*3rd Person POV*

Dean was chatting up with a young woman the bar but he was only paying her half of the attention. Most of the time that he was talking to this lady, he would look up and see from across the place (y/n) talking to this tall, tan-skinned dark-haired man in a three piece suit.

The man smiled at (y/n) then the two laughed at whatever she said, this made Dean alittle angry as he felt boiling feeling in his chest. But he turned his attention back to the woman as they continued to talk until, eventually, she started to give him her number.

"Seven, Four, Two Zero." She said after Dean types it in his phone. "Seven, Four, Two, Zero. All right, you're in there. Perfect. So is that Brandy with a 'y' or an 'i'?" He asked her and he just happened to glance over to see (y/n) and the man walk closer to each other. The man's eyes roam over (y/n) before he nods over his shoulder and (y/n) nodded, a coy smile playing on her lips.

Sam, meanwhile, sits at a table strewn with papers as he looks through them. He gestures to Dean, who looks at him then gives him a 'wait' gesture as he laughs at something the woman whispers. Sam gestures again and Dean's smile drops. "All right, listen, I gotta go. Hold that thought, I'll be right back, okay?" He said and he looks around but lost sight of (y/n) and three piece suit guy.

Angry, he approaches Sam, as he carrys two beers. "All right, I think we got something." Sam said. "Oh yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little short leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one." Dean said, faking a smile, as he gestures towards the women.

"So what are we today Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?" Sam asked him. "Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right? By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?" Dean asked, grinning. "Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates." Sam said.

"Yeah, you can but you don't." Dean said and Sam looks up at him. "What is that supposed to mean?" Sam said and Dean clenches his jaw. "Nothing." Dean said and Sam looks around. "Where's (y/n)?" He asked. "Probably getting to know that three piece douche a little more." Dean grumbles and Sam looks up at his brother and raises an eyebrow

"Dean, you really to figure this out." Sam said and Dean looks back at him. "Figure what out?" Dean asked and Sam scoffs in disbelief. "Nevermind." Sam mutters.

"Anyway....What you got?" Dean asked him, changing the subject. "Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all..." he said then he looks up and sees Dean looking around the bar before he looks back at the women at the bar.

"Dean!" Sam shouts and Dean looks back at him. "No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and window locked from the inside." Sam said as Dean drinks his beer. "Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department." Dean said. "No. Dad says different." Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked and Sam points at the map. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one." Sam said.

"And now we got one. All right, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up til first thing though right?" Dean asked. "Yeah." Sam said as Dean looks up and then his face becomes serious. Sam gives him a confused look before he turns around to see (y/n) and the man coming out of the bathroom.

The man was straightening his tie and jacket while (y/n) was straightening out her shirt and fixing her hair. The two talked and the man smiled as he hands her a folded piece of paper and winks at her. (Y/n) smiles as she takes the paper and the guy leans in and gives her a passionate kiss.

"Good." Dean grumbles as he turns around. "Dean..." Sam said as Dean goes up to the women and talks with them. Sam sniggers and shakes his head at this, he loves these two with all of his heart but he couldn't believe how stupid these two were acting about their feelings to one another. He didn't understand how he could see it but Dean and (y/n) couldn't. Or maybe they could but they are just too stubborn to say anything.

He scoffs and takes a swig of his beer as Dean walks away with the two girls.

*(y/n)'s POV*

The next morning, Sam and I come up to the Impala and see Dean sleeping, slouched in the passenger seat and with sunglasses on. Sam and I walk around the car then I lean in and honk the horn. Dean jumps a foot in the air as Sam sits in the drivers seat and I get in the back seat, both of us laughing.

"Man, that is so not cool." Dean grumbles as he adjusted his sunglasses. "We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were....well...out..." Sam said as he looks over at Dean, who smirks. "Good times." He said and I shake my head.

"We checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas." I said. "All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something." Dean said. "The house is clean." Sam said. "Yeah I know, you said that." Dean said. "No, he means  it's empty. No furniture, nothing." I said and Dean looks at us, confused.

"Where's all their stuff?" He asked us.

We parked at a art auction, which was held in this very large and nice house, and began to wander around. The three of us looking really out of place in our casual, rough clothing. "Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me." Dean said after he takes some finger food from a tray on a table

"Can I help you gentlemen and lady?" A man asked us. Dean looks him up and down and then puts more food in his mouth. "I'd like some champagne please." He said, putting on a posh voice. "He's not a waiter." Sam said to him, sharply, as I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head.

