Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY"- they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS. The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the "Metallicar" are property of Eric Kripke and the WB. Josef Kostan and Mick St John appear courtesy of CBS, Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

Author's Note: And with that disclaimer, I just added about a hundred words to this story :)

CHAPTER THREE: New Arrivals and Tapping Fingers

"St. John's records check out, he's been licensed in Los Angeles for- well, they don't have an official start date," Stella said, "but his case record is very impressive."

"So what's he doing in my city?" Mac asked.

"I don't know- and for someone so willing to cooperate, he sure disappeared in a hurry."

"He definitely knows what's going on," Mac decided.

Stella opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, Danny Messer tapped on the glass. Mac waved him in. "Find this guy?" he said to Stella. "Check with LAPD, if he's a PI he's gotta have a phone."

"I'm on it," Stella replied. She caught the look on Danny Messer's face. "Jeez, Danny, you look like hell."

"Thanks," the blonde detective sniped back.

Stella got the hint. "Okay, I'm gone." She left the office, leaving the two men alone. Mac sat down, waiting for Danny to explain himself. He looked pasty white and tired.

"It's happening again," Danny said, cutting to the point.

"The visions," Mac said. That explained Danny's demeanor and condition. "When?"

"Last night. God, I forgot how much those damn things hurt," Danny said. He sat down, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I'm on my fourth dose of Bayer this morning. Was tempted to down the bottle of Jack in my cupboard, but I know how you are about bein' sober on the job."

Mac took the joke in stride. "What did you see?"

Danny let out his breath. "Uh...Lindsay, and some other guy. Middle of the night, some random street. Ended up in an alley with a guy with a crossbow. Guy shot 'em both, said, "You're one of them. You both are."

"One of what?" Mac wondered aloud.

"The hell if I know," Danny said. "Damn it, just when we were gettin' settled."

Mac nodded. "Speaking of settled...how was your honeymoon?"

"Fine," Danny said. "Linds loved St. Kitts and Nevis. Sucked to come back up here in January, let me tell ya."

"And your apartment?"

"Slowly gettin' that 'woman's touch'," Danny responded. "And nice try tryin' to get me off-topic, but it won't work."

"It worked for a while," Mac argued. "Could you get me a sketch of this guy you saw with the crossbow?"

Danny shrugged. "Sure. Why the hell not. I can even draw you the crossbow, if you want. I don't care. I do know Lindsay's not workin' any more nights if I can help it, at least not alone," he said, with a raised eyebrow at Mac.

"I'll try to switch her around, but Danny, she'll want to know why."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Danny got up. "I don't care."

Mac's cell phone rang shrilly from his desk. He picked it up, frowning at the caller ID. "Taylor...whoa, Jess, slow down. You saw what?...When?...Okay, okay, meet you downstairs." He hung up.

Danny raised his eyebrows. "Someone broke into the morgue," Mac explained. "Stole a body. And then Angell swears she saw the body walk out of the building."

Detective Don Flack poked his head into Mac's office. It was getting to be a busy place. "I might have a lead on who might've tried that, or might know somethin' about it," the blue-eyed detective said. "They're sittin' down in a holding cell."

"A speeding ticket. Are you naturally this stupid or has that come with your pending death?"

"It's New York City! Everybody drives this way."

"Apparently, not everybody, seeing how we're the only ones in a cell here!"

"You need to relax. Or get laid."

A uniform came up to the door. "All right, get up."

"I've seen this movie, this is the part where we end up dead. Bring on the cover up."

The officer rolled his eyes.

"Tell me something, do you usually put guys in holding cells that get speeding tickets?"

"Only the guys that are in the system for murder. Now hands behind your back." He cuffed the two of them and pushed them down the hall towards Interrogation. He opened the door and the two of them sat down. They looked up as the door opened, and two detectives came into the room.

"Son of a bitch."

Flack looked across the table, then to Mac. "These two look familiar to you?"

Mac shook his head. "If it isn't the Winchester brothers."

