August 25th, 2009

I wasn't really sure what Lucifer was trying to do. Maybe just mess with my head? If what he was saying was true, maybe all he wanted was to make Sam think he was protecting me by saying yes instead of me. Which was exactly why I wasn't going to tell anyone about being a vessel for Lucifer. I didn't want stupid decisions to be made based on fear. I refused to let Sam go down that path because of me.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and snatched my phone off the nightstand. I checked the caller ID before I answered.

"Dean?" I asked.

"Pack your stuff, I'm coming to pick you up," he said.

"What?" I yawned. "What's going on?"

"I'm doing something I should've done in the first place," he said and sighed. "I'll be there in like a half-hour, just be ready to go. Okay, kid?"

I smiled, even though I was still a little confused. "Okay."

He hung up, and then I stood up to start packing my things.


Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Maddi?" Nate asked. "Breakfasts ready."

I opened the door, and Nate looked in and saw my bag.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asked as he walked in.

"Dean's on his way." I smiled. "I think we're gonna be a family again."

Nate nodded and sat down on my bed, looking a little sad. "That's awesome." He smiled.

"What's wrong?" I asked and sat down next to him.

Nate laughed. "Nothing, I'm happy for you. I really am." He shrugged. "I guess I'll just miss having you around." He reached over and wrapped his fingers in mine.

I smiled. "I'll miss you too." I pulled my legs up, sat cross-legged, and turned to face him. "We can still talk on the phone or text." I shrugged. "Besides, with everything going on now, I'm sure we will see each other more."

Nate sighed and nodded.

I rested my chin on his shoulder, looked up at him, and pushed my bottom lip out in a frown. "Don't be sad."

Nate laughed and rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine."

I giggled and sat up. He looked down at my lips and then back up at my eyes, and then he leaned in.

"Maddison?!" Ellen shouted, causing us to both jump up. "Dean's here!"

"Coming!" I yelled and then got up and grabbed my bag.

"Wait." Nate grabbed my hand before I left and pulled me back to him.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"I just—" He sighed, he looked like he was holding something back as he stared into my eyes, but then he pulled me into a hug. "I'm going to miss you, dimples. Just— Just be safe, okay?"

"I will," I said and then pulled away.

He held my hand a little longer until I turned and walked out into the living room. I couldn't help but smile when I saw Dean's face.

I ran up and hugged him. "I missed you."

He gave me a tight hug back. "I missed you too, kid."

"I didn't realize you were leaving today," Ellen said as Dean and I pulled away from each other.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't really know either. I kinda just found out," I said.

"Well, I loved having you here, sweetheart." She pulled me into a hug. "You're always welcome here."

"Thanks, Ellen." I smiled as we pulled away from each other.

"Bye, Maddi." Jo hugged me.

"Hey." Ellen smacked Dean as he pulled the front door open. "You take care of that girl."

Dean nodded. "I will, don't worry." He nodded. "Thanks for keeping an eye on her."

Ellen smiled and nodded.

Dean and I walked out to the Impala, loaded it, and then took off.

"So, where are we going?" I asked.

"To pick up Sam," Dean said.

Excitement came over me. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

I shook my head. "What changed your mind?"

He sighed and didn't answer for a moment. "Zachariah sent me to 2014, and I don't like the way it looked."

"He sent you to the future?" I asked.

Dean nodded.

"What happened?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I don't like who I become."

"And getting Sam back will change that?" I asked.

He nodded. "I hope so... in the future, the last day Sam and I talked was when the three of us split up."

My eyes widened. "For five years?"

He nodded.

"What about you and me?" I asked.

He shook his head. "We were together—"

I could tell he wasn't telling me something. "Dean, what happened?"

He was silent for a minute and then sighed. "Future me, took a group of people, including you, and Cass to kill the Devil." He shook his head. "He sacrificed the group as a distraction to get closer to Lucifer." He looked over at me. "In that future, you die because of me." He paused for a second. "And in that future, Sam says yes because of me."

I was silent as I took that in.

"I'm changing everything that happened," he said and looked over at me. "I'll never be that person."


A little while later, Dean had us parked under a bridge when another car pulled up next to us. Sam opened the door and stepped out, and we did the same. The three of us walked up to each other.

"Sam..." Dean pulled out the demon blade, and Sam hesitated, almost looking nervous, but Dean held it out to him, handle first. "If you're serious and you want back in... you should hang on to this. I'm sure you're rusty."

