Season 10, Episode 12: About a Boy: Alternate Ending

Pendleton, Oregon

Muffled voices float through the window of a dive bar with a garish neon BEER sign. The blurred figures of two men are arguing. The man on the right has a tiny ponytail drawn back at the base of his neck and a mean, aggressive look. He pushes the scruffy man back, shoving and slapping the guy's chest, pressuring the man left.

The door of the bar slams open into the crisp night air. "Where's my money" the bartender demands, grabbing the scruffy man roughly by the face, then shoving him out the door. The scruffy man falls on his side onto the pavement as the bartender snarls, "I swear on my mother, JP. I see your face in here again, I'll kill ya." The bartender's broad chest and bearded face are outlined in the light from the open door.

J.P. stands up in a half crouch in his cheap, ill-fitting suit. "Like hell," he retorts weakly. "This is frikin America man, you can't jus..." J.P's whining stops as the bartender steps inside the bar and the heavy door clicks shut.

A homeless teenager with an anxious, frightened look stares at J.P from across the parking lot. "Chou looking at," J.P. snivels at him. The homeless kid looks away and touches the bags in his shopping cart to comfort himself as J.P. walks away.

J.P. staggers up to his car. As he reaches out with his keys, an ugly face appears before J.P. in the car window. As J.P. whirls around in alarm, a thick ugly hand reaches out. A flash of white light fills J.P.'s world and he screams.

The homeless kid turns around. He can see white light shining behind a big, old pickup truck. He runs to look. Behind the truck, curls of white smoke rise from a heap of clothes on the ground. The homeless kid looks around, but nothing is there. The smoke curls up towards the bright, high moon shining over the parking lot.

The Bunker

The memory of Crowley's words run through Dean's head as he flips through book after book. "After Cain killed Abel, he became a demon." Dean riffles through a box, then settles down with a book in his lap. Cain's voice echoes in his ears, "I felt connected to you right from the beginning. You and I are very much alike. I can give you the mark, Dean, if it's truly what you want." Dean had replied, "Yeah but when I kill, I kill for a reason. I'm nothing like Cain."

Crowley's final words, "Why are you fighting what you really are?" Dean walks awkwardly to a mirror. The face of his meat suit looks the same.

Days pass. Dean has a tired look as he stares at the book in his lap.

Knock, knock, knock. The door to his bedroom swings open and Sam walks in, carrying an ipad. "Hey. Got a case. Apparently something is taking people and leaving their clothes," Sam says as he walks over and hands the ipad to Dean. "Hmm, about time they gave us an R rating," Dean grunts. "Alright, why don't ya check it out? I'll hold down the fort." Dean holds up the ipad to Sam. Sam does not take the ipad. As Dean continues to hold it up, Sam says, "You haven't left the bunker in a week." Dean gives Sam a look, then tosses the ipad behind him onto the bed, "And?". In an annoyed voice, Sam says, "And... you can't just live the rest of your life locked up in this room."

"I don't know, I got three hots and a cot. Could be worse."

Placatingly, Sam says, "Look, I know you're worried about the mark."

"Yes, Sam, I am, and." Dean interrupts."Between what I did to Charlie..."

Sam breaks in, "Charlie forgave you. How bout you forgive yourself."

Dean huffs. "Because I'm not exactly batting a thousand here you know."

"Yeah I do know that. But staying locked up here sitting on the ground reading the same lore books over and over and over again. It's not gonna help any. You need to get back in the game for your own good. You can beat this Dean," Sam monologues in a falsely hearty voice.

"You really believe that?" Dean says flat-voiced.

"Yeah you're damn right I believe that."

"You know you also believed in the Easter Bunny to, until you were 12."

"No I didn't," Sam scoffs. "Look I was eleven."

"And a half," Dean adds unnecessarily.

"And a half, yeah," Sam acquiesces. Heaving a sigh, he rubs his forehead. "So?"

Dean swallows and looks around disgruntled. He closed the book roughly and places it on a table. "Okay."

Highway I-84

The impala zooms down a windy country road. Ugly power lines criss-cross pine trees on the I-84, the highway running through Pendleton, Oregon.

Pendleton, Oregon

The homeless kid gestures and waves his arms jerkily as he describes the events, "There's this bright light then bam!" Sam and Dean listen to the witness report, wearing their fake FBI blue suits. "The dude's just gone. Nothing left but uh..."

"A cheap suit and a pair of fleischmanns?" Dean interrupts annoyingly to finish the guy's sentence. Dean grins a chipmunk smile.

