"So...what's with this job?" Sam looked puzzled, unable to understand why they were taking a job, let alone this odd one in particular. In the back seat, Alex was curled up in her canine form, her eyes shut and her feet and nose twitching on occasion. Sam had been watching with amusement for nearly twenty minutes before asking his question. "I mean, a guy suffering a head-on collision in a parked car is interesting, but don't we have bigger problems?"

"I'm sure the apocalypse'll still be there when we get back," Dean said pointedly, rolling his eyes. He shifted his grip on the steering wheel. He smirked when a soft woofing sound escaped the skinwalker in the backseat. "Hasn't done that in a while. Must be really sleeping for once. Maybe havin' a good dream."

Sam eyed him. Since when did he care about that? Shaking his head, he continued with the serious question, "If the Colt is really out there somewhere-"

"Hey," Dean said sharply, beginning to get a little annoyed with his brother. "We've been looking for three weeks and we got nothin'. So this is what we're doing. Okay? End of discussion." Sam pressed his lips together and turned in his seat to look out the window, a little upset. "It's just that this is our first real case, back at it together. We oughta ease into it. Put the training wheels back on."

"So you think I need training wheels."

"No," Dean said sharply, "we. We need training wheels. You, me, and Alex, too. As a team. Okay?"

"...okay," he finally agreed with a small nod.

Neither said anything more.

Alex bit back an agitated snarl as she watched Dean and Sam enter the sheriff's department without her, instead crossing her feet at the ankle and leaning her head against the frame of the Impala's open back door. She was bothered that they'd left her behind when going to chat with the sheriff of Canton, Ohio, but…

She understood somewhat that Dean wanted to do most of this one with Sam. And she was fine with that. The future had really shocked the guy, she realized, and she understood that he didn't want to screw things up. But honestly.

Alex waited there alone for nearly two hours, and by the time the idiots finally emerged from the sheriff's station, she was curled up in the backseat of the Impala, taking a well-needed nap. Dean tapped the window to catch her attention before sliding into the car, and Sam said as Alex shot upright, hair a mess and blue eyes bleary with sleep, "We're going to investigate a car."

"A car?" she yawned, shaking her head. "Why?"

"Because apparently," Dean said, "the guy had a cursed car." He seemed almost giddy with excitement and Alex gave him an odd look. "Little Bastard."

Alex eyed him. She liked cars - particularly his car - but she didn't like them that much. "Nice."

Dean looked at her in horror, and Sam merely snorted as he said, "Let's just...go look at this car, and you can tell us all you want about it on the way, okay?"

Grumbling viciously under his breath, Dean started the Impala and declared, "I'm disappointed in both of you."

Alex, smirking, merely curled back up in the back seat and snickered, "Whatever you say, Winchester. Whatever you say."

From where Sam was standing with a leash that was connected to Alex in hand, he watched Dean circle and inspect the beautiful car before them while being careful not to touch it. He looked heartbroken whenever he saw the bloodstained area where the dead person's head had been. Alex flicked her ears and rolled her eyes. Idiot.

"So, what," Sam said, folding his arms. He threw Alex an apologetic look when he yanked on the leash by accident, and she huffed. "This is...like, Christine?"

"Christine is fiction," Dean told him, nearly crooning at the car. Alex wanted to slap him over the head. How could someone be so rude on a regular basis but this loving to a car other than his own? "This...this is real." When Sam gave him a gesture to continue, he explained, "After James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage and he fixed it up. And it repaid him by falling on him. Tony McHenry was killed when it locked up on the racetrack. I mean, death follows this car around like exhaust. Nobody touches it and comes away in one piece. Vanished off the back of a truck in the year of 1970, and no one's seen it since."

Alex pricked her ears in interest. She understood why the man was so fascinated now. The car itself was pretty, but...the story was almost more interesting.

"I'm telling you, man, if this car is Little Bastard," Dean finished, "I will bet you dollars to donuts it's what killed the guy."

Sam's lips kicked up at the corners when Alex snorted in confusion at this choice of words, and then asked his brother, "So how do we find out?"

"Engine number." Dean looked unhappy now, pulling away and rejoining them a short ways away from the car. "Which means we're gonna have to look under the car." He and Sam turned looks of trepidation on the vehicle now and Alex perked up, woofing impatiently.

Sam turned his face to her. "Do you want to do it?" he asked, surprised.

She nodded, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she watched him drop the least. She took off at a trot for the Impala. She'd get dressed there, and then come back into the garage in which the car had been stored. Bobby had shown her a thing or two when she'd stayed with him while Dean was in Hell. She was sure she could take care of the engine number. Dean started to argue with Sam, claiming that he wanted to do it, but Sam shushed him. "Let Alex do it for a change."

Dean folded his arms with a pout, not bothering to look after the skinwalker. "She doesn't even get the beauty of the car, Sam! It's not fair. She shouldn't get to do it. I was going to."

"What are you, three?" Sam snorted, and then listened in peaceful silence as his brother ranted over the lack of three-way agreement in the decision. When he caught sight of Alex coming back, her black leather jacket draped over her arm and her scarred face lit with determination, he waved.

"Alright, boys," Alex purred, draping her jacket over Sam's offered hand. He carefully tucked it under his arm, and she rolled the sleeves of her plaid fleece up, musing aloud that she'd begun to replicate their style. Dean ignored that, instead complaining, "Why are you doing it?"

"Because I'm going to show off the skills I've acquired," Alex replied, wiggling her fingers a little as she instructed him to retrieve everything she'd need. As Dean went to find a roller board for her to use beneath the car, Sam dug in his pockets for a pencil and pad, ripping a piece of paper out for her. "Thanks, Sam."

"No problem."

As she watched Dean turn to begin the trip back, board in hand, she said quietly, "I'm glad you're back. It wasn't as fun without you here."

Sam smiled a little and reached out to ruffle her hair in his way of thanks, earning him a half-hearted glare before Dean was slamming the roller board grumpily onto the ground. "Don't get crushed," he told Alex, and she flashed him a grin.

