Author's note: Hey, sorry it's been so long! Here's the final chapter.


Basic clean up was the first order of business once Tony seemed to be rid of the ectoplasm. Dean didn't usually participate in this process, but as long as he was stuck here, there was no point in shirking. Besides, it was clearly going to take a while. For one thing, they had to pick up all the scattered bric-a-brac on the floor before they could clear away the salt and water that lay in clumps or puddles everywhere. In some places there were damp piles of salt, and in others it was more like salt water. Then they were going to have to mop – or sweep – or something.

"Sit back down, Tony," Ziva said. "You are still not recovered."

"I'm fine, Zee Vah!" Tony said, splitting her name into separate syllables with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Her eyes snapped at him, and Dean wondered if this was how they normally interacted.

"You're not fine," Dean said, giving Tony a light shove to push him back onto his sofa. "You will be soon, but you're still feverish."

"If you touch my forehead, I will shoot you," Tony declared.

Since Dean's hand was at that moment heading towards the other man's forehead, he froze in place. "Well, that's gratitude for you," he said mildly.

Tony flushed but continued to glower.

"That is Tony all over," Ziva said. "He will accept help when he needs it, but then he is as prickly as a porcuping afterwards."

"Porcupine," Tony said irritably. "Not porcuping."

Ziva repeated the word to herself several times as she continued piling random objects into a paper grocery bag from the kitchen. Dean was doing the same thing. Sighing, then, she said, "He is better than Gibbs, though. Gibbs won't even admit when he needs help."

"Not hardly," Tony said. "And prickly is his standard M.O."

"I can see that," Dean replied, thinking back on their brief interaction earlier. "Which makes him and Sammy a very interesting pairing, I have to say."

"How so?" Ziva asked.

"Sam's . . . got a few issues. And Gibbs reminds us both of our dad."

"Is that a bad thing?" Tony asked.

"Not so far as I'm concerned," Dean replied with a grin. "But Sammy and Dad were like oil and water. They don't mix real well, and sometimes they catch fire."

"Were?" Ziva asked in a gentle voice, and Dean realized that they were both staring at him.

Dean shrugged, the humor dying back in him a bit. "Dad died last June," he said. "Kind of sudden."

"I'm sorry," Tony said.

"It was supposed to be me," Dean replied, surprising himself. "I was like inches from death, but Dad . . ." He shook his head and forced a grin. "Well, we all gotta die sometime, don't we?" His time had just come twice now and been artificially put off. Something had to give someday.

"So, you think Sammy and Gibbs aren't getting along?" Tony asked after a moment.

"I think Sammy is trying to have all the old arguments with a new player, one who won't play along," Dean said. "And you heard how he reacted to the way you kept saying Gibbs was going to kill you and all."

Tony snorted, then froze, as if waiting for a cough that didn't come. Then he sighed. "Yeah, kind of pissed me off, but if your dad was a bossy, autocratic kind of guy –"

"He was," Dean said. "Heart of gold, but didn't bother explaining much. He said jump, you said 'how high.'"

"On the way up?" Ziva asked, smiling slightly. "I understand that. My father is much the same."

"You never talk about your father," Tony said, giving her a startled look.

"Nor do you," Ziva replied.

Recalling his father's last words to him, Dean shrugged again. "So, then, let's leave dads off the table from here on," he suggested. "I don't particularly want to think about mine right now, either." He returned to picking up stuff off the floor. When he got to the Playpen magazine, he turned and gave Tony a grin. "I like your taste," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Though I'm a Busty Asian Beauties man myself."

Tony gave a judicious nod and said, "I don't mind me some –"

"Men are pigs!" Ziva declared, cutting Tony off, and then she walked over and took the magazine out of Dean's hand. Contrary to what one might expect from the woman who had just made such a denunciation, she didn't throw the magazine into the garbage or rip it to pieces. Instead she opened it to the centerfold and gave the woman a long look. "She is . . . hot on my level," she said, giving Dean a flirty look. Then she dropped the magazine into her bag of stuff and went back to work.

"'I'll be in my bunk,'" Tony muttered.