Sam took the knife, but it was like he couldn't look Dean in the eyes.

Dean sighed. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm... whatever I need to be." He hesitated. "But I was, uh... wrong."

Sam shook his head. "What made you change your mind?"

"Long story. The point is..." Dean shrugged. "Maybe we are each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human."

Sam smiled softly. "Thank you. Really. Thank you. I won't let you down."

Dean nodded. "Oh, I know it. I mean, you are the second-best hunter on the planet."

Sam smirked and nodded. "So, what do we do now?"

"We make our own future," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "Guess we have no choice."


September 12th - September 16th, 2009

Even though we were back together, things were still weird between Sam and Dean. Dean and I were completely fine with each other, but even me and Sam still struggled to have conversations if we were alone. Honestly, it sucked, and I really missed what we used to be. At least Nate still talked to me, as much as he possibly could. He called me or texted me every day, even if it was just to say hi for a second.

Dean had found a case, and on our drive, Sam read through it and kept shaking his head, like he couldn't believe it.

"So..." Sam chuckled. "What's with this job?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam looked away and sighed.

Dean cleared his throat. "It's just that this is our first real case, back at it together. Ya know, I— I think we oughta ease into it, put the training wheels back on."

Sam scoffed. "So, you think I need training wheels."

Dean shook his head. "No, we. We need training wheels, you, and me. As a team. Okay?"

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"Man, I really want this to be a fresh start, ya know?" Dean asked. "For all of us."

Sam hesitated and then nodded. "Okay."


I waited in the car for Sam and Dean to finish up at the police department. Nate and I talked on the phone to pass the time while I waited, and eventually, they walked back out and joined me in the Impala.

"So, what does the sheriff think about Cal's death?" I asked.

"Uh, he's convinced that Cal's best friend, Jim, killed him," Sam said.

"What?" I asked, "Isn't it kind of impossible for a person to mimic an eighty-mile-per-hour head-on collision by hand?"

Dean nodded. "You would think that wouldn't be a hard concept to follow, but the sheriff thinks he did it. He's saying Jim was probably on drugs when it happened."

I shook my head. "Poor guy. He watched his friend die, and now he's being blamed for it."

"So, we talked to Jim, and he told us that he wasn't even in the room when it happened. He said when he heard tires squeal and glass breaking, he ran back into the room," Sam said, "Then he said he couldn't believe the Little Bastard curse was real."

I furrowed my brow. "Little Bastard? Like James Dean's car, Little Bastard? He had the real Little Bastard?"

"All right, all right. Now I just feel like you're using it to say, bastard," Dean said.

I rolled my eyes. "No, I can't believe someone found the car. Plus, let's be real here, Dean, if I wanted to say bastard, I would just say bastard."

He frowned at Sam, and I smirked.

"We're going to check this out, right?" I asked.


Dean walked around and inspected Little Bastard in awe. The windshield was bloodstained, and some of the glass where Cal's head had impacted it was missing.

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

I shook my head. "No, Sam, Christine is a book."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, just fiction. This—" He gestured to the car. "This is real."

"Okay." Sam shrugged. "Enlighten me."

"Well, after James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage, and he fixed it up. And it repaid him by..." Dean paused dramatically. "Falling on him."

I nodded. "Yeah, and Tony McHenry was killed when it locked up on the racetrack."

Dean smiled. "That's right." He shrugged. "I mean, death follows this car around like exhaust. Nobody touches it and comes away in one piece."

Sam nodded. "Hmm."

"Last time anyone saw it was in 1997 when it vanished off the back of a truck," I said.

Dean nodded proudly and smirked. "I raised you well." He looked at Sam. "I'm telling you, man, if this— if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet you dollars to doughnuts it's what killed the guy."

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

Dean sighed. "Cal matched the VIN number—"

I nodded. "But the only way to know if this is the real Little Bastard is the engine number."

Dean nudged me and smiled proudly. "That's right, again."

Sam nodded. "I'm guessing the engine number...?"

Dean nodded. "On the engine." He took a deep breath and looked at the car. "Yeah." He started pacing around the car, staring at it with trepidation.

"Are you sure you should do this?" I asked, a little worried.

Dean shook his head and continued pacing. "No."

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

Dean put his hand out. "No. No, no, I've— I've got it." He stopped pacing and stepped closer to Little Bastard. "Okay, baby. I'm not gonna hurt you, so... don't hurt me." He pulled a roller board over, grabbed a paper and a pencil, and then laid on the board. Then he pulled himself under the car.

