"For He remembered His sacred promise to Abraham, His servant." –Psalm 105

A-A-A

Belarus, 1944

Rachel Grunberg was in hell.

Not a heat-infested pit but a frigid hell that chilled her bones, twisted inside her empty stomach, and chewed through her lice-infested head. The prisoners were being overworked to death under the boots of the Nazis. There would be nobody to mourn them when they finally collapsed to the ground. Their family and friends were long gone.

What purpose was there left to live for? If they didn't die of starvation or typhoid then the guards would yank prisoners of the barracks and drag them into the laboratory on the edge of the camp's compound. Those poor souls were never seen again.

Sometime Rachel's few hours of sleep were broken by the sounds of screams. She'd see flickering lights and hear hissing noises coming from the laboratory. Some of the prisoners whispered fearfully that the Nazis were using people for scientific experiments.

Others said it was something worse.

Rachel's legs felt like rubber from hours of heaving logs in the forest. If she slacked off then the guard wouldn't hesitate to use his whip. When his attention was distracted she stole a glance up at the sky where the air above their heads was safe, clear, and gleaming with stars. She wanted to close her eyes and fly up there into the arms of her parents.

But she couldn't allow herself the luxury of giving up. Not after her big sister Malka had risked so much to keep both of them alive.

Malka, who didn't cry even when the commandant thrashed her like a dog in front of all the women.

Malka, who shared her bit of blanket when Rachel was shaking with fever.

Malka, who scourged the garbage cans for bits of food even if it meant being shot upon sight.

Rachel was pulled out of her stupor by Malka who had turned up in her group of work and thrust half a moldy potato into her hands.

"Take it!" she whispered frantically. Rachel needed no further instructions. She quickly shoved the potato into her mouth and swallowed without chewing. Malka nodded. "That's good. Keep it up, little sister. Save your strength."

How Malka managed to grin at a time like this was miraculous. Maybe it had something to do with the little "errands" she carried out in the makeshift basement of men's compound. Just what on earth where they creating down there? A bomb? An escape tunnel?

Malka wouldn't say. She just assured Rachel that something was going to turn those Nazis on their heads very soon.

She leaned closer to Rachel and whispered, "Not much longer now. As soon as the signal is given, we're going to climb over the fence and head for the woods. You'll be out of this horrible place forever."

"But what about you?" Rachel's eyes widened with concern. "I can't do anything without you, Malka."

Malka's hand dropped from stacking wood to seizing her little sister's withered hand. "Don't you worry. I'll take care of everything."

"Move it, scum!" snarled the soldier. The sisters grasped a fallen log, splinters digging into their chaffed hands.

"Promise?" Rachel asked meekly.

"I promise," Malka soothed her. "Have I ever let my little sister down?"

A-A-A

Present day Pennsylvania:

"Refill?"

Dean Winchester looked up at the perky blonde who was poised over him with a coffee pitcher in hand and a winsome smile on her face.

"Sure," he responded with grin.

She bent over to fill up his cup and was rewarded with a wink and a "thank you" from the handsome young man. The waitress's long legs walked off with a spring in her step.

Life was good. Well, relatively good when you considered all the adversity that had dropped itself upon Dean's head ever since he started this road trip down Nightmare Street with his younger brother Sam years ago for the "family business".

They had just taken apart a nest of vampires in Georgia, vanquished two furious spirits in West Virginia, and had made their way towards Pittsburgh to recharge their batteries.

Dean pushed around the remains of his breakfast with a fork. He still took diner meals in stride but knowing that they now had a fully-operational kitchen in the Bunker was a blessing he didn't intend to take for granted. An inheritance from their grandfather, who had been a member of the secret society known as the Men of Letters, the Bunker was the current residence of the Winchester boys and a welcomed sanctuary to Dean after years of cheap motels and camping out in abandoned houses.

Okay, so the Bunker's kitchen was right out of a 1930's catalog (maybe that's because it had been sealed up for decades) but at least it had working appliances. He made a mental note to pick up milk and a blender. Dean intended to surprise his younger brother with one of the best milkshakes Sammy had ever tasted.

But now his attention was focused on the pimply teenager sitting across from him in the booth. Dean took a sip of coffee, being careful not to spill it on his suit. "Would you mind telling me again what you saw?" he asked.

Brian's head bobbed up and down. "It's like I said, Office Kane. Some huge guy jumped out of the shadows and knocked me and my pals down. I swear I'm not crazy!"

"I don't doubt it," Dean assured him. He placed his cup down. "Why don't you back up and tell me exactly where you and your buddies were at 11 o'clock the other night?"

"It has been a busy day and we were all heading home from uh, the library," Brian began. "I had to pick up some stuff for my Mom at the A&P and then as we were rounding Baltic Avenue, this huge guy popped out of nowhere! He was like, ten feet tall or something! Pounded us like hamburger meat!"

"No weapons?" Dean asked.

