January 2nd, 2009
It was about a week later. One day, Dean came back from a bar. "Pack up, I've got us a case."
Alex immediately started, and Sam looked up. "What?"
"A case. You remember those, right?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean, about what?"
"I'll tell you about it in the car." Dean grinned with amusement. "Down in Canton, Ohio. You feeling well enough to leave?"
"I'm fine." Sam got up, throwing his stuff into his backpack. "We'll leave in a few minutes."
...
Dean went to check them out, and Sam and Alex packed the car. Within ten minutes, they were on the road.
Dean had just finished telling some story of what had happened at the bar he had been at that night, and it has Sam almost in stitches. Alex just rolled her eyes.
When he finished, Sam took a deep breath. "So." He let let out another chuckle. "What's with this job?"
"Dude suffers head-on collision with a parked car?" Dean looked over at his brother. "I'd say that's worth checking out."
"Yeah, definitely, but, uh, we got bigger problems, don't you think?"
"I'm sure the apocalypse'll still be there when we get back."
There was a pause.
"Right, yeah, but I mean if - if the Colt is really out there somewhere -"
"Hey. We've been looking for a week, and we got bupkis."
"Okay. But Dean, I mean . . . if we're gonna ice the devil -"
"That's what we're doing, okay?" Dean snapped. "End of discussion."
They fell into a long silence, and Alex awkwardly slumped in the back seat.
Finally Dean spoke again. "Listen. It's just that this is our first case back to together, alright? I, I think we gotta ease back into it, put the training wheels back on."
"So you think I need training wheels," Sam said tersely.
"No. 'We.' 'We' need training wheels, you, me, and Alex. As a team. Okay?"
"Okay." Alex agreed, sitting up.
Sam nodded as well. "Okay."
"Man, I really want this to be a fresh start. For all of us."
There was a pause, but then Sam nodded again. "Yeah, okay."
"Which means no more blaming each other for the damn apocalypse. No more arguing, no more picking fights with Pip."
"Yeah. I get it."
They fell into silence. Dean turned up his music, and Alex leaned her forehead against the cool glass, yawning.
...
Canton, Ohio
They arrived at their destination a few hours later. Dean checked them into a nearby motel, and they quickly there. Sam immediately went to bed, still recovering from his sickness. Alex also crawled into bed, curling up.
...
She woke at two in the morning. Both Sam and Dean were fast asleep in the other bed. Alex shivered, and crawled out of bed. Then she crawled in between the two Winchesters. Dean stirred, and Alex could tell he was still wearing his clothes. She curled up around his back, snuggling close.
"Whatcha doing?" Dean slurred, tired and slightly buzzed.
"Cold," Alex whispered back, shimmying under the covers beside the Winchesters. "You guys are warm."
"Damn right we are," Dean whispered back, closing his eyes. He fell back to sleep.
"Whatever you say, Dean," Alex chuckled. She fell asleep, comforted by the hunters on either side of her.
...
Sam brushed light kisses on the inside of her wrist, making Alex shiver. She carded her hands through his soft hair, back slightly arching off of the bed. The hunter shifted closer, attention slowly but surely moving up her arm. Alex ran her hands over his back, feeling the rise and fall of the solid mass of muscles and skin.
Sam gently pushed the hem of her shirt aside, kissing up her neck. Alex squirmed under his relentless teasing, until finally, he reached her lips. He kissed her, gently at first, hand gripping the side of her face. He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, and Alex opened her mouth, eyes closed in bliss. The hunter's warm body pressed against hers, radiating heat. Hands slipped under her shirt, running upwards until -
Alex woke up. Her eyes fluttered open, still not fully awake, and she rolled over, trying to bring back the warm feelings of her dream. However, as the memories came back, she blushed deeply, sitting up awkwardly. "Fuck." The word slipped out before she could stop herself. She looked around, and she was alone. Breakfast sat on the counter, a note scrawled on the paper bag. Alex padded over to it, yawning. It was Dean's handwriting. Went to check out case. Eat.
Alex rolled her eyes, opening the bag. Yup. Sandwich. Why did Dean always get breakfast foods in the form of sandwiches? Grumbling, she settled down to eat, pushing her dream as far away from her conscious memories as possible.
...
She didn't get a call from either of them. A little after twelve, Sam stepped in the door, carrying a brown paper bag. He tossed it on the table, grunting a hello. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, grabbing his bag on the way.
