( THE CURIOUS CASE OF
DEAN WINCHESTER )

LIVING ROOM
[ ☼ ]

       A Woman, Mrs. Xavier, is reading the Weekly World News, headline: "LEADING PSYCHICS AGREE: THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE! Experts confirm the end is upon us!" She Chuckles. The door opens.

      "Hey, babe." She says. Mr. Xavier hurries upstairs without a word. "Nice to see you, too."

BATHROOM
[ ☼ ]

      Mr. Xavier rushes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turns on the water in the sink and leans forward, staring into the mirror. He is a young man, but ages rapidly, skin wrinkling, hair going gray and falling out, eyes going white-blind. He stumbles backward into a cabinet, smashing glass.

LIVING ROOM
[ ☼ ]

      Mrs. Xavier hears the crash and looks up. "Honey?" She says. Mr. Xavier collapses. Mrs. Xavier drops her magazine. "Are you okay?" She rushes upstairs. Mrs. Xavier opens the bathroom door, takes one look, and screams.

HOSPITAL
[ ☼ ]

       Sam, Elena and Dean, in business attire, hold up CDC badges. "You expect me to believe you're CDC?" The Doctor asks. Dean looks at Sam.

       "Excuse me?" Sam asks.

       "It's just that you're a day early. First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people." She says.

       "New administration. A change you can believe in." Says Dean.

       "Right."

MORGUE
[ ☼ ]

      The Doctor pulls the corpse of Mr. Xavier out of a freezer. He looks like a dead eighty-year-old. "Meet Xavier. Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four." She says and exchanges glances with Dean, Elena and Sam. "I know. I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him."

       "Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?" Dean asks.

       "So, what's your theory?" Elena asks.

       "All I know is, decedent's male, twenty-five years old and he died of old age." The Doctor walks away. Sam and Dean glance at each other.

HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
[ ☼ ]

      Sam, Elena and Dean leave the morgue. Dean is on the phone. "You were right about this one. It's definitely a job." He says.

       Bobby sits in his wheelchair, phone to his ear. "Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?" He asks.

      "Just the one body."

       "Anything else?" Asks Bobby.

       "Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size." Dean says.

       "Well, check 'em out."

       "You think they're connected?" Asks Dean.

      "Call it a hunch." Bobby says.

       "You got it. And, by the way, how you doing?"

       "Doing?" Bobby asks.

       "Yeah. You know, just...in general?"

       "Oh, you mean my legs." Bobby says. "Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit." Bobby hangs up.

HOUSE
[ ☼ ]

      Dean sits on an ottoman, looking at a framed photo of an Old Man, Cliff Whitlow. Sam sits in an armchair and Mrs. Whitlow sits on the sofa while Elena takes a look around for anything witchy. "That's the most recent." Mrs. Whitlow says. Dean hands the photo to Elena.

      The photo is of Cliff as a golf tournament champion, Miami Palms June 2009, holding a golf club and trophy. A USMC tattoo is visible on his right arm. "How long has he been missing?" Sam asks.

       "Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night."

       "Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe? A favorite bar?" Asks Dean.

       Mrs. Whitlow laughs. "No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home." She says.

       "May I use your facilities, ma'am?" Dean asks.

OFFICE
[ ☼ ]

       Dean enters the room, looking back over his shoulder. He scoops a pile of papers off the desk. He then rifles the rest of the desk and the pockets of Cliff's coat. He pulls out a receipt and looks at it: it's for Madame Liu's Golden Palace and totals over $250. "'Working late' my ass." He says.

MADAME LIU'S MOTEL CORRIDOR
[ ☾]

       Dean, Elena and Sam walk along the corridor. "Well, at least he's consistent. Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates." Sam says.

      "Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age." Dean says.

      "Yeah, like either of us will live that long." Elena says.

      "True." Says Dean.

      "So...what do you think's in there?" Sam asks. They pause.

      "A wrinkly, gooey corpse." Dean says. They go on to stop outside room 44. Sam pulls out his lockpick kit and selects two while Dean keeps watch.

      A Man starts shouting inside the room. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!" He yells. Sam and Dean look at each other and slam the door open. "Hey! What the-" The Man, apparently naked, is in bed with a Woman, barely dressed.