"You see anyone else?" Sam asks in a calm voice.

"No sir officer sir." In the light of day, the homeless man looks older, maybe in his early twenties.

"What about a chill," Dean shrugs his shoulders. "Or you smell any rotten eggs?"

"What?" the homeless guy asks? "Naw man uh, smelled flowers though," he says, waving his finger around like a teacher lecturing students.

"Hmm," Dean grunts.

"Smelled flowers," Sam glances over at Dean. "What kind of flowers?"

The homeless man works his face. "Flowerly flowers."

"Flowerly flowers," Sam glances at Dean.

"Look," the man says glancing over his shoulder to check for observers. "We all know what's going on here, okay."

Dean cuts in, a look of resignation on his face, "Don't say it."

"Aliens!" the homeless man says.

"He said it," says Dean.

"Yeah he did," says Sam, grimacing and nodding.

"Dude was abducted. Believe me I know. May 2003 those suckers they grabbed me and they probed me everywhere!"

Sam winces and turns away.

"Oh," Dean says.

"Thanks for your time," Sam says, cutting across the words of the homeless man.

"I'm talking everywhere!" the man curses.

"Yeah!" Sam says as he turns away. "Okay, okay!" he says to cut off the sound of the homeless man's words.

"Well, the wheels just came flying off the bus," Dean says pettily as he and Sam walk away together.

"No cold spots, so it probably wasn't a ghost," Sam speculates.

"No sulfur means no demons, so leaves us with what? Little green dudes and a bucket of lube?" Dean says curtly.

"Or fairies," Sam scoffs, "Or angels," he says more seriously, tapping Dean with the back of his hand.

"I'd rather have the little green dudes." Dean says seriously as they stop in front of the bar.

"Alright, I'll go scope out J.P's place, you uh, you ask around inside."

Dean doesn't answer.

"Or you know what, we don't have to split up," Sam offers.

"No, no it's cool. I can handle a little 20 questions with locals, ok."

"You sure?" Sam presses a little.

Dean replies more confidently, "Yeah, hey look, it's a dive bar. It's my comfort zone. Hm?" Dean pulls out his keys and dangles them in front of Sam.

Sam nods, "Alright, good, great." He takes the keys and walks past Dean, slapping Dean on the shoulder.

Dean walks up to the door of Round Up and swings it open, sauntering into the dingy bar.

Dean walks by the bartender and takes a seat near a pretty woman nursing a glass of water with a slice of lemon in it.

"What can i do you?" the bartender says. It is the same bartender from before. His scruffy shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a clean white undershirt.

"Screw it, I'm gonna believe in myself," Dean mumbles audibly to himself.

"Ho boy," The bartender says, looking away and pretending his customer isn't talking to himself out loud.

"Give me something dark and strong," Dean says, looking down and crossing his arms, leaning on the counter.

Without speaking, the bartender turns to pour a drink.

"Hey, d'you know that guy that went missing, J.P.?" Dean asks as the bartender pours.

The bartender pours and gives Dean a long look. "Who's asking?"

"Just an old pal," Dean lies, blank-faced.

"Look I'm sorry to hear what happened, but, guy's a lowlife. That night, I had to kick his ass out of here for stealing my tips. Whatever J.P. got, probably had it coming." The bartender gives Dean a look.

"Ouch," Dean says as his hand snaps down on the overfilled shotglass and he knocks the drink back. Dean stares down at the counter. His left hand rubs his right forearm where the mark of cain lies underneath the cheap, ill-fitting suit.

The woman looks on, her heavily made-up face gorgeous in the dim light of the bar. "J.P. wasn't that bad," she offers kindly.

"You knew him?" Dean says as he turns toward the woman.

"This isn't exactly Cheers, but yeah. Don't get me wrong. I would not buy a used car from the guy," she scoffs, "but he was harmless."

Dean walks over to the woman. Closer, her face looks old underneath the makeup. "So what was his problem?" Dean asks.

"What wasn't," the woman scoffs. "You're in here getting stunned while the suns still up, your life's a regular charlie foxtrox," she smiles to take the sting out of her words. "Trust me."

Behind them, a large man in a newsboy hat turns his head slightly and unobtrusively to catch their conversation.

"I'm Dean."

"Tina," the woman responds.

Dean lifts two fingers in the air, looking at the bartender, as he and Tina settle in for a long chat.