"Good morning to you, too!" Alex yelled after him, residing to the food.
Sam came back out a minute later. "Hey."
"Hey. Where's Dean?"
"Dunno. Said he had something he needed to do." Sam sat down at the table next to her. "How was your morning?"
Alex shrugged, shifting slightly away as her dream came back to her. She blushed, adverting her eyes. "Watched tv. Nothing special. What's up with this case?"
"Uh, a guy named Cal Mitchell got his head slammed into the windshield of a parked car with the force of a 80mph collision." Sam slid her a picture of the crime scene.
Alex cringed. "Ooh," she winced. "Nasty. I, I thought the point of windshields were so your face wouldn't get sliced off."
Sam shrugged, amused by her reaction. "Yeah, uh, I guess so." He sighed, opening up the grocery bag, and pulled out a loaf of bread, a hand of bananas, and a jar of peanut butter, along with utensils and paper plates he had gotten out of the Impala. Alex watched him as he made himself a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich. Then he made one for her.
She grunted her thanks. "So, any ideas who killed him?"
Sam didn't speak for several seconds as he chewed on a sticky bite of his sandwich. "Uh, cops think it was Jim Grossman," He finally got out. His tongue darted out to lick peanut butter off his lips, and Alex tore her gaze away. Sam didn't notice. "He was there when Cal died. But he says he was in the house, and heard tires squealing and glass breaking. He has a film of him finding Cal's body." Sam pulled out a small slip of paper. "The car was called 'Little Bastard.' Uh, apparently owned by James Dean, killed a lot of people or something. We checked it out. VIN number matched, but we got the engine number to confirm." Sam huffed. "That's why I'm stuck here." He stuffed the rest of sandwich inside his mouth before reaching for his laptop. He pulled several papers out of the case folder, laying them around.
Alex left him to work in silence.
...
Sam worked for almost five hours straight. Finally, at around 5 pm, Sam's phone rang. He answered. "Hey." He sighed, shifting through his papers. "Took me a while, but I traced all the car's previous owners."
Pause.
"Nope. In fact-" He was cut off, face darkening. "Dean, are you in a bar?"
Pause.
Sam frowned angrily. "I've been working my ass off here." He was cut off, and listened. "Actually, you didn't." He shifted through the pages again, pulling one. "The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia; drove it 'till he died in 1972."
Pause.
"The Porsche is not, nor has it ever been, James Dean's car. It's a fake Little Bastard."
Pause.
Sam sighed. "Good question." After another pause, he said goodbye and hung up.
Alex glanced over at him. "Another theory out the window?" she guessed.
Sam nodded, closing his laptop in frustration. He walked over to the bed, falling ungracefully onto the mattress. Alex tossed him the remote, and he changed the channel.
Alex shivered, cold. According to the news, tonight was suppose to be even colder than the last. She considered going over to the other bed with Sam, but her dream made her hesitate. Finally, her physical discomfort outweighed her emotional one, and she got up and moved, curling up against Sam's side.
Sam shifted slightly, looking down at her. "Uh . . ." he began uncomfortably.
Despite herself, Alex smirked. "Cold," she whimpered, twisting to look up at him with her best puppy eyes.
Sam held her gaze for a second, then sighed. "Fine," he consented. Then he got up.
"Sam!" Alex protested loudly, pouting slightly.
"Relax. I'm getting a beer." Sam returned a few seconds later. Alex took the opportunity to slip under the covers. Sam lay back down on top of them, making sure to keep his side pressed against the young girl's back. She snuggled back into him, shivering from the cold.
...
After a few hours, he shifted, looking down at Alex. She was fast asleep, eyes closed peacefully. As he watched, her mouth twitched, eyes squeezing together. He knew she was dreaming, and smiled briefly. He returned to his show.
...
Alex awoke. There was still a body next to her, and she rolled, seeking the warmth. She snuggled into the warm chest, mumbling something incoherent.
Hesitant hands came to rest on her back, and Alex opened her eyes, inhaling. She knew who it was by smell. "Morning, Sammy," she mumbled, reluctantly rolling away.
Sam willingly let her go. "Uh, uh, yeah. Morning." He got up, walking over to the heater, turning it on. This time, it hoarsely purred to life.
"Dean not back?" Alex sat up, looking around.
"Nope."
Alex studied the hunter. He had changed into sweatpants and a light grey v-neck. "Out with a girl?" she guessed.