"I won't. Twat." She carefully got on her back, resting it gently on the roller board. She fidgeted making sure the pencil and paper were in place, and then pushed herself beneath the car they believed to be Little Bastard.

Beneath the car, Alex lost her confidence. It shuddered, and she flinched, but gently went to work on getting a rubbing of the engine number after finding it. The car shuddered a second time and she growled in response, jumping when Dean's voice called, "Need a flashlight?"

"No, don't do anything," she rumbled, glaring over her chest at him. He smirked at the sight of what might have been fear in her eyes, bent over on his knees to look beneath the vehicle. "I've got it, you bloody fool." He shrugged, and she snarled, "Don't even look at it, the car might not like it!"

After getting the rubbing, Alex quickly rolled herself back out and sat up, breathing out sharply. Hiding her shaking hands, she accepted Sam's offered hand, letting him pull her upright. "Here," she murmured, pressing the paper into his hand and throwing a look at the car over her shoulder. "Can you look for who owned it?"

"Sure," he agreed.

"Make sure you do 'em all," Dean told him, "not just the last one. Take it all the way back to 1955." He eyed Alex, who was still trying to calm herself. Despite her confidence, she'd clearly been frightened by the idea of a cursed vehicle, and he smirked a little. "Need to hold my hand?" he mocked, holding his hand out.

Alex snapped her jaws once. "I'm going to bite your bloody hand off of your wrist if you ever offer something like that again," she seethed, and then turned and sauntered away, intent on getting into the Impala.

Dean watched after her with a smirk, his gaze locked onto her backside, and Sam found his eyebrows lifting in astonishment. "What did I miss that went on between you two?" he asked, waiting on his brother's answer.

To his surprise, Dean's smirk merely widened and he said, "Nothing, Sammy. Nothing at all."

Alex glanced up from the book she was skimming through when Sam let out a soft whoosh, sitting back in his seat. She abandoned her book, placing it carefully down on the bed, still open to her page, and asked, "Everything alright, Winchester number two?"

He glanced up at her, dark eyes distressed, and then looked back down. "It's fake."

"What's fake?" she asked for clarification, swinging her legs around to sit up.

"The car. Little Bastard. It's a fake, it's not the real car." Sam closed his laptop, running a hand down his face. "And now I have to tell Dean. We're back at square one. Do you know what it could be?"

She thought it over, running through her mental data book, and then shrugged. "No. No clue. Sorry."

He watched her for a few moments, and then asked desperately, "Alex, what did I miss? What did you guys...what did you do while I was gone?" He looked upset that he'd even left. "I should never have left," he said, confirming Alex's theory.

"You're here now and that's what matters," she said gently before admitting, "We took a little trip into the future." He snapped his gaze up to hers in shock. "Zachariah found us through some Jehovah's Witness people, or something like that. In any case, it wasn't pleasant. We weren't sent too far, just enough to see the destruction of the world. Croatoans everywhere. Bobby…" She trailed off, and then continued. "Castiel had lost his angelic abilities...it was horrific, Sam." She chose to not tell him what he'd been like. Where he'd been. "The worst part was us." She made a face now, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Older me kissed older Dean, and I don't think I've ever been more scared for my future. Don't tell him that; he doesn't know."

Sam, despite being bothered that he hadn't been there to experience the future like that, barked out a laugh. Alex glared at him, but he merely grinned and said softly, "Is that why Dean called me?"

"Yeah." She smiled softly at him. "And I was serious, Sam. If something like that ever happens again, and Dean's being a bloody twat, I will go with you. I don't care what Dean thinks."

Sam watched her for a few moments before saying quietly, "Thank you, Alex."

She waved him off, reaching for her book again. "Bloody hell, you're clingy," she teased. "Why don't you call him and let him know. Put him on speaker," she added, glancing over the edge of her book. "I want to hear everything the twat says."

"Yes, ma'am," he said drily. Sam swept some of his papers aside, grimacing at the stacks around his laptop and then pulled his phone out, dialing the familiar number. As it rang, he put it on speaker and set it on the table, both hunters listening to the dial tone.

Finally, Dean picked up.

"Yo."

"Hey," Sam said with a heavy sigh. "Took me a while, but I traced all the car's previous owners."

"Any of 'em die bloody?" Alex perked up as she listened to Dean. She could have sworn she'd heard something in the background.

"Nope," Sam said, "In fact-" He was cut off as something loud filled the air. Alex knew that sound well. Pool balls. Her eyes narrowed into slits.

"Winchester," she called, a growl rumbling in her chest, "are you in a bar?"

"No," Dean said hastily, "I'm...I'm in a restaurant."

"Here's your beer," a voice neither she nor Sam knew.

"Thanks." Sam shook his head, exasperated, as Dean added, "A restaurant that happens to have a bar."

"We've been working our asses of here," Sam snapped, although he waved off Alex when she gave him a pointed look, because honestly...she'd done absolutely nothing. But, he decided, Dean didn't need to know that. Dean didn't answer, and Sam huffed, "The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia. He drove it 'til he died in 1972."

"So...what are you saying?"

"He's saying," Alex chimed in, annoyed with him, "that it's not James Dean's car, Dean. It's a fake Little Bastard."

"Well then," Dean said, clearly disappointed despite the fact that the car would have been cursed, "what was it that killed the guy?"

Sam met Alex's eyes from across the room, face grim. "That's what I'd like to know."

The next day found Alex, once again, in her canine form. Sam held the end of the leash as per usual while Dean eyed the building they'd gone to, where supposedly a murder had taken place. Alex snorted softly. She could smell something off, but couldn't put her finger on what it was. "Alright," Dean declared, putting his loaded handgun safely at the small of his back and starting for the front door. "Let's go."