"I'm Sam Connors." Sam said as he holds his hand out to the man, who just looks at him. Sam moves the hand he's holding out then points at me and Dean. "That's my brother Dean and our work partner, (y/n). We're art dealers, with Connors Limited." Sam said.

"You. Are...art dealers." The man said, disbelieving. "That's right." Sam said as I nod at him. "I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now gentlemen and lady this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list." Mr Blake sneers at us. "We're there chuckles, you just need to take another look." Dean said just as a waiter goes past with drinks on a tray.

"Oh. Finally." Dean said, swiping a drink from the tray. He turns back to Mr Blake, sniffs the glass, raises his eyebrows then turns and walks away. Sam and I hastily follow, shooting Dean dirty looks. "Cheers." I said to Mr Black before we walk off.

We check out the items for auction but then we become drawn to the painting of a family, which was kinda creepy looking. It was a family of five, two boys, one girl and the mother and father. The father seemed to be looking down at the girl and all of them had no smile on their faces, they all seemed pretty grim and dull....and creepy, did I mention that?

"A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?" A woman's voice asked the boys and I turn to see a sleek, classy, extremely good looking young woman in a black dress coming down a spiral staircase. We stare at her as she turns her back while taking the final part of the stairs. Sam turns back to look at the painting again and Dean, oogling, slaps Sam on the back and continues staring while I just look down at myself feeling even more underdressed.

"Well I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did." Sam said to the woman as she walks up to us. "Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake." She introduced. "I'm Sam. This is my....brother, Dean. And my friend, (y/n)." Sam said while Dean continues to stuff his face from passing trays.

"Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?" Sarah asked him. "I'm good, thanks." Dean said, in between mouthfuls, and I shake my head. "Just ignore him." I said to Sarah and she smiles at me before she turns to Sam.

"So, can I help you with something?" She asked him. "Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam asked her. "The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones." She replied.

"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asked her. But before she could tell us anything else, Mr Blake comes up to us. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that." He said as he glares at us. "Why not?" I asked him. "You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave." He replied.

"Well we don't have to be told twice." Dean said, putting on his posh voice again. "Apparently you do." Mr Blake said, snidely. "Okay. It's all right. We don't want any trouble. We'll go." Sam said and we walk off.

"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean said, questioning, to Sam as we come up to the motel room. "Art history course. It's good for meeting girls." Sam said. "It's like I don't even know you." Dean said as he unlocks the door and we enter the room to see that it has this retro 70s disco fantasy theme

"Huh." The boys and I said together before we move into the room and began dumping our bags. "You sure you don't want the bed?" I asked Sam. "I mean, I can go purchase my own room or I can take the couch..."
"No, no, it's fine. I'll sleep on the couch." Sam said and I shrug. "Okay, if you insist." I said.

"What was...providence?" Dean asked Sam, curiously. "Prov-e-nance. It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past." Sam said. "Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but Sarah..." Dean said as he snaps his fingers at Sam, smirking. "Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin." Sam said, smirking back.

"Not me." Dean laughs and Sam looks up at him then realized what he was getting at. "No no no, pick ups are your thing, Dean." Sam said. "It wasn't my butt she was checking out." Dean said and they exchange a look.

"In other words, you want me to use her to get information." Sam said, slightly annoyed. "Unfortunately, Sam, sometimes you gotta take one for the team." I said as Dean pulls out his phone and hands it to Sam. "Call her." He said.

After returning from his date with Sarah, Sam and I were at the table and looking through the papers Sarah gave him, while Dean was sitting on the bed while sharpening his blade on a whetstone. 

"So she just handed the providences over to you." Dean said, questionable. "Provenances." Sam corrected him. "Provenances?" Dean said, haltingly. "Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers..." Sam replied.

"And?" Dean said, questioning. "And nothing. That's it. I left." Sam said. "You didn't have to con her or do any...special favors or anything like that?" Dean asked and I shake my head.

"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam pleads, annoyed. "You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit." Dean said, after giving a little laugh.

"Why?" Sam asked him. "So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that." Dean said and I shrug a bit. "He's not wrong, Sam. I could see it as well." I said and Sam looks at me then at Dean before he scoffs then looks back at his paper.