Sam knelt to look at Dean. "Need a flashlight?"

Dean gasped and jumped. "No. Don't... do anything, just go away."

Sam furrowed his brow. "You... uh, okay?"

"Don't speak," Dean snapped, "All right? In fact, don't even look at her, she might not like it."

Sam stood up and shrugged at me.

Suddenly, Dean slid out from under the car, breathing heavily, and then stood up quickly. He composed himself and then handed the paper to Sam. "Find out who owned it. Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to 1955."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's a lot of research."

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


After a couple hours of research, Sam called Dean. He dialed the number, put it on speakerphone, and then set it on the table.

Dean answered, "Yo."

"Hey. Took us a while, but we traced all the car's previous owners," Sam said.

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

I shook my head. "Nope."

Sam nodded. "In fact—"

Then we heard what sounded like someone breaking for a pool game, and some cheers. Sam and I gave each other a look and then glared at the phone.

"Dude, where are you?" I asked.

"Are you in a bar?" Sam asked.

"No, I— I'm— I'm in a restaurant," Dean stuttered.

"Here's your beer," a woman said in the background.

"Thanks," Dean said and then cleared his throat. "That happens to have a bar."

"We've been working our asses off here," Sam snapped.

"Hey, world's smallest violin, pal, I spent the afternoon up Christine's skirt. I needed a drink," Dean said.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, stop. You were down there for not even five minutes."

"Plus, actually, you didn't," Sam added.

"Meaning?" Dean asked.

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

"So you're saying?" Dean asked.

"That Porsche is not, nor has it ever been, James Dean's car," Sam said.

I nodded. "It's a fake Little Bastard."

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

Sam nodded. "Good question."


Later that day, Sam and Dean got a call from the sheriff to come in to investigate another strange death.

Apparently, a man named William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head, but there was no gun, gun powder, or bullet. The only witness was Consuela Alvarez, William's maid, but the sheriff said she wasn't making sense in English or Spanish because she kept saying, "Abraham Lincoln killed Mr. Hill."


While Sam and Dean were working on their laptops. I went through some of the papers Sam had printed out at the library before returning to the motel.

"Whoa," Dean said as he moved in closer to his laptop.

"What?" Sam and I asked in unison.

Dean clicked a few buttons and then turned his laptop to show Sam and me. "It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video."

Sam and I leaned in closer, and sure enough, in the reflection of the windshield was the image of James Dean.

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

"That looks like James Dean," Sam said.

I nodded. "For sure."

Dean turned the laptop back to himself and examined it for a moment. "So, we got Abraham Lincoln and James Dean? Famous ghosts?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, that's just silly." Dean scoffed.

I shrugged. "Not really."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, actually, uh, there is a ton of lore on famous ghosts. More than the, ya know, not-famous kinds. I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one before."

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

"Who are apparently ganking their fans," Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Sam scrolled through his laptop. "Professor Hill was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln."

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

Sam nodded.

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

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

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

Sam smirked. "Muy."

Dean gave Sam a confused look.

"Not 'muchos,'" I said.

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

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

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

Sam typed a little more. "You gotta be kidding me."

"What?" Dean and I asked, and both looked at the screen.

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean said.


We walked into the local wax museum and looked around, checking out the figures. We walked past John F Kennedy, Richard Nixon, and Abraham Lincoln.

Dean stopped and looked down at Gandhi. "Dude, he's short."

I shrugged. "Taller than me."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, he's short."

I rolled my eyes.

"Hey. Gandhi was a great man," Sam said.

"Yeah, for a Smurf." Dean chuckled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something amazing and ran to it. "Oh, my God! He's huge." In front of me stood Hulk Hogan at over six and a half feet tall. "Guy's look!"

Sam and Dean walked over and laughed, looking up at someone else for a change.

I turned and smirked at Dean. "'You better eat your vitamins and say your prayers!'" I quoted Hulk as I flexed like him.

Dean laughed, pulled me into a headlock, and gave me a noogie.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. This is our busiest time of the year." The museum owner jogged down the stairs, slightly out of breath, wearing a leather jacket.

Dean let go of me, and I elbowed him.

Dean looked around the empty room. "This is busy?"

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

Dean furrowed his brow. "It's 4:30."

The owner smiled. "So, what can I do for you?"