Alex kept up with ease, trotting alongside Sam with her head lifted and nose working furiously. They entered the building, earning strange looks due to her presence, but Alex ignored them, letting the boys work their magic with the fake badges, and before they knew it, they were approaching the crime scene that was being swarmed by forensics. As they entered, ducking under some caution tape, a man was barking, "I want you to use a fine-tooth comb. The evidence is here. We just have to find it." The man, "Carnegie," Sam hissed under his breath, paused when he saw the "FBI agents", frowning briefly at the dog before shrugging and saying, "You're here."

"Heard you got another weird one," Dean said in way of explanation, green eyes combing the area curiously.

"Uh, well…" Carnegie looked flustered. "It's a...it's a little strange on the surface, I admit, but you know, once you...once you look at the facts."

Sam, who'd made sure to catch all of the information they'd need before coming, said coolly, "No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet, but William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head."

"Nothing strange about that," Dean drawled.

Alex lowered her head to sniff at the ground, seeking any odd scents, and Sam loosened his grip on the leash until it dropped and Carnegie faltered as she took off, pacing the room, but said nothing. "Well," Carnegie said, not tearing his gaze from Alex, "there's gotta be a reasonable explanation. Always is." Another pause, and then he added in a whisper, "Professional killer. CIA, NSA, one o' them trained assassins."

Sam and Dean stared at him in shock, practically gawking. "Right," Dean said finally.

"You're welcome to look around," Carnegie said, making a face when Alex stopped, ears pricked. She gave a signal they'd come up with on previous cases, one ear forward the other swept back before she tore off, and left. "Musta heard the witness. If you want to talk with her, be my guest, but she's not making any sense. She's not making sense in Spanish either."

Interested, the Winchesters agreed and then headed after Alex. It didn't take them long to find her, sitting quietly beside a woman who was on a wooden bench, sniffling as she talked to a policeman while wrapped in a warm woolen blanket. She was ranting in Spanish, her fingers woven through Alex's fur hesitantly.

"Consuela Alvarez?" Dean cut in, interrupting the cop who'd been mid-sentence. He flashed his badge when the cop glared. "FBI." He scowled and got to his feet, heading back for the crime scene. When he was gone, Sam settled in his place, and Alex woofed, resting her chin on the crying woman's knees. An offer of comfort, meant to calm her so they could get the information they needed. "You said you saw something in the professor's house, right? Something in the window?"

She went off again in Spanish, unintelligible, and Sam finally cut her off, speaking fluently in Spanish. Consuela shivered, tightening her grip in Alex's fur, and Dean grinned, commenting, "Nice."

"Freshman Spanish," Sam said with a shrug, and then turned his attention back on Consuela. She spoke urgently, and Sam listened before saying aloud, translating, "Okay, uh...a tall man, very tall, with a long black coat and a...a beard?" He paused, gesturing to his chin to clarify, and Consuela nodded vigorously before ranting again.. "Right. And a tall hat."

"Like a top hat," Dean said slowly, and Consuela spoke hastily in Spanish again, gesturing above her head as she cried, "Muy alto!" Dean eyed her in confusion and he asked, "Like...like a stovepipe hat."

"Sí," Consuela said hastily, nodding.

"So...like Abraham Lincoln."

Consuela burst back into tears, sobbing, "Sí," she repeated, and then added through her despair, "El Presidente Lincoln." When Sam and Dean exchanged puzzled looks, Alex pricking her ears and subtly shaking her head when they glanced at her, Consuela said in broken English, "Abraham Lincoln kill Mr. Hill!"

As she broke down sobbing hysterically, Alex gave them puzzled looks. Even she, from the country of England, knew that Lincoln had been dead for centuries. So how would he reappear to kill someone now a days? And why?

Sam was skimming through notes with Alex, both on the floor with papers scattered around them in every which direction while Dean sat at the table, scanning through the video of the first victim's death a second time, a third time, and so on. Alex murmured something Dean didn't catch, leaning over to peer at a piece of paper Sam offered her, but Dean didn't care. Instead, his attention was caught by something else. He frowned, leaning in as he backed the video up and studied a figure that he hadn't noticed the first few times.

"Hey," he said and both on the floor looked up. Dean scooped the laptop up and carefully handed it over. Alex scooted closer to Sam, peering over his shoulder. "It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video. Am I crazy or does that look like James Dean, Sam?"

"That looks like James Dean," Sam confirmed, and Alex backed him up with a curt nod.

"So now we've got a killer Abraham Lincoln and James Dean?" Alex questioned. "Are...are we dealing with famous ghosts? Because if bloody Queen Victoria shows up, I'm out."

Chuckling, Sam said, "There's a ton of lore on famous ghosts. More than the not-famous kinds. I'm surprised we haven't run into one before...but I'll admit it's odd to run into two extremely pissed-off ones. Who are apparently ganking their fans."

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded.

He held up a newspaper he'd been showing Alex, and Dean peered at the image of a proud looking man holding a sword. "Professor Hill," Sam told him, "was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened with understanding. "And Cal must have been a James Dean freak. Spent seventeen years of his life tracking down the guy's car." Sam inclined his head, and Dean paused to add, "Well, not really the car, but…"

"So…what," Alex cut in, yawning loudly and earning an amused look from Sam. "You're saying we've got two incredibly upset ghosts killing their fans off?"

"That's what it looks like," Sam said with a shrug and Alex furrowed her brow. Becoming thoughtful as he debated what the ghosts could or couldn't be doing, Sam admitted, "Ghosts usually haunt the places they live, I mean...I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House, and James Dean at a race track…"

"But what the bloody hell are they doing here in Canton?" Alex demanded, folding her arms. She'd given up on what she was doing and instead now flopped back onto her back, completely disrupting papers as Dean went back to the laptop. Sam protested, but she ignored him, zoning him out - until Dean suddenly grunted in surprise. She caught the sound with ease and sat up, turning sharp blue eyes on him. "What?"

Dean sat back. "Huh," he muttered, then grinned at them. "How do you two feel about a wax museum?"

