Chapter 17

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Her memories were getting stronger. She could now associate names with faces. Events with places. They were flashbacks that came back to her in the dead of the night. And sometimes, they had the courtesy to leave her alone. Dreamless nights that she loved more than she cared to admit. Adding to that her powers were slowly coming back. She could herself growing stronger each day but her grace was not fully recovered. It was too fragile still for her to use her powers for a long period of time.

However, the occasion had not presented itself ever since Sam came back. Mainly because, together, the three of them had been looking for The Colt. The only weapon that may be capable of killing Lucifer. Emma wondered where Alastair sent him to. Dean gave no explanation, whatsoever. He had an idea that would keep both brothers together and stooped them from being mere meatsuit for Archangels. The Colt. It was a nice change, though. At least, Dean was willing to fight Lucifer and Michael. And he was willing to do it with his brother. Emma knew that together they had a better chance. Although, most of her dreams tend to show her the opposite. Either Dean or Sam was lost to one of her brothers. Or both of them were forever lost. Body and soul.

It was not just dreams that she were having. More and more it felt like visions of a possible future. A future, she did not wish for. Almost as a warning that fate could not be prevented. The Winchesters were chosen to be vessels. And they fulfilled their destinies. No matter how hard she or they fought against it.

"So, what's with this job?" Sam asked his brother. They were back on the road. Dean and his brother sitting in the front seat while Emma laid in the back seat.

"Dude suffers a head-on collision in a parked car?" Dean answered. "I'd say it's worth checking out."

"Yeah, definitely." Sam agreed. "But we got bigger problems, don't you think?"

"I'm sure the Apocalypse will still be there when we get back."

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

"We've bee looking for three weeks. We got bupkis." Dean reminded his brother.

"Okay. But, Dean—" Sam insisted. "I mean, if we're gonna ice the devil—"

"This is what we're doing, okay?" Dean cut him off. "End of discussion." Sam exhaled as Emma sat up. It was near impossible to fall asleep with those two arguing over the Colt. "It's just that this is our real case back at it together. You know, I think we ought to ease into it. Put the training wheels back on."

"So, you think I need training wheels?"

"No, 'we.'" Dean said. "We need training wheels. You and me, as a team. Okay?"

"Okay."

Emma could have interjected but chose to remain silent. She would have preferred it, if they had those intimate conversation when she wasn't around. It felt as though she was intruding in one of their big moments. After all this story was truly about them. She was just tagging along.

"I really want this to be a fresh start, you know?" Dean kept on. "For the both us."

"Okay."

Their new case took place in Canton, Ohio. A smalltown in which not much usually happened. Nothing such ghost hunting or demonic possession. Nothing that would attract the attention of trained hunters such as the Winchesters. And yet—a man dying a car crash in his own garage, now that was the kind of case they worked on.

They whipped out their fake FBI badges. "Agents Bonham, Copeland and Baker." Dean introduces the three of them to the local Sheriff.

"Rick Carnegie. Good to know you." He greeted them back. "You're here on Cal Hopkins' death?"

"That's right." Sam nodded.

"Afraid you came a long way for nothing." Sheriff informed them. "We already booked the guy that did it."

Emma glanced up at Dean. He was as confused as she was. "I'm sorry. Who do you think did it?" Sam asked Carnegie.

He gestured them to follow him to his office. There he showed the video that was recorded the night that Cal Hopkins died. They watched as the camera slowly revealed the Cal's dead body as Jim Grossman could be heard on the background. The sight was quite gruesome, Cal's face cut in half by the windshield. Carnegie stopped the tape and turned to the three hunters.

"Sicko taped his own handiwork." He said confidently.

"I don't follow." Sam shook his head while they all stared at him blankly.

"It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal." He said matter-of-factly.

"Wait? What?" Dean frowned up in confusion.

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

"He was Cal's best friend." Emma reminded Carnegie.

"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 80-mile-per-hour crash?" Dean asked him.

"Drugs, maybe?" Emma was more baffled by his answer. "Look, you know this ain't brain surgery, boys. Whatever it looks like, that's what usually is. It's simple."

