Fallen Idols Part 1

The Impala drove along an empty road.

~/~\~

"So," Sam chuckles. "What's with this job?"

"Dude suffered a head-on collision in a parked car?" Dean asked. "I'd say that's worth checking out."

"Yeah, definitely, uh, but, we got bigger problems, don't you think?" Angela replied.

"I'm sure the apocalypse'll still be there when we get back." Dean shrugged.

There was a pause.

"Right, yeah, but I mean, if, if the Colt is really out there somewhere—Sam started.

"Hey, guys, we've been looking for three weeks, we got bupkis." Dean replied.

"Okay. But Dean… I mean, if we're gonna, ice the Devil—

"This is what we're doing!" Dean snapped. "Okay? End of discussion."

Sam looked away and Angela sighed. There was a long pause.

"It's just that this is our first real case, back together." Dean commented. "You know, I, I think we oughta ease into it, put the training wheels back on."

"So you think I need training wheels." Sam said.

"No, 'we'. 'We' need training wheels, you, me and Angie. As a team. Okay?"

Sam and Angela nodded. "Okay."

"Man, I really wanted this to be a fresh start, you know? For all of us." Dean said.

"Okay." Sam replied.

"Fresh start." Angela agreed.

~/~\~

The Impala drove along.

~/~\~

Dean, Sam and Angela, wearing suits, showed their FBI badges to the Sheriff.

"Agents Bonham, Copeland and Stein." Dean said.

The Sheriff shook their hands. "Rick Carnegie. Good to know ya. So you're here on the account of Cal Hawkins' death?"

"That's right." Angela nodded.

"Well, 'fraid you came a long way for nothing. We already booked the guy that did it."

Sam, Dean and Angela frowned at each other.

"I'm sorry; who do you think did it?" Sam asked.

~/~\~

Sam, Dean, Angela and Carnegie were sitting at a table, watching the video that Jim recorded.

"Cal? Is something wrong?" Jim asked on the video.

The video showed Cal's head smashed into the windshield.

"Oh my God, Cal. Cal!"

The video cut to static and Carnegie shook his head, then switched off the TV. He dropped the remote on the table and turned to the three hunters.

"Sicko taped his own handiwork."

Dean, Sam and Angela looked confused.

"I don't follow." Angela said.

"It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal." Carnegie said.

"Wait, what?" Dean asked.

"Well, he was the only one on the scene for miles."

"They were best friends." Sam defended.

"Most violent crimes are committed by someone close to the victim."

"And how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty-mile-per-hour crash?" Angela asked.

Carnegie blinked. "Drugs, maybe?"

Angela raised an eyebrow.

"Look, you know this ain't brain surgery! Whatever it looks like, that's what it usually is. It's simple."

"Simple. Right." Dean nodded. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam.

"Right. Um, if you don't mind, we'd like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway." Sam said.

~/~\~

Sam and Angela were sitting at a table across from Jim, and Dean stood behind Sam and Angela.

"I was in the house when it happened, I didn't even see it." Jim said.

"For argument's sake, say we believe you." Dean replied.

"Why would you?" Jim asked. "The cops didn't."

"Well we're not your typical cops." Angela smiled.

"Please, just tell us what you saw." Sam said.

"It's now what I saw, it's what I heard. Tires squealing, glass breaking." Jim sighed. "It was the car that did it."

Dean, Sam and Angela raised their eyebrows.

"The car?" Angela asked.

"I mean, I heard about the curse, but, I just thought it was a load of crap."

"Curse, what do you, what do you mean, curse?" Dean asked.

"The car. Little Bastard."

"Li-Little Bastard?" Dean asked. "As in the Little Bastard?"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, uh, what's Little Bastard?" Sam asked.

"Isn't it James Dean's car?" Angela asked Dean.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it's the one he was killed in."

"Yeah, that's the one." Jim nodded. "Cal had been looking for it for years. I mean, hell, we both had. But he found it first."

Dean leaned closer to Sam and Angela.

"Oh, we are definitely checking this out." Dean whispered.

