Supernatural: Provenance

A/N: I return with a new story involving a very creepy painting that leads to a lot of deaths; this one does seem quite proper for the Halloween season when you think about it. Anyway, on with the show!

Read, review, and enjoy!

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

CHAPTER ONE: A CREEPY PAINTING

It was nearly midnight when Mark Telesca placed a painting of a rather creepy dark family just above the fireplace while his wife, Anne, watched; the painted family consisted of a father, looking down at his daughter, who was holding a doll. A mother sat by her two sons, and on the table in the painting sat an open straight razor.

"Okay, right about there," he said, straightening the painting until it was even. "I think that's it."

Anne laughed, and was clearly drunk. "I can't believe we actually bought this thing."

Mark smiled and pulled her close after stepping away from the fireplace. "There's a reason charity auctions have an open bar."

Anne frowned at the painting. "Don't you think, I don't know, it's kind of…creepy?"

"It's okay," Mark said reassuringly as he moved his hand slowly down her back and she laughed. "I'll keep you safe."

"Maybe you're the one I ought to be scared of," Anne teased and they kissed passionately. "Let's go upstairs."

"Give me two minutes to lock up," Mark requested and they kissed again. "Make that one minute," he amended

Anne laughed and moved to the stairs. Smiling, Mark stayed and turned off the lights; while his back was turned, the father in the painting moved his head slightly, seemingly watching Anne as she walked upstairs, and the man's head turned again, just a bit, and now seemed to be watching Mark as he walked to the front door. While he was locking it, he felt a presence in the air and looked around uncomfortably; seeing nobody, he shut off the rest of the lights.

Meanwhile, Anne came out of the bathroom, wearing a nightgown and bathrobe; with a lit candle in her hand, she took off her robe, set the candle on the bedside table, and crawled into bed.

Downstairs, Mark input a code into the alarm system by the front door.

Unaware to Mark, someone or something walked up the stairs with an odd thumping sound.

"If you don't hurry up," Anne called out from the bed, "I'm gonna start without you."

'I doubt that,' Mark thought, walking to the stairs; as he passed the painting, the razor from the table was gone.

Upstairs, the door opened, and the shadow of someone entering appeared on the floor and the candle on the table blew out.

Mark undid his belt as he walked up the stairs.

Mark entered the bedroom and took off his shirt and pants so that he was only wearing his boxers.

"Babe, get the lights. I can't see a thing," he mumbled, bending down to kiss Anne, but stopped when something squished under his hands. "You spill somethin'?" he asked, straightening up and turned on a nearby lamp, discovering blood on his hand. "Anne?"

He gasped because Anne was lying in bed, her throat slashed, and there was an expression of shock and terror frozen on her face; she and the bed were completely covered in blood.

"Anne! Anne!"

He stepped backwards and tripped, falling to the floor, and a shadow was looming over him; he looked up and screamed.

Dean was at the bar, putting the number of an attractive young woman into his cell phone. "All right, you're in there. Perfect. Oh, is that Brandy with a "y" or an "i"?" he asked, grinning.

Sitting at a nearby table, Sam was leafing through their father's journal while Liz sat across from him, looking through several newspapers; finding something, he picked up a newspaper that was next to him, and noticed the headline, "Couple's Throats Slashed in Own Home".

"Look at this, Liz," he said, handing her the paper, and noted how her eyebrows raised, and he waved over to Dean, who ignored him. Exchanging an annoyed look with his sister, Sam waved again, and Dean, noticing, rolled his eyes.

"All right, listen, I gotta go," Dean told the lady. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back, okay?" He took three beers and sat down at the table next to his twin sister.

Sam had the newspaper in his hands again. "All right, so, I think we got somethin'."

"Oh, yeah. Me, too," Dean agreed, not really listening as he glanced back at the bar. "I think we need to take a little shore leave for just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one." And he pointed to the girl at the bar, who was joined by her friend.

"So, what are we today, Dean?" Sam asked, exasperated while Liz rolled her eyes. "Are we rock stars? Are we army rangers?"

"Reality TV scouts looking for people with special skills," Dean answered and Sam laughed while Liz groaned, calling them both dweebs. "I mean, hey, it's not that far off, right?" he added, ignoring Liz's grumblings. "By the way, she's got a friend over there. I could probably hook you up, what do you think? Maybe she knows a guy that I can hook you up with, too, Liz," he added.