A Bar

The light has faded and it's dark outside. "How do you know Royale Motel in Scranton?" Tina asks.

"My dad, me, and my bro, we got snowed in there for a week!"

"Well, I was there for about 3 months," Tina tops Deans story. "After my father drank all our money away. Lived on white rice, tic tacs, until they kicked us out. Good times." Tina says, grimacing and smiling at the same time. Neither comment on the poor decision-making involved in the situation.

Dean chuckles, "My dad was always working, so I came up with about a 101 ways to make macaroni and cheese."

"Serious?"

"Oh yeah, I'd add ketchup for spice, tuna, hot dogs, fluff marshmallow mix."

"ugh! That sounds disgusting!"

"Heh, well my brother thought it was exotic."

Tina chuckles. "Wow, here's to uh, crappy childhoods."

"Yeah, alright," Dean picks up his overfilled shot glass and clinks Tina's glass. They make faces as the alcohol burns down their throats.

Dean's cell phone rings. "oh, sorry." He fumbles inside his suit jacket's pocket.

Tina starts to get up. "I should go, before you fall hopelessly in love with me."

Dean looks down at the cell phone. It's Sam calling. As Tina picks up her coat from the chair, he asks, "Are you gonna be ok?"

"I always am," she answers smartly, giving him a two-fingered salute. They nod understandingly and grimace at each other.

Dean answers the phone. "How we looking?"

"Not great," Sam answers. "Turns out J.P. was about three days from getting evicted. His landlord said the guy blasted Neil Diamond 24-7 and that his bathroom was like, quote, staring into the devil's butt."

"That's .. heaven," Dean musters up a weak rejoinder.

"And .. I saw it."

"The john or uh.."

"Don't", Sam cut across Dean's comment. "So you got anything?"

"Yeah, got uh, jack with two scoops of squat." Dean looks across the room at Tina as she leaves the bar. "I don't know man, I think we oughta just call it a night and uh..." Dean watches as the large man in a newsboys hat and black coat follows Tina outside. Something about the man's movement catches his attention.

"Dean, hello?"

Dean followed the man's movement through the windows of the bar. "Sammy I think I got something." He got up, hanging up abruptly. He walked out the door of the bar and turned left, following a grass path through tall bushes running along the side of the building. "Tina?" he called out loudly.

A scream echoes in the dingy grass-strip parking lot in front of Dean. A flash of light and a shushurration makes him blink, confused for a moment. He reaches back and draws his gun, walking forward more cautiously. Next to the dumpster behind the bar, a pile of clothes lies on the grass, steam rising from them. He crouches down and gingerly lifts the top piece of cloth. It's Tina's jean jacket.

Behind Dean, the large man with a newsboy cap approaches silently. The man steps down, his foot making a noise as it comes down. Dean spins around. The large man's meaty hand touches a hex bag hanging on his chest. A bright light explodes from Dean.

A Basement

Dean wakes up panting. He is in a basement. "What the hell?" he mutters in a light voice. He touches the wall, then tests the bars in front of the window, surveying the room. He is in oversized sweats. He looked at his arm and hand. Something is wrong. Dean walked over to wipe at a cracked mirror in the room. "Son of a bitch!" The face that looked back at him was the face and body of a young teenager.

Staring at himself Dean muttered, "Seriously?" After every crazy thing that had happened in the past ten years.

A quiet voice calls out, "Hey."

Dean looks cautiously through a broken piece of the wall separating the rooms. He can see the other prisoner's eyes.

"What's your name?" she asks quietly.

Closer to the hole, Dean can see the young teenager's face. "Dean," he replies.

"Dean! Is that you? It's me Tina." she says urgently.

"What?"

"Please tell me you know what the hell is going on?" she says in a shaky voice.

"I'm not sure yet," Dean mumbles.

"Because I left the bar and then there was a white.."

"Light, a bright light," Dean interrupts.

"Yes! a white light. And then I was here, and I thought this is a nightmare but ... oh god if you're here. It can't be real. This doesn't..."

"I know, just try to stay calm." Dean interrupts.

"Stay calm! I'm a friggin tween and you look like some one-direction reject and we're in some freaky serial killer basement. I can't..."

"Tina, Tina, just. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Ok?" Dean corrects himself, "Anything else happen to you."

"This is crazy. How are you so calm?" Tina asks.

Hah. Dean says, "Practice. Who's your friend?"

Tina turns around. Behind her is a kid with a mop of black hair and jeans, sitting on a cot. "Not sure, he doesn't talk."