Dean Winchester grinned. "We make it a point if we're in the city to stop by, check out your precinct for roach problems," he said with a lopsided grin.

"Sense of humor hasn't changed much," Flack noted.

"And you're still too damn serious," Dean shrugged.

"You ever find the Loch Hudson Monster?" Flack asked with a grin.

"No. Every picture got nothin' but a splash and a ripple mark," Sam said. "All he got was cold and wet."

Flack had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Seems like every time you end up in my city, strange freakin' stuff happens."

"Strange freakin' stuff happens here every day, Magnum PI, just gets a little stranger and then we gotta come save your asses."

"Dean," Sam Winchester interrupted. Dean looked at his brother. "Shut up."

"So what are you really doin' back in my city?" Flack asked them.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off with a glare. "Shut up," he said again, "before you get us a life sentence."

"Oh, I'd rather give ya community service," Flack shot back. "I can see the two of you now, stickin' garbage at the Central Park Zoo...giving tours to sticky-faced little kids and mucking out tiger cages-"

"No!" Dean cut in. "Hell, no. I'd rather the prison sentence."

Mac nodded. "We figured as much. Now...the reason you're in New York City is because...?"

"His name is Jonas McIntire," Sam said before his brother could say anything.

Flack made a note to have Danny run the name. "He's a hunter, like us," Sam continued. "Only he's gone off the freakin' deep end."

"He's killin' supernatural stuff," Dean added, "but he's also killed a few real people, too."

Lindsay and Danny stood down in the morgue. Sid Hammerback was entirely distraught, having never lost a body in his tenure as chief medical examiner. "The budget cuts keep us from getting a better security system, but as to why someone would want a body, it's beyond my comprehension! Actually, not entirely, there have been more than a few documented cases-"

"Sid," Lindsay spoke up. "No offense."

"Of course." He pointed to the cooler. "That was where Mr. Kostan was being housed until we could find next of kin."

"I'll process it," Danny said.

Just then, the doors rolled open and another guest was wheeled into the room. Sid looked at the Messers. "Excuse me, I need to take care of this," he said as he clicked his glasses together and went over to sign paperwork.

Lindsay ran her flashlight through the inside of the cooler shelf. "The guy was really dead, wasn't he? I mean, I was there, it wasn't like those cases where you think they're dead but there's a little life left. He was gone, Danny, he was pronounced dead at the scene!"

"Dead as a doornail," Danny agreed, dusting the handle for fingerprints and finding a couple of different sets. "Although I read the autopsy report...Josef Kostan kept healing himself through the autopsy."

Lindsay looked at her husband. "He did what?"

"Everytime they cut into him, the incision would disappear. Oh, and the bullet wounds? Sid popped those out and they healed over, too. They finally cracked his chest and had to have someone hold onto the skin on either side to keep him open long enough to-"

"Weird," Lindsay proclaimed. She looked over at Danny. Her husband looked tired, or stressed..."Hey...what's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Didn't get much sleep last night," he said finally. "Must be your night shifts, they're throwin' off my clock."

"Still not used to sleeping with someone else's schedule?" Lindsay teased.

"Right, right, the schedule," Danny chuckled. "Maybe it's just you permanently in my bed I'm havin' trouble with."

"We could fix that, you've got a really nice pool table," Lindsay said. "I'm sure you could find it comfortable for a few nights while we test that out."

"Ouch, Montana. We ain't even been married four months and you're talkin' about puttin' me out?"

"Danny," Lindsay said. "Look at this." She aimed her flashlight on the metal slide-out drawer. Glinting in the light were a couple of fingerprints. "Now, from here, they all look like the same print, they've got that little hook right there. But see how it moves a little, right in that same spot on the drawer?" She expertly collected the print and put it in an evidence bag to run upstairs.

Danny frowned. "It looks like someone was tapping their finger there, like this-" he said. He demonstrated on the drawer next to them, his finger never quite hit the same mark as he tapped it in place.

Lindsay looked at him. "How does a dead guy tap his fingers?"