"He didn't need them, man! He just picked up Jeffrey and threw him against the wall like a rag. We tried to take him down but he just grunted like an ape and punched our lights out." Brian pointed to his left eye that was purple and swollen. "Just look at the shiner he gave me! Boy, it's a good thing we got away."

"It sure is," Dean commented. "Too bad you lost your stuff too."

Brian's eyes widened. "H-how did you know that?"

Dean reached under the table and pulled out a heavy green knapsack. "We found this at the scene of the crime."

"Gee, thanks." Brian reached for the bag but Dean kept his hands on it.

"There's just one thing that I don't understand, Brian Dempsy. You and your buddies have a reputation around here for breaking curfew. And suddenly you decide to be Mr. Nice Guy by getting Mommy some groceries and being at the library two hours after it closes?" Dean wagged a finger. "Something doesn't gel here, kid. Nobody becomes a saint overnight."

He unzipped the backpack and took out two cans of spray paint. Brian gulped.

"Now let me tell you what I heard after talking to some good upstanding citizens. They say a couple of guys that looked like you and your pals were at Baltic Avenue the other night but what you were painting wasn't the Sistine Chapel."

Dean placed both hands on the table and looked Brian Dempsy squarely in the eye. His voice was cold as steel. "I can either clamp on the bracelets and take you downtown or you can get your head out of your ass and find a new hobby."

"B-but what about…" Brian spluttered.

"I'll look into Andre the Giant. You make sure you're in bed by ten o'clock every night or else I'll give you something to make you piss in your pants."

Dean's tone had the right effect and Brian's head nodded up and down obediently.

"Good. Glad we had that little chat."

Dean tossed some bills on the table and headed outside. Sam was sitting inside the Impala and so engrossed in his magazine that he didn't notice his older brother approach the car. Dean reached a hand through the open driver's seat and slammed a hand on the horn.

HONK!

Sam yelped and nearly jumped out of his skin. Dean chuckled.

"I swear, Sammy. You are too easy sometimes." Dean got into the car and snatched the magazine out of his brother's hands. "Especially when it comes to the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties."

Glee quickly turned to surprise and then frustration as Dean flipped through the pages. "A medical journal? Seriously?"

Sam grabbed the magazine back. "We're not the only current events around. This issue has an exclusive interview with Dr. Miri Jacobson, one of the leading surgeons in the country," he said as-a-matter-of-fact.

"Whoopie do wah."

Dean eyed the woman on the cover with skeptism. Tall, slim, and in her mid-50's, Dr. Jacobson sported angular features and bobbed blonde hair. Every inch of her suit was ironed and starched to perfection. Her smile was firm and condescending to Dean. She looked as if she was telling him to drink his milk, tie his shoes, and brush his teeth.

"I need to find you some hotter chicks."

Sam ignored his brother. "Dr. Jacobson is a genius. Just last month she saved a guy's life in Omaha even after the other doctors said he'd never recover from the car crash. The operations she's assisted in helping people, the lives she's saved…"

"Yay for her."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Has it occurred to you that there are other people in the world besides us who actually do good things? Things that don't involve killing demons and burning monsters to the ground?"

"Yeah. But they're not awesome like us." Dean turned the key in the ignition and drove off.

"So what happened back there? New mojo working up in town?" asked Sam.

"Nah, I think its old mojo. Remember last year when we came through the Wilkes-Barre campus and met Aaron Bass and his walking talking Frankenstein?"

Sam Winchester couldn't forget. "Case Zero" began right after the Winchesters had discovered the Men of Letters hideout and ended with Sam dutifully logging the instance for future references.

The case had been a colorful one, even for hunters as experienced as Sam and Dean. It had involved a rabbi spontaneously combusting, a giant mud-man brought to life, Nazi necromancers, and a frustrated young Jewish man who finally took a stand after watching the Winchesters hack and burn several zombies.

"A couple of punks in town say they saw something that sounded a lot like the Golem hunkering around town late at night."

Sam glanced up. "Do you think Aaron knows something about it?"

"I figure it can't hurt to ask," Dean shrugged. "We'll swing by the neighborhood and see if he knows anything about it. Then pick up something healthy for you to read for a change."

Sam decided not to debate his brother on this one and went back to his medical journal.

A-A-A

Aaron Bass had moved to the other side of town since the last time the Winchesters came through. They hadn't been driving more than six minutes towards his current address when Sam pointed out the window. A familiar young man was heading out the front door of a café while carefully balancing a cardboard tray stacked with hot coffee cups. He nearly dropped everything when the Impala honked twice to get his attention.

Dean pulled the car to a stop and got out. "Well, look at you!" he exclaimed, sizing Aaron up and down. The cardboard tray balanced to Aaron's left hand while he used the other one to shake Dean's hand firmly.

"Good to see you too," Aaron said.

The young man seemed to stand a little taller than the last time they had met but the most noticeable difference was the crocheted blue-and-white skullcap on Aaron's head. He wore a sports jacket and had cotton white fringes dangled out of the sides of his pants. Noticing Dean's eyes were focused on his headgear, Aaron adjusted his yarmulke.

