DISCLAIMER: I only own my character! Anything you might recognize is courtesy of the CW. Any Gifs and/or pics present are not mine. They were pulled from google searches and/or Tumblr.

In a saloon at night in 1938…

Robert Johnson was seated on a small stage as he played his guitar. His head was down, and a cigarette dangled from his mouth. The room was sparsely populated with people listening intently. One woman near the front stared at him. She smiled as if the show was just for her, and occasionally he looked up and caught her eye.

Outside, he heard heavy footsteps and the angry growling of a dog and paused. Ignoring it he resumed playing before the sound happened again. He stopped and heard eerie barking but as he looked around, he concluded that nobody else seemed to notice. The cigarette fell from his mouth as he looked in terror once he noticed a dark shape flitting past the window. He stood, clutching his guitar, and bolted from the room in terror, the woman and several others following him in confusion.

Outside Robert stopped, listening for the dog. When he heard it, he dropped the guitar, and ran into a nearby wooden house, bolting 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 before backing up slowly. Then he sunk to his knees, weeping as the door rattled violently until it flew open. Two men and the woman from earlier entered to find Robert on the floor, convulsing.

"What is going on?"

The woman screamed, "Oh my God!" She rushed over to him and ran her hands over him, "Get a doctor. Run!" The old man ran out as she leaned over Robert and patted his facem "What happened? Talk to me!"

"Dogs…"

"Stay with us, baby!"

"Dogs… Black dogs…"

"Robert?" She shook him as he stilled, "Robert, don't you die on me!"

Present Day: at a diner…

The three Winchesters sat at a table, Sam with his laptop open. Onscreen was a mugshot of Dean from the St. Louis Police Department.

"So much for our low profile." Sam shook his head, "You've got a warrant in St. Louis, and now you're officially in the Fed's database."

"Dude." Dean grinned, "I'm like Dillinger or something."

"It's not funny, Dean." Angel shook her head, "Now we got to watch our asses even more than we've already been doing."

"She's right." Sam glared, "Makes the job harder."

"Well…" Dean shifted with a frown, "What do they got on you two?"

Sam clicked away, "Angels got accessory, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer."

Dean smirked, "Shouldnt of punched that cop."

"Shouldn't have grabbed me up like that." She rolled her eyes before shrugging, "Besides, a little nose job never hurt anyone."

"What about you Sammy?"

Sam grumbled, "I'm sure they just… haven't posted it yet."

"No accessory?" Dean smirked, "Nothing?"

"Shut up."

Dean chuckled as Angel smirked from beside him, "Awe, Sammy… You're jealous."

Sam glared, "No, I'm not!"

Dean eyed him, "Uh-huh, sure."

"Alright, alright." Angel smiled at both of them but got to business, "Sam found us a case so let's get to work."

"Alright." Dean shrugged before taking another big bite of fries, "What do you got on the case there, you innocent, harmless young man, you?"

Sam grumbled at that so Angel pressed, "Come on, Sammy. I saw some of your research before we came here. Looks interesting."

"Why are you so quick to jump back in?"

"Because i'm itching just sitting here doing nothing." She shifted, "Now what've you got?"

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

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

"Two days earlier."

"And…" Angel eyed him, "He actually said it was a black dog?"

"Yeah. A vicious, wild, black dog. 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 looked them over, "You guys think we're dealing with an actual Black Dog?"

Sam shrugged, "Well, maybe."

Angel sighed, "Any lore on it?"

"It's all pretty vague." Sam passed them the pages, "I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but… Some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. Whatever they are, they're big, nasty-"

"Yeah…" Dean laughed, "I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg, look at that one, huh?" He held up a picture and smirked as Sam and Angel both glared, "What? His smirk slipped, "They could."

"Well…" Angel shook her head and tapped the table, "Let's get to interrogations."

In a Posh Apartment…

Angel, Sam and Dean all wore their suits and getups as they interviewed the victim's business partner. He was extremely upset and tense as Sam began.

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

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

"A tribute to Mr. Boyden." Angel smiled softly, "In Architectural Digest."

The man laughed, making Dean tense, "This funny to you?"

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

"Right." Sam shifted with a frown, "Any idea why he'd do such a thing?"

"I- I have no clue… I mean he lived a charmed life."

"How so?"

"He was a flat-out genius. I mean, I'm capable, but next to him, I…" He shook his head again, "And it wasn't always that way, either."

Angel cocked her head, "How so?"

"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 Lloyds. A complete dive."

"Okay…" Angel pushed, "So what changed?"

"You got me, but overnight, he gets this huge commission, and he starts designing the most ingenious buildings anyone has ever seen. It was like, the level of Van Gogh, and Mozart…"

When he cut off abruptly Angel pressed him again, "What?"

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

Outside the Animal Protection Agency…

Dean exited the building and quickly got back in the impala where the other two were waiting.

Angel leaned forward as Sam looked over, "So?"

"Secretary's name is Carly." Dean grinned, "She's twenty three. She, uh, kayaks, and they're real."