Dean says in a hesitant voice, "J.P.?" The kid with black hair looks up, but they are interrupted by the sounds of a lock clanking and heavy footsteps going down hollow stairs. The three kids freeze as the large man approaches, then unlocks Tina's cell. The man grabs J.P.'s arm. "Nooo!," J.P. screams. Tina runs up and pushes at the man, but the man gives her a rough shove and she falls backwards onto the floor. "It's freaking America, you can't do this!" J.P. cries as the man drags him up stumbling up the stairs.

A Bar

Sam strides into the dingy bar, still in his cheap, pretend F.B.I suit. He dials Dean on his cellphone.

A Basement

The large man returns to Dean's cell, sliding a covered plate underneath the cell door. It's a slice of cake with thick pink frosting.

A Bar

"Hey buddy, where'd that jacket come from?" Sam asks the bartender.

"My bar mitzvah, it was a magical night." The bartender turns his back to Sam.

Sam grabs the bartender from behind and slams his head onto the counter. "Why don't you try that again?" Sam says in a husky voice, his hand gripping the bartender's head.

"Dumpster," the bartender says gasping a little. "Found it by the dumpster", he jerks his head, trying to shake Sam off.

"Alright." Sam says softly. He suddenly releases the bartender and grabs Dean's jacket, then strides off quickly before the bartender can recover.

A Basement

Dean shovels cake into his mouth with his fingers, smacking appreciatively as he gobbles.

In the other room, Tina stands, staring at the slice of cake. "They probably poisoned it."

Dean freezes. A look of concern appears on his expressive face. "Right, obviously." He sets the plate down on the floor. Two-thirds of the cake is left.

"What do you think they're doing to J.P.?"

"Nothing good," Dean answers. He glances over the wall while patting it, testing what he can move. Through the gap in the wall, Tina watches as Dean reconnoiters the room. Dean tests the metals bars on the old-style bed frame. With his scrawny arms unable to pull the bar out, he stands sideways and uses his leg strength to knock off the bar on the bedframe with a few kicks.

"What are you doing?" Tina asks.

Dean picks up the bar. "Getting us out of here." He pulls the bed over to the window. Standing on top of the bedframe, he starts to work at the bars on the window, digging into the crumbly old windowsill.

"You know before, I thought you were just another drunk." Tina says, watching Dean work competently.

"I prefer functional alcoholic," Dean retorts as he stabs at the windowsill.

"Seriously, who .. what are you?" Tina asks, impressed.

"That is a long-ass story." Dean says.

Outside a Bar

Sam drops Dean's jacket on the ground as he pulls out a flashlight. Approaching the dumpsters cautiously, he scans the area with his flashlight. Underneath, he spots shoes. Dean's boots, and Dean's .45 Colt. Sam brushes at it. A yellow powder flakes off the handle of the gun, and he bring his hand up to his nose and sniffs.

A Basement

Grunting, Dean hacks at the windowsill, then puts down the piece of bedframe. He grabs one bar of the window and pulls. It comes out suddenly with a snapping noise. "Yes, let's see," Dean whispers to himself, as he swings open the latch on the window.

A clank sounds at the door. The large man's footsteps begin to descend the hollow wood plank stairway to the basement.

"Get out." Tina says flatly and urgently.

"What?" Dean answers idiotically, in a dazed voice.

"Hurry, I'll keep him busy," Tina says.

"Screw that, you're coming with me." Dean giggles happily and jumps down off the bed and runs to the gap in the wall to speak to Tina.

"There's no time for that, go!" Tina tries to speak urgently yet quietly to the drinking buddy she had just met. "Get help, I know you will," she encourages him.

The large man's hand is on the lock as Dean and Tina stand there. Tina starts to scream, "Aaaaa, help me please, help me! I'm going to die in here!"

Finally, Dean races up to the window, pushes it open. His slim body wriggles through as Tina continues to scream.

"What are you screaming about?" The man swings open the door as the window closes behind Dean and Dean starts to run, taking one look back.

A Motel Room

Sam has his laptop open to a website about Yarrow and transfiguration magic. A loud knock at the door to the motel interrupts his reading.

He gets up warily and bends over to look through the peephole in the door, drawing his gun and keeping his hand behind his back. Sam swings open to the door on the teenager dressed in oversized clothing and a red cap. "Yeah," he says quietly.

"Hiya Sammy." Dean says firmly.

Sam's expression changes. As he looks, he recognizes his brother's younger face, "Dean?"