Sam turned to face her, running hands through his messy hair. "Uh, yeah, probably." He grabbed a pair of jeans, disappearing into the bathroom to change.
When he came back out, the room was noticeably warmer, and Alex tossed off the sheets. She watched at the hunter pulled off his shirt, revealing his well-muscled torso.
"Sammy?" Alex finally drawled, stifling a yawn. She placed her elbows on her knees, head in her hands, looking up at the hunter. "How come you don't get laid more?"
Sam immediately blushed, and Alex bit back a satisfied smirk. "I, uh, well . . ." Sam stuttered, and Alex continued.
"I mean, like, you're not an ugly guy. And you're built like a bull -" She cut off as Sam turned awkwardly, and she smirked. "Sorry, Sammy. I just like to see you blush." When Sam didn't respond, Alex frowned, worried. "Sammy? Sam? Hey. You okay, man?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fine." Sam pulled on his shirt and grabbed his cell, calling Dean. Alex fell back on the bed, sighing.
...
Dean came back within the hour. "Morning, peasants," he teased, tossing his keys on the table. He was still dressed in his suit, but it was obvious that it had spent the night crumpled on the floor.
"Oh mighty king," Alex shot back, bowing dramatically. "We thank you for gracing us with your presence, high one."
Sam huffed in amusement, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Point taken." He looked around. "You hear?"
"About the murder? Yeah, I heard." Sam crossed his arms, still slightly pissed at his brother. He turned his attention back to his laptop.
Dean didn't notice. "Alrighty, then. Shall we?"
"Dean," Alex whined. "What about breakfast? I'm hungry."
Dean glanced at her, blinking. "Fine," he finally consented. "You can come, we'll go for breakfast afterwards."
Sam disappeared into the bathroom to change, and Alex reluctantly nodded.
...
They arrived at the crime scene within twenty minutes. Sam and Dean got out, and Alex sulked in the backseat, still quite hungry. She watched them disappear into the building before sliding into the front seat, turning on the stereo. After much convincing, Dean had left the keys in the car, warning her that if she turned the engine on, he would end her.
She turned up the music, and ACDC filled the car. She drummed along, losing herself in the music.
...
After about ten minutes, she got bored and got out of the car, pocketing the keys. She pulled her jacket tighter, the cold January air biting at her exposed skin. A woman sat against the house, wrapped in a blanket. A police officer was taking to her, and, as Alex watched, Sam and Dean came out of the house. They walked over to the woman, and Alex started to approached.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder. "You can't go over there." Alex turned to see a police officer. "It's a crime scene."
Alex huffed angrily. "I'll go where I damn want," she muttered.
"Alex." Alex looked up to see Dean. He motioned her over, and Alex brushed the hand off her shoulder, stepping forward. However, Dean hurried forward to meet her. "I told you to wait in the car."
Alex stopped, frowning. "What?"
"Wait in the car."
"I'm hungry," the young girl pouted. "You promised breakfast."
"Is she with you?" an officer asked, and Alex recognized him as the sheriff.
Dean huffed, glancing over his shoulder. "Barely." He turned back to Alex. "Car. Now."
Alex pouted, but did as he said. She angrily slid across the hood of the car, ignoring Dean as he threatened to kill her if she did that again. She got into the front seat and started the car, turning up the heat on full blast.
...
A few minutes later, Sam and Dean got into the car, and Alex ungracefully fell into the backseat. "About time," she muttered, straightening her coat. "It's cold."
"It's January."
Alex leaned over the front seat. "Breakfast?" she asked, giving Dean her puppy eyes.
"Breakfast." They drove away.
...
In the warmth of a nearby diner, Alex slid in next to Dean, pressing her still-cold body into his. The waitress came by, and Alex ordered hot pancakes. Dean ordered eggs and coffee - black - and Sam got bacon and eggs.
"So," Alex asked. "What'd you guys learn?"
Sam glanced at Alex and Dean in amusement. "Uh, man named William Hill was shot in the head. His maid described the killer as, get this, Abraham Lincoln."
"Lincoln?" Alex raised an eyebrow unbelievingly. "As in, the president."
"Oh, yeah," Dean said sarcastically. "Tall man, beard, sombrero -"
"Sombrero?" Alex looked up at Dean.
Sam frowned in dis-amusement. "The witness spoke Spanish. The Spanish word for hat is sombrero."