~/~\~

Dean walked around and inspected Little Bastard with awe, careful not to touch. The windshield was bloodstained and had a piece missing where Cal's head was.

"So, what, this is, like, Christine?" Dean asked.

Dean shook his head. "Christine is fiction. This, this is real."

"Okay." Angela said. "Enlighten us."

"Well after James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage, and he fixed it up." Dean replied. "And it repaid him by… falling on him." He said. "And Tony McHenry was killed when it locked up on the racetrack." He added. "I mean, death follows this car around like exhaust. Nobody touches it and comes away in one piece."

"Hm." Sam and Angela hummed.

"Then, in 1970, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody's ever seen it since." Dean said. "I'm telling you guys, if this, if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet you both dollars to donuts it's what killed the guy."

"So how do we find out?" Sam asked.

"Cal matched the VIN number, but the only real way to know is the engine number."

Sam and Angela nodded.

"I'm guessing the engine number-?" Angela started.

"On the engine. Yeah." Dean nodded.

~/~\~

Dean, Sam and Angela had their jackets off and their sleeves were rolled up and were staring at Little Bastard with trepidation.

"You want me to do it?" Sam asked.

"No. …No, no, I've, I've got it." Dean replied. Dean addressed Little Bastard. "Okay, baby. I'm not gonna hurt you, so… don't hurt me."

Dean lied down on a roller board with a pencil in his mouth, then rolled himself under the car so his eyes were level with a number printed on the engine. He read the number when the car shuddered and Dean panicked, looking around. Angela appeared on the ground next to the car.

"Need a flashlight?" she asked.

Dean startled. "No. Don't… do anything, just go away."

"You, uh, okay." Angela nodded.

"Don't speak." Dean replied. "All right? In fact, neither of you look at her, she might not like it."

Angela stood back up. Dean held a piece of paper up to the engine's number. The car shuddered again and Dean hesitated, then cautiously took a rubbing of the number on the piece of paper with a pencil. He slid out from under the car, exhaling deeply, then stood up quickly. Dean composed himself, then handed Sam the number.

"Find out who owned it." Dean said. "Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to 1955."

"That's a lot of research." Sam said.

"Well, have Angie help ya." He shrugged.

Sam and Angela looked at each other.

"Oh, right." Dean rolled his eyes. "Now that you two are back together, I have to tell you to actually get work done."

Angela laughed. "We'll try our very best, Dean."

Dean sighed and walked away.

~/~\~

Dean sat at the bar, talking to a bartender.

"So, you wanna be an actress, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah." She smiled.

"That is, that is so funny, because, I am actually," he took out a business card. "An agent for William Morris Endeavor."

She took the card. "Wow."

Dean chuckled as his cellphone rang. He indicated his empty beer glass. "You mind filling me up again?"

"Yeah." She nodded.

"Thanks, hey, you're a star." He smiled. "All right?"

She giggled, took the glass and walked away as Dean answered the call.

~/~\~

"Yo." Dean said.

Sam had Dean on speaker. "Hey. Took us a while, but we traced all the car's previous owners."

Sam and Angela were sitting at Sam's laptop, piles of paper spread around.

"Any of 'em die bloody?" Dean asked.

"Nope. In fact—Angela started.

Someone near Dean broke a triangle of pool balls. Sam and Angela heard this.

"Dean, are you at a bar?" she asked.

"No, I-I'm at a restaurant." He shrugged.

The bartender returned and placed Dean's beer on the bar. "Here's your beer." She grinned.

"Thanks." Dean took the beer as the bartender walked away.

Angela rolled her eyes and Sam shook his head.

"That happens to have a bar." Dean said.

"We've been working our asses off here." Angela said.

"Well, we did have a few… breaks." Sam said, smirking a bit.

Angela nodded. "True. But they were well deserved." She smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Gross." He replied. "Look, I spent an afternoon up Christine's skirt. I needed a drink."

"Actually, you didn't." Sam replied.

"Meaning?" Dean asked.

"The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia; drove it 'til he died in 1972." Sam said.

"So you're saying?"

"That Porsche is not, nor has it ever been, James Dean's car." Angela said. "It's a fake Little Bastard."