Dean and I look at each other for a moment, confused, just as Sam said. "Hey, I think I've got something here." Dean comes over as Sam holds out the papers. "Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910." I read. "Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal." Sam said to us and Dean checks John's journal. "First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970." Dean reads.

"Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it." Sam said and we all share a look. "So what do you think, it's haunted? or cursed?" I asked them. "Either way, it's toast." Dean said as he starts to get ready.

That night, Dean leaps and easily scales the meters high metal gates and sprints into the mist. "Come on!" Dean whisper-yells at us and we follow him.

Sam, wearing gloves, starts to disarm the security alarm and succeeds. "Go ahead." Sam said to me and I, also with gloves, pick the lock.

We shine our flashlights around inside, quickly searching for the painting. Dean spies it upstairs and we sprint up the spiral staircase. Holding his flashlight in his mouth, Dean flicks his switchblade and cuts the painting from its frame. We grab it and run out of that building as quickly as possible.

We get out onto a dirt road and throw the painting in the dirt. Sam and I were holding our flashlights as Dean readies the matches. "Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor." Dean said and he drops the match and the painting ignites, burning slowly.

The next day, Sam and I were in the motel room when Dean runs out of the bathroom. "We got a problem -- I can't find my wallet." Dean said, in a panic. "How is that our problem?" I asked him. "'Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night." Dean said and Sam and I look at him, horrified.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, terrified. "No. It's got my prints, my ID, well my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on." Dean said and we head out.

We hurry back at the auction house and look around, looking everywhere. "How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" Sam asked him, frustrated. Dean throws his hands in the air and we keep looking.

"Hey guys!" A voice said and we spin around to see Sarah. "Sarah! Hey." Sam said as he tries to act cool. "What are you doing here?" Sarah asked him. "Ahh, we....we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye." Sam said while Dean walks over to Sam.

"What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two." He said to him while Sam looks at Dean, confused. Dean then gets his wallet out of his pocket and I sigh and roll my eyes as I realized what he was doing. "Oh, Sam. By the way. I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you." Dean said as he pulls out some money and hands it to Sam. 

"I always forget, you know." Dean said as he looks at Sarah while Sam looks at him, disbelieving. Sam takes the cash from him and glares at him. "Well (y/n) and I'll leave you two crazy kids alone, we gotta go do something...somewhere." Dean said as he grabs my arm and we leave, quickly.

Dean and I were sitting outside by the Impala, waiting for Sam, when he finally comes out but Sam seemed a bit upset or perturbed about something. "Sam? What's wrong?" I asked him as he comes up to us. "Guys...we have a problem." He said to us and we give him a confused look.

"I don't understand, guys, we burned the damn thing." Sam said as we pace around our hotel room. Apparently, after we left, Sam saw that the painting was back and looked brand new once again. "Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious." Dean growls.

"All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?" I asked them. "Okay, all right. Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em." Sam said. "Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting." Dean said before he sighs. Then I look over at Sam. "What were their names again?" I asked him.

"You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?" The proprietor of this second-hand book shop asked us. "Yeah that's right." Sam said while Dean was smiling and flicking through an old book with pictures of guns.

The man then lays a huge book of newspaper clippings the table. "I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So are you three crime buffs?" The man asked us. "Kinda. Yeah." I said while Dean looks at the man. "Why do you ask?" Dean asked him.

"Well..." the man said and he holds up a newspaper article. The lead story on the front page says New Titanic Sinks, 1304 People Go To Watery Graves: Only 866 saved from 2,170 Aboard Liner Which Collides With Iceberg. Disaster Proves To Be the Greatest in Marine History of the World. Then he points at a side article. It reads Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

"Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right." I said, not shocked by that at all. "The whole family was killed?" Sam asked, shocked. "It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor." The man replied.

"Why'd he do it?" I asked him. "Let's look. Ahh..." the man said as he begins to read. "People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter...." He skims on. "Yeah yeah yeah...There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave. Which of course you know in that day and age, um....so instead, old man Isaiah...well he gave them all a shave." The man said as he draws his hand across his throat with appropriate noises, laughing.

Dean joins in but stops when Sam and I give him a look of disapproval. "Does it say what happened to the bodies?" Dean asked him. "Just that they were all cremated." The man replied. "Anything else?" Sam asked. "Yeah. Actually I found a picture of the family. It's right here... somewhere. Right -- here it is." The man said and he shows us, from the book, the same picture of the painting.

"Hey, could we get a copy of this please?" I asked him. "Sure." The man said, nodding.