourself audibly gasp as you look up at Dean. “He’s not a waiter,” you hiss as Sam introduces himself as Sam Connors this time. 

“This is my brother Dean and our friend YN. we’re art dealers with Connors Limited,” Sam explains. You tug on your t-shirt as you nod. 

“I’m Daniel Blake. This is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list,” the man says. He looks down at you as his sentence wraps up and you want to recoil into Sam’s chest but you stand up straighter instead. 

“We’re there, Chuckles. Just need to take another look,” Dean says with his mouth full. You pinch his arm and he doesn’t react. A waiter walks up behind you with a tray of champagne and Dean takes one. “Finally.” He sniffs the champagne and Sam tells Daniel Blake cheers and you shuffle away. 

“Are you still drunk?” You hiss at Dean once you’re out of earshot and he laughs, taking a swig of the champagne. 

“No but you should loosen up some,” he suggests. Instead of arguing with him, you grab the glass from his fingers and finish it off. You set it down on an empty tray as you walk by. You can see Dean smirk at you out of the corner of your eye as you walk away from the boys. Your fingers dance on the expensive vases and statues in the room and you wonder how someone can live like this. With so much that they don’t need. “Look at that ugly thing,” Dean mumbles from behind you. You turn around to see a painting almost bigger than you are with a family staring straight back at you. A little girl holding a stuffed bunny and everyone else with a look of distaste written in their eyes.

“A fine example of American primitive, wouldn’t you say?” Someone says from behind you. She’s descending the stairs and hair is pinned up and her dress is all black, hitting right above her ankles and she is beautiful. Dean smacks Sam’s arm and you don’t like her, you decide. 

“Well, I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses,” Sam says when she reaches the three of you. She laughs and looks down at her feet and you swear she’s blushing. “But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did.” 

“Guilty,” she says. “And clumsy, I apologize. I’m Sarah Blake.” She sticks her hand out to Sam and when the waiter comes around with more food and champagne, this time, you grab your own. 

“I’m Sam,” he says. “This is Dean and YN,” he introduces you. You smile at her with your mouth full of mini wieners and she looks at you like she’s better than you. 

“Can we get you guys any more food?” Dean shakes his head at her and she turns back to Sam and you can feel your blood boiling inside of you. Your chest tightening and your fist clenching. “So, can I help you with something?” She asks. 

At the same time you blurt out the word no, Sam tells her yes. Everyone looks at you and Sam’s screaming at you with his eyes so you gesture toward him and take a step back. “Sorry about her,” he says with a chuckle to try and ease the tension but it’s still there. You can feel it in your gut. “What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” 

“The whole thing is pretty grisly if you ask me. Selling their things this soon. But Dad’s right about one thing: sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.” She’s trying to be funny but you don’t laugh because you don’t think she’s funny. Sam smiles. 

“Is it possible to see the provinences?” He asks her.

“I’m afraid there isn't any chance of that,” Daniel Blake says before Sarah has a chance to answer and you’ve never been so glad to get busted in your life. He knows you lied. And he’s here to kick you out and you can finally breathe. 

“Why not?” Sam asks. 

“Because you’re not on the guest list. It’s time for you to leave,” he says. 

“Don’t gotta ask me twice,” you mumble and push between the boys. 

“Apparently you do,” Daniel says. His voice is directed toward you and you snap your head at him and open your mouth and Sam’s voice comes out instead. 

“We don’t want any trouble, we’ll go,” he says. Dean puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you away. 

+++ 

You don’t speak the whole drive to the hotel and thankfully Dean asks the question you were wondering yourself: “Grant Woods. Grandma Roses, what the hell was that all about?” 

“I took an Art History class. It was good for talking to girls,” Sam admits. 

“Yeah, seems to have worked,” you snap. Sam looks at you amused more than anything and you don’t look back at him. You push yourself past Dean and into the room and you hear Dean laugh and say: “it’s like I don’t even know you.” Your feet stop you in your tracks and the boys run into your body. They’re about to start questioning you when their eyes see what you see: a disco-themed hotel room. Black and silver everything: wallpaper, bedding, furniture. There are silver beads hanging from the ceiling and a silver divider made up of circles separates the living space from the sleeping space and in unison, you all mumble “huh.” 

You throw your stuff down on the bed as Dean asks, “what is this providence you asked for?”

“Provenance,” Sam corrects. “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know? We can use them to track the history of the pieces. See if anything’s got a freaky past.” You unpack your bag as he talks. The wallpaper is starting to hurt your eyes so you lay down on the bed and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Don’t think we’re getting anything out of Chuckles, but, Sarah,” Dean says, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. You peak under your arm at him. 