"I know. I don't believe it either," he smiled sheepishly. "One day I'm moping around the local bar and the next thing I know it my e-mail box is flooded with questions from blessings to bar mitzvahs. Crazy, right?"

"Not at all. Sounds like you've found your true calling."

Aaron waved to Sam who was still in the car before addressing Dean again. "What are you guys doing back in town?"

"Routine checkup. Some punks said something about a midnight monster and I thought I'd make sure it was your Godzilla and not something else."

"Oh, that." Aaron lowered his voice. "I probably shouldn't have sent him after those clowns. But they were making a mess and scaring people."

Dean's eyebrows arched up. "You got Frankenstein to take them down a notch?" Aaron nodded. "Gotta say I'm impressed. But just how did you manage to keep him under control? I thought you smoked your grandfather's instructions."

"It's a long story," Aaron said. "All I can tell you is that I've managed to take on full responsibility for the Golem. Since you and your brother left town, we found four more members of the Thule and put them down. Gunshot or snapped neck, just like you said."

"Hack and burn the bodies?"

"Uh-huh. Did it all at night when nobody would be watching." Aaron smothered a yawn. "Then getting up early every morning for services. Being a member of the Judah Initiative is a full-time job."

"It must have some perks," Dean suggested. "Smart Jewish guy in town has a way with the ladies?"

"None of your business."

Dean smirked. "Is she hot?"

"None of your business." Aaron was still grinning.

"We'll pick this up later," Dean said as he got back into the car.

"Visiting hours are Saturday nights after seven!" Aaron called out before the Winchesters drove off.

A-A-A

"You are not obligated to complete the task. But neither are you exempt from starting it." –Ethics of our Fathers, chapter 2

A-A-A

"Hello, this is the Alexis de Tochqueville Library. How can I help you?"

"Yes we have it on hold and it will be ready for pickup in two days."

"I'm sorry but that's for in-library use only. But we will have it reserved for you and page copies can be made on the fourth floor."

"New registration is extension four three zero. Hold on and I'll transfer you."

"…recommend starting with Victorian classics and then work your way into the Edwardian Era…"

"His name is spelled with a K and not a C. Okay, I'm pulling up The Lighthouse Garden by Arthur Kushman, is that?"

"Do you have a pen? Good. It's six four zero three dot eight nine."

"What am I wearing?"

The librarian hung up the phone with a decisive click. She placed both hands behind her neck and pressed inward, causing a faint pop against her vertebrae. The motion brought a moment of temporary relief and she reached for the next stack of books to process, only to find a hand extending a cup of coffee.

"Rough day, huh?" Aaron asked.

When Margo Green smiled her mouth took up almost half of her face. She had eleven freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose and rolls of dark brown hair that were semi-tamed thanks to the efforts of a woven headband. She wore a gray wool dress cinched at the waist with a wide brown belt and matching boots.

She gratefully accepted the cup and took a sip. "You're amazing. How did you know this is what I needed?"

"Wednesday feels like a double latte day to me. You got a minute?"

"Sure. Lauren, can you cover for me?"

The other librarian gave Margo a warning look. "Be back in ten minutes."

"We'll make it five," Aaron assured her. He opened the front door for Margo and followed her outside. The November afternoon was cold but clear and they quickly sat down on the wooden bench outside.

"So, how'd you think I did?" Aaron asked carefully. "Was last night a snooze-fest?"

"Are you kidding? You were great," Margo insisted. "The college kids loved your lecture and couldn't stop talking about the 'new cool rabbi' in town and your topic: 'Tolkien and Torah: Wisdom from Middle Earth and our Sages'. Inspiring and fun. Where did you come up with such an original idea?"

"Lord of the Rings marathon," he admitted. "And a couple of Talmud books helped."

"Maybe you could do another one next month with a science-fiction theme."

"Sounds good." Aaron rubbed his eyes. "But I have to give myself a breather."

Margo looked concerned. "I can't tell you much I admire everything you've been doing lately. But I'm worried about you, Aaron. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Don't worry about me," he assured her. "It's just this project Grandpa Bass left me to do before he passed away. He had specific instructions for me to complete as soon as possible."

"How long is this project going to take?"

"Not much longer," he assured her. "I'll let you know when it's done. And after that..." He let his voice trail off for a minute.

"Disneyworld?" Margo suggested.

"I was thinking of Chicago."

"Chicago is good. Great pizza. Frigid weather though, this time of year. What's in Chicago?"

"I've been studying to become an official rabbi," Aaron announced.

Margo's eyes lit up. "Aaron, that's great! I'm so proud of you! How long have you been doing this?"

"About four months. I take the test in Chicago, get approved and ordained, grab a pizza, and then we go to Disneyworld."

"As Rabbi Bass and Miss Green?"

"For now. You know what they say about work before pleasure."

"Or Hebrew School before the Magic Kingdom."

"Exactly."