Sam gestured to himself and Dean. "Uh, well, we are writing a piece for Travel Magazine."

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

The owner smiled proudly. "That's fantastic. A little press, just what we need."

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

The owner nodded. "Two of our most popular displays."

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

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

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

The owner nodded. "As a matter of fact, they were. Yeah, I heard what happened to them. It's tragic, just tragic." He shook his head and then looked at Sam. "Oh— You— That's not gonna be in the article, is it?"

Sam shook his head. "No. No, no. 'Course not."

"Ya know, I gotta tell you, that— that Lincoln is so lifelike." Dean pointed to the Lincoln statue. "I mean, you— I mean, you can just imagine him moving around. You ever see anything like that?"

The owner thought for a second and then frowned. "Uh... no."

"No?" Dean asked.

The owner nodded curiously.

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

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

"How so?" Dean asked.

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

"It is?" Sam asked, impressed.

Dean nodded. "Almost like his remains."

The owner gave Dean a strange look. "Uh... I guess?"

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

"Oh, yeah. Got his keychain. We got a bunch of stuff, uh, Gandhi's bifocals, Hulk Hogan's bandana, FDR's iron lung. This." The owner indicated to the leather jacket he was wearing.

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

"The Fonz. Seasons two through four!" The owner held up double thumbs and grinned.

"Wow." Sam laughed. "Yeah, that's— that's really cool... ish."

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

"The kids?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, Gen Y." The owner pointed at me. "Like her."

Dean nodded.

The owner nodded. "Computer games, cell phones, sexting."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

The owner scoffed and shrugged. "They're just fads. I'm gonna make wax museums hip again." He grinned and gave us double thumbs again.


Dean was on the phone with Bobby while Sam loaded the trunk of the Impala to go back to the museum after dark.

Dean stared out of the window as he spoke to Bobby. "Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean, can you believe that?" (...) "Why so kill-crazy?"

Sam walked in and set his bag down.

"Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got 'em all hot and bothered," Dean said. (...) "Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is." (...) "Well, I'm sorry, but it's true."

I kicked Dean in the leg, causing him to look down at me, and I nodded over at Sam.

Dean spotted Sam and looked down. "I'll call you later. Bye." He hung up and looked up at Sam.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"Did you get the trunk packed up?" Dean asked, ignoring his question.

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

"Bobby," Dean said.

"And?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing."

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

I looked down and tapped my toes together, feeling awkward.

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

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

Dean picked up his jacket. "Well, this is about as fresh as it gets. Now, are we going or not?" He opened the door and walked out.

I felt bad for Sam. Obviously, what he did was horrible, but I fully trust that he thought he was doing the right thing. On top of that, he was still Sam, no matter what, he was still our brother, and I still loved him.


After dark, we walked back into the museum. Dean walked up to Abraham Lincoln, and Sam walked over to a metal trash can and carried it into the middle of the room.

Dean put on Lincoln's hat and laughed. "Check it out." He cleared his throat and spoke with a deeper voice, "Four score, and seven years ago, I had a funny hat."

"Dean..." Sam sighed and held his hand out for the hat.

Dean frowned. "We can't have any fun with this?" He took the hat off and tossed it into the trash can.

"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, get outta here. Okay?" Sam asked.

"I'll go grab East of Eden's keychain," Dean said and walked out into the next room.

Sam stepped toward Lincoln and squinted his eyes.

"What?" I asked.

Suddenly, the door that Dean walked out of slammed shut, and we both spun around.

"Dean?" Sam asked and grabbed a shotgun out of his bag as he approached the door. "Dean?" He tried the door handles, but they wouldn't budge.

That's when I realized the room was getting cold, and I started to see our breath in the cool air.

Sam turned around, pointing his shotgun around the room. "Get behind me."

I did as he asked, and then there was a strange creaking sound to our left. We turned toward the sound, and then something hit me and flung me across the room.

I slid across the floor and looked up to see that Gandhi was now latched firmly to Sam's back with his arms wrapped around his neck. "What the he—"

Then something ripped me up off of the ground and put me into a headlock, with my feet dangling off of the floor.

"So, let me ask you something, brother!" the giant holding me yelled in a deep, gruff voice.

My eyes widened, out of fear, but also a little excitement. "Sam?! Does Hulk Hogan have me in a headlock?!"

He looked over at me with confusion written all over his face, as he tried to rip Gandhi off of his back. "Uh, yeah...?"