“What about Sarah?” You ask too loudly. 

“Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam teases, clearly not picking up what Dean was insinuating so you handed it to him on a silver platter.

“Not him, you idiot. You.” Sam looks over at you, shocked but you’re not looking at him. You can’t and don’t want to. 

“No, no, no, no,” Sam says quickly. “Pick-ups are your thing,” he says to Dean. “Besides, we’re together.” Sam knocks his knuckle on the bottom of your shoe and you still don’t look at him. You want to say yes but you don’t. 

“It wasn’t my butt she was checking out,” Dean says, holding his hand to his chest. 

“So what you’re saying is you want me to use her for information?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound particularly averse to the suggestion and now, you look at him. He’s looking at Dean and he’s skeptical. 

“Yes. That’s what we’re saying,” you say. Both boys look at you. Dean more proud than anything and Sam, well, he just looks hurt. “If she likes you, you do what you need to do to get those providences.” 

“Provenances,” Dean corrects you. 

++++

You sit on the edge of the bed, your knee shaking up and down so quickly Dean puts his hand on your thigh to stop you. “Would you stop freaking out?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, just exasperated. 

“Why did I tell him to do that? She was too eager. Did she seem eager to you? Did he?” The questions come flying out of your mouth so fast Dean doesn’t have a chance to answer any of them except for one. 

“Sometimes, you gotta take one for the team,” he says. “That means you, too. I’m sure he didn’t want to go.” 

“What if she wants to kiss him at the end of the night? That’s what you do on dates, right? I wouldn’t know.” You shake your head. You had never been on a real date before. Sure, you hooked up with people before Sam came back around but that was different. You were never taken out. You were never escorted to a fancy table with a candle in the center and then walked to your front door where they kissed you under the ugly fluorescent light of the porch. Kissing is what they did, right? 

“He’s not going to kiss her, would you relax? He loves you.” The word startles you and your head snaps to Dean. “You didn’t know?” He laughs. “Always has. Took you two long enough.” You did know, deep inside. You don’t answer him and your leg starts to shake again but Dean’s hand is still holding you steady. 

“You can move your hand now,” you tell him. 

“Are you going to start bouncing your leg again?” He asks. You nod. “Then I’m not moving my hand.” 

It’s late when Sam finally comes back. Later than you anticipated but you fell asleep on Dean’s lap to the sound of him sharpening a knife. Sam barely wakes you when he comes in but Dean shakes you awake. The tie he was wearing is now off and his shirt is unbuttoned and he’s rifling through some papers. You sit up and away from Dean, suddenly very aware of how close you two are. “Are those them?” You ask. Sam looks at you solemnly and nods. He’s sitting at the table with his back mostly toward you and Dean. His eyes barely catch yours for a moment. 

“She just handed the providences right over?” Dean asks, still sharpening his knife. 

“Provenances.” Sam corrects, again, sounding very tired. 

“Provenances,” Dean tastes the word in his mouth but Sam keeps talking. 

“Yes, we went back to her place. I got a copy of the papers.” he says. Your eyes narrow at him but he doesn’t look up at you. Dean stiffens beside you. 

“And?” He pushes even though you wish he wouldn’t. 

“And nothing. I left.” He says over his shoulder. 

“You didn’t have to con her or do her any special favors?” Dean asks. 

“Would you stop?” You ask him. Dean looks at you and his eyes soften and he mouths I’m sorry and you forgive him. Just like that. He swipes the knife against the sharper. 

“I think I got something here,” Sam says. Dean gets up and walks over to him, taking the papers that Sam flung over his shoulder. He still doesn’t look at you. 

“Portrait of Isaiah Merchant’s family, painted 1910,” Dean reads. 

“Now compare the names of the wonders with Dad’s journal,” Sam tells him. You scramble across the bed to where the journal sits open to the page. It’s like Sam’s brain stores information like this, always keeping it in his back pocket for a rainy day. 

“First purchased in 1912 to Peter Sims,” Dean reads. 

“Peter Sims murdered in 1912,” you read back to him. Dean looks over at you and then back down at the paper in his hands. He crosses the room to you and you show him the book because you know he wouldn’t believe you otherwise. His eye flash from his paper to the journal and back again. “Same thing in 1945?” You ask. Dean nods. “1970?” He nods again. 

“Then stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Telesca’s bought it,” Sam says. He throws one of his legs over his knee and rests his ankle on it, grabbing at the ends of his jeans. He’s smug and normally you’d like it but right now it makes you mad. 

“So what? Is it haunted? Cursed?” You ask Dean. He juts out his lower lip in thought and bobs his head from side to side. 

“Either way, it’s toast.”