"Simple. Right."

"Right. If you don't mind, we'd like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway." Sam told him.

How could this sheriff believe that Jim Grossman had any hand in this? It was beyond her. She could not believe how ridiculous his theory was. It did not take a genius to know that he would have a hard time proving this in a courtroom. But that did not matter.

"I was in the house when it happened. Didn't even see it." Jim explained.

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

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

"We're not your typical cops."

"Please, just tell us what you saw," Sam asked him.

"It's not what I saw, it's what I heard." Jim complied. "Tires squealing, glass breaking. It was the car that did it."

"The car?"

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

"Curse? What do you mean curse?" Dean asked.

"The car. Little Bastard."

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

"What's Little Bastard?" Sam asked his brother.

"It's James Dean's car," Emma answered him. "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."

"We are definitely checking this out," Dean whispered excitedly to Sam and Emma.

They went to Cal Hopkins' place where Little Bastard was still. The car sat in the garage. It was quite a nice car, Emma thought. However, it was hard for her to think that the car could have killed someone. Cursed object existed, she knew that but a car.

"So what? This is like Christine?" Sam asked as Dean was looking at the car with awe.

"Well, Christine is fiction," Dean answered. "This—this is real."

"Okay—enlighten me," Sam said as he and Emma stood next to each other.

"After James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage and he fixed it up." Dean started to explain. "And it repaid him by falling on him. Then 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. Then in 1970, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody's ever seen it since." Dean finished. "I'm telling you, man, if this car is Little Bastard—I will bet you dollars to doughnuts it's what killed the guy."

"And how do we find out?" Emma asked.

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

"I'm guessing the engine number—" Sam started.

"On the engine, yeah." Dean finished for him.

"This doesn't look really stable," Emma said as she stood on Dean's left side.

They had elevated Little Bastard, so one of them could go under to check the engine number. But the clanking and creaking noises did not inspire any confidence in this plan of theirs.

"You want me to do it?" Sam asked him, standing on his right.

"No," Dean replied. "No, no. I've got it." Dean walked towards the car. "Okay, baby, I'm not gonna hurt you—" Emma rolled her eyes at his antics. "So, don't hurt me."

He then slid under the car. Emma sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. There was another creaking sound before Sam himself got on the floor.

"Need a flashlight?" He asked his brother.

"No." Dean breathed out. "Don't do anything. Just go away."

"Okay?"

"Don't speak, all right? In fact, don't even look at her. She might not like it."

She had heard of cursed objects before. She had heard the rumors about Little Bastard. Sure, some people who had been in contact with the car had died: Nathalie Wood, Salvatore Mineo, just to name a few. But Dennis Hopper was still amongst them. And she, herself, was still alive. However, the last time she heard about the car, it was in Whatcom county. Buried within the walls of the building.

Dean slid out from under the car rapidly and stood up. He cleared out his throat before handing a piece of paper to Sam. "Find out who owned it. Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to 1955."

"What?" Emma exclaimed.

"That's a lot of research," Sam informed him.

"Well, I guess I just made your afternoon."

"I'll help you." Emma smiled at him.

"I haven't said it before but I'm glad that you are back," Emma said suddenly.

"As your research partner?" Sam looked up smirking.

Emma chuckled. "That and other reasons." She took a deep breath. "As I said to your brother, our only chance for us to beat my brothers and their supporters—is for you two to be together."

"You believe we have a chance?" Sam asked her.

"Once I get all of my powers back, yes." Emma nodded. "I think we do."

"Do you hate your brothers?"

"I don't know." She said. "I hate what they're doing to you and to Dean. To everyone around them. But I don't hate them. My father, on the other hand."

"You hate him?"

"He allowed it to happen. He let it happen when he could have stopped it. So, yeah, I guess I do."

Yes, she hated her father. For abandoning her, for letting her brother fight each other. Letting them drag humanity, his creation into this. How could she not hate him? How could she not be angry at him? Because of his inaction, she was driven away from her family. That resentment she felt, kept growing more and more as she regained her memories. The more she remembered, the more she resented him. The more she hated him.