Recognizing the reference, Dean nodded. "Me too."

"What was that 'on her level' thing?"

"Oh, I told her I had a girl all picked out for Sammy that was hot on her level." He nodded at Ziva, who was politely pretending she couldn't hear them. "When I realized what I'd said and who to, I expected her to be offended."

"Never expect the expected from Ziva," Tony said sagely. "Saves all sorts of bother."

Dean snorted. "I've been picking up on that."

"So, what was her reaction?"

"She said she might want to meet her." Tony whistled as his response to that, and Dean chuckled. Then he turned back to picking up the detritus of Iris's last temper tantrum. A moment later, Tony swung his feet down off the couch, and Dean turned back to give him a stern look.

"I can help, you know," Tony said, sinking back against the sofa.

"You are going to rest," Ziva commanded, striding over. "Or I am going to call Abby."

Dean watched the effect that threat had on Tony with interest. The other man hunched slightly and gave Ziva a kicked puppy look. "You wouldn't," he said, but he didn't sound sure.

"I would. And she would come. You know she would."

"I do," Tony said dispiritedly. "But as it happens, she'd tell you to let me do what I want at this moment."

"Oh, she would, would she?" Ziva demanded.

"I need to use the head," he said, looking up at her plaintively.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Fine, go and then come right back. If you are longer than seven minutes, I will come in after you."

Tony got to his feet, swaying slightly. He shuffled off toward the bathroom. "Promises, promises," he muttered over his shoulder.


Sam woke up when they pulled to a stop and Gibbs turned off the car. He blinked. "This isn't the apartment building."

"No, it isn't but I figure we can make one stop before we go back."

Looking at the building whose parking lot Gibbs had parked in, Sam nodded. "You're not wrong." Together they made quick work of taking care of Gibbs' plan, then they got back in the car with Sam in the driver's seat for this last, very short, leg of the journey. Following the older man's directions, Sam drove back to the apartment building where there were more parking spaces than there had been on his and Dean's arrival. Not a lot more as it was Sunday rather than a weekday, but he was able to park right next to Gibb's truck.

After making the transfer of his 'go bag' to his own vehicle, he scooped up his share of what they'd stopped to pick up and headed towards the building without comment. Since, by now, Sam had more or less expected that, Sam checked that the doors were both locked and followed him in with his own bags.

When they reached the door to Tony's apartment, Sam transferred his bags to one hand and leaned in to knock. Gibbs, who had more sloshy things in his custody than Sam had, gave him a sidelong look into which Sam read thanks. The man never used two words where one would do, and never used one where a glance would convey his meaning. That was a definite difference from Dad, who always seemed to consider find lecture to be his preferred replacement for conversation.

Dean opened the door, and, at the smell that wafted from the pair of them, he grinned. "Do I smell coffee?" he asked.

"Forget coffee," Tony yelled from inside. "Do I smell bacon? I can get up, Ziva, damn it."

Gibbs' eyes flashed to Dean's face, and predictably enough, Dean seemed to understand him completely. "No congestion, but he's still a little wobbly. He should be fine in no time."

Gibbs nodded and held out one of the two drink trays. Dean took one of the cups of coffee and took a reverent swallow, just as if it were ambrosia or something. "You got the good stuff," he said.

"Always," Gibbs replied before heading into the apartment.

"How'd it go?" Dean asked once Gibbs was out of immediate earshot. He looked a little apprehensive.

Since his brother clearly expected a tale of drama and difficulty, Sam shrugged. "Fine. I had to remind him a couple of times that we weren't aiming to arrest anybody, but it turned out that wasn't an issue."

"How so?"

"Iris's uncle saw her shortly after she died and told him who did it." Dean's eyes widened. "Yeah. He killed the bad guys a long time ago, but she freaked him out so bad that he never went back and told her."

Dean blinked at him. "That might have worked fifty years ago," he said blankly. "She might have gone on and never killed anyone at all."

"No, the first one would still have died," Sam said. "And it's not like her uncle could have known that." Dean grimaced but nodded agreement. "Regardless, he told us where her stuff was, we dealt with it, and it's over."