"Well then what was it that killed the guy?" Dean asked.

"Good question." Sam replied.

~/~\~

A police forensic squad was investigating and photographing the scene. Carnegie was giving orders as Sam, Dean and Angela entered.

"I want you to use a, a fine tooth comb. The evidence is here, we just gotta find it."

"Heard you got another weird one." Dean said.

"Uh, well, it's, it's a little strange on the surface, I admit, but, uh… you know, once you, you look at the facts…"

"William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head." Angela replied. "No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet."

Dean shrugged. "Nope. Nothing strange about that."

"Well there's gotta be a reasonable explanation. There always is."

"Well what's your reasonable explanation?" Dean asked.

Carnegie looked around cautiously for a moment and whispered. "Professional killer."

"Come again?" Sam asked.

"Well, CIA, NSA, one o' them trained assassins, like Michael Clayton."

Sam, Dean and Angela all but gaped at Carnegie.

"Right." Dean nodded. Dean looked at Sam and Angela.

"You're welcome to look around, but, but these guys don't leave fingerprints."

"Mind if we talk to the witness?" Angela asked.

"Be my guest. She's not making any sense! And she's not making any sense in Spanish either."

Dean nodded slowly. "Right."

~/~\~

Consuela was sitting on a wooden bench, wrapped in a blanket, talking to a police officer and sobbing. Dean, Sam and Angela came outside and walked over to her.

"No puedo vivir aquí. Necesito mi familia." She said. "Me voy ahora. Me voy a la casa. No, me voy a la casa en El Salvador ahora."

"Consuela Álvarez?" Dean asked.

"Yes?"

"FBI." Angela said.

Dean, Sam and Angela showed their badges. The police officer left.

"Now, uh, you said you saw something in the professor's house." Dean said. "Right? Something in the window?"

"Estaba sacando la basura. Amir por la ventana y vi al hombre que mató al Señor Hill!" she cried.

Angela knelt in front of her. "Uh, Señora Álvarez." Angela said. "Cálmese, favor del por favor." She added. "Uh, díganos lo vio Que?" she asked.

Dean grinned. "Nice."

Angela smiled. "My dad had me learn Spanish at a young age."

Sam swallowed thickly. "I-I had no idea you spoke Spanish." He murmured. "T-That is i-incredibly attractive…" he mumbled.

Angela laughed a bit. "¿Le gusta cuando hablo español para ti, Sammy?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Agent, keep this professional, please."

She smiled and turned back to Consuela. "Continuar."

Consuela nodded. "Era alto. Muy alto. Y llevaba el abrigo negro Largo y tenía bigotes."

Angela nodded and looked up at Dean and Sam. "He was tall. Very tall. And he wore a long black coat and had a long beard."

Consuela nodded. "Y un sombrero." She added.

"Dude was wearing a sombrero?" Dean asked.

"No, Dean he was wearing a hat." Angela replied.

"No, no, no, un sombrero alto." Consuela said.

"A tall hat." Angela corrected herself.

"Oh, like a top hat." Dean said.

"Un sombrero alto." Consuela gestured above her head. "Muy alto!"

"What, you mean like a, like a stovepipe hat." Dean imitated her gesture.

"Si." Consuela nodded.

"Oh yeah, like Abraham Lincoln." Dean shrugged.

Consuela started sobbing again. "Si, El Presidente Lincoln."

The three hunters traded confused looks.

"Abraham Lincoln kill Mister Hill!" she cried.

"Huh." Dean said.

S-so I go home now?" she asked.

"Uh, sí." Angela replied. "Gracias."

"Gracias." Sam and Dean said.

Angela turned and frowned at them as Consuela walked away.

~/~\~

Sam, Dean and Angela sat at the table, Sam and Angela on his laptop and Dean on a new laptop. Sam brought up a webpage. Dean was rewatching the video of Cal's death. He noticed something and frowned, then paused the video and backed up a few frames until a figure in a red leather jacket appeared reflected in the chrome of a car wheel.

"Whoa." Dean said.

"What?" Sam and Angela asked.