After finding out that Little Bastard was not the real Little Bastard. They were called to another crime scene. Professor William Hill was found by his maid. Dead from a gunshot wound to the head. Needless to say that Sheriff Carnegie had no plausible explanation for this. He did try to find one. She, at least, respected him for that. When she thought things couldn't get any weirder, Consuela Alvarez, Hill's maid, identified President Lincoln as the murderer. What was going on?

"Whoa."

"What?"

"It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video." Dean turned his laptop towards Emma and Sam. And there it was, a man with a red jacket and blond hair could be seen in a reflection on the car. "Am I crazy or does that look like James Dean?"

"That looks like James Dean." Sam agreed.

"I don't see the resemblance but okay?" Emma said.

"So, we got Abraham Lincoln and James Dean? Famous ghosts?" Dean theorized.

"Maybe." Sam mused out loud.

"Well, that's just silly."

"No, actually there's a ton of lore on famous ghosts," Sam said. "More than the, you know, non-famous kinds. I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one."

"Now, we got two of them?" Dean asked. "Two extremely pissed-off ghosts?"

"Who are apparently ganking their fans."

"What do you mean?"

"Professor Hill was a Civil War nut," Sam announced. "He dug Lincoln."

"And Cal was definitely a James Dean freak," Emma said. "I mean 17 years to track down the guy's car. And it wasn't even the real thing."

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

"That's what it looks like."

"That is muchos loco."

"Muy." Sam corrected him. "Not muchos."

"The big question is, what the hell are they doing here?" Dean shrugged.

"I thought, ghosts haunted the places they lived in," Emma remarked. "Abraham Lincoln at the White House would be logical."

"Yeah, and James Dean at a racetrack," Dean added. "But what the hell they doing in Canton?"

"A wax museum?" Emma said as they walked into Canton's wax museum.

"Yeah, it's a perfect cover-up. Most of their waxed figures are exposed here." Sam shrugged.

"Oh, I am aware." Emma agreed. "It's just I don't really like wax museums. I find this creepy."

"Scared of wax dolls?" Dean smirked.

"No, they just make me—uncomfortable." Emma scrunched up her nose at JFK's wax doll.

"Dude, he's short," Dean said as he stood in front of Gandhi.

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

"Yeah, for a Smurf."

"Okay. Sorry to keep you waiting." The Curator of the Wax museum said as a form of greetings. "This is our busiest time of year."

Emma looked around at the—empty—museum. "It doesn't look really busy."

"Well, not right now but it's early." He replied to her.

"It's 4:30." Dean reminded him.

"So, what can I do for you?" He ignored Dean and asked instead.

"Well, we are writing a piece for Travel Magazine," Sam told him.

"Yeah, on how totally non-sucky wax museums are," Dean added which earned him a slight glare from Emma.

"That's fantastic, a little press. Just what we need." The Curator said excitedly.

"Great." Sam smiled back. "We're interested in a few exhibits. Specifically Abraham Lincoln and James Dean."

"Two of our most popular displays." He informed them.

"A lot of people are coming in for them?" Emma asked him.

"We have our regulars."

"I don't suppose that William Hill and Cal Hopkins were regulars, were they?" Dean questioned him.

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

"No, no, no. Of course not." Sam reassured him.

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

"Uh—No." He shook his head.

"No?"

"Well, is there anything you can think of that would make your museum unusual? You know, for the article." Sam said.

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

"How so?" Emma asked.

"Well, for one, that's honest Abe's real hat."

"It is?" That was Sam.

"Almost like his remains," Dean added.

The Curator frowned up. "I guess."

"You wouldn't happen to have any of James Dean's personal effects?" Sam asked him.

"Yeah. Got his keychain. I got a bunch of stuff." The Curator continued on. "Gandhi's bifocals, FDR's iron lung. This." He said showing the leather jacket he was wearing.

"Who did that belong to?"