"There's no bacon here!" Tony's voice called. "I smell bacon."

"Gentlemen, why are you lingering on the threshold?" asked a deep, female voice from behind them, and they turned to find Abby coming up the hall. Today she was wearing a miniskirt that looked like it was made from pinstripe suit material, a demure white blouse with puffed sleeves under a close-fitting black vest. Combined with knee high platform boots that bristled with metal and a black collar with silver spikes, it was an interesting outfit. She smiled at them. "Either go in or get out of my way so I can check on my Tony."

And that explained the extra coffee Sam hadn't wanted to ask about.

They made quite a convivial breakfast party, only short one member of their team, but the four of them seemed to be agreed that he would never cope with either the knowledge that ghosts were real or that Tony had been targeted by one through no actual fault of his own. Sam wondered what this Tim McGee was like.

"Oh, Gibbs, you're probably going to get a call from the director. She showed up halfway through the night last night and wanted to know why I was there since we didn't have any cases calling for my assistance."

"And you told her what?"

"Well, she came in just as I was hanging up with you, so she knew you were involved." She gave him an embarrassed grimace. "I'd just had my seventh Caf-Pow, so I'm not actually sure what I said."

As though the confession had summoned the call, Gibbs' cell phone rang. He picked it up and barked, "Gibbs." He paused for a moment, and they could all hear a female voice on the other end. When she paused, he said, "Jenny, do you remember Istanbul?" There was a brief silence followed by a more quietly voiced question. "No, not the harem or the airport." She spoke again, sounding hesitant, and he nodded. "Yup." Another pause, and he shrugged. "DiNozzo." Tony flushed a little and gave Ziva an uncertain look. "Nope, it's dealt with." He glanced over at Sam and Dean. "Had professional help." His eyebrows rose. "Yeah, it's related to the case." A snort followed her next remark. "Yeah. Me too." He closed the phone and looked around. "What?"

"Boss," Tony said tentatively, and Gibbs waited expectantly. "Istanbul?"

"Rule 47," Gibbs said.

"Boss, I asked. I want to know."

"Trust me, DiNozzo, you don't." He rose and started snapping out orders. The others hopped to without a question, and Sam resolved to at least comply, if not with the slavish devotion that the man's team showed. However, when he got to them, he turned and raised an eyebrow. "You up for helping out?"

"Sure," Sam said, and Dean turned to look at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Looks like there's some stuff above everyone else's reach on the walls. I'll get that."

"Thanks," Tony said. "Boss, I can help."

"Don't worry, you'll pay us all back later," Abby said.

"Indeed. I have a number of chores that need doing at my apartment," Ziva added. "When you're feeling better, I'm sure you wouldn't mind." She turned. "Sam, I can show you where to get what you need." She guided him into the kitchen. "By the way, thank you," she said, and he looked down at her in surprise. "I'm not sure anyone else will take the time away from pretending nothing's wrong to say that, but we all . . ." She trailed off, shrugging.

Sam shrugged. "Thanks for having Dean's back," he said. After that, they got to work without any more 'caring and sharing' as Dean would have called it.

When things were tidy, Abby and Ziva left, Ziva giving Dean a slightly more than friendly kiss before she left. Sam wasn't surprised – it was Dean after all – but both Gibbs and Tony turned intrigued looks on Sam's brother. "What happened while I was unconscious yesterday?" Tony asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Mostly I sacked out on your bed," Dean said with a shrugged. "And Ziva made salt bombs."

"Salt bombs?" Gibbs repeated.

"Yeah, four or five ounces of salt in the center of a paper towel which is then bundled up and twisted. Easy to throw, aimable, and soundless, which got pretty important as time wore on. Ziva's solution to the noise issue wouldn't have worked a second time."

"What solution?" Tony asked.

"Oh, that was when you were . . ." Dean shrugged and gave him a faint grin. "Well, when your neighbor knocked to complain about the noise, she grabbed a wine glass, unbuttoned a couple of buttons of that shirt she was wearing, and shucked off her jeans before she answered the door. He was so busy putting together what the two of you must have been up to night before last that he didn't really say much." His grin grew wider. "It was pretty damned impressive, because she came back, put her clothes back together, and got back to work, no sweat."