There was a moment of silence between them that confirmed their synchronized thoughts. Suddenly, Aaron started laughing which caused Margo to break out into giggles. She wiped her eyes. "Are we still on for Friday night dinner? Four undergrads and I are doing potluck. You have to bring beer."

"I'll be there," he promised. "Cell phones off."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"You're awesome."

"No, you're awesome!"

"Awesomiester."

"That's not a word."

"Yes it is. It's Yiddish."

"For what?"

"Mister Awesome."

"That's 'Rabbi Awesome' to you."

A quick round of snickering was brought short when Margo had to head back into the library. Aaron glanced over his shoulder wistfully.

A petite nerdy brunette had not been on his list of top priorities a year ago. But then again, neither had inheriting a giant naked Golem in a box or expecting his grandfather to suddenly be murdered at the hands of psychotic Nazis raised back from the dead. He had spent years trying to suppress his religious obligations, feeling the weight of "does" and "donts" pressing down on him so heavily with guilt that Aaron just wanted to bury his head in the sand.

Things changed after Grandpa Bass died—by catching on fire- and those goyim suddenly showed up in their cheap suits, fake badges, and shotguns to find out who did it. Big, tough, and strong, they were everything Aaron wasn't. Well, everything he thought he wasn't chocked up to be. Aaron couldn't tell if he was envious because they were tall and good-looking, the kind of guys who get all the girls, or terrified because they were downright psychotic. Who burns a body in the middle of the night without blinking an eye?

A hunter.

Okay, so he found out there was a lot of insane crap out there aside from the arrogant bastards who thought it was a good idea to follow the Fuhrer and made life miserable for his grandfather and the other European Jews. But Aaron would leave the other meshugina problems to the professionals which in this case meant the Winchesters. He had his own obligations to think about: like making sure to pick up some Budweiser and Manischewitz wine for that night.

A tall slim man from a building across the street had been watching everything. He had light red hair slicked off his forehead and green glacial eyes. He waited until Margo and Aaron had left the library bench before putting his binoculars down.

The man gnashed his teeth together and silently cursed.

A-A-A

He had been watching the apartment long enough to know that as soon as it got dark on Friday nights, Aaron would not be home. He'd lock up and then go down the street to one of the campus buildings for the Shabbat meal.

So predictable, the man with the green eyes thought. The weeks in the shadows were finally going to pay off. He had managed to pick the lock and carefully crept his way into the apartment. He ignored the cheap furniture, the stereo, even the piles of graphic novels and Torah books that lay on the table and were stacked on the shelves.

No, what he was seeking was going to be even more conspicuous.

Under the bed and in the bathroom proved nothing useful. Making his way up the stairs, he noticed a tiny string protruding from the ceiling. The man tugged down on it and a stepladder descended in front of him.

Climbing up the steps with a flashlight, he made his way into the attic. The man shined his light down upon a massive being that lay on the attic floor. A lesser person would have recoiled in fear at the sight of what appeared to be an enormous man stretched out at his feet. But the man was not at all alarmed. In fact, he was delighted.

The man's teeth parted into a shiny smile. He removed the bag he was carrying and took out several tools and an ancient book. Leafing through it, he murmured to himself until he found the page he was looking for. The man examined the letters in the book and then studied the immobilized creature in front of him.

There was work to do.

A-A-A

Friday night dinner passed in a whirlwind of hysterical jokes, teriyaki beef stir-fry, a thoughtful insight on the weekly Torah portion, and just enough wine to get everyone breaking out into their favorite nostalgic songs.

Still feeling high from a sugar rush, Margo had no objections to walking part of the way with Aaron. He never invited her over and at first she presumed he didn't want her to see a messy place. But lately she theorized that his "project" required privacy and no distractions.

"It's not Metallica, it's the Rolling Stones," Aaron insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I'll prove it to you."

"Okay but if I'm right then you owe me a stuffed animal," she warned him.

Margo waited for Aaron to start the next joke but he had halted in his tracks. She saw him facing his apartment building. There was a light on inside and two figures shadowed against the drapes. One was slim and of average height while the other nearly touched the ceiling.

Aaron's voice dropped several octaves. "Margo, I need you to get out of here right away. Run as fast as you can and call 911." He handed her his cell phone and started for the door.

"Wait, no!" Margo grabbed him by the wrist. "What, are you crazy Aaron? You don't know what's in there!"

"Yes I do." He suddenly seized her by the shoulders and looked Margo in the face. His eyes were wide with worry and determination. "And you have to trust me on this one. Do not follow me. Run like hell and get the police—no, wait. If the police don't come, wait for these guys."

He pressed a piece of paper into her hand. Margo looked down at what he had scrawled on it. "Are those weapons?"

"Don't tell anyone. Go, now. RUN!" he shouted.

He shoved her hard. Margo took off running in the opposite direction and punched numbers into the phone.

"H-hello, police? I'm reporting a break in on 22nd street and Gopher. Y-yes, I'm right outside and we just saw something on the-OH MY GOD AARON!" she screamed. Aaron was running straight for his front door. She watched his hand reach for the front door and push it open.