Dean burst through the doors. "Is that Gandhi?"

"Yeah!" Sam shouted.

"Dude, he's squirrelly," Dean said, impressed.

"Dean!" I yelled as the headlock started to tighten more.

"Hulk Hogan?!" Dean yelled.

"Get the—" Sam pointed, but Gandhi elbowed him in the chest, winding him. "Do it!"

"Get the what?" Dean asked.

"Glasses and bandana!" Sam yelled.

Dean ripped the glasses off of the Gandhi statue and ran over and ripped the bandana off of the Hulk statue, then ran to the trash can. He threw them in, squirted lighter fluid into it, and then lit the items on fire.

As soon as the can caught fire, Gandhi and Hulk Hogan faded away. Sam and I both dropped to the ground gasping for air.

Dean looked over at Sam. "You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?"

Sam just stared at him.

Dean pointed to me. "That was cool."

I rubbed my neck. "It was at first, but ow."

He looked back at Sam. "But really? Gandhi?"


Back at the motel, Dean started packing his things. "Ready to blow this joint?"

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

Dean furrowed his brow. "Strange how?"

Sam shook his head. "No screaming, no big flame-out, I mean, that isn't the way ghosts usually go."

Dean shrugged. "Still, I torched, they vanished."

I looked at Dean, confused. "Well, aren't we—"

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

"A bite?" Dean asked.

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

Dean raised his eyebrows. "A what?"

Sam hesitated.

Dean put his hands out. "Spit it out."

I rolled my eyes. "He was a fruitarian."

Dean stared at Sam and then laughed. "Let me get this straight. Your, uh, ultimate hero was not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian?"

Sam shook his head. "That's not the point."

Dean laughed and nodded. "That is good. That is... even for you, that is good."

Sam sighed. "Look, I'm just saying, I'm not so sure this thing is over."

Dean shrugged. "They were ghosts."

I shook my head. "But—"

Dean shrugged. "One was a weirdly super-charged fruitarian ghost, but it was still a ghost. Now let's go." He picked up his bag.

There was a very important piece of information that I wanted to add, but I kept getting talked over. Plus, I felt like this was leading to a fight, and I didn't really want to be involved.

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

"You ain't steering this boat. Let's go, chop-chop," Dean said and walked to the door.

Sam shook his head. "Ya know, this isn't gonna work."

Dean stopped and turned. "What isn't?"

"Us. You, me, together, I— I thought it could..." Sam shook his head. "But, it can't."

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

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

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

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

Dean shrugged. "'Til I say so."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Look. I know what I did. What I've done. And I am trying to climb out of that hole, I am, but you're not making it any easier."

"So what am I supposed to do, just let you off the hook?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No. You can think whatever you want. I deserve it, and worse. Hell, you'll never punish me as much as I'm punishing myself, but the point is, if the three of us are gonna be a team, you and I..." He gestured to himself and Dean. "We have to figure this out."

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

Sam shook his head. "No, because we were never that way before. Before didn't work."

Dean frowned.

"How do you think we got here?" Sam asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "Dean, one of the reasons I went off with Ruby... was to get away from you."

My eyes widened. This was not going to end well.

Dean furrowed his brow. "What?"

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

"Are you saying this is my fault?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "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."

Dean shook his head. "What do you want me to do?"

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

Dean just stared at Sam in silence for a moment.

"Okay, hate to break this up, but there's something very important that we are overlooking," I said.

Dean broke his stare at Sam to look at me. "What's that?"

"Uh, yeah, Hulk Hogan's not dead," I said, "Or did you just forget that?"

Realization crossed both of their faces.

Dean shook his head. "You couldn't have just said that sooner? So, we could've avoided all of this."

I shrugged. "I tried to, but you guys kept talking over me. Plus, you should've known that. Clearly, you just wanted to start an argument."

Dean pointed to Sam and himself. "That wasn't an argument."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure." I stood up. "Whatever it was, it needed to happen. You're obviously holding onto things."

Dean nodded. "You just want to forget about it too?"

"Dean..." I shook my head. "No ones saying forget it." I shrugged. "I think it's important not to, but I don't think you should hold a grudge."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not holding a grudge."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? Because everything Sam was saying was true, but because you're still pissed, you were willing to overlook the most important clues..." I held up a finger. "One, Gandhi was a non-violent civil rights activist, but suddenly wants to rip Sam's head off in his afterlife?" I held up another finger. "Two, Hulk Hogan is a real American who fights for the rights of every man... he wouldn't attack someone unless they deserved it. Plus, and most importantly, he shouldn't be a ghost because he hasn't kicked the bucket yet."

Dean shook his head. "I just missed it, that happens."

I shook my head. "Ya know, I get it. I really do. But you need to realize that no matter what he did, Sam is still our brother, and we aren't gonna fix anything if we can't move forward. Yeah, he messed up... bad. But guess what? That happens too, and guess what we do? We help fix it... because we're family. You're the one that taught me that."

Dean stared at me for a moment.

Ring! Ring!

He sighed and answered his phone, "Yeah?" (...) He furrowed his brow. "What?" (...) "Yeah." (...) "Yeah, okay. We'll look into it." He hung up. "That was the sheriff, two teenage girls came in saying that their friend, Danielle, was kidnapped by Paris Hilton."

Sam nodded. "Okay, so what did we miss?"


We drove to the coroner's office, so Sam could go in and check out the vic's bodies. Dean and I waited in the car for him to return.

After a little bit, Dean spoke up, "Maddison, I'm sorry."

I furrowed my brow. "For what?"

"All of this," Dean said and shook his head. "I'm not making it any easier for you."

"Dean..." I sighed. "You don't always have to feel like everything is your fault. I honestly understand why you're angry. I'm just choosing to move past it. I don't see a point in dwelling on it." I shrugged. "If you need more time, then that's your deal." I sighed. "I just feel like, yeah, Sam broke the last seal, but he didn't know. He thought he was killing Lilith before she could break it." I shook my head. "I don't blame him for breaking the last one just like I don't blame you for breaking the first. Neither of you had any idea."

Dean considered this for a moment and then nodded and scoffed.

I furrowed my brow. "What?"

He shook his head. "Just... when did you grow up so much?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

He shook his head again and sighed.

I nudged his shoulder from the back seat. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged. "Clearly, I have a problem with seeing you and Sam as little kids. I just don't want to be the reason you pull away too."

"Stop." I shook my head. "You won't."

Sam opened the door and got in. He shook his head and sighed. "I can't believe I missed it."

"Missed what?" Dean asked.

"Went back over the other two vics. There was blood loss." Sam raised his eyebrows. "Major."

Dean nodded. "Oh, well, being a gory smear will do that to you."

Sam shook his head. "No, I— I mean more blood loss than a— a car crash or a head wound should cause, almost like it—"

Dean furrowed his brow. "Something's feeding."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Awesome."

"And then..." Sam pulled out a plastic bag. "There were these."

Dean and I leaned forward to inspect the bag, it contained two walnut-sized objects, but they looked more like blood covered almonds.

"Are those seeds?" I asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. They were in both vics bellies."

Dean frowned. "I hope you washed your hands."

Sam shook his head. "They're unlike any seed I've ever seen before."

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


Back at the motel, we sat around, trying to figure out what the seeds were from.

"Yahtzee," Sam said, grinning from behind his laptop.

"What?" Dean asked.

"The seeds aren't from around here. In fact, they're not from any tree or plant in the country," Sam said.

"Where are they from?" I asked.

"Eastern Europe. From a forest in the Balkans, which is not even there anymore. It was chopped down, like, thirty years ago," Sam explained.

"So?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "So, local legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan god whose name was Leshi. Um, a mischievous god who could take on infinite forms—"

Dean nodded. "And let me guess. He liked to munch on his fans."

Sam laughed. "Yup. Could be appeased only with the blood from his worshippers. It would drain 'em, then stuff their stomachs with the seeds."

Dean stood up and walked over to the table Sam and I were sitting at. "So how's he doing it? What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?"

Sam nodded. "Hmm. It's as good a guess as any."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, whatever. How do we kill him?"

"Says here to chop off his head with an iron ax," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "All right. Let's go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton."


We walked back into the museum when night fell. Dean was carrying an ax, and Sam and I were carrying flashlights.

Sam whistled, so Dean and I turned to see his flashlight pointed at a sign on a double door that read, Sorry for the inconvenience, closed for renovation, danger do not enter. Dean broke through the latch on the door, and when he pulled it open, a plastic sheet was draped in the doorway. We pushed past the sheet and found a room decorated like a clearing in the woods.