Alex looked ready to crawl up one of the Winchesters in terror as they meandered through the wax museum, investigating all of the figures. Dean was smirking to himself, watching her with a mocking glint to his eyes while Sam merely rolled his own and investigated each of them, marking various wax figures.

"Scared, Alex?" Dean said, wandering past her to investigate a figure of Gandhi. He wrinkled his nose. "Dude, he's short."

"Dean Winchester," Alex bit out, curling a lip in agitation. She eyed the figure with reluctance, shivering. She hated these things. Too realistic with a fake stench around them...she wanted to leave. Immediately. "Ghandi was a great man. Don't mock Gandhi."

Dean didn't say anything, instead focusing his attention onto a man that bustled down a flight of stairs at the back. Alex watched him curiously, icy eyes narrowing in suspicion, but there was no weird smell about him, so she relaxed. Well, she tried. The wax people didn't allow for that. The man, dressed in a leather jacket and simple pair of jeans, offered a faint smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting, this is our busiest time of the year."

Sam sighed heavily when Dean looked around pointedly and arched a brow.

Flustered, the man said hastily, "It's early."

Dean was puzzled, claming, "It's...it's four-thirty in the afternoon, dude."

Cutting in, Alex cleared her throat to catch the man's attention, sidling over to stand beside Sam. She threw a warning look at Dean, warning him silently not to upset their only source of information for the time being. "We're writing a piece for Travel Magazine," she said cheerfully. She eyed one of the wax figures distrustfully. "We thought we'd include a piece on wax museums, as they aren't quite as popular as they deserve to be."

"A little press, just what we need," the man agreed, looking excited at the prospect. "That's fantastic, thank you!"

Sam smiled faintly and then told him, "Great. Well, we're interested in a few of your exhibits. Specifically Abraham Lincoln and James Dean."

"Two of our most popular displays," the owner said cheerfully. When Dean snorted disbelievingly, he looked at Dean reproachfully. "We have our regulars!"

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

The owner's face fell. An upset look appeared on his face. "As a matter of fact, they were. I heard what happened to them...tragic, just tragic." Concern appeared, and he looked to Alex rather than the Winchesters for answers, eyes searching hers. "That's...that's not gonna be in the article, is it?"

"No," she soothed, "of course not. We're trying to convince people to go to wax museums, not run away." It looked like it took a lot to get the words out of her mouth and over the owner's shoulder, Dean grinned like the cheshire cat.

"You know," Dean drawled, and Alex wanted to slap him into silence. Couldn't he just...shut up?! Let she and Sam do the talking? "I gotta tell you, that Lincoln one is so lifelike. I mean, you...can't you just imagine him moving around? You ever see something like that?"

The owner shook his head, confused, and Sam quickly spoke up before he could start questioning them. "Well, is there anything you could think of that would make your museum unusual? For the article?"

"Well, I'll say." The owner beamed, looking relieved. "There isn't another place like us. Not anywhere. For one, that's Honest Abe's real hat!" He pointed at the wax figure of Abraham Lincoln, looking excited.

Remains, Alex decided, nodding to herself. Politely, she asked, "Do you have any more personal effects belonging to...well, any of these...people?"

The owner practically bounced on the balls of his feet, delighted she'd asked. "Oh, hell yeah! I've got James Dean's keychain, Gandhi's bifocals, FDR's iron lung. This." He tugged on the edge of his leather jacket, grinning. "The Fonz, seasons two through four." Alex blinked, puzzled. Who was that? "This is nothing. I've been working on a new collection of figures. Stuff that'll really wow the kids."

Alex went white, making Dean crack another grin. Did they really need more of these figures in the world?

Rolling his eyes at his brother's antics, Sam questioned, "The kids?"

"Gen Y," he explained, looking somewhat disgusted. "Computer games, cell phones, sexting. They're just fads." He scoffed, and then said proudly, "I'm gonna make wax museums hip again."

He looked so proud of himself as he gave them a double thumbs-up, that Dean snickered and Sam sighed before returning it.

Beside him, Alex merely eyed a wax figure of a woman with terror.

Hours later found Alex standing before the open trunk of the Impala beside Sam, their hands working hastily to put together an arsenal that would work against an army of ghosts. They'd decided to go to the wax museum that night, wanting to deal with it sooner rather than letting people die because they wanted to wait.

Sam handed her a shotgun, and Alex checked the barrel before nodding. Shotgun shells full of rocksalt along with cans in each of their jackets and Alex's ever useful black blade would do the trick.

"Go on in," Sam told her, grinning. "I'll finish up out here."

"Got it." She patted his arm affectionately, and then put the gun in the trunk before heading inside, just as he'd said. She paused when she opened the door quietly to find Dean talking on the phone to Bobby, whose voice echoed loudly in her ears despite the fact that she wasn't the person on the phone.

"Yeah," Dean was saying, not noticing that she was there. "Abraham Lincoln and James Dean, can you believe that? ...maybe the apocalypse has got 'em all hot and bothered." Alex flinched as Sam stepped in behind her, swiping his hands free of debris, pausing when he realized Dean was speaking. "We all know whose fault that is… Sorry, but it's true."

Alex clenched her jaw. Sam clearly knew what Dean was talking about, because his expression darkened a little and he kicked the door shut. Dean spun around with surprise and Alex leveled him with a lethal glare as he hung up and asked, "Did you get the trunk packed up?"

"Yeah," Sam said slowly. "Trunk's packed. Who was on the phone?"

"Bobby."

"And?"

"And nothing," Dean said irritably, then added sharply, "Stop looking at me like that, mutt."

"I'll stop when you stop being a bloody tosser," she spat, turning back to the door. She shouldered past Sam and stormed out the door, even more upset than Sam was about the comment.

Neither Winchester said anything more, merely followed her out the door. Dean shrugged his jacket on, ignoring the distressed look on his brother's face.

Alex kindly invited Sam to sit with her in the backseat, ignoring the huff from Dean.

The museum was even worse in the dark. Alex wanted to throttle the Winchesters for dragging her around on this job. Sam seemed amused with her behavior; Dean was even more so despite the attitude she was currently showing him. When they'd gotten inside and switched on the lights, Alex stuck close to Sam, looking ready to half-crawl up his arm when she nearly ran into one of the wax figures. He chuckled and directed her to fetch a metal trash can he'd spotted just outside as he grabbed the glasses off of Gandhi's face.

"Check it out."

Sam glanced over his shoulder, and Alex paused in what she was doing to look back. She groaned in exasperation when she found Dean smiling like a proud child at them, Abraham Lincoln's hat atop his head. "Four score and seven years ago," Dean mocked, lowering his voice, "I had a funny hat."

"Dean," Sam said sharply, rolling his eyes. Alex went to fetch the trash can as he held his hand out for the hat. Dean reluctantly took the hat off and tossed it at him so that when Alex came back, Sam dropped it in with the glasses. "Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, and get out of here. Okay?"

"I'll go grab East of Eden's keychain," Dean decided, and promptly left the room.

Grumbling, Alex snarled, "If either of you ever tell me we have a job involving mannequins again, Sam Winchester, I will flay your head from your shoulders and hand your dead bodies over to the demons and angels. Am I clear?"

Sam grinned despite himself. "Are you really that scared, Alex?"

"They're creepy," she insisted, gesturing at the nearby figure of Abraham Lincoln. "I mean, they look so real. Ugh." She shuddered, and then jumped when behind Sam, the doors that Dean had left through slammed shut. Sam spun around. "Bloody hell, here we go," she whimpered.

"Dean!" Sam called, alarmed. He strode for the doors, Alex stiffening. Her gaze darted between various wax figures, her blue eyes wide with fear. He tried the handles, shoulders tensing as his breath filled the air in a cloud. "Damn it-"

"Sam," Alex suddenly shouted, pointing. A creak had him looking over in time for his shotgun to go flying. She looked ready to start screaming when Gandhi leaped into action, throwing himself at Sam. Sam shouted in surprise, trying to pry the arms wrapped around his throat. Alex whipped her blade out, moving towards him. She flinched when Sam tried to remove him by slamming into a wall. It worked. Gandhi hit the ground.

Alex lunged, snarling, but was blindsided when Gandhi turned on her. He barreled into her, fingers latching onto her throat and trapping her to the floor. Sam swore as the doors barged open and Dean appeared, eyes widening at the sight before him. "Dude," Dean blurted, "is that Gandhi?"

Sam bellowed, "Get the-" A well-aimed kick cut off his words. Sam dropped like a stone, swearing colorfully. Dean got the idea, however, and lunged for the trashcan, where he'd seen them dump the glasses. Alex struggled to reach for the blade that had skittered feet away from her upon hitting the ground. It was out of reach, and Gandhi only tightened his grip, snapping his teeth at her shoulder and throat's meeting point.

Dean didn't hesitate. He threw salt and then dumped half a bottle of lighter fluid they'd brought with them into the trash can, fumbling for his matches. Without hesitation, he lit one and dropped it in.

As the trash can burst into flames, Gandhi disappeared.

Alex lay there, wheezing. Her throat ached, and she knew despite her healing abilities she'd have bruises. Beside her, Sam groaned. Dean approached after a moment, scooping Alex's knife from the floor. He stood over them, staring at them incredulously.

"Seriously? You let Gandhi kick your asses?"

Shoving his newly cleaned shirts into a duffel, Dean snickered at the way Alex was huddled protectively over a piece of pizza on the other bed, all ready packed. Sam was in the bathroom, packing his toiletries up. "Still scared, mutt?"

She shot him a glare. He needed to drop this attitude he'd picked back up since he'd invited Sam to come back. It was pissing her off. "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all," she retorted.

It only made him smirk before he called to his brother, "Ready to blow this joint?"

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, looking troubled. "Dean, didn't it strike you as strange? The way Gandhi just...poofed?"

"Strange how?"

Alex piped up, nodding in agreement to Sam. "No screaming," she pointed out. "No big flame-out. That's not the way ghosts usually go. At least," she paused to take a bite of pizza, "not in my experience." Her voice came out muffled.

"Still, I torched, he vanished," Dean retorted. "It's fine."

"No," Alex said, swallowing and setting her pizza down. "He tried to eat me." Dean threw her an exasperated look. She'd been repeating the idea over and over since they'd gotten back, and quite frankly, it was pissing him off. Ignoring the look he gave her, Alex instead continued. "It was like he was hungry. But…"

Sam spoke up, frowning. "He was a fruitarian."

Alex waved at him, nodding, and Dean burst out laughing. Cackling, he said, "Let me get this straight. The guy who jumped you was not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian?" Sam groaned, because honestly, that was not the point they were trying to make, but Dean only grinned. "That's good. That is good."

"Look," Alex said crossly, "the point is, we don't think this is over and you should-"

"It was a ghost," Dean interrupted, throwing his arms out. He didn't give a damn. "It was a weirdly super-charged fruitarian ghost, but it was still a ghost. Let's go." Alex sighed as Dean grabbed his duffel, clearly intending to leave, and began to scarf down the rest of her pizza. Sam, however didn't move. Instead, he shook his head.

"You know, this isn't going to work."

"Oh, bloody hell," Alex sighed. "Here we go."

Ignoring her, Dean asked, "What isn't?"

"Us." Sam waved at him. "You, me, together. I thought it could, but it can't."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're the one who wanted back in, chief."

"And you're the one who called me back in."

"I still think we got some trust building to do."

"Are you serious?" Alex muttered, glaring at Dean. "That's your reasoning? You're a bloody idiot, aren't you?" She understood that Sam had messed up. They all had. It was her screwing up that got her brother and Avery killed. Dean had screwed up and allowed Sam to get as far as he had. Sam had screwed up and started the apocalypse.

