I haven't ever written Dresden fanfiction before, but I did want to work on writing some and thought it would be fairly easy to cross his universe with Supernatural. This first chapter is pretty short as it is just sort of an introduction, but they will get longer. I tend to be rather wordy, in general. This is book universe Dresden Files only! That will become obvious in the next chapter.

Please let me know if you have any constructive criticism on writing Harry and if you enjoy the story. I will be trying to update every week or so, although I don't want to get locked into too specific of a time as I am extremely busy. The story will be about 50 chapters, I think. Enjoy, and let me know if you do!

Professional Wizard?

Sam thought to himself that if he had to choke down one more greasy hamburger this week, it would be the final straw. Dean loved them, the greasier the better, so this diner near the motel where they had been staying was the only place they had eaten for the last four nights. Today, Sam had ordered a grilled cheese sandwich but had only taken one bite before realizing that it was just as greasy as the burger. To distract himself from Dean's obvious enjoyment of his bacon cheeseburger and the blonde, rather curvy, waitress who had brought it to him, Sam had his nose pressed into the local paper.

The demon horde was spreading and he was quickly getting used to the key words that indicated it was time for them to be on the road again, hunting down the next pack of them. Newspaper reporters (for some reason) were hesitant to assign the blame for strange and unusual happenings to a band of demons newly-escaped from hell, so they used words like "unexplained" or "no one is quite sure" or "bizarre," usually followed by even less pleasant words like "murder" or "death" or "disappearance." These demons seemed to be moving in groups, so where there was one unexplained phenomenon, closely followed by yet another similarly strange event, Sam pointed Dean (and the Impala) toward that town, and off they went. That was what had brought them here to Rileyville, Illinois: five murders in a two-week span, in a town that usually had one every other year or so. They had come hoping to send the demons back to hell. Mission accomplished, in this case at least.

Sam skimmed quickly over the local news and moved on to general Illinois headlines, dominated primarily by the goings-on in Chicago, which only made sense. There were the usual government scandals and coverups, robberies, accidents, and wizard-troubles. Sam blinked, and reread the last headline. He hadn't been imagining it. "Professional 'wizard' questioned about bizarre murder." He glanced up at Dean, who had left the table and was now standing with one hip against the stained Formica counter, chatting happily with Donna, the curvy waitress. Dean raised his eyebrow and winked and Sam knew that meant he'd be spending a couple hours in the car after dinner while Dean made nice with the local girl. Maybe this town was big enough that their library stayed open in the evenings. He dropped his gaze back to the article and he could feel his eyebrows climbing higher and higher as he read.

The man apparently professed to be an actual wizard who could do magic and everything. And, according to the article, he worked part time for the Chicago Police Department. Interesting enough. But it was the fact that he blamed the "bizarre murder" on recently-rampaging demons that really caught Sam's attention. He wondered if this guy was the crackpot the reporter insinuated or if he was a hunter who just called himself a wizard because it was easier to explain. That didn't really make sense, though. When he looked up again, Dean was gone and so was the waitress. He glanced at his watch. He would give Dean two hours, and then they would head toward Chicago. He paid the bill for the greasy cheeseburger and inedible sandwich and didn't bother to leave a tip for the waitress. He supposed she wouldn't complain too much that Dean was taking care of that part.

There was a phone book in the corner by a dilapidated-looking pay phone. No libraries in the town at all. Damn. Usually, if he knew Dean would be "enjoying life while I've got it, Sammy," he'd stash a few of his research books in the car to keep him entertained. It was pitiful and he knew it. He let Dean get away with this kind of crap because he felt guilty about being the one alive now and for the foreseeable future, while Dean's death was pretty much an inevitability in seven more months. Dean had traded his own life for Sam's. How could Sam now insist that Dean not make him wait out in the car while he sampled the local flavor? He couldn't, right? So, he sat in the car and most of the time tried not to think about what was happening in the motel room. If he had books to read, that helped a lot. Tonight, he only had the local paper and the admittedly-interesting article about the supposed professional wizard. He didn't really think that would be enough to keep him distracted for long, though. He glanced around the diner, hoping to see some other potential reading material – but even the "Thrifty Nickel" want-ads stand was empty. Not that he wanted anything, but sometimes he could get a chuckle out of reading what was being sold, bartered, or given away.

Abandoning all hope of that diversion, he stepped out into the muggy sunset-colored evening. He was halfway to the motel when he felt the first drop of rain and pretty-thoroughly soaked by the time he reached the Impala and grabbed for the door handle. It was locked. Hell.