      "Oh." Sam says.

      "God." Dean says as another Woman comes out from under the covers.

      "It's gooey." Sam says. Both Women flee the bed.

      "Sorry. Uh, got the wrong room." Elena says.

      "Close the door!" The Man yells. Dean is outside and Sam is about to close the door behind them when he notices something.

      "Hey." Sam says. The Man has a USMC tattoo that looks exactly like Cliff Whitlow's. "Nice tattoo." Sam comes back into the room. "Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?"

      The Man shakes his head. "Never heard of him." He says.

      "Well, that's weird." Sam pulls an ID out of the wallet that was apparently in the Man's pants. "Cause you're carrying his wallet."

      Dean goes over to the bed and yanks up the covers to look underneath. "Huh." Dean drops the sheets. "Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great. Cliff. Did you get some work done?"

      Cliff shakes his head and sighs. "Could you give us some privacy?" He says. The two Women are robed now. Dean winks at them, then goes back to glaring at Cliff. He, also robed now, hands one of them some money and they leave. He closes the door behind them. "Please don't tell my wife."

      "Slow down." Dean says.

      "I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way."

      "How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?" Dean asks.

      "I can't tell you."

      "Well, either you tell us or we tell the missus." Says Dean.

      "Okay! Okay! It was a game."

      "Like...XBox?" Sam asks.

      "What's XBox?" Cliff asks. "No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years."

      "What is that supposed to mean?" Asks Elena.

      "Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right?" Cliff asks. "Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. And look at me."

      "What was he chanting?" Sam asks.

      Cliff laughs. "How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker." He says.

      "What does this miracle worker look like?" Dean asks.

       "Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick."

      "All right, all right. Where's this game at?" Dean asks.

      "He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you."

      "Thank you, Cliff." Dean says. Sam, Elena and Dean head for the door. "Oh, and, uh...stay classy."

STREET
[ ☼ ]

      Sam, Elena and Dean walk along the street. Dean is on the phone with Bobby. "It sounds crazy, right?" Dean asks.

      "No. There's lore on it. Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose." Bobby says.

      "Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse." Says Dean.

      "Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank." Bobby says. "You find the bar he's working in yet?"

      "There's a lot of dives in this town. We're gonna have to split up."

      "Well, why you still talking to me?" Bobby hangs up. Dean shuts his phone. Bobby's keys are on a stack of papers; he grabs them as he rolls past.

BAR
[ ☾]

      Dean is on the phone with Sam. He and Elena are at a bar. "Find anything?" Sam asks.

      "Yeah, a whole bunch of squat. You?"

      "No, not a thing." Sam says.

      "All right. Well, you come up dry, circle back to the motel in two. Your turn to grab dinner." Dean says.

      "Usual?"

       "Extra bacon." Dean hangs up and they sit down at the bar. "Can I get a beer?"

       "Yep." The Bartender reaches for a beer bottle.

       "You wouldn't happen to know of a poker game going on in back, would you?" Dean asks.

      The Bartender opens the bottle and passes it to Dean. "It's a bar, not a casino." He says.

      Dean digs into his pocket. "My friend Ben told me you'd know." He says.

      "Don't know any Ben."

      "Sure you do. You know, balding, smart-ass, real ladies' man?" Dean asks.

      The Bartender leans forward. "Listen, pal, I told you, I don't know any Ben. I don't know nothing about a game." He says.

      "You sure? 'Cause, uh..." Dean slides a hundred-dollar bill, with its picture of Ben Franklin, across the bar. "He sure seems to know you." The Bartender glances down, then up, and takes the bill.

BACK OF BAR
[ ☾]

      Dean and Elena walk around behind the bar. "Round back. Take the elevator down." He says.

      "You go in." Elena says. "I'll wait out here." She says and goes into the shadows. Something clatters. Bobby rolls out of what is presumably the elevator.

      "Bobby? What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks.

      "Planting daisies. What's it look like? Came in on the case." Bobby says.

      "And you beat me here?"

      "Well, brains trumps legs, apparently." Bobby rolls around Dean.

      Dean follows. "So, you found the game?" He asks.

      "Yep." Bobby says.