Sam's voice lifted a little. "How long am I gonna be on double-secret probation, Dean?" Dean didn't answer with more than a shrug. Sam took a deep breath, trying to control his temper, and let it gust out through his nose. "Look. I know what I did. What I've done. And I am trying to climb out of that hole. But you're not making it any easier."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Dean challenged, glancing irritably at him. "Let you off the hook?"

"No," Sam said evenly. "Think whatever the hell you want. I deserve it, and worse. Hell, you'll punish me as much as I'm punishing myself, but the point is, if we're gonna be a team - all three of us. If we're all going to be a team, you and I...Dean, it has to be a two-way street."

Dean flicked a look at Alex to see what she thought and she shrugged, licking her fingers free of pizza grease. "I'm not a part of this, no matter how hard Sam tries to shove me into it. I'm neutral territory. Think of me as an unknown island off the coast of Antarctica."

Rolling his eyes at the skinwalker, Dean snapped to his brother, "So...what? We just go back to the way we were before?"

"No," Sam said firmly, shaking his head. "Because we were never that way before. Before didn't work. Dean, one of the reasons I went off with Ruby was to get away from you." Alex paused to look at him, narrowing her eyes, and said nothing. Sam earned himself a shocked look from Dean. "It made me strong. Like I wasn't your kid brother."

"Are we saying this is my fault?"

"Bloody hell, he's not, you moron," Alex snapped, rolling her eyes. "It's all our faults." She stared them down, daring either of them to continue the argument. "Now if you're done arguing, can we-"

She was interrupted by the sound of Dean's phone ringing. They all paused; Sam and Alex looked at Dean and Dean looked down at himself, putting his duffel down so that he could pat his pockets for it. Finally, he found it, answering it. "Yeah?" He glanced at Alex, scowling. "Yeah, okay. Thanks." Without another word, he hung up and muttered, "Can't believe I'm saying this, but you were right. It's not over."

Alex felt bad for the sheriff as they stepped into the police department. He looked to be in shock, his face gray with exhaustion. He didn't even seem to care that she was there, that teams of three weren't a thing when it came to official work. She cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced up and ran a hand down his face as Dean asked, "Sheriff, what happened?"

Carnegie shook his head, throwing a hand in the air. "I don't know!"

After a quick discussion, the trio decided that Alex and Dean would take care of the interviewing of two young women, who were huddled beside each other crying in the interview room, while Sam went to do a quick check in the morgue of what might have killed the victim. Alex was scowling a little, not pleased to be stuck with Dean, but smiled as they stepped into the room.

"Hullo," she called, smiling pleasantly to get their attention. They sniffled, looking up.

"Hi there," Dean echoed. "We're with the FBI. Can you tell us what happened?"

Immediately, one began wailing, and Alex twitched. She wanted to cover her ears. "It was horrible!" she cried. "Way horrible. I thought she'd be nice."

The other girl looked at the first, nodding in agreement. "I still can't believe it," she breathed.

Alex sighed and Dean smirked at her before demanding, "Believe what?"

"She took Danielle!"

Alex counted backwards from ten to control her irritation and then reassured when they refused to answer Dean's question of "Who?", "It's okay. You're safe here. Tell us, who took your friend?"

"It was...it was Paris Hilton," the second girl finally admitted, blushing as they stared at her.

"I...sorry?" Alex said finally.

"She looked really good though," the girl said, eyes darting to her friend.

"Skinny!" the other girl added.

"Skinny and fast." They nodded together, enforcing the opinion.

"Okay…" Dean cleared his throat, feeling awkward. He exchanged a look with Alex, who looked as confused as he felt. "Do you know where they went?" The girls shook their heads, claiming they'd vanished. "Would you excuse us?" Without waiting to see what Alex would say, Dean grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the door. She growled irritably at being hauled around, but didn't try to push him away. When they reached the door, he leaned in and said lowly, "Paris Hilton's not dead, is she?"

Alex calmly brushed his fingers from her arm. "No," she said. "Not as far as I know. Which means it wasn't a ghost. Just like I told you."

"So...what?" Dean made a small gesture that looked more like a flail. "Paris Hilton is a homicidal maniac?"

"Let's see if Sam found anything," Alex decided, pressing her lips together. "Then we'll figure out where to go next." Dean agreed and Alex let him thank the girls before stepping out. They strode side-by-side down the hall, heading for the area that Sam would be working in. They were caught by surprise when Sam caught them in the hall.

"I can't believe I missed it," Sam told them as he stopped, pushing his hand into his pocket. "I can't believe we missed it."

Together, they started heading for the Impala. Alex smoothed her hands over her skirt as they walked, her heels clicking. "Missed what?" she asked.

"I went back over the other two victims," Sam said. "There was blood loss. Major. And more than a car crash or head should cause." This last part was added when Dean opened his mouth to make a comment that would have resulted in both Sam and Alex wanting to throttle him.

"So something's feeding," Alex rumbled.

"And then there was these," Sam continued after nodding. He handed over a plastic bag to Dean, who let Alex peer curiously at them. He held them up to the light, glancing at his brother when he was done examining them. "They were in the bellies."

"Seeds," Dean muttered, and then eyed Sam. "I hope you washed your hands."

"Unlike any seed I've ever seen," Alex said, ignoring Dean. She sighed heavily. "I suppose it's back to research then." Sam nodded and the skinwalker wanted to cry.

"Alex, you could be helping."

"No," Alex growled as she shoved the apple back halfway into her mouth. She took a loud bite that crunched and stared down Dean with sharp icy eyes as he stared at her. Finally, grumbling, Dean went back to typing on his own laptop. Sam was busy at the table beside him, ignoring the fact that Alex had abandoned research to sit in the middle of the motel bed and eat an apple.

"Yahtzee!" Sam suddenly said with a grin, proud.

"What?" Alex said immediately, voice muffled with apple.

"The seeds aren't from around here," Sam explained as Dean closed his laptop and set it aside to listen. "In fact, they're not from any tree or plant in the country. They're from Eastern Europe. From a forest in the Balkans, which isn't even there anymore. It was chopped down thirty years ago. Local legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan god whose name was Leshi."