Dean walks past him into the motel room and starts gathering gear. Sam looks taken aback, then swings the door shut. He stares at Dean with a wide-eyed look of bewildered shock. "Who are .. what .. wait a sec" Sam stammers.

"Bright light, next thing I know I wake up looking like Bieber." Dean answers.

"Why would someone turn you into..."

"Don't know," Dean interrupts. "Don't care. Hey we got any grenades?"

"What? No, wait wait. Wait a second. Talk to me."

"Really Sam, now? I've got no grass on the infield and a girl's gonna die. Sorry if I'm not in a chatty mood. Look, you wanted me back in the game, I'm back in the damn game. Come on." Dean heads out the door.

An older woman with arms full of luggage and bags looks over at the noise, her motel room key slipping out of her hand. With a sigh, Dean says, "Allow me," he walks over, grabs the motel key and hands it back to her, then walks over to the impala. Sam walks out, putting on his jacket as he rushes out the door. The lady says, "Your son is so polite!"

The strangeness of the situation makes Sam's face twitch, "Thanks," he says.

Dean is at the door, impatiently he slaps the roof twice as Sam walks over.

"Where we heading?" Sam asks.

"Tell you on the way." Dean cuts Sam off impatiently.

The get in the car, but Dean is in the driver side.

"Hey hey, maybe I should drive. Yeah, see ... see!" Sam exclaims as Dean struggles to reach. They swap places.

The impala roars down the highway.

"Cake. Why would they give you cake?" Sam asks, his mind focused on the seemingly irrelevant detail.

"Don't know." Dean says curtly. "Wasn't even good cake, too dry."

Sam chuffs a laugh, then glances over repeatedly at Dean's teenaged face. The feeling is surreal.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Nothing," Sam replies. "Okay, not nothing. Look this is bizarre, even for us, Dean. This is insane. You're like like like 14? How does it even feel?"

"Well I'm me. Old me, but a kid, it's freaking weird dude. And there was a taylor swift song on the bus I hopped to the motel, and I liked it Sam! My voice is weird, I have zits, I have zero control over this, I mean it's up it's down it's up for no reason." Dean waves his arms at his lap.

"Ahem," Sam interrupts, waving his hand to forestall Dean from speaking further. "That's called puberty."

"Yeah, it sucks again." Dean says.

"Yeah I checked out the alley where you got jumped and I found yarrow."

"Which means what?" Dean asks.

"It means you're probably dealing with a witch. Yarrow's a flower used in a ton of spells."

"Yeah, still got some witchcraft junk in the trunk?"

"Yeah, why don't we get you changed back then light Sabrina's ass up." Sam says.

Dean doesn't say anything.

"Right?" Sam asks.

"No, Sam. No time. And this whole mess has an upside." Dean draws back the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt. The mark of cain on his arm is faint, barely visible.

"How?"

"Well I think the spell slammed me back into the body I had when I was 14."

"You didn't have the mark then," Sam continues the reasoning. "It's bleeding from your soul into your body gradually."

"Reverse the spell and,"

"It's gonna come back full force." Sam finishes.

"That's what I'm thinking," Dean says. "So?"

"So you're gonna stay like this?"

"No, no. But if it's between being a psycho rage borderline demon or a teenager ... well."

Teenaged Dean leads the way down a trail through some bushes. Down a short slope, a victorian-style mansion lies in front of them. Lights shine through window curtains.

"Looks like someone's home." Sam says unnecessarily.

"Okay. Let's go in through the basement. Get Tina out first."

A Basement

Clank clank clank. The large man walks down the stairs.

Tina shrinks against the brick and mortar wall in the basement. She stares up at the barred, cloudy window with a frightened look on her face.

Outside the House

Dean and Sam sneak closer to the basement windows.

A Basement

The large man unlocks the door to Tina's room.

Outside the House

"Stay alert." Dean opens the window to his cell. "Tina?" he calls out. He doesn't see or hear her through the hole in the wall. "All right, let's go," he says.

Sam gives teenaged Dean a look. "Dean, I'm way too big to fit in that."

"First time you've ever had to say that eh?" Dean smirks.

"Big talk from a dude wearing underroos." Sam snaps back.

Dean jerks and stiffens, but can't think of a good response. "Okay good one. Here why doncha go around back, find another way in."

"Yeah," Sam says as he heads off.