The front windows of the house exploded into shards of glass that showered down into the street, followed by waves of fire that curled up the sides of the house. Aaron's body went flying through the air and went crashing to the ground where it landed in a crumpled heap. Several car sirens began trilling around them.

"AARON!"

A-A-A

"You have taken my companions and my loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend." -Psalm 88

Usually when there was a sudden death with unusual circumstances surrounding it, Sam and Dean would "suit up" and start asking friends and family if the deceased had been threatened or disturbed by anyone.

But this time Dean Winchester could easily narrow down the list of suspects.

The funeral arrangements were quick. Sam had said something about Jewish law insisting on burying the body as soon as possible. They watched the ceremony from the other side of the cemetery, not wanting to be noticed in the crowd. Most of the attendees were elderly and bearded, Sam noticed, and one teary-eyed couple must have been Aaron's parents. There were a handful of the college kids with stony faces and a young woman with a black beret pulled down tightly over her forehead; a black triangle on top of a white square of a face.

Dean just starred at the stone marker with stony silence. Goddmanit. Aaron didn't deserve this, he cursed inwardly. The Thule were going to pay for it. Sam kept his lips sealed as he and his brother watched everyone else shovel dirt over the coffin and then recite prayers aloud. No matter how many times they went through this, it never got easier. In fact sometimes Sam wondered how they could move on with the burdens that continued to heap themselves onto their shoulders.

Because there was no other choice. Because Dean would not allow either of them the opportunity to be silent. There had been evil here; razor-sharp and painfully cold evil. He'd be damned before letting it get away.

The Winchesters waited 24 hours to proceed. Sam was sent to interrogate the last person Aaron had been with (his quasi-girlfriend) while Dean went to check on the tiny synagogue on the other side of town.

A-A-A

Margo had been buried in her black hole of a room ever since she got back from Aaron's funeral. Cold pills were the only way to wear off the shock of the crisis. Just thinking about their conversation outside the library made her break down crying again.

The fire had been no accident. But who would do such a thing? Everyone liked Aaron! If there was a valid reason then it remained a heavy cloud in Margo's mind that refused to disperse. Somewhere inside was a nagging theory that Aaron had been hiding something important; something that endangered his life.

Otherwise it would be the old-fashioned motive and that was just unbearable right now.

The constant knocking on the front door was grating on Margo's nerves. Groggily lifting her head off the pillow, she realized she had slept away the entire afternoon.

"Coming!" she shouted downstairs, struggling to get out of bed. Margo yanked her hair into a scrunchie, pulled a sweater over her head, and staggered downstairs. Peeping through the door hole, she was presented with a federal badge.

"Miss Green? Special Agent Wallace, FBI. Do you have a minute?"

She did have a minute and no, she did not want to give it to him. Nevertheless, Margo heaved a sigh and opened the door. Margo had expected to see a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair or a generous mustache. Instead she almost had to crane her neck to look up at the young man who towered over her five feet and four inches. He was in his late 20's with hazel eyes and shaggy dark hair that was too long for Margo's taste.

Agent Wallace, alias Sam Winchester, tucked the badge back into his jacket. "I understand you were a friend of Aaron Bass and wanted to ask you some questions about him. May I come in, please?"

Margo Green's face was splotchy and there were purple circles under her eyes. Sam recognized the pained expression of a person so distraught that the couldn't even think about cooperating with the authorities. Nevertheless, he pressed on in a gentle voice.

"I know this must be a terrible and sudden loss for you. But if you could spare me some time, it will help us shed some light on the matter."

She nodded wearily. Sam followed Margo inside, noticing a tiny silver cylinder that had been nailed to the doorpost on a slant. She gestured to a kitchen chair and he sat down.

"Tea? I have peppermint or Earl Grey."

"Peppermint, thank you." He wasn't thirsty but distractions helped. The facial muscles in Margo's face seemed to relax a bit as she put the kettle on the stove and got out tea bags.

"Miss Green, how long did you know Aaron Bass?"

"I knew him since last year when Aaron moved onto the campus grounds," Margo began. "But we didn't spent time together then. He hung out with a different crowd from mine. I overheard Aaron remark how he went to Hebrew Day School as a kid but had left that life behind. He said he didn't want to have anything to do with it anymore."

Margo placed the tea bags into cups. "Then a few months ago, after his grandfather passed away, Aaron started coming to the central library more often. He'd check out books on Jewish observance and ask me to order some more for him. We started chatting and going out for coffee. One day I asked him to come for a Shabbat dinner. I thought he'd say 'no' but figured it couldn't hurt to ask. He came and we had a great time. Then he started giving Torah lectures to the other Jewish kids on campus."

A faint smile crossed her face. "Watching him change these last few months, coming back to his heritage and faith, it was something special. Like someone in your family that you haven't seen in years was finally returning home. Did you know that Aaron was studying to become a rabbi? Nobody pushed him to do it. He wanted to follow in his grandfather's footsteps."

