"So get this," Sam Winchester began, turning his laptop around to face his brother, who happened to be stuffing his face with a hamburger. Dean wiped his hand across his mouth before taking a closer look at the laptop. On it was an article about a young woman, a new homicide detective. According to the article, she's the youngest woman to ever reach that rank.
Dean shrugged. "So?"
"So, I found this published the day after a series of freak thunderstorms in New York."
"So what, you thinking demon-deal?"
"Amazing achievement the day after strange weather patterns? I figure we should check it out."
Dean looked at the young woman again. "She's pretty hot."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I suppose a trip to the coast won't hurt. But I say just scout it out. Not much we can do until her time's up."
Dean grunted in agreement before going back to his burger.
That afternoon, the brothers took off for New York. They started in Minnesota and had about a 19-hour drive ahead of them. With Dean's driving skills, they made it to New York City in about 15 hours. They checked into a seedy motel and immediately crashed.
Detective Beckett stood in front of the mirror and toweled her hair dry the night after her first murder scene as a detective. She had known right off when those so-called "FBI Agents" with the names of classic rock idols showed up and started snooping around her first official crime scene that there was something not quite right. Something about them screamed unprofessional.
There was also something else about them. Something that her demonic side, dormant for years now, sensed as predatory and reacted to. She saw her eyes turn a deep purple in the mirror, and she let them stay that way. She was pissed off, tired, and her mother's case was at a stand still for her. Her eyes hadn't changed since the night of Johanna Beckett's murder, and she was just so damn tired. She put her hair in a ponytail and walked into the kitchen to pour herself a stiff drink and read another chapter in Rick Castle's latest novel. The intrigue and mystery comforted her as she constantly tried to solve the unsolvable. She put her mother's files aside for the night and settled into the couch.
She thoughtfully leafed through the crisp pages, sipping her drink, until a crash from outside the door of her apartment caused her to pause, put her book and drink down, phase her eyes back to their brown human form, and walk warily to the door. She pulled her gun from the kitchen counter and turned the safety off. Beckett took a look through the peephole of her door, saw no sign of anyone in the hallway, steadied her gun, and threw open the door, glancing right then left. Then she looked to the right again as a shock of brown hair disappeared from view. Kate grimaced; maybe she was a little paranoid from her first day on the job, but she had a strange feeling those FBI guys were following her.
Beckett sighed, backed through the door, closed, locked, and bolted it, and put her gun back on the counter before returning to her book and drink, trying to shake off the paranoid feeling. It didn't help that those agents were actually hunters. She sighed and started reading. Not five minutes later, there was a knock at her door. Inside, Beckett set down the book-halfway through the chapter-and got up to answer the door. The hunters were standing in front of her, and the tall one smiled tightly.
She returned the tense smile. "Agent Hammel, Agent Scott. What can I do for you?"
"We just wanted to go over the case with you more thoroughly." Sam's tight smile grew tighter, if that was possible
She leaned back and checked the clock on her stove. "It's ten thirty, Agent. Surely you could've waited until the morning?"
"Not this, Detective," Dean interjected quickly.
She shrugged. "In that case, by all means, do come in."