"Oh for Christ sake." Angel rolled her eyes, "Did you use your actual brain and ask about the case? Black dogs ring any bells for your girlfriend?"

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

Sam took it, and laughed once he read it.

Angel's brows furrowed when she read it as well and then looked at Sam as well, "What?"

"This is a myspace address."

Angel's brow went up, "A what-space address?"

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

Angel shook her head, "Wow."

"Its a social media account." Sam explained, extremely entertained at their confused looks, "Like email almost."

Angel sighed as she leaned back, "No one calls anymore?"

Dr. Perlman's House…

The three Winchesters approached yet another white suburban door and knocked.

"I swear." Dean glared, "If this is another freakin' Pomeranian barking in the neighbor's yard…" The door opened to reveal a young woman, "Afternoon, ma'am." They pulled out their IDs, "Uh, Animal Control."

"Oh…" She waved them off, "Someone already came yesterday."

"We're just here following up ma'am." Angel smiled, "We're looking for Dr. Sylvia Pearlman?"

The woman stepped aside and let them in, leading them to the kitchen, "The Doctor, well, she… I don't know exactly when she'll be back. She left two days ago."

"Okay…" Angel nodded, "And who are you?"

"Ms. Pearlman's maid."

"So…" Dean turned to her, "Where did the Doctor go?"

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

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

"Well, no." She frowned, "I never even heard it."

In the background, 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. She's gotta be what, forty two, forty three?" Dean asked, "That's pretty young for that job."

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

The three of them looked at eachother and Angel shifted. She had a bad gut feeling she couldn't shake since they took this case. For some reason she couldn't stop thinking about their dad and their miraculous recovery all those weeks ago. Something wasn't right.

"Huh…" Angel locked eyes with Dean, "An overnight success. Ten years ago."

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

Lloyds Bar…

The three of them pulled up outside the crossroads of the bar and got out. As they walked towards the bar, Dean noticed some yellow flowers growing by the side of the road and stopped.

"Hey." Angel and Dean also stopped and looked at him, "That's weird." On all corners of the crossroads a certain type of yellow flower flourished, "Think someone planted these?"

Sam looked confused, "Middle of all these weeds?"

"These are Yarrow flowers." Angel looked grim as she shook her head, "They're used for rituals… Heavy rituals… Summoning rituals." That feeling was back, and it was making her nauseous, "What the hell did we stumble on?"

"So…" Dean wiped his face, "Two people become sudden successes about ten years ago. Right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's."

"Where there just happens to be a crossroads." Sam motioned knowingly, "You think?"

Dean shrugged, "Let's find out." He walks to the center of the crossroads and looks around, measuring, "This seem about the dead center to you?"

Angel nodded and got the shovel out of the impala. She handed it to him and he dug a few inches into the hard soil before hitting something solid and stopping.

"Yahtzee."

He dropped the shovel and dug with his hands, pulling out an old rusted box. It contained, amongst other things, several small bones and a small stoppered jar.

Sam took the jar out, "I'd be willing to bet that's graveyard dirt."

Angel pointed, "And a black cat bone."

"That's serious spellwork." Dean shook his head, "I mean, that's Deep South Hoodoo stuff."

"Used to summon a demon."

"A powerful one at that, boys." Angel scoffed, "Crossroads are where pacts are made. These people are actually making deals with the damn thing."

"You know…" Dean angered, "'Cause that always ends good."

"They're seeing dogs, alright." Sam motioned, "But not Black Dogs. They're seeing Hellhounds. Demonic pit bulls."

"Yeah…" Dean nodded, "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."

"So it's just like the Robert Johnson legend, right?" Sam asked, referring to the blues player, "I mean, selling your soul at the crossroads, kind of deal?"

"Yeah except that's not a legend. That's for real stuff." Angel said as she looked through the litter box again, "You know his music, Sammy."

Sam shrugged which caused Dean to scoff, "You don't know Robert Johnson's songs? Sam, there's- there's occult references all over his lyrics. I mean, Crossroad Blues? Me and the Devil Blues? Hellhound on My Trail?"

Sam frowned, Angel smirked and Dean rolled his eyes in disappointment.

Angel looked to her little brother, "The story goes, he died choking on his own blood. He was hallucinating, and muttering about big evil dogs." She motioned, "Hellhounds. They came for him when his time was up."

Sam's face went white, "And now it's happening all over again."

Dean nodded, "Yeah."

"We've gotta figure out if anyone else struck any bargains around here."

"Great." Dean grumbled, "So we've gotta clean up these peoples' mess for 'em? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced 'em to play Let's Make A Deal."

"Okay, and?" Angel glared, "They're still human and we're hunters. It's our job to do everything in our power to save them."

"Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?"

This time Sam glared, "Dean."

"Alright. Fine." He looked at them beat, "Rituals like this, you've got to put your own photo into the mix, right? So…" He took out a photo in the box, "This guy probably summoned this thing. Let's go and see if anyone inside knows him. If he's still alive."