"I've heard of Leshi," Alex said, swiping at her mouth with her arm. "Mischievous little bugger who could take on infinite forms." Sam looked startled. She shrugged. "We had a long drive. I started reading up on every god I could find on wikipedia that wasn't God Himself."

"Looks like he could be appeased only with the blood of his worshippers," Sam said, squinting and leaning in to look at the screen. "It would drain them and then stuff their stomachs with the seeds."

Dean leaned back in his chair, cocking his head a little. "So how's he doing it? Did he touch James Dean's keychain and then morph into the legend himself?"

"As good a guess as any," Alex said with a shrug. "What does it say to kill it?"

"Beheading via iron axe."

"Alright then." She hopped to her feet and threw her apple, grinning madly when it landed perfectly in a trashcan. "Let's go kill ourselves a bloody Paris Hilton."

Dean weighed the axe in his hands as they slid into the wax museum, having broken in for a second time. Alex felt almost bad as she crept in, her blade ready. They didn't know if it would actually work against the pagan god, but she was willing to find out. Within minutes, the trio of hunters had split up. Better to find the god sooner rather than later.

A shrill whistle from Sam brought them creeping back through the museum to where he waited. Sam nodded at a wooden door, indicating signs that read "closed for renovations" and "danger do not enter." Alex stepped aside so Sam could carefully break the latch. He pushed the door open, ducking beneath a plastic sheet. Within the room, they all paused to study it.

The room looked like a forest, a stone path leading through the fake trees to a house painted white with a wax figure in a suit standing on the porch. Alex flinched and dragged her eyes away from it. She gasped softly, taking notice of a girl who'd been tied to a tree. She abandoned Sam and Dean, jogging over to check on her. Switching her blade to her other hand, she checked the girl's pulse.

"She alive?" Dean called quietly.

Alex nodded curtly. "Barely," she answered.

The word had barely left her mouth before the axe in Dean's hand was sent flying. She jolted at the sound of it thudding into the side of a tree. Dean whirled around, and found Paris Hilton smirking at him, her gaze flickering. No, he corrected himself. Not Paris Hilton; Leshi. Leshi didn't hesitate to slam a fist into Dean's jaw, toppling him to the ground. Sam went after her, but she lifted him by the throat, catching him mid-lunge. With a grin, Leshi hurled him over her shoulder.

Alex stared. Despite the fact that this was a murdering god...it was impressive. Sam was incredibly heavy. Growling, Alex slid into a protective stance, leveling her blade in front of her as she narrowed her eyes. She'd protect the girl. Danielle, her friends had called her.

Leshi laughed when Sam crumpled to the earth, unconscious. Ignoring his pain, she stepped towards the skinwalker. Dean groaned on the ground, rolling slowly onto his stomach and swallowing thickly. "Alex," he barked. "Get the girl out."

She faltered, not wanting to leave her companions. But one look at the hungry god, who was eyeing the sobbing Danielle and herself, and Alex gave a curt nod. She cut the girl's bound wrists loose with her blade and then pushed her behind her. "On it," she agreed with a snarl directed at Leshi. Dean lunged for the axe and Leshi whirled on him with a scowl.

"Go!" Alex hissed to Danielle, and together, they sprinted past Leshi and Dean. Leshi snarled furiously, not at all pleased that her meal was escaping. But instead of chasing after them, she lifted a heel-clad foot and kicked Dean in the face, effectively knocking him out.

Alex led Danielle through the wax museum, worried that Leshi would chase after them. But the god remained where she was. When they burst through the doors to the outside, Alex locked her eyes onto the Impala. Had she had the keys, perhaps she would have driven the sniffling girl out of the area, but instead, she whirled on her. She had to get back in there. Grabbing Danielle gently by the shoulders, Alex ordered, "Go to the police station, do you hear me? Tell them nothing of the fact that we're here."

"But-"

Alex cut off Danielle's blubbering. "Do you hear me?" she snapped furiously. "Tell them nothing of us being here. Fake amnesia, tell them that you can't remember.." The girl looked bewildered by her speech, but nodded. "Good girl." She pushed her. "Go."

Alex watched her go and then turned back to the wax museum. She decided to give them time. Leshi wouldn't kill them immediately. She'd want to torture them for information; it was what most gods or monsters they fought liked to do. She took a deep breath, counting backwards from one hundred. Finally, she shifted her blade and crept back into the wax museum.

She shivered as she bypassed the figures in favor of going back towards the door she'd left through, pressing her ear to the door to listen.

"-wanna miss it," drawled a voice sarcastically. Alex snorted; she knew that voice. Dean was alive at least.

"I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately," a feminine voice mused. Leshi. "It's nice to do the ritual right, though. Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change."

"Just like the good old days."

Sam was alive, too. Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That was good to know. Slowly, she inched the door open a crack and peered inside, her sharp eyes locking immediately onto Leshi, who stood with her back to Alex, showing a large knife to Dean and Sam. She couldn't see them from where she was, but she was sure they weren't loose.

"You have no idea how much people adored me," Leshi sighed, shifting her weight. "They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their stupid faces."

Dean answered with a dry tone, "I guess these days nobody gives a damn about some backwoods forest god."

Leshi snarled at him, furious. Alex inched the door open a little more, fingers flexing around her blade. Now, she could see the Winchesters. Tied to trees, like Danielle had been. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth irritably. "No," Leshi said slowly, "not since they cut down my forest and built a power plant."

"March of progress, sister."

Dean was going to get himself killed. Whether it be by a Paris Hilton look alike or Alex was yet to be determined.

"For years now, I've been wandering," Leshi sighed. "Hungry, scared, and scrounging for scraps. So not sexy." She paused, and then cocked her head, setting aside her knife. "But then, the best thing ever happened. Someone tripped the apocalypse. And I thought, what the hell? I'm tired of watching what I eat. I wanna pig out. So, I found this little place. It's awesome! Adoring fans stroll right in the door."