Dean slips back into the basement feet first. The door to his room is open and he cautiously heads out into the rest of the basement, flashlight and gun held out in front with crossed wrists. He sees the door to Tina's room is open and she is gone. Her slice of cake on a plate is smashed and spilled on the floor. Further in her cell, Dean nudges a bucket with his foot, revealing a cobwebbed skull. Carelessly, he crouches and puts down his flashlight to pick up the skull. He stares at it for a moment.

Behind him, the figure of the large man is there. Dean whirls around. The man disappears.

Dean heads out the door cautiously. Suddenly, the large man grabs him from behind. The man's face is heavily scarred on the right side. Dean's weak, teenaged arms and hands can't break the man's hold on his neck. Dean powerless hands scrabble at the man's arms as the scarred man slowly chokes him.

Thunk. The scarred man falls to his knees. Sam's fist and pistol rise up from striking the scarred man's head. Dean stumbles back, grabbing his gun from the floor.

The scarred man sits on his side, reaches back, touching his head. "Don't!" Sam orders in a hoarse voice as the man recovers from the blow.

"Where's the girl?" Dean demands curtly, standing side-by-side with Sam, both of their guns on the man.

"Upstairs, alive." the man replies in a slow, deep voice.

"What did you do with her?" Dean says.

"Nothing. I'm no witch. I just work for one."

"Where is he?" Sam asks.

"She. And she is the worst person in the world." the man replies slowly.

"Is that so?" Dean says.

"I've been serving her for centuries. The things I've seen her do. My sister and I, she made us hurt people. Kill people. And when we tried to escape, she caught us, tortured me," he says, his hand rising to the scarred left side of his face, "And then she made me eat poor Gretel's heart."

Sam looks down at the kneeling man with concern.

"What, witch, Gretel?" Dean snorts. "What are you saying that you're...?"

"Hansel," the man replies. "My name is Hansel."

"Hansel," Sam says, "And then Gretel. Like the fable. The brother's Grimm."

"It wasn't a fable," Hansel says as he gets up. A hex bag hangs on his chest from leather cords. "Based on a true story. They just gave it a happy ending." He puts his newsboy cap back on.

Dean's gun hand drops and wavers as he thinks, then goes back up as he trains the gun on Hansel. "Great we get to barbeque a celebrity."

Hansel shakes his head. "You can't kill her. You're just men."

Dean looks at Sam, carelessly letting his gun drop. Sam steps back and picks up a flask from the ground cautiously. "We're more than that. We're hunters." He shows the home-made magical molotov cocktail to Hansel.

"Ahh." Hansel says. "Then let me help."

"Help? What's in it for you?" Dean asks.

"Because if you're gonna fry that bitch I want in."

"You want to help? Tell me how to turn him back." Sam orders as he raises his gun to the man's chest.

"Sam, we can wait." Dean says.

"Tell me how!" Sam roars.

Hansel licks his lips. "The hex bag that I'm wearing. It will reverse the spell. Squeeze it and you'll return to your proper age."

Dean glances at Sam.

"Look, we waste witch, I give you the cure. Deal?"

The Kitchen

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk. The woman slices into a pile of white onions, her chef's knife moving smoothly in well-practiced motions. Tina is gagged and loosely tied to a chair behind the witch.

"Your friend J.P. didn't have much meat on his bones, but a good cook works with te ingredients she is given." The woman laughs. She stirs the soup pot with a ladle and takes a slurp. "Wonderful."

Turning around, the witch's face looks plain. Nothing about her is unusual except for her grubby clothing and badly permed hair. "Oh don't worry liebshell, you're too good for soup. I'm thinking a nice sweet chili glaze with a few hours roasting in the oven, and an apple in your mouth." The witch laughs cheerfully, revealing a mouth full of silver teeth.

Tina gazes at the witch passively, supernaturally calm, with a dazed, happy look on her face.

The witch opens the door to a walk-in oven, placing more wood on the fire. She returns to chopping vegetables.

Hansel opens the door into the kitchen. Dean and Sam enter the room behind him.

"Hansel!" the witch says in a slightly puzzled voice. "Well, our lost lamb," the witch smirks, a large chopping knife in her right hand. "I thought we'd have to go looking for you. Maybe even abandon our home sweet home here. I never dreamt you'd be stupid enough to come back on your own. Hansel take care of them."

"Yeah he's not exactly your biggest fan." Dean smirks.

"Maybe you shouldn't have made him chow down on his sister." Sam says, as Hansel moves to stand beside Sam.

Hansel punches Sam in the head. Sam falls. "I never made Hansel do anything," the witch says calmly.