      "Did you stop it?" Dean asks and Bobby doesn't answer. "Bobby?"

      Bobby stops and turns around. "Not exactly." He says.

      "What did you do?" Dean asks.

      "I played, okay?"

      "And?" Asks Dean.

      "I lost."

       "Are you kidding me? You played some-some he-witch?" Dean asks.

      "Don't you take that tone with me." Bobby says.

      "You idiot!" Dean yells.

      "They're my years! I can do what I want!"

      "How many did you lose?" Dean asks.

      "Twenty-five." Bobby ages before Dean's eyes.

      "We're not done." Dean heads into the elevator.

BELOW BAR
[ ☾]

      An Older Man and a Young Woman sit at the bar; he is unnamed and her name is Lia. Another Man stands next to them, chewing on a toothpick. He speaks with an Irish accent: this must be Patrick. "So, you're saying that you're a mind reader." The Older Man says.

      "Ah, come on. No such thing. But I can read people. Take your lovely companion here." Patrick says as the Older Man and Lia smile at each other. "I'd say, judging from her exquisite posture, she used to be a dancer."

      Lia Chuckles, indicating to the Older Man that Patrick is right on the money. "Not much of a drinker. Very independent. Looking for adventure."

      Dean comes up behind Patrick, grabbing him by the arm. "Hey, man. Excuse me. Can I borrow you for a sec?" Dean adjusts his jacket to show Patrick the handle of his gun. Patrick glances down at it, then up at Dean.

      "Oh, yeah. Of course. Great. Good to see you." Says Patrick. Dean grins, nodding, and glances at the Older Man and Lia. Dean heads for a table across the room. "Would you two please excuse me?" He follows Dean to the table.

      "Sorry to cut you short with Mr. and Mrs. Easy Marks over there." Dean says.

      "Oh, no big." Patrick holds up a gold wristwatch. "Wasn't a total loss." Under the table, Dean pulls out his gun. "Look, I don't know what it is you think I did to your wife or girlfriend-" Dean frowns, confused. Patrick keeps guessing. "-mother or sister, but, uh, I just want you to know, my feelings were real."

      "That ain't my problem, man-witch. You owe my friend some years." Dean says.

      "Oh, that's what this is. I'm sorry. He lost. Them's the breaks." Patrick says.

      "Well, then un-lose him." Dean cocks the gun.

       Patrick flicks a glance down. "Oh, go ahead and shoot me, if it makes you feel better. Besides, I could use a good...you know...tickle. You want years? Great. Play me for 'em." He says.

      "Fine." Dean says.

      Bobby has come up to the table. "Dean, no!" He says.

      "They're my years. I can do what I want." Dean says and Bobby coughs. Patrick holds up a cough drop.

      "Lozenge?" Patrick asks and Bobby wheezes. "What? It's barely linty. Okay, well, suit yourself. Just trying to help."

     "All right, all right. Come on. Let's do this." Dean says.

     "You understand the terms?" Patrick sets a red case on the table. He opens it, chewing on a toothpick. It contains eight stacks of poker chips. He pulls out a stack of red chips. He takes the toothpick out of his mouth. "Buy-in's twenty-five years." He closes the box.

      "Make it fifty." Dean says as Bobby glances at him.

      Patrick takes the toothpick back out of his mouth. "I like the cut of your jib." He says and Dean smirks. He gives Dean another stack of red chips and holds his hand over them. "Lannraich gu dealrach a-nis." Light flicks along both stacks. Patrick goes back to chewing his toothpick.

      Dean takes them and counts the chips in one stack. "Twenty-five. That's twenty-five years." They go to him. Dean pushes the chips into the middle of the table. "And he's cashing out."

      "Dean!" Bobby yells.

      "Bobby."

      "You sure?" Asks Patrick.

      "Yes."

      Patrick nods and holds his hand over the chips. "Las suas agus cuir ás an teine. Mar sin bitheadh." The chips catch fire, burn to ash and blow away. Bobby is back to normal. "That's twenty-five years you just pissed away. Better be sure you can win them back."

      Dean taps his remaining chips. "Shuffle up and deal." He says. Patrick laughs.

      "This is gonna be fun."