"Yeah," Sam said irritably. "But they're not your fans."

"So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton...whatever. I'll take what I can get."

Alex slunk in after cracking the door just wide enough, keeping to the trees. Sam saw her and his eyes widened briefly before he snapped them back to Leshi. Dean didn't look her way, but she was willing to bet he'd noticed. "I gotta tell you," he drawled. "You're not the first god we've met. But you are the nuttiest."

Leshi giggled, shaking her head. "You're the crazy ones. You used to worship gods. But this?" She gestured to her Paris Hilton appearance. "This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans?"

Alex paused to incline her head in acknowledgement, because the psychotic bitch had a point. Not that it meant she agreed with what Leshi was doing. She sank into a crouch behind a tree, waiting. She watched around the tree as Leshi continued, bantering almost playfully with Dean. The banter turned into rage when she commented on who Dean's hero was.

"And this belonged to him," Leshi mused as she turned her back on Dean. Alex immediately darted forward, a snarl on her lips. "Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved-"

Alex threw herself onto the god's back, hooking her legs around Leshi's waist to keep herself there as she plunged her blade home, yanking as hard as she could to dislodge Leshi's head and simultaneously sinking the weapon as far into her neck as she could. Leshi screamed, hands flying up. Dean lunged, hands free, and Sam went to work on freeing himself, too. Dean's hand curled around the axe as Sam got free, yanking it free of the tree. "Alex!" he barked.

She dropped, yanking her blade out as she did so. Leshi screamed as Sam swept her feet out from under her, kneeling on her chest. Dean hefted the axe above his head as Alex scampered out of the way of what she knew was coming.

With a thud, the axe beheaded Leshi in one blow. Blood splattered, slicking Dean and Sam both. Alex heaved for air, pressing a hand to her chest as her heart raced. Adrenaline coursed through her body.

From where he was kneeling, Sam suddenly looked up at Dean and snickered, studying the bruise on Dean's jaw. "Dude, you got your ass kicked by Paris Hilton."

Dean released the axe and scowled.

"Shut up."

The next day found them all significantly feeling better. Sam and Dean were a little sore from being tossed around, but not to the point of being bedridden. Dean chatted on the phone with someone as Alex and Sam loaded up the Impala with their duffels, Alex teasing Sam about something or another. One word from Sam had her glaring accusingly at him. Sam smirked.

Finally, Dean hung up. He sighed a little. "Sheriff Carnegie," he explained, putting his phone in his pocket. "The girl's gonna be alright. She's sworn off The Simple Life, said something about amnesia, but other than that...she's fine."

Alex's lips quirked up into a smile.. "Did she? Good."

Sam agreed as Dean yanked his car keys free and yawned. He opened the trunk for them. Sam and Alex unloaded the duffels into it and when they were done, Dean slammed it shut. He paused, and then said hesitantly, "Hey, Sam. I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About me…"

"Being a twat?" Alex suggested.

He glared at her. "Shut up, Alex, I'm not talking to you."

"And…?" Sam encouraged, ignoring their small squabble.

Dean took a deep breath, and then admitted, "Hell, maybe Alex was right. I'm not exactly Mr. Innocent in this whole mess. I did break the first seal."

Alex's gaze softened a fraction as she pointed out, "You didn't know."

"Yeah, well, neither did Sam," Dean said firmly. "I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but...Sam did kill Lilith."

"And start the apocalypse," Sam said grouchily, scowling at the ground.

"No one saw that coming," Dean said calmly in response and then leaned against his car. "I mean, who'd have thought that killing Lilith would have been a bad thing?" Dean took a deep breath as he studied his brother and then Alex. "Point is," he said after watching her for a moment, returning his gaze to Sam. "I was so worried about watching our every move that I didn't see what it was doing to you. So, for that...I'm sorry."

Alex, rather than mocking him in amazement as she might once have done, stayed silent, her blue eyes curious. What had brought this on?

But he didn't further an explanation, instead saying gruffly as he slammed the trunk shut, "So where do we go from here?"

"The way I see it, we've got one shot at surviving this," Sam said, studying Dean closely. "Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same with you and Michael, maybe there's no changing that."

"Sam Winchester," Alex growled, "no one's accepting any angel into their body or so help me-"

Ignoring her, Sam continued. "We can stop wringing our hands over it, though. We gotta grab onto whatever's in front of us and go down fighting. You, too, Alex."

They stood there in silence.

Finally, Alex sighed, "Alright, you bloody fool, I can agree with that." Dean nodded, too. "But we're going to have to do it as a team, do you hear me?"

Sam and Dean agreed and Dean said gruffly,. "I say we get the hell outta here now."

"Hell yeah," Sam agreed.

"If I ever see a wax figure again," Alex growled as she went for the backseat's door, "I will not be amused, Winchesters."

Dean snickered and then surprised everyone by stopping, looking at his keys. "Hey," he said suddenly, looking up at Sam. Sam looked over at him curiously and Dean held out the keys. "Wanna drive?"

"You sure?" Sam said with surprise, hesitantly reaching out to take the keys.

"Yeah. I could use a nap."

Alex gawked at the pair openly, blue eyes full of annoyance. "Bloody hell!" she cried. "That's so not fair! I want to drive for once!"

Snickering, Dean merely climbed into the passenger seat, and Sam rolled his eyes before getting into the driver's. "Come on," Dean called impatiently when she took too long to get into the back. "Don't be a wimp, let's go!"

Baring her teeth at him, yet relieved with the lack of tension between them, Alex climbed into the car.

Sorry about the wait! I've returned to college and been busy with all my writings. :D Here's the next chapter! Have no worries, I'll start bringing in some fluff soon, I think.

ashley, regarding number of chapters...dunno. At this point, I'm planning up through season ten or eleven at least. But I haven't seen season twelve yet, so Plus, I don't know how long that'll take me.

Thanks to reviewers (emily2696, Mo, Harmony, ashley, and Guest #1) as well as those who favorited and followed!