Dean went back and forth between adjacent frames; the figure was present in one but not the other. He picked up the laptop and turned it so Sam and Angela could see.

"It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video." Dean said.

Sam and Angela looked at it.

"Am I crazy, or does that look like James Dean?" Dean asked.

"That looks like James Dean." Sam replied.

Dean set the laptop back in front of himself. "So we got Abraham Lincoln, and James Dean?"

Sam and Angela frowned.

"Famous ghosts?" Angela asked.

"Maybe." Sam shrugged.

"Well that's just silly." Dean said.

"No, actually, uh, there is a ton of lore on famous ghosts." Sam replied. "More than the, you know, not famous kinds. I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one before."

"Yeah, but now we got two of 'em? Two extremely pissed off ghosts?"

"Who are apparently ganking their fans." Sam replied.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Angela read off a webpage. "Professor Hill was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln."

"And Cal must've been a James Dean freak." Dean replied. "He spent 17 years of his life tracking down the guy's car."

Sam raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"So you're saying we've got two super-famous, super-pissed-off ghosts killing their… super fans?" Dean asked.

Angela shrugged. "That's what it looks like."

"Well, that is muchos loco." Dean said.

Angela smiled. "'Muy'." She corrected.

Dean looked up.

"Not 'muchos'." Angela said.

"Yeah, well, the big question is, what the hell are they doing here?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Ghosts usually haunt the places they live. I mean, I, I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House—

"And James Dean at a racetrack, but… what the hell are they doing in Canton?" Dean asked.

~/~\~

Sam and Angela were still working on Sam's laptop while Dean stood by the sink, drinking a can of soda. Sam stopped typing and frowned.

"You've gotta be kidding me." Sam said.

"Oh my God." Angela said.

"What?" Dean walked over and read the screen. "You gotta be kidding me."

~/~\~

Sam, Dean and Angela walked through the wax museum, checking out the figures. Sam and Angela walked past John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, then stopped at Abraham Lincoln. Dean frowned at Gandhi.

"Dude, he's short." Dean said.

"Hey. Gandhi was a great man." Sam defended.

"Yeah, for a Smurf." Dean replied.

The museum owner came down the stairs at a half-jog, slightly out of breath. He was wearing a leather jacket.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, this is our busiest time of year."

Angela looked around at the empty rooms. "This is busy?"

"Well, not right now, but it's early."

"It's 4:30." Dean replied.

"So, what can I do for you?" the owner asked.

"Uh, well, we are writing a piece for Travel Magazine." Sam replied.

"Yeah, on how, uh, totally non-sucky wax museums are." Dean said.

"That's fantastic. A little press, just what we need."

"Great." Angela replied. "Well we're interested in a few of your exhibits, specifically Abraham Lincoln and, uh, James Dean."

"Two of our most popular displays."

"Oh yeah? So they bring in a lot of visitors?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, we have our regulars." The owner nodded.

"I don't suppose that, uh, William Hill and Cal Hawkins were regulars, were they?" Dean asked.

The owner nodded. "As a matter of fact, they were. Yeah, I heard what happened to them. It's tragic, just tragic. Oh, you, that's not gonna be in the article, is it?"

"No. No, no. 'Course not." Angela replied.

"You know, I gotta tell you, that, that Lincoln is so lifelike, I mean, you, I mean, you can just imagine him moving around." Dean commented. "You ever see anything like that?"

The owner frowned. "Uh… no."

"No?" Dean asked.

"Well, um, is there anything you could think of that would make your museum…unusual?" Sam asked. "You know, for the article?"

"Well, I'll say. There isn't another place like us, not anywhere."

"How so?" Angela asked.

"Well, for one, that's Honest Abe's real hat." The owner pointed to Lincoln.

"It is?" Sam asked.

"Almost like his remains." Dean looked pointedly at Sam and Angela.

The owner frowned. "Uh… I guess?"

Dean grinned.

"You wouldn't happen to have any of James Dean's personal effects, would you?" Angela asked.

"Ooh, yeah. Got his keychain. We got a bunch of stuff, uh, Gandhi's bifocals, FDR's iron lung. This." He indicated the leather jacket he was wearing.

Sam frowned. "And who did that belong to?"

"The Fonz. Seasons two through four!" the owner did a double thumbs-up, grinning.

"W-wow." Angela nodded. "Yeah, that's, that's really cool…ish."

"This? This is nothing. I've been working on a new collection of figures. Stuff that'll really wow the kids."

"The kids?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, Gen Y."

Dean nodded.

"Computer games, cell phones, sexting."

Dean raised his eyebrows. The owner scoffed.

"They're just fads. I'm gonna make wax museums hip again." He grinned and gave his double thumbs-up again."

Dean chuckled and Angela forced a smile. Sam returned the thumbs-up.

~/~\~

Sam opened the trunk of the Impala, took out a shotgun and loaded it with shells and rock salt, then put the loaded shotgun back in and closed the lid. He went back into their room.

~/~\~

Dean was talking on his cell phone, facing away from the door. Angela was on the computer.

"Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean, can you believe that?" Dean asked. "… Why so kill-crazy? Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got 'em all hot and bothered. Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is… Well I'm sorry, but it's true."

Sam frowned, then pushed the door shut, causing Dean to spin around.

"I'll call you later. Bye." Dean hung up and turned to Sam.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"Did you get the trunk packed up?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, trunk's packed. Who was on the phone."

"Bobby." Dean said.

"And?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

"So we're just gonna pretend I didn't hear what I just heard?"

Dean shrugged. "Pretend or don't pretend. Whatever floats your boat."

"This was supposed to be a fresh start, Dean."

Dean picked up his jacket. "Well, this is about as fresh as it gets. Now are we going or not?"

Dean walked to the door, opened it and left. Angela sighed and walked over to Sam, taking his hand. Sam sighed and they walked out together.

~/~\~

Sam, Dean and Angela walked through the museum, past Gandhi. Dean approached Lincoln and took off his hat as Sam fetched a metal trashcan. Sam turned around to find Dean wearing Lincoln's hat. Angela giggled.

"Check it out." Dean said. "Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat." Dean lowered his voice, imitating Lincoln.

"Dean." Sam sighed.

Angela took the hat off Dean's hand and threw it in the trash.

"Why can't we have any fun with this?" Dean asked.

"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts and get outta here." Angela shrugged. "Okay?"

"I'll go grab East of Eden's keychain." Dean said.

Dean walked into the next room. Sam and Angela scanned the room. Sam looked at Lincoln, then narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer. The double doors Dean went through slammed shut. Sam and Angela spun around.

"Dean?" Angela asked.

Sam and Angela went over to the doors, shotguns in hand.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

Sam and Angela tried the door handles but the doors wouldn't budge. They noticed their breath condensing in front of them and spun around, shotguns held at the ready. They looked from Lincoln to Gandhi and back again as they crept forward slightly. Sam heard a creak to his left and turned. Sam and Angela's shotguns flew out of their hands. Defenseless, Sam stood still for a second and Gandhi leapt onto his back. Angela tried to pry him off, but was flung backwards.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

"Is that Gandhi?" Dean asked.

"Yeah!" Angela called.

"Dude, he's squirrelly." Dean muttered.

"Get the—Sam started.

Gandhi elbowed Sam in the chest, winding him. Sam indicated Gandhi's wax figure with a shake of his hand. Angela got up and ran over to it.

"Do it!" Sam yelled.

Sam began to gasp and choke, running out of oxygen. Angela grabbed the glasses off the Gandhi wax figure and ran over to the trash can. She threw them in and Dean handed her the lighter fluid. She poured the lighter fluid on them and lit them in fire with a match. Gandhi disappeared, and Sam gasped for air.

"You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?" Dean asked.

Sam stared.

"Really? Gandhi?" Dean scoffed.

A/N: Hey guys, sorry I'm really late with updating. 1. This and the next chapter were just really hard to write because they were long and I just wasn't getting into writing it, so it took a while to power through. 2. I'm currently studying for a unit test in my AP course that I have tomorrow. But, I really wanted to get this up, so here you go! Hope you guys enjoyed it, love you 3

Don't forget to review, review, review!

~Emily