"Yeah, uh, okay." Alex accepted her food as the waitress slid her plate in front of her. "Okay."
...
After breakfast they returned to the motel room. Both Winchesters pulled out their laptops, and they fell into silence. Alex flopped on the bed, bored. She turned on the tv.
Half an hour later, Dean frowned. "Woah."
Alex sat up. "What?" Sam echoed her question.
Dean stared at something on his screen. "It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video."
Alex got up and walked over to him. However, Dean spun the laptop so Sam could see. Alex let out a small noise of protest.
Dean ignored her. "Am I crazy, or does that look like James Dean?"
Sam studied the screen. "That looks like James Dean," he concurred.
"Doesn't mean you're not crazy," Alex muttered as Dean spun the laptop back so she could see. In the corner of the screen was a shadowy figure. Alex, not actually knowing what James Dean looked like, just grunted.
"So we've got Abraham Lincoln and now James Dean?" he pondered. "Famous ghosts?"
Sam frowned. "Maybe," he half-heartedly agreed.
"Well that's just silly."
"No, actually, there is tons of lore on famous ghosts. More than the, you know, not famous kinds. I'm actually surprised we've never run into one before."
"Yeah, but now we got two of them? Two extremely pissed off ghosts?"
Alex sat down in a chair, joining the conversation.
"Who apparently are ganking their fans," Sam added. Alex grunted in agreement. Having not been to either of the crime scenes, she knew squat.
"Fans? What do you mean?"
It was Sam's turn to spin his laptop. "Professor Hill was a civil war nut. He-"
"Professor Harold Hill?" Alex joked.
"Who?"
"Oh come on." Alex rolled her eyes.
"Music Man," Sam explained to his brother shortly.
"I don't watch musicals."
"Stop lying out of your ass," Alex muttered.
Dean smiled.
"Anyways. Hill loved Lincoln."
"And Cal must have been a James Dean freak. He spent seventeen years of his life tracking down that guys car."
"Which was a dud," Alex reminded. She glanced up at Sam. He raised his eyebrow at Dean.
"So you're saying we've got two super famous, super pissed off ghosts killing their . . . super-fans?"
Sam shrugged. "That's what it looks like."
Dean looked down, shaking his head slightly. "Well, that is mucho locos."
Sam grinned. "Muy." When Dean looked up, he added. "It's 'muy.' Not mucho."
Dean waved him off. "Yeah, well, the big question is, what the hell are they doing here?"
"Yeah." Sam adjusted his seat in the chair. "Ghosts usually haunt the places they live. I mean, I, I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House-"
"Or James Dean at the race track but . . . what the hell are they doing in Canton?"
Sam shook his head. "No idea."
Alex slid her chair closer to Sam. He watched her, and she raised an eyebrow, waggling it seductively, as was her typical response to these situations.
Sam leaned away from her. "Don't do the eyebrow thing."
Alex laughed. "But Sammy," she teased. "How could I not?" She glanced over at Dean, who had gone back to his screen. She lowered her voice. "So, who exactly is James Dean?"
Dean heard. His head raised, eyes fixing on Alex. "You serious?" When Alex shrugged, he pulled his shoulders back. "Sit down, shut up, and listen here, cause I'm gonna tell you something you'll need to know."
"James Dean?" Alex drawled slowly, putting her elbows on the table. However, she couldn't help the smile that crossed her lips. "He's uh, an actor or something. I'm assuming he died in a car crash."
"That's the gist," Sam told her.
"That's not 'the gist.' " Dean glared at his brother. "James Dean was one of the most iconic actors of the mid fifties. He starred in Rebel Without a Cause? Come on. Disfranchised youth?" Seeing Alex's face, he shook his head. "He died when he crashed Little Bastard."
Sam nudged her with his elbow, and Alex glanced at his computer screen. Several pictures of James Dean were visible.
"I assume he's your role model for your dress code?" Alex asked dryly.
Dean huffed. "No. And there's nothing wrong with dressing like him."
Sam typed something, and Alex looked over at his screen. Dean's definitely got a James Dean look.
Alex smiled, and pulled the laptop closer to her. Tell me about it. Like I said. Lying out of his ass.
Sam chuckled.
"Hey hey hey. Stop passing notes in class," Dean grumbled. "God. Grow up."
Sam closed his laptop. "Whatever, Dean."
...