"The Fonz. Seasons two through four." He put his thumbs up, smiling.

"Well, wow. Yeah, that's really cool-ish."

"Lucky for us, the Fonz is still alive," Emma whispered to Dean.

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

"The kids?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, Gen Y." He said. "Computer games, cell phones, sexting. They're just fads. I'm gonna make wax museums hip again."

This was unnatural. She could understand that people admired celebrities. Famous people were real and could be seen and at the same time unreachable and untouchable. Almost as though they were gods. People adored them and worshipped them. But Wax figures, in a museum, was taking it a bit too far. People being frozen in time, left in a museum to be admired. It was just unnatural.

"Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean. Can you believe that?" Dean said while on the phone with Bobby. Emma sat at the table while Sam was packing the car. They were about to go to the museum, to take care of the ghosts. "Why so kill-crazy? I don't know." Emma looked up behind as she heard the door creaked. "Maybe the Apocalypse has got him all hot and bothered. Well, we all know whose fault that is." Her eyes fell shut. "Well, I'm sorry, but it's true." Sam slammed the door shut to let his brother know that he was back in the room. "I'll call you later. Bye."

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

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

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

"Bobby."

"And?"

"Nothing." Dean shrugged.

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

Emma got up. "Okay, that's my cue to leave." She said before leaving the room.

She was not going to stand around as they were having another one of these types of conversation. Emma knew that things wouldn't get back the way it was before. She didn't expect them to fall back into their old habits. And yet, it felt as though things had gone back the way it was before Sam left. Or that was what she liked to believe. The brothers were really good at pretending and dancing around their issues. Until, of course, it just blew up in their faces. Which would happen eventually. Although, she wouldn't be around when that happened.

The wax museum and its wax figures looked even more creepier at night. Mostly empty, with all those known faces kept alive in this place for everyone to admire. Lifelike, lookalike and disturbing.

"Check it out." Dean put on Lincoln's hat. "Four score and seven years ago I had a funny hat."

"Dean." Sam shook his head.

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

"We're not here to have fun." Emma reminded him.

"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, get out of here, okay?"

"I'll grab East of Eden's keychain." Dean said and left for another section of the museum.

"Yeah, you go do that, idiot." Emma said as he left.

She went on looking around. She wanted nothing more to get this over with. The sooner they get rid of the ghosts, the sooner she would get out of this place. There was nothing wrong with admiring celebrities or even building things in their honor. Nothing wrong with that. Really, she got why some people would love this place. After all, those wax figures looked very real, as though they were about to talk at any time. But the thought of her being alive at the same time they were, was upsetting her. To know that they were now dead and she was still alive. Those wax figures were just a reminder of all of the people she had lost in her long life. One of the many reasons she resented her father and her brothers.

The door Dean just went through, slammed shut. Pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Dean?" Sam called out.

"Dean?" Emma called as she felt the temperature drop in the room.

Their weapons were pulled out of their hands. They looked at each other before Gandhi—yes, Gandhi—attacked them both. He jumped on Sam's back and Emma rushed to pull him off before getting elbowed in the face. She fell on her butt as Dean burst through the doors behind her.

"Dean." Dean helped Emma up.

"Is that Gandhi?"

"Yeah," Sam replied still struggling with Gandhi.

"Dude, he's squirrely."

"Get—get the—" Sam started before got hit by Gandhi.

"Come on." Emma pulled Dean behind her as she understood what Sam tried to say. She ran to Gandhi's figure, pulled his glasses off, threw them in the bin, with Lincoln's hat and the keychain. Dean burned the items. And Gandhi disappeared.

"You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?" Dean asked his brother who was still on the floor panting. "Really? Gandhi?" Emma lightly slapped him on his chest.

"You ready to blow this joint?" Dean asked his brother as they were all packing.

"Dean, didn't it strike you as strange the way Gandhi just vanished?" Sam asked instead of answering.

"You noticed it too, uh?" Emma turned to Sam.

"What do you mean?" Dean turned to Emma.

"No screaming, no big flameout," Sam explained. "I mean, that isn't the way ghosts usually go."

"Also, it elbowed me in the face," Emma added.

"Still, I torched, he vanished," Dean said.

"Yeah, but—also, I feel like he was trying to take a bite out of me." Sam went on.

"It did?" Emma looked up at him.

"Yeah, like he was hungry," Sam said. "But the thing is Gandhi—or the real Gandhi. He was a—"

"A what?" Dean asked him. "Spit it out."

"He was a fruitarian."

Dean chuckled. "Let me get this straight. Your ultimate hero was not only a short man in diapers but he was also a fruitarian?"

"That's not the point," Sam said.

"That is good. Even for you, that's good."

"I'm just saying, I'm not sure this thing is over."

"It was a ghost. It was a weirdly supercharged fruitarian ghost, but it was still a ghost. Now, let's go."

"What if it wasn't a ghost? What if it was something else entirely?" Emma asked him.

"So, now you're taking his side?" Dean asked her.

"I'm not taking anyone's side. It's just what I saw, okay?"

"Again, it was just a ghost. And now it's gone." Dean glared at her. "Let's go."

"Fine." Emma snapped back.

"So, first you drag me into town and you're dragging me back out?" Sam scoffed.

"You ain't steering this boat. Let's go. Chop-chop."

"You know, this isn't gonna work." Sam didn't move.

"What isn't?"

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

"You're the one that wanted back in, chief."

"You're the one who called me back in."

"I still think we got trust building to do." Dean started.

"How long am I gonna be on double-secret probation?"

"Till I say so."

Emma had stopped moving. Again, there were having one of those deep conversations and it was too late for her to just disappear.

"Look, I know what I did. What I've done." Sam went on. "And I'm trying to climb out of that hole. I am. But you're not making it any easier."

"I'm supposed to let you off the hook?" Dean asked him.

"No. You can think whatever you want. I deserve it and worse." Sam retorted. "Hell, you'll never punish me as much as I'm punishing myself. But the point is, if we're gonna be a team, you, Emma, and I—it has to be a two-way street."

"So, we just go back to the way we were before?"

"No, because we were never that way before. Before didn't work. How do you think we got here?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean, one of the reasons I went off with Ruby—"

"Oh, no," Emma muttered under her breath.

"—was to get away from you."

"What?"

"It made me feel strong. Like I wasn't your kid brother."

"Are you saying this is my fault?"

"No, it's my fault. All I'm saying is that if we're gonna do this—we have to do it different. We can't just fall into the same rut."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You're gonna have to let me grow up, for starters."

Dean's phone rang. Emma let out a breath of relief. It was Sheriff Carnegie. Apparently, Sam and Emma were right to think this wasn't over. When they arrived at the police station, Sheriff Carnegie was at loss for words. Even he couldn't describe what just came to him. Two teenage girls came to him because apparently their best friends had been abducted by none other than—Paris Hilton. So, definitely not a ghost.

"You need to trust him, you know that, right?" Emma said as she and Dean were waiting on Sam outside of the police station.

"I know." Dean sighed. "I just never—"

"—expected him to choose someone else, a demon of all things, over you." Emma completed for him. "Yeah, I get that." She looked up at him. "I'm not saying it's easy to forget but you have to forgive at least. You and Sam are a team and it only works if you trust each other."

Dean stared back at her. He kept rethinking of that other Emma. The other version that had sacrificed her grace for him and his brother and was still by his side—or this other version of him.

"You're also part of the team, you know," Dean told her.

"I know." Emma smiled at him.

"I can't believe I missed it." Sam joined them.

"Missed what?" Dean asked him as he and Emma stood up.

"I went back over the other two vics." Sam said. "There was blood loss, major."

"Being a gory smear will do that to you." Dean reasoned.

"No, I mean more blood loss than a car crash or a head wound should cause. Almost like—"

"—something's feeding." Dean finished for Sam.

"Yeah."

"Awesome."

"And then there were these." Sam pulled out a small bag.

"What are those?" Emma asked him.

