Supernatural: Crossroad Blues

A/N: Greetings! So, this story won't be as long as the last one, but it won't be too short either, and I'll be introducing a new type of demon and big scary doggies.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural or Criminal Minds. I just own any and all characters that I just happen create.

CHAPTER ONE: BLACK DOGS?

"As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly."

Proverbs 26: 11

Greenwood, Mississippi

August 1938…

It was nighttime, and at a local saloon, a young black man named Robert Johnson was seated on a small stage, playing. His head was down, and a cigarette dangled from his mouth. The room was sparsely populated with people listening intently. And one woman near the front stared at him, smiling as if the show was just for her, and occasionally he looked up and caught her eye, and even winked once.

It was then he heard the growling of a dog, outside; he paused, but when he heard nothing else, he resumed. Again, he stopped, hearing eerie barking that nobody else seemed to notice, and saw a dark shape flitting past the window. The cigarette fell from his mouth; he was terrified. He stood, clutching his guitar, and bolted from the room in terror. The woman and several others followed, wondering what gotten into him.

After walking at a fast pace for several minutes, Robert stopped, listening for the dog. He heard it, dropped the guitar, and ran.

Soon Robert ran into a wooden house and bolted the door behind him; he heard the scrabbling and barking of the dog and drew a chair across the floor, wedging it under the door. He backed up slowly, and then sank to his knees, weeping, for he knew that he wouldn't get to see another sunrise. The door rattled violently until it flew open; two men and the woman from earlier entered to find Robert sprawled on the floor, convulsing.

"What is going on?" one of the men asked, alarmed.

"Oh my God!" the woman cried as she went to Robert, running her hands over him, and looked back to the men. "Get a doctor. Run!"

Both men ran back out into the night, and the woman leaned over Robert, patting his face. "What happened? Talk to me!"

"Dogs…" Robert gasped, wheezing.

"Stay with us, baby!" the woman cried, clutching at his shoulders now.

"Dogs…Black dogs…" Robert repeated his eyes began glazing over as he took his last breath.

"Robert? Robert, don't you die on me!" the woman cried again, but it was too late: the famous Robert Johnson was dead.

Present day…

The Winchesters were in a diner, eating their respective lunches, and they all were glad that the place wasn't too busy since that meant Sam didn't have to worry about being overwhelmed with too many emotions since his empathic ability was still giving him troubles, and it showed since he was only picking at his chicken salad.

"Sam, please eat," Liz pleaded. "You're already thin as it is, you don't need to lose anymore weight."

Sam sighed. "I'm working on it, Liz, I'm working on it." And proved it by eating a few more bites.

Dean took a sip from his Coke and nodded to the pile of paper. "All right. What do you got on the case there?" he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Sam set his fork down and pulled out several pages of research. "Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed."

Dean snorted. "Hmm. Build a high-rise and jump off the top of it. That's classy. When did he call animal control?"

Sam checked the paper. "Two days earlier."

"Did he actually say Black Dog?" Liz asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. A vicious, wild, black dog," he confirmed. "The authorities couldn't find it, no one else saw it; in fact, the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive."

Dean thought about it. "Do you think we're dealing with an actual Black Dog?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, maybe."

"What's the lore on it?" Liz asked.

Sam shrugged again, passing them the pages. "It's all pretty vague," he admitted. "I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but…some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. But anyways, whatever they are, they're big, nasty…"

Dean examined the artwork of a massive black dog. "Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg, look at that one, huh?" he joked, holding up a picture and smirked; both Liz and Sam glared, and the smirk slipped. "What? They could."

"Grow up, Dean."

In a posh, well-lit room, Sam, Liz, and Dean were wearing suits and they were interviewing a man.

"So, you and Sean Boyden were business partners for almost ten years, right?" Sam asked.

The man nodded. "That's right. Now one more time, this is for…?"

"A tribute to Mr. Boyden. Architectural Digest," Dean responded and the man laughed. "This funny to you?"

The man quickly shook his head. "No, it…it's just, a tribute." He then sighed. "Yeah. See, Sean always got the tributes. He kills himself, leaves me and his family behind… well, he gets another tribute."

"Right. Any idea why he'd do such a thing?" Liz asked.

The man shrugged. "I, I have no clue, I mean he lived a charmed life."

"How so?" Sam asked.

"He was a flat-out genius," the man explained. "I mean, I'm capable, but next to him, I… and it wasn't always that way, either."

Dean raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Liz. "No?"

The man nodded. "You wanna know the truth? There was a time where he couldn't even design a pup tent. Hell, ten years ago he's working as a bartender at this place called Lloyd's. A complete dive."

"Right. So what changed?" Sam asked.

The man shrugged again. "You got me. But overnight, he gets this huge commission, and he starts designing…he starts designing the most ingenious buildings anyone has ever seen. It was like, the level of Van Gogh, and Mozart…" he then stopped talking abruptly.

"What?" Liz asked.

"It's funny," the man remarked, having realized something. "True geniuses, they seem to die young, don't they? To have that kind of talent? Why…why just throw it away?"

The Winchesters exchanged a look, thanked him for his time, and then left while pondering the same thing. If you were so talented and successful, why kill yourself?

A while later, Dean left a building designated ANIMAL PROTECTION AGENCY, still wearing the suit. Both Sam and Liz were waiting in the car, and Dean got in the driver's side.

"So?" Sam asked.

"Secretary's name is Carly," Dean said, making his siblings sighed. "She's twenty three, she, uh, kayaks, and they're real."

Sam rolled his eyes while Liz groaned. "You didn't happen to ask her if she's seen any black dogs lately, did you?"

Dean held up a page. "Every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, or dog-like. There's nineteen calls in all. And, uh," he then pulled off a Post-it note. "I don't know what this thing is."

Sam took it, read it, and laughed; Liz looked over his shoulder, read what was on the note, too, and also laughed, realizing what it was.

Sam glanced at Dean, who was looking confused. "You mean Carly's MySpace address?"

"Yeah, MySpace, what the hell is that?" Dean asked and they laughed again. "Seriously, is that like some sort of porn site?"

Sam and Liz didn't bother to answer, they were laughing too hard.

After recovering, the Winchesters went to each of the names on the list, striking out each time; soon they approached, yet another, white suburban door and knocked.

"I swear, if this is another freakin' Pomeranian barking in the neighbor's yard…" Dean grumbled and then smiled when the door opened to reveal a young woman. "Afternoon, ma'am," he said, pulling out an ID. "Uh, Animal Control."

"Oh, someone already came yesterday," the woman told them.

"Oh, we're just following up," Sam said quickly. "We're looking for Dr. Sylvia Pearlman?"

Soon they were inside, and the woman led them into the kitchen area.

"The doctor, well, she, I don't know exactly when she'll be back, she left two days ago."

"Okay. And you are…?" Liz asked.

"I'm Ms. Pearlman's maid," the woman responded.

Dean looked around the kitchen. "So where did Dr. Pearlman go?"

"I'm not sure," the woman admitted. "She just packed and went, she didn't say where. That stray dog, did you find it finally?"

Sam shook his head. "Oh, not yet. You know, you didn't ever happen to see the dog yourself, did you?"

The woman shook her head. "Well, no. I never even heard it." Meanwhile, Dean took a photograph off the wall: it showed Dr. Pearlman at a bar with two friends. "I was almost starting to think the Doctor was imagining things, but she's not like that, so…"

"Hey, you know I read she was, uh chief surgeon at the hospital," Dean cut in, glancing at the back of the photo. "She's gotta be what, forty two, forty three? That's pretty young for that job."

The woman nodded. "Youngest in the history of the place. She got the position…ten years ago?"

"Huh."

"Huh. An overnight success. Ten years ago," Liz remarked.

"Yeah, we know a guy like that," agreed Dean. "Oh, look at this." He held up the photo, and flipped it over to show writing on the back. "Lloyd's Bar."

In a rumpled hotel room with red curtains and sheets, a forty-something woman, Dr. Pearlman was huddling on the bed. Her hair was frazzled and she was terrified, flinching at the slightest noise and hugging her arms around herself. Soon she stood, and began pacing.

"Oh god."

She heard a loud pounding at the door, and whirled to face it, frozen.

`"Ms. Pearlman? I've been calling for hours,"` said a man outside the door. `"You need to vacate the room or you gotta pay for another night!"`

Swallowing, she opened the door and poked her head out. "Okay. No problem."

She then went to the bed and opened her wallet, pulling out some cash; as she turned back to the door, she saw the man's face stretch hideously, mouth opening wide and eyes rolling back in his head. She gasped, tossed the money down at his feet, shut the door and chained it; she then leaned against it, panting. Oh god…why was this happening to her?!

After changing their clothes, the Winchesters pulled up outside Lloyd's Bar and got out. As they walked towards the bar, both Dean and Liz noticed some yellow flowers growing by the side of the road, and they stopped walking.

"Hey."

Sam stopped and looked at them. "Yeah?"

"That's weird," Dean commented as he and Liz examined the crossroads; on more than one corner, the yellow flowers were growing.

"What?" Sam asked.

Liz nodded to the yellow flowers. "Think someone planted these?"

Sam now looked at the flowers and frowned. "Middle of all these weeds?" and they walked over to the nearest ones.

"These are, uh, what do you call 'em?" Dean asked, having forgotten the name.

"Yarrow flowers?" Sam suggested.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Used for certain rituals, aren't they?"

"Yeah, actually," Sam agreed. "Summoning rituals."

Dean smirked. "Heh. So, two people become sudden successes about ten years ago. Right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's."

Liz raised her eyebrows. "Where there just happens to be a crossroads. You think?"

"Let's find out," Dean suggested, walked to the center of the crossroads and looked around, measuring. "This seem about the dead center to you?"

A short while later, Dean dug a few inches into the hard soil and hit something solid. He stopped. "Yahtzee." He dropped the shovel and dug with his hands, pulling out an old rusted box, and he opened it. Inside was, among other things, several small bones and a small, stoppered jar that Sam took out.

"I'd be willing to bet that's graveyard dirt. And a black cat bone," he added, nodding to the bone that Liz had picked up; she grimaced and quickly dropped it, wiping her hand on her jeans.

"Yuck."

"That's serious spell-work." Dean remarked. "I mean…that's Deep South Hoodoo stuff."

Sam nodded as they straightened up. "Used to summon a demon."

"Not just summon one," Dean pointed out. "Crossroads are where pacts are made. These people are actually making deals with the damn thing. You know, 'cause that always ends good."

"They're seeing dogs, all right," Liz agreed grimly. "But not Black Dogs, they're seeing Hellhounds. Demonic pit bulls."

Dean nodded as he shut the box. "Yeah, whoever this demon is, it's back and it's collecting. And that doctor lady? Wherever she's running? She ain't running fast enough." And that was the understatement of the year.

Inside Dr. Pearlman's hotel room, the door was rattling violently, and she was crouching by the window, screaming. The rattling stopped unexpectedly, along with all the growling, and she got up warily.

Suddenly something invisible burst through the window, knocking her to the ground; screaming again, she scrabbled backwards along the floor, away from the scratching and growling. Something, still invisible, with sharp claws grabbed her leg and shredded it, leaving bloody trails. Soon she was pulled across the floor, grasping at the bed sheets and screaming.

A/N: Eek! I just scared myself. R&R everyone!