It was late that afternoon. Sam was still on his laptop, and Alex was on Dean's, an open can of Mountain Dew sitting next to her.
Dean was looking out the window, lost in his thoughts, a Coke in his own hands.
Suddenly Sam spoke. "You've got to be kidding me."
Dean turned. "What?" Alex looked up as well.
Sam just shook his head. Dean walked over, looking at the screen. "You've got to be kidding me."
"What?" Alex whined.
"I was looking for connections between James Dean, Lincoln, and Canton." Sam spun the laptop.
Alex looked at the screen. "No way." A wax museum. With wax sculptures of James Dean and Lincoln. She looked up. "I'll take it that's our next stop."
Dean nodded. "Hell yeah."
"Can I come?" Alex almost begged. "I'm so bored just sitting here."
Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "We could go as journalists," Sam suggested.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay." He looked over at Alex. "Fine. Let's go."
...
They were at the Canton Wax Museum within half an hour. They walked in, and Alex decided she didn't like the darkened rooms. She reached for her lower back, and her hand brushed against the grip of her gun. Not like that'd do anything against a ghost, but it was comforting. Sam strayed over to the set decorated like the oval office, where several wax presidents stood. Dean was frowning down at Gandhi. "Dude," he finally said, "he's short."
Sam glanced over at his brother, and Alex walked over to Dean. "Hey" Sam chastised, "Gandhi was a great man."
"Yeah, for a Smurf," both Alex and Dean said at the same time. They grinned at each other. "Aa-y," they both said.
Sam rolled his eyes.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs, and a short, bald man in a black leather jacket and tie appeared. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he apologized. Alex took him to be the owner. "This is the busiest time of the year."
All three grouped in front of the owner. Dean looked around at the empty room. "This is busy?"
"Well, not right now, but it's early."
Dean didn't buy it. "It's four thirty."
The owner ignored him. "So, what can I do for you?"
"Uh, well, we are writing an article for Travel Magazine."
"Yeah, on how totally non-sucky wax museums are," Dean added. Alex barely hid a small smile. She turned her attention to a wax JFK behind her.
"That's fantastic. A little press, just what we need."
"Great. Well, we're interested in a few of your exhibits, especially Abraham Lincoln and, uh, James Dean?"
The owner nodded. "Two of our most popular displays."
Alex snorted. Right.
"Oh yeah? So they bring in a lot of visitors?" Sam exchanged glances with Dean.
"Yeah, we have our regulars."
"Were Hill and that other dude regulars?" Alex asked over her shoulder.
"Excuse me? Is she with you?"
"Unfortunately yes," Dean responded quite dryly.
"I love wax," Alex called over her shoulder, studying the wax Nixon.
"But, uh, were William Hill and Cal Hawkins regulars?"
"Yes, they were. I heard what happened to them. It's tragic, just tragic. Oh - you - that's not going in the article, is it?"
Sam shook his head. "No no no. Course not."
That appeased the owner.
"You know," Dean began, "I got to tell you. That, that Lincoln is so lifelike. I mean, I mean you can just imagine him moving around. You ever see anything like that?"
Alex coughed at his smoothness. More like chunkiness. Smooth as chunky peanut butter.
She couldn't see it, but she was sure the owner guy was frowning. "Uh . . . no."
"No?"
Sam took over. "Is there anything you can think of that would make your museum . . . unusual? You know, for the article?"
"Well, I'd say." Pride tinged the man's voice. "There isn't another place like us, not anywhere."
Alex turned back to see Dean raise an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well, for one thing, that's Honest Abe's real hat."
Alex looked over at the wax Lincoln, suddenly very wary of it.
Both Winchesters looked surprised. "Is it?"
"Almost like his remains," Dean said, glancing at his brother. Alex blinked. Smooth, Dean.
"Uh . . . I guess?"
"You wouldn't happen to have any of James Dean's personal effects, would you?" asked Sam.
"Ooh, yeah. Got his keychain. Got a bunch of stuff. Gandhi's bifocals. FDR's iron lung. This." He tugged on the black leather jacket he was wearing.
Sam frowned. "And who did that belong to?"
"The Fonz. Seasons two through four!" The owner gave them a double thumbs up, a large grin splitting his face.
Sam blinked. "W-wow. That, that's really cool . . . ish."
"This? This is nothing. I've been working on a new collection of figures. Stuff that'll really wow the kids." He looked over at Alex. "You'll love it."