"Seeds, they were in both vics' bellies."

"Ew." Emma scrunched up her nose.

"They're unlike any other see I've ever seen before," Sam commented.

"Wow, just when I thought you couldn't get any geekier," Dean said.

"It's cute." Emma chuckled.

After some more researches, they found out that the ghost turned out to be a pagan god—Leshii. That fed on its worshippers. And soon enough, they were back at the wax museum. With an iron axe which was the only way to kill it. By chopping its head off. And Paris Hilton, of all things.

They found the teenage girl that Paris Hilton kidnapped. Tied up to a tree, unconscious but still alive. That was, of course, before they were attacked by Paris Hilton. The three of them did not stand a chance against her. Dean was knocked down, Sam slammed into the wall and Emma punched into the throat before being knocked out.

All three of them had been tied up to the trees. Paris sitting on a tree stump, filing her nails on a rusted knife.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're awake for this." She said smiling. "This is gonna be huge."

"Super. I wouldn't wanna miss it." Dean smirked back at her.

"I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately." She continued. "So, it nice to do the ritual right."

"Because there's a ritual for this?" Emma asked.

"Of course." She replied to the redhead.

"Just like the good old days, huh?" Sam interjected.

"You have no idea. People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me with smiles on their faces." Paris explained.

"I guess these days nobody gives a crap about some backwoods forest god, huh?" Dean said.

"No, not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo plant." She stopped smiling.

"The march of progress, sister. " Dean kept antagonizing her.

"For years now, I've been wandering. Hungry. Scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy." She told them. "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, but they're not your fans." Sam pointed out.

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

"You know, I gotta tell you, you are not the first god we've met." Dean said. "But you are the nuttiest."

"No, you. You people." Paris pointed at them. "You're the crazy ones. You used to worship gods. But this? This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans? You people used to have old-time religion. Now, you have Us Weekly."

"I don't know. I'm more of a Penthouse Forum man myself." Dean shrugged.

"Maybe." She said. "But there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy."

"I hate to break it to you, sister, but you can't eat me." Dean challenged her. "See, I'm not a Paris Hilton BFF. I've never even seen House of Wax."

"No, But I can totally read your mind, Dean." Paris smiled at him. "I know who your hero is. Your daddy. Am I right? And this belonged to him." She turned to the axe. "Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up."

Dean, having freed himself, attacked her. Tackled her to the ground. Emma struggled to break out of her bonds. While Paris straddled Dean as she punched him. Sam freed himself first and rushed to the axe. Dean punched Paris and she fell to the ground. And Sam just proceeded in chopping her head off. Blood splattered on his face, as the axe went down on her several time. Until her head was severed from her body.

"Not a word," Dean said to his brother.

"Dude, you just got whaled on by Paris Hilton," Sam smirked.

"Shut up."

"Guys?" Emma called. " A little hand over here."

Danielle, the teenage girl, was returned to her parents. And the Sheriff had put out an APB on Paris Hilton. She could not imagine this going down well. Everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as they can get.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're having one of those conversations again, are you?" Emma groaned as she joined the brothers by the car.

"Don't worry. It's over." Dean looked at her.

"Good. Cause I hate it when you do that." Emma said. "I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of something I shouldn't be listening in to."

"We'll try to keep it to a minimum." Dean chuckled. "So, where do we go from here?"

"The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this," Sam replied.

"What's that?" Dean asked him.

"Maybe I am on deck for the devil. Same with you and Michael. There's no changing that."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"Very." Emma agreed with Dean.

"But we can stop wringing our hands over it. We gotta grab whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting." Sam said.

"I can get on board with that." Dean nodded.

"Count me in." Emma smiled at Sam.

"But we're gonna have to do it on the same level."

"You got it." Dean agreed. "What do we say we get out of here?"

"Hell, yeah."

"Let's go."

"Hey," Dean called. "You wanna drive?"

"You sure?" Sam asked him.

"Yeah. I could—I could use a nap." Dean said.

"Hold on!" Emma called out to Dean. "When do I get to drive her?"