Liz glared at him. "Dean, the last time you hook me up with someone, I had to break the jerk's nose in order to keep his hands off of me."

Sam shook his head, bemused. "Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, you can, but you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "Nothin'. What do you got?" he asked.

"Mark and Anne Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their home just a few days ago," Sam asked.

Dean wasn't even listening. "Mmhmm." And he was still staring at the girls by the bar.

"Throats were slit, there were no prints, no murder weapons – Dean," Sam snapped, realizing that his big brother wasn't even listening, and Liz had to jab her twin's ribs with her elbow; Dean glared at her and then turned to look at him. "No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows were locked from the inside."

Dean took the newspaper and glanced at the article. "Could just be a garden-variety murder, you know, not our department. Heck, I think we should let the BAU team know about this."

"Can't," said Liz, "they're working a case down in Mexico right now. Apparently there's a serial killer going after old women according to Garcia."

Sam shook his head. "And Dad's journal says different."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Look," Sam said, turning the journal to them. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York," he explained, pointing to some notes on the page. "First one, right here, 1912, the second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. The same M.O. as the Telescas - the throats were slit, and the houses were locked from the inside. Now, so much time passed between the murders that nobody checked the pattern, except for Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we got one," Dean concluded, exchanging a look with Liz, who nodded.

Sam also nodded. "Exactly."

"All right, I'm with ya. It's worth checkin' out," Dean agreed, much to the relief of Sam and Liz. "We can't pick this up till the first thing, though, right?" he asked, throwing them both with the sudden change of subject.

Sam shared a confused look with Liz. "Yeah."

"Good," Dean said, getting up and walked back over to the bar.

Realizing what Dean meant, Liz sighed. "Sam, I don't think we're going anywhere tonight." And Sam nodded.

"Ladies, did you miss me?" Dean asked, joining the two ladies.

Both women nodded. "Yeah."

Dean laughed. "I'm just kidding. Listen, I talked to my producer, and, uh, it is lookin' good."

Sam laughed as he watched Dean while Liz groaned, wishing that she was somewhere else right now.

The next morning, Dean was sitting in the passenger seat of the parked car, sleeping. Sam, who had just left the Telesca home with Liz, returned to the car and honked the horn loudly.

Dean jumped and woke up while both Sam and Liz laughed, and got in the car. "Man, that is so not cool," he complained, his head pounding from a nasty hangover.

"We just swept the Telesca house with the EMF. It's clean," Sam informed him. "And last night, while you were-" he rolled his eyes while Liz snorted "-out…"

Dean smiled fondly. "Good times."

"I took the history of the house," Sam continued. "No hauntings, no violent crimes, nothing strange about the Telescas themselves either."

Dean frowned, thinking it over. "All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then, uh…maybe it's the contents, a cursed object or somethin'.

Sam shook his head. "The house is clean."

This time Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, you said that."

"No, I mean, it's empty," Sam added. "No furniture, nothin'."

"And really clean," Liz also added. "Not a speck of dust anywhere…or even blood."

"Where's all their stuff?" Dean asked, confused.

After getting some help from Penelope Garcia, it wasn't long before the Winchesters parked the dusty Impala next to some very expensive cars that looked brand new and newly washed.

The owner, Daniel Blake, was talking with an older woman about some of the items being auctioned when he saw the Winchesters entered and was irritated as he didn't approve of walk-ins or even those who weren't properly dressed, in his mind anyway; he excused himself from the conversation and walked away. At another area of the room, Dean, Liz, who was wishing they'd at least changed their outfits before entering the place to something to make them blend in, and Sam were looking around at the items.

"Silent auctions, estate sales," Dean grumbled, "it's like a garage sale for W.A.S.P.s, if you ask me." He did quiet down when he saw several trays of food, which he helped himself to as he couldn't resist free food, and put some in his mouth when Daniel approached them.

"Can I help you, gentlemen, miss?" he asked curtly and they turned to face him.

"I'd like some champagne, please," Dean requested with his mouth full, and almost choked when Liz discreetly stomped on his foot when it was obvious that Daniel was offended.