"She's Mossad," Gibbs said, and Sam nodded his understanding.

"Yeah, Tony said something like that earlier," Dean said. "But I have no idea what that means."

Shaking his head, Sam headed to the bathroom and left it to the others to fill his clueless brother in.


Tony grinned at his saviors as they got ready to leave. Gibbs and Ziva and Abby and even the probie would have done what they could to save him, but they would have been too late. Without Sam and Dean, he'd be a Tony-sicle, and he knew it. "So, come back sometime and I'll get you each a decent suit – and show you how to pick them out."

"You're on," Dean said. "And that whole thing with the girl in Africa . . . good luck with that."

Tony glanced up at Gibbs who's expression was mild and incurious and gave nothing away. "Thanks," he said to Dean. "Maybe you'll run into 'the one' one of these days."

"I sure hope not," Dean said. "Because I'm not really in a position to settle down." Sam gave his brother a worried look, but he didn't say anything. Dean glanced sideways at his brother and shook his head. "Don't look at me like that, Sammy."

Sam grimaced and looked away.

"Well, I'm afraid we've got to be going," Dean said. "We shouldn't even really be in DC to start with since we're wanted by the FBI."

Tony grinned at them. "Thanks for coming, then." He pushed forward from where he was sitting on the sofa as if to get up. "I'll see you –"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, and Tony turned to look at him. Gibbs gestured with his chin, and, following instructions, Tony slid back on the sofa. "I'll see them out. You stay here."

Tony caught Dean's wide-eyed look and grinned slightly, making the other man relax. Sam, on the other hand, was giving Gibbs a dark glower that Tony didn't think he could deflect. Still, Tony didn't figure it would affect Gibbs in the slightest. Sam could be just as pissed as he wanted to be. Gibbs wouldn't care.

"Take care of yourself, Tony," Sam said, Dean gave him a little mocking salute, and the three of them headed out.


Gibbs entered the elevator with one of the brothers on each side of him. They were clearly good at what they did and, just as clearly, devoted to it. He could respect that. Just as his father had said, they seemed like good kids. Without their help, DiNozzo would be dead now, and poor Iris Gottlieb would be back on her hilltop, waiting for another cop or former cop to stop by and draw her focus.

"So, how'd the hunt go, the two of you together?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Gibbs said. Dean blinked at him, but he didn't respond or ask him to elucidate. Sam just looked sideways at Gibbs and didn't say anything. "Your car had a minor issue. I had to replace a belt."

Dean's eyes widened and he began to question Gibbs closely about just what had happened and what he had done. The boy was clearly also devoted to his car, and Gibbs could sympathize. He answered as clearly as he could and was amused by Sam's silent impatience with the subject. When they got to the ground floor, Dean set of instantly to get a look at his car.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Sam said as the two of them got off the elevator at slightly less urgent pace.

"You don't think he'd have noticed?" Gibbs asked mildly. Sam scowled and didn't otherwise respond.

When they got to the car, Dean asked him a few more questions, but he seemed considerably calmer now that he could see for himself that his baby hadn't been mistreated. Once that was cleared up and the hood had been dropped gently into place, the three of them stood silently for a moment.

Finally, Gibbs cleared his throat. "I owe you one."

"It's the job," Dean said, and Gibbs wasn't in the least surprised. "Just glad everybody came out okay."

Gibbs nodded, and that seemed to finish things off for them. The two young men got into the car, Dean behind the driver's wheel and Sam folding himself up into the passenger seat. Then they took off and Gibbs watched them go for a couple of minutes before heading back upstairs.


"So, how was it?" Dean asked, giving Sam a sidelong look. "Really."

Sam shrugged, looking down at his hands. "We solved a sixty-year-old murder and laid the ghost, so not bad, I guess, for a civilian." Dean snorted. "I still don't like the way he treats Tony."

"Not our business, Sammy-boy."

Sammy shrugged again. "Where to next?"

"I say we see where the road takes us," Dean said, and revved the engine.

fin