Margo glanced at Agent Wallace. He had a pensive expression on his face and his eyes were full of concern. He looked sympathetic to her troubles.

The tea kettle whistled behind her. "Why is the FBI looking into this?" Margo asked abruptly. "Was Aaron caught up in something dangerous? Did he have a criminal record?"

"Aaron wasn't in any danger with the authorities," Sam assured her quickly. "His file was clean."

"Then who would do this?"

"We don't for certain yet and that's why we're examining all options," Sam explained diplomatically.

Margo poured hot water into cups. Then she suddenly added, "Aaron said he was working on something his grandfather left him from the war."

Sam leaned forward in his chair. "Did he say what it was?"

"No. He didn't tell me anything. Now I can't help but wonder what he kept under wraps. Maybe Rabbi Isaac Bass had something to do with Swiss bank accounts or a valuable legacy that needed protecting. I've heard a lot of people didn't want war survivors reclaiming their possessions."

If you knew the truth you wouldn't believe it, Sam thought. But close enough.

She handed Sam a teacup and sat down across the table from him. Sam fiddled with the handle of his cup. "I know what it's like to lose someone you care about. And how frustrating it is when you want to do something to save them. But you can't. They're gone…and you're still here."

Margo starred at Agent Wallace. Five minutes all she could think about was attacking his hair with a pair of scissors. Now there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice. If she wasn't feeling so frustrated then Margo might have wanted to confide some more. But the shields remained up.

"I might be paranoid but can't say it wasn't anti-Semitism either," Margo blurted out.

"Have there been any local threats to religious institutions in town?" She shook her head. "Then I wouldn't rule it out either," Sam said. He took out a pen and paper. "Was Aaron showing any signs of stress or intense fear? Anybody following him?"

She shook her head.

"What about strange smells? Unusual signs around his house? Was he hallucinating at all?"

Margo's eyes narrowed at Sam. "What are you suggesting? Aaron told me that he hadn't touched drugs in years."

"It's just part of the procedure. Please," he added.

"I've told you everything I know," Margo said irately. She was starting to lose her temper. "And your questions are starting to sound irrelevant."

"No offense intended," Sam insisted. He cleared his throat. "I have to ask you a, uh, personal question too. Just how intimate was your relationship with Aaron Bass?"

A red spot had appeared on each of Margo's cheeks. "Excuse me?"

"Did he spill secrets or talk in his sleep about—"

"Get out," she suddenly snapped at Sam.

"Right. Sorry to take up your time."

He quickly tucked his notepad back into his pocket and backed up to the door, stumbling against the coat rack and almost knocking it over. An empty coffee mug went flying through the air and narrowly missed his forehead. He was halfway out the door when it went crashing against the doorframe. Sam shut the door behind him and quickly ran down the steps.

His cell phone rang just in time. Sam flipped it open and pressed it to his ear.

"Tell me you got something," he said to Dean.

"Not much. I asked around the synagogue where Aaron had been going for about three months. A bunch of old geysers had nothing to add about him. "A nice kid", they all said. Looks like he kept everything about the Golem and Judah Initiative under wraps. What about you?"

"Nothing here. He didn't tell his girlfriend either." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "They kept their relationship strictly platonic."

"Sammy, there's no such thing."

"Well, he didn't spend nights at her place. And it's not as if Aaron could have had sleepovers with a Golem in his basement."

"Point taken. Check local motel rooms."

"Dean, I don't think he did that kind of thing."

"Got any better ideas?"

"No, but—"

"Then get to it." There was a decisive click as Dean hung up.

Sam sighed inwardly. He wanted to stop the Thule as much as his brother but he knew when Dean got his teeth into a case it was hard for him to take a step back and assess the situation. Fueled by rage and a desire for justice, Dean's emotions could blind him from taking the best approach. It would take some time for him to cool off. So as much as he disliked a wild goose chase, Sam would keep quiet and follow his brother for now.

The alternative was to handle the case alone and that wasn't something Sam Winchester enjoyed doing at all.

A-A-A

Margo sat at the kitchen table drumming a pen against a blank pad of paper. Agent Wallace had asked some very strange questions that she kept going over in her head but nothing would fit together. She looked down at the name written on Aaron's scrap of paper:

WINCHESTER

Unable to make heads or tails of the word, Margo rolled the paper up into a little ball and shoved it into her pocket with frustration.

RAT-TAT-TAT!

Half-dreading Agent Wallace, she was surprised to find a police officer on the doorstep. Somewhat balding and stout in the stomach, he was more of what she expected than the previous visitor.

"Miss Green?" he asked. "I understand that you're interested in finding out about Aaron Bass' death. Would you be able to answer some questions?"

"I already spoke with the authorities," she insisted.

"I'm certain you did but some evidence recently turned up. Would you mind coming to the scene of the crime?"

She nodded. "I'll get my coat." Margo's back was turned for a moment so she didn't see the officer eye the silver scroll on her doorpost warily.

As soon a Margo crossed the threshold, the officer's eyes flooded to black and he cuffed her across the back of the head. Margo went crashing down the steps and landed on the ground in a heap.

The Impala was making rounds after six dead ends in local motels when they noticed the officer in front of Margo's house. He was dragging her body towards his car.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

"I see it." Dean slammed his foot on the pedal.

The officer dove back into his car, started the ignition, and drove straight off the lawn with the Impala tailing him. Both cars swerved around the corner, tires squealing mercilessly. The cop car ran two red lights and Dean was cut off by an oncoming pickup truck. He cursed under his breath.

"Don't worry," Sam assured him. "I put a tracer in Margo's coat pocket."

Dean watched his brother pry open his laptop and type in some coordinates.

"Good work, Sammy."

A-A-A

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." –Edmund Burke

A trickle of blood stained Margo's mouth. She smelled mold and dust rising up from the ground. The place must've been one of several abandoned warehouses on the other side of town. Her head was swimming profusely but she forced herself to focus on the two men who loomed in front of her. One was the police officer, the other a pimply-faced teen with a small goatee. Both of their eyes were veiled in black.

If this was a practical joke then it was in bad taste.

"Last time, kiddo. What did Bass tell you about the book?" demanded the teen.

"I don't know anything!" she insisted. "I swear. Aaron didn't tell me anything about a book on Kabbalah. I don't even study it!"

The cop smacked a metal rod against his open palm. "Want us to write that on your tombstone?"

The conversation was cut short by a crisp voice from the shadows. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. I asked you to remove the informant—not bash her brains out. At least not yet."

The English grammar was precise but the accent was foreign. Swiss? Austrian? Margo wracked her brains for an answer.

She watched the shadowed figure draw closer in the glaring light of a single bulb. He was all angles and points from his sharp nose down to his polished black shoes. The crisp mouth and pale green eyes narrowed down at Margo in disgust. All that's missing is a uniform and armband, she thought.

He sat down on an overturned crate and produced a heavy red ledger. The man removed a single glove and proceeded to leaf through the papers. Margo noticed a heavy signet ring on the fourth finger of his hand.

"I understand that you were close with the grandson of Rabbi Isaac Bass. You will be reunited with him soon enough."

Margo's innards quivered. "You killed Aaron?" she asked weakly.

"I did." His voice was precise as a watch ticking.

"Why?"

He lifted his head up slowly. "Why does a surgeon hate a tumor? Why does a cat hate a mouse? You stiff-necked Semites have been a stain on humanity's history for centuries." He held the ledger in front of him. "This is a testimony of our great mission: to conquer immortality and rid the world of your kind for eternity."

It was anti-Semitism. Damnit, should've listened to Agent Wallace.

"Of course we had some obstacles along the way. Those murmuring rabbis with their secrets and Mosaic incantations had created something that would set our plans back for some time. But my comrades and I were patient. We waited years strike back."

This guy is in the loony bin.

"Then you must be disappointed. The war ended in 1945," Margo blurted out. "You're decades late to start rubbing us out."

"The battle, fraulein. Not the war," he corrected her. "The rabbis who dared to call themselves an 'Initiative' merely put their plans on hold. And so did we."

He shut the ledger and leaned forth on his knees. "How old do I look? Thirty five or so? It doesn't matter. I've waited over six decades for revenge. Six decades of sleepless nights and fearful days. But no more. I will go down in history as the man who cheated death."

"You're mad," Margo insisted.

"I'm an idealist," the Nazi defended himself. "Even after my comrades were hunted down by that dog of a Jew, Aaron Bass, I knew I could strike a final blow against him and his precious Judah Initiative. And I did."

His mouth parted revealing sharp white teeth. "A simple combustion device took him out of the picture easily. The crucial part was acquiring this ledger and his legacy."

Heavy footsteps echoed in the background. The lightbulb quivered over Margo's head. Her eyes widened in horror as a giant figure drew into the light, taller than any of them. The meaty hands hung still on either side, the thick sinew neck and bulging muscles revealing strength that surpassed any mortal man. The eyes were blank and staring straight ahead.

"This is what your so-called righteous Aaron was hiding in his attic." The Nazi rose and motioned to the giant. "I believe you used to hear bedtime stories about the Golem, no? Big powerful beings made from the earth."

Her mouth was frozen wide open as Margo starred up at the Golem. "Impossible," she croaked out.

"Not as impossible as you think. The rabbis used Kabbalah to raise the Golem from the ground. That same magic will make the beast continue to obey to the master." He pulled the glove back over his hand. "You are going to die one way or the other. But your final moments will be less painful if you tell me where Aaron Bass kept his book of instructions on the Golem."

Too many thoughts were spinning in Margo's head but she mentally grabbed onto the most crucial one she could muster and forced herself to look up at her enemy.

"I already told you that I don't know anything about Aaron having a book of instructions. Just like I didn't know he kept a Golem in his house."

"I'm very disappointed to hear that. It seems you won't be of much use to me after all," he remarked.

"What I can tell you is this: Aaron was a thousand times the man you are." Heat trickled down Margo's throat. "We're not vermin. We are human beings created in God's image. And if the rabbis did take a stand against you in the war then I swear someone else will stop you again."

The Nazi cocked his head to one side. Suddenly he burst out into a fit of crackling laughter. The black-eyed demons next to him snickered. Their leader ceased laughing long enough to wipe his eyes.

"Green, isn't it? Miss Margo Green, what makes you think someone is coming to save you now?"

He motioned to the Golem who strode up to Margo. Massive hands grabbed her and lifted Margo several feet into the air while her legs dangling helplessly above the ground. The thick fingers wrapped around her neck, starting to squeeze the air out of her lungs. Margo's breathing became faint and whispery.

"You promised we'd have some fun with her first," insisted the teenaged demon.

"Oh, very well." He raised a hand and the Golem dropped Margo. She landed on the ground in a chocking heap, only able to focus when the two demons approached her with weapons in their hands.

Weak and shocked to the core, Margo had little strength left save that to part her lips. No voice came out of her throat but she forced herself to mouth the words. "Shma Yisrael Adonai Elohainu…"

The sound of the cop howling stopped her prayer. Margo saw his chest had been punctured and he was writhing in pain. The cop collapsed forward, revealing a young man in street clothes who was holding a shotgun.

"How dare you!" the Nazi sneered. The man punched him in the jaw, sending the Thule member sprawling back.

"You wanna mess with me?" Dean Winchester demanded.

Margo tried getting to her feet but her legs wobbled. She watched Dean try to take on the Nazi and the cop-demon with his rifle of rock salt but the teen was charging towards her. She felt someone shielding her with his body and then the long-haired FBI agent was there, grabbing her by the arms and pulling Margo to her feet.

"Sam, look out!" Dean shouted.

Margo and Sam ducked when the Golem's arm swept over their heads and sent a column of barrels crashing to the ground.

"Hey, woah! Take it easy," Dean said, coming around from behind the Golem. "Remember us? We're Aaron's pals!" The Golem whirled on Dean. Its eyes were glassy and it made no sound. Dean was vaguely aware of something his brother had said, something about Golems not supposed to talk—

"Dean!"

The older Winchester was seized by the wrist and yanked forward, almost ripping his arm out of his socket. He went slamming against the concrete wall and fell flat against the floor. Sam was by his brother's side in an instant.

"I don't think he recognizes us! Somehow that guy's got him under control."

"You have that right," their adversary remarked. He pointed a finger at the Golem. "I command you to stop them!" The giant instantly went charging towards Sam, Margo, and Dean.

"Go! Go!" Sam shouted, half pulling and half pushing her towards a car. He shoved Margo into the Impala's backseat and looked behind him to see Dean attack one of the demons with a knife. The teen wasn't dead but he had certainly slowed down. The Thule member was getting to his feet and yelling at the other one to go after them. Sam quickly opened the driver's door but Dean had lugged the unconscious teen and stuffed him into the trunk.

"We have to go now!" Sam begged him. It seemed to take forever for Dean to slam down the trunk door and get into the front seat.

Dean turned on the ignition but the car wouldn't go. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw that the Golem had grabbed onto the back of the Impala. He pressed down the accelerator but the car merely shuddered in place.

"C'mon, c'mon," he growled frantically. Dean suddenly switched to reverse gear and the Impala bucked backwards, hitting the Golem in the chest. He resumed forward and the wheels squealed mercilessly. There was a definite CRUNCH and the Impala finally took off like a bullet out of a gun. The car drove through a rickety wooden gate, sending splinters of wood everywhere, and out of the warehouse. The last thing Dean saw in the mirror was the Golem standing stoically with a piece of metal from the Impala's back fender in his hand.

"That son of a bitch wrecked my baby!" he exploded.

Sam looked at his brother in exasperation. "Be glad he that's all he did. Why'd you take the demon?"

"We need information. Why'd they take her?"

"Not sure. They were talking about..."

Margo's head was spinning and every vibration of the car was making her sick to her stomach. She heard voices but couldn't process the words.

But who are they? Where are we going?

Streetlamps dashed past the Impala and threw darts of light on Margo's face. Her head wobbled loosely as the world turned bright and airy around her.

"Margo?" Sam glanced in the backseat. "Margo Green!"

Aaron, why did you lie to me?

The light quickly faded into darkness, wrapping itself around Margo and pulling her underground.

A-A-A

Glossary and terms

Yarmulke – Skullcap. Also known as a kippah

Talmud – Rabbinic books that discuss the Oral Law of Jewish life known as the Mishna

Goyim – Gentiles. The term simply translated from Hebrew means "nation"

Meshugina – Crazy

Shma Yisrael – Deuteronomy 6:4 is a prayer that Jews recite as a testament of faith. "Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One."