Sam repressed a groan. "He's not a waiter," he said quietly, leaving Dean slightly embarrassed at his goof. "I'm Sam Connors," he said, introducing himself and extending his hand to Daniel, who looked at it but didn't shake it. Sam, slightly thrown off, nodded to both Dean and Liz. "This is my brother, Dean and my sister Elizabeth. We are art dealers with Connors Limited," he added.

"You're art dealers?" Daniel asked, skeptical.

Sam nodded. "That's right."

"I'm Daniel Blake. This is my auction house," Daniel informed them curtly. "Now, gentlemen, miss, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

Sam was about to speak, but Dean cut in.

"We're there, Chuckles," Dean said, still eating. "You just need to take another look." Both Sam and Liz gave their brother scandalized looks, just as a waiter carrying a tray of champagne passed them, and he took a glass. "Oh, finally." He turned back to Daniel and sniffed the champagne before walking away.

"Cheers," Sam said weakly as he and a frustrated Liz followed their brother.

"I'm so going to kill Dean," Liz hissed, glaring at her twin's back.

"Wait until after the case," Sam suggested, but was feeling the same way, know Dean to cause trouble with the locals, and drag both of them with him. It was going to be a long day.

The Winchesters continued to look around; after a few moments, they noticed of the painting from the Telesca home. Exchanging a look, they walked over to it and began to examine it. A moment later, they heard a female voice from above, belonging to Sarah Blake.

"A fine example of American primitive, wouldn't you say?" she asked, drawing their attention to her as she walked down the circular stairs from the second floor, wearing an elegant black dress. Sam was instantly taken by her and was also momentarily confused at her comment; Dean hit him on the shoulder, obviously thinking she was attractive, giving him a chance to recover while Liz repressed a snicker.

"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," Sam said, recovering his voice when she joined them, and she looked at the ground bashfully. "But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did," he added.

"Guilty," Sarah admitted. "And clumsy, I apologize." While they were talking, Dean took more food off a passing tray and Liz rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I'm Sarah Blake," she added, extended her hand, and Sam shook it.

"I'm Sam. This is my-" Sam began, turning to see that Dean had his mouth full again "brother, Dean, and my sister Liz," he finished, sighing while Liz moaned.

Sarah gave the older Winchester an inquiring look. "Dean?"

Dean smiled at her. "Mm?"

"Can we get you some more mini-quiche?" she asked, referring to what he was currently eating.

Dean shook his head, his mouth still full. "Mm-mm, I'm good, thanks."

Bemused, Sarah turned back to Sam while Liz hissed at Dean to knock it off. "So, can I help you with something?" she asked, ignoring the sparring match going on behind her now.

"Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam asked skillfully.

"The whole thing's pretty grisly, if you ask me, selling their things this soon," Sarah said sadly. "But, Dad's right about one thing. Sensationalism brings out the crowds - even the rich ones." And both she and Sam shared a smile, which neither Dean or Liz missed; it was obvious to the twins that there was a definite connection between their little brother and Sarah.

"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam requested and Sarah was about to speak, but she was interrupted by her father coming up to them, scowling.

"I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that," he said curtly.

"Why not?" Sam asked, exchanging a wary look with Liz, and both were hoping that Dean would keep his mouth shut, or at least too full of food to talk.

"You're not on the guest list," Daniel snapped. "And I think it's time to leave."

Unfortunately for Sam and Liz, Dean spoke up. "Well, we don't have to be told twice."

Daniel glared at him. "Apparently, you do."

"Okay, it's all right," Sam said quickly. "We don't want any trouble. We'll go," he added as Liz pushed Dean back toward the entrance; after sharing a sad look with Sarah, Sam followed them.

"Dad, that was rude," Sarah scolded, but it was obvious that her dad didn't care as he ignored her and went back to mingle with the rich guests that had been invited.

A few hours later, Dean, Liz, and Sam got their bags from the car and walked to the door of the motel room.

"Grant Wood? Grandma Moses?" Dean repeated, confused. "What?"

"Art history course," Sam answered. "It's good for meetin' girls."

"I bet it is," Liz joked.

Dean shook his head sadly. "It's like I don't even know you." And he opened the door.

The Winchesters entered and looked around at the deco as Dean turned the lights on; the room was designed around a seventies theme, and it was covered in disco-patterned wallpaper, and most of the furniture was chrome.

"Huh."

They moved to the beds, unfazed by the room, and began unpacking their things.

"What was it, the providence?" Dean asked, getting the word wrong.

"Provenance," Sam corrected and Dean mouthed the word, trying to pronounce it while Liz snickered. "It's a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know?" he added. "We can use 'em to check the history of the pieces, see if anything's got a freaky past."

Dean was impressed. "Huh. Well, we're not gettin' anything out of Chuckles, but, uh, Sarah?" He smirked and Liz giggled.

Sam rolled his eyes, wishing that his brother would get his brain out of the gutter more often. "Yeah. Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin," he teased.

Liz burst out laughing while Dean chuckled.

"Not me," he said slyly.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Sam protested quickly. "Pickups are your thing, Dean."

Dean smirked while Liz had to sit down on the bed as she continued laughing. "It wasn't my butt she was checkin' out."

Sam flushed. "In other words, you want me to use her to get information."

"Sometimes, you gotta take one for the team," Dean declared, holding out his cell phone to his little brother. "Call her." And Sam reluctantly took the phone, suddenly wishing that he was somewhere else right now.

That night, Sam and Sarah were seated at a table, dressed in formal clothing, and the atmosphere was a bit uncomfortable for them both.

"Nice place," Sam said half-heartedly.

Sarah nodded nervously. "Yeah." And they were silent as the waiter served them glasses of water. "Glad you called. Surprised, but glad," she added, not voicing the fact that she'd been worried that her dad had scared them off for good.

Sam was surprised. "Yeah?"

"Although you seemed to have trouble getting out the words, "Would you like to have dinner?" Sarah stated and he laughed, flushing as he recalled the phone call earlier, which had almost been a disaster in itself.

"Yeah. I haven't really been on a date in a while," Sam admitted sheepishly.

Sarah smiled. "Welcome to the club."

Sam stared at her, once again surprised. "You're kidding me."

Sarah honestly shook her head; just then, the waiter returned to their table and handed them two menus.

"Here we are."

"Thanks," said Sarah.

"The wine list," the waiter said, handing a smaller menu to Sam.

Suddenly nervous, Sam took it and looked through it, without the slightest idea what he was doing.

Sarah was able to sense his awkwardness. "I don't know about Romeo here, but I'll have a beer," she requested and Sam smiled, silently relieved.

The waiter nodded and looked at Sam. "And you?"

"Make that two," Sam added, glad that he didn't have to risk choosing a wine that would turn out to be horrible since he knew absolutely nothing about that sort of stuff. 'Talk about being saved by the bell.'

The waiter nodded and took back the wine list. "Certainly."

A few hours later, the tension had faded and both Sam and Sarah were already on having a third round of beers.

"So, you studied art in school, huh?" Sam asked as the waiter replaced their empty beer bottles with full ones.

"It's true. I was an artist, a terrible, terrible artist," Sarah answered, laughing. "It's why I'm in the auction business. And you were pre-law?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"But you didn't go to law school. How come?" Sarah inquired.

Sam flushed and looked away, toying with his beer bottle. "Uh, it's a really long story for another time."

Sarah smiled, but didn't push. "You're not like any art dealer I've ever met."

Sam looked at her. "So, what'd you mean when you said you hadn't been on a date in a while? You tryin' to make me feel like I'm not such a loser?" he teased.

Sarah giggled. "I'm sure you're many things, Sam. I'm also sure "loser" isn't one of them." He smiled, but her smile faded slightly. "It was my mom," she explained. "She died about a year ago - totally unexpected. It really threw me. I went into this shell - a nice, warm, safe shell. But lately, I've been thinking. It's not what she would have wanted for me, so…" and she trailed off, but it was obvious by Sam's expression that he could easily relate. "So, what about you? You're a reasonably attractive guy."

Sam laughed. "Reasonably?" he repeated, bemused.

"Why haven't you been out and about?" she asked, but Sam's smile faded, and he remained silent, obviously thinking of his own mom and Jessica. "Another long story for another time?" she asked and he nodded.

A/N: And that is it. Now I just have to upload this and pounce on my nephew before he pulls my hair out. R&R everyone!