"Dammit!" Dean fumbles with the flask and a lighter.

"They're hunters!" Hansel calls out to the witch as he grabs Sam's pistol.

The witch voices an unintelligible incantation. "Muuumooor." At the word, the flask jumps out of Dean's hands, smashing against a pantry door.

Dean and Sam raise their hands in surrender. Dean kneels down.

"Now who's hungry," the witch smirks.

"Don't move," Hansel orders.

The witch clasps Dean's face in one hand. "So scrawny, we'll have to fatten you up."

"Dont touch me." Dean says.

"I'm gonna do more than that. Oh so sweet and innocent and delicious," she says as she rubs Dean's cheeks. "You'll see."

Hansel laughs a low grunting laugh.

"When I cook him up, I'll give you some," the witch says offhandedly.

"If you like kids so much, why don't you go after kids?" Sam asks. "What's with this whole fountain of youth?"

The witch answers, "In the olden days if a child went missing, blah, the young died all the time. Now though, with your milk cartons and news reports. A person fillets one rug rat and people get so angry."

"Yeah, I blame Obama." Dean says.

Sam gives Dean a look.

"So I improvise, I take adults no one will miss, and I give them back their youth."

"And Kentucky fry em," Dean says.

"It's the only way I can eat in peace." the witch says casually.

Sam's hand sneaks to his back pocket.

"So, is it worth it?" Dean asks, with a quick glance at his brother. "Word on the street is people kinda taste like pork."

"A bit. European children are more free range. Gamier. Americans though, they are heaven. Fattier. The meat so finely marbled, it's succulent. I just can't get enough."

"Mmm awesome." Dean says, giving Hansel and the witch two thumbs up.

"Well I am delighted. This is my first visit to your country and I have to say god bless the USA."

"So you're a tourist." Dean asks.

"No, it's business, not pleasure." The witch replies. "An old friend is causing trouble and the Grand Coven asked me to take care of her. Poor, stupid Rowena."

At the name Rowena, Sam looks over at the witch.

"Wait, Rowena?" Dean asks. "She got red hair? Thing for ritzy hotels?"

Sam slips his blade out of his pocket.

"How do you know that?" the witch asks.

Sam slashes at Hansel's hand, the gun drops. Dean leaps on Hansel, tackling the larger man and bringing them both to the ground.

Sam steps forward and stabs the witch, but she blocks his blow with her fist to his forearm. The knife drops from Sam's nerveless hand. The witch raises her arms and with a flicking motion, Sam flies across the room, smashing into shelves full of cookbooks, then drops onto the ground, dazed.

Casually, Hansel knocks Dean off his back as they lie on the ground. The witch looks on carelessly as Hansel flips Dean over and starts smashing Dean's head on the ground.

The witch opens the door to the oven. "Don't bruise the meat too much," she says with a chuckle.

"Stay down boy," Hansel growls as he releases Dean.

With a dazed look, Dean collapses in a sitting position against some cabinets.

"Turn him," the witch orders Hansel, glancing at Sam.

"Hehehehe," Hansel laughs, reaching for his hex bag. Hansel's white-shirted chest is bare of the hex bag.

Behind him, Dean's sneaky hands are holding the hex bag by the leather cords. Dean grasps the bag and squeezes it. Nothing happens.

Hansel snatches a knife from the counter and slashes Dean's throat in one motion. Blood spurts from the wound as Hansel grabs Dean by the leg, lifting Dean into the air. Hansel bends down and slashes again, opening the wound further as Dean's limbs and head flop.

"What a mess. I clean it up later," Hansel says appeasingly as he hangs Dean up by the legs. Blood splashes onto the tiles of the kitchen floor and counter.

Lying on his side, Sam looks down at the dribbling blood on the floor. Splashes of it have fallen into his open mouth. He rolls onto his stomach and licks at the blood on the floor.

Moving quickly, the witch opens a pantry and drags a metal tub underneath Dean's body.

Pat, pat pat. The blood splatters loudly into the tub in front of Tina's horrified face, the cake-induced spell losing its power.

The witch looks over at Sam, crouching like a dog on his hands and knees, lapping up Dean's blood from the floor. "What is this," she laughs contemptuously.

Sam looks up at the witch's laugh, his chin stained. With a distorted face, Sam grunts and the witch and Hansel fly into the open oven. Sam gets to his feet. He raises an arm, shuddering. The oven door slams shut on the screams of Hansel and the witch.

Dean's demonic black eyes open. Screaming in pain, he crunches up, tearing the hook out of the wall and releasing his foot. Dean's body falls and hits the tub with a clang.

Sam grunts, concentrating on the oven. Dean's blood-covered body flies through the air and slams into the oven door. "Aaaaa!" Dean screams as his back burns, smoke rising from his cotton sweats.

"Tina," Sam grunts.

Tina struggles to loosen herself from the ropes, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

"Handcuffs. In my back pocket." Sam struggles to speak while he holds Dean, the witch, and Hansel. Their yells and screams echo in the too small kitchen.

Shuddering, Tina slips out of the loose ropes, takes off the gag and stumbles to Sam. She slips a slim hand into Sam's back pocked and takes out the engraved handcuffs.

"Put them on Dean," Sam grunts.

Tina hesitates as she approaches Dean, looking back at Sam, then at Dean held against the burning oven, his black eyes.

"Kill Sam," Dean screams, "Kill him Tina."

Tina walks slowly over.

Dean snarls, looking down at her. "I'll kill you," he stars down at Tina.

Tina reaches up and snaps one cuff on Dean's wrist. Dean falls to the floor.

"Duck!" Sam grunts. Tina drops down in a crouch. Books, shelves, chairs, knives, and a table fly in front of the oven door, blocking it and muffling the screams of the witch and Hansel. Sam runs to Dean, grabbing the other cuff and snapping it on Dean's wrist.

Outside the House

Smoke rises from the chimney outside of the victorian-style house. "That was crazy, like psycho crazy." Tina says as she presses her back against the side of the impala. "And you do this all the time."

"Not all the time," Sam shakes his head, walking around and slamming the trunk on Dean's handcuffed, tied up, duct-taped body.

"Will Dean be okay?" Tina asks.

"Yeah, yeah, there's a church back in town. He'll be fine once I turn him back into a human."

Muffled yells come from the trunk of the impala, where Dean is locked under the devil's trap spray-painted on the underside of the trunk.

Tina glances away from Sam. Her reflection in the car window is young. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "I got 3 ex-husbands, 50 grand in debt, and not much else. I was kind of a crappy adult. Maybe I'll do better this time around. Get out of town. Get a fresh start. This is my second chance," she pauses.

Sam looks hesitant, "I don't know what spell the witch used. The youth may not be..."

"Everybody wants a second chance right?" She glances furtively at Sam then looks away. Tina's face looks frightened as she turns away from Sam.

Sam hesitates. "Well, at least let me give you a ride."

Tina looks at Sam and nods. Muffled yells come from inside the trunk.

Parking Lot

In the morning, Tina and the brothers stand behind the impala, a bus station in the background. Tina is carrying a slim backpack. Dean huddles in his jacket, shoulders hunched against the cold.

"Alright, here you go, this is all the cash we got." Sam says, handing over a thin bunch of bills.

"Thanks for everything," Tina says.

"You stay safe out there, you hear?" Dean says in a calm, even voice. "Call if you run into trouble."

"I will," Tina says. She hesitates, then she walks closer and hugs Dean, kissing him on the cheek. She gives him a long look. "And hey, we'll always have the Royale Motel right?" An adult's knowing expression looks strange on her young face. Tina gives a two-fingered salute to Dean then walks down the road to a bus waiting at the station, loud diesel engine roaring.

Sam gives Dean a questioning look.

The brothers walk away. "So, Grand Coven, any ideas?" Dean asks, ignoring Sam's glance.

"Doesn't sound good," Sam replies.

"Well it sounds like an '80s hair metal band. Lot of hairspray, lot of eye shadow, lot of guitar. No, nothing?" Dean says as Sam remains silent.

"Come on man, I'm painting a word picture here."

"Is it back?" Sam asks.

Dean looks down, pulling up his sleeve. The mark of cain is livid on his pale flesh. He slips the sleeve back down.

"Look man, do I wish the mark was gone? Yes of course, absolutely, but, we're alive. I'll take the win. As for the rest of it, the mark," Sam hesitates, "drinking demon blood, Bieber, everything else, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"Damn right," Dean says. "Let's get out of here."

The brothers get back into the impala. Sam turns the key in the ignition. The radio blares Taylor Swift's Shake it Off as Dean turns up the volume.

Sam makes a face, looking at Dean. Dean looks over and shrugs. Sam pulls out of the parking lot, driving carefully past an elderly couple walking toward the bus station.