In front of us was a path that led up to a white house with a wax figure of a man in a suit standing on the front porch. That's when we noticed an unconscious teenage girl tied to a tree, and we ran to her.

Sam put his hand up to her neck to check for a pulse.

"She alive?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Barely."

Suddenly, the ax flew out of Dean's hand and embedded itself in a different tree across the path from us. We spun around to see the Leshi, which was still in the form of Paris Hilton. She grinned and punched Dean in the face multiple times, sending him to the ground. She flipped her hair and then shoved me into another tree. Immediately everything faded out.


When I came to, all three of us were now tied to a tree next to Danielle. The Leshi was sitting on a tree stump next to the house. Next to her on another stump was a variety of knives. She picked one up and began filing her nails, causing sparks to shoot from them. She looked up at us as Sam and Dean started to come to as well.

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

"Super. Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss it," Dean said.

"I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately. So it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change," the Leshi said.

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

The Leshi shook her head. "You have no idea. People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their faces."

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

The Leshi stopped filing her nails and looked up at Dean with a threatening glare. "No. Not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo plant."

"March of progress, sister," Dean said.

The Leshi went back to filing her nails. "For years now, I've been wandering. Hungry. Scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy." She shook her head. "But then, the best thing ever happened." She put her knife down. "Someone tripped the apocalypse. And I thought, what the hell, I'm tired of watching what I eat. I wanna pig out." She stood up and gestured around her. "So I found this little place. It's awesome. Adoring fans stroll right in the door."

I shook my head. "But they're not your fans. They probably don't even know you exist."

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

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

The Leshi shook her head. "No, you. You people, you're the crazy ones. You used to worship gods. But this?" She indicated to her Paris Hilton disguise. "This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans?" She rolled her eyes. "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 smirked.

The Leshi approached Dean. "Maybe, but... there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy."

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

"No. But I can totally read your mind, Dean. I know who your hero is." The Leshi smirked. "Your daddy. Am I right?" She turned and walked toward the tree with the ax embedded in it. "And this belonged to him. Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up."

As she reached for the ax, Dean broke free of his ropes, sprinted toward her, and tackled her to the ground. Sam and I started desperately pulling at our ropes. The Leshi hit Dean back and managed to get on top and kneel on his chest. As she did, she punched him repeatedly in the face.

Sam finally pulled free and ran across the path to the ax. He ripped it out of the tree, and Dean managed to shove her off of him and roll away. Sam turned and chopped at the Leshi's neck multiple times. Each swing covered his face with blood before her head finally fell off and rolled across the path.

Dean held up a finger, still laying in the ground. "Not a word."

"Dude. You just got whaled on by Paris Hilton!" Sam laughed.

Dean put his head back and grunted in pain. "Shut up."

"A little help," I said from the tree.


We walked out of the motel with our bags to the Impala.

Dean was on his phone with the sheriff. "Uh-huh." (...) "All right. Thank you." He hung up. "Sheriff Carnegie. Danielle's gonna be all right. She's sworn off The Simple Life, but other than that..." He shrugged.

Sam nodded. "Glad she's okay."

"It gets better. Sheriff's putting out an APB on Paris Hilton." Dean chuckled. "That oughta be good." He pulled out his keys and opened the trunk, and we slipped our bags in. "Hey, listen, I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About me keeping too tight of a leash on you."

Sam looked at him.

Dean shrugged. "Hell, maybe you're right. I mean, look, I'm not exactly Mr. Innocent in this whole mess either, ya know. I did break the first seal."

Sam shook his head. "You didn't know."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well, neither did you."

I smiled to myself.

"I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but you did kill Lilith," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "And started the apocalypse."

Dean nodded. "Which none of us saw coming, I mean, who'd have thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing?" He sighed. "Point is I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you." He paused and then nodded. "So, for that, I'm sorry."

Sam nodded and smiled softly. "Thanks."

Dean closed the trunk. "So, where do we go from here?"

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

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Maybe I am on deck for the Devil, maybe same with you and Michael. Maybe there's no changing that," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Well, that's encouraging."

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

Dean thought about it and then nodded. "I can get on board with that."

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

Dean grinned. "You got it."

Sam nodded.

"I say we get the hell outta here," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Hell yeah."

We walked to our respective doors.

Dean paused and looked down at his keys. "Hey." Sam and I looked over at him, and he held the keys out to Sam. "You wanna drive?"

Sam looked at the keys. "You sure?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I could, uh... I could use a nap."