Alex just blinked. "I'm sure."
Dean looked confused. "The kids?"
"Yeah. Gen Y." Dean nodded, and the man continued. "Computer games, cell phones," he looked straight at Dean, "sexting." Dean raised an eyebrow. The owner scoffed. "They're just fads. I'm going to make wax museums hip again."
Dean nodded, and Sam gave a little chuckle. The owner gave them another double thumbs up, and Sam unconfidently returned it.
The owner turned to Alex. "Come on. I'll show you what I've been collecting."
"Uh, no thanks. I, uh, you're probably busy. Busiest time of year and all." Alex back up closer to Sam. "We'll, uh, finish looking around here and find you if we want a tour later, okay?"
The owner nodded. "Okay." He turned and left.
"Let's get out of here," Alex grumbled.
Sam grunted in agreement, and led them out of the wax museum. Alex slid into the backseat, carding her fingers through Dean's hair. Despite himself, he purred playfully, and Alex laughed. "Good kitty." She leaned over the front seat. "Dinner, right?"
Sam frowned, glancing at his watch. "It's barely five."
Alex pouted. "We didn't have lunch."
"She's got a point, Sammy." Dean started the car. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving." They drove off.
...
They got back to the motel around 6:00. Being January, it was already dark. Dean disappeared into the motel room, and Alex followed. "Alex." Sam stopped her. "Stay here."
Alex walked back over to him. "Why?"
"We're going hunting tonight." Sam opened the trunk. "Help me load the shotguns."
Alex grumbled under breath, but politely did as he asked. She flicked down the lever, bending the gun in half. Then she reached into the trunk, curling her fingers around two salt casings. She slipped them into two barrels of the gun. Once the gun was fully loaded she bent the gun back into place. It clicked, and she tossed it back into trunk. By then, Sam was already on his second gun. He tossed it back into the trunk, turning to look at Alex. She looked up, not sure what he wanted.
Sam just closed the trunk. Then he wordlessly walked back into the motel room. Alex trailed after him. "Okay."
Dean was sitting at the table on the phone. "Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean, can you believe it? . . . Why so kill crazy? Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got them all hot and bothered." Dean chuckled slightly at his own joke, not hearing them enter. "Yeah, well, we all know who's fault that is . . . Yeah, well it's true."
Alex looked up at Sam, who's face grew tight. But then, it was gone. He pushed the door shut, and Alex stepped past him, brushing his hand with her fingers in sympathy before continuing in. Sam pushed past her and sat down at the table
"I'll call you later. Bye." Dean hung up, turning to look at them. "Hey. You guys looked like you had fun."
Alex blushed slightly, sitting down next to Sam. "Yeah. Wonderful." She knew she was blushing more, but she played along. "Isn't that right Sammy? Good thing it's winter, because things got pretty hot."
She was rewarded by Sam's blush. "God, you guys are so immature." He stalked over to the bed. Dean stretched his fist towards Alex, and she bumped it with her own.
"So you got the trunk packed?"
Sam grunted. "Yeah, the trunk's packed. Who was on the phone?"
"Bobby."
"And . . ?"
Dean shook his head. "And nothing."
"And we're just gonna pretend I didn't hear what I just heard."
"Pretend or don't pretend." Dean shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat."
"This was suppose to be a fresh start, Dean."
"Well, this is as fresh as it gets." Dean glanced at his watch.
Sam walked into the bathroom, and Alex turned to Dean.
"What?" Dean ignored her.
"Really?"
Dean frowned. "It's true. He started the apocalypse."
"So? He didn't know any better than we did."
"He was drinking the blood of a demon," Dean snapped. "Not to mention he was fucking her."
"So? He made some bad choices. Like all of us. Hell, if you're going to blame anyone blame me. I probably could have stopped the apocalypse."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Don't think I don't blame you. But that dick of an angel took you before you could say anything."
"Before I could say anything?" Alex actually laughed. A harsh laugh. "I had almost a year and a half to tell you. But I didn't. Dean, Sam's your brother. Yeah, he messed up. We all did. Him, me, you. Now maybe instead of holding a fucking grudge, you could grow up and realize that working together is the only way we're gonna stop this thing." She lowered her voice. "We're going to stop it. And Sam's gonna help."
The bathroom door opened, and Sam stepped out. Alex fell into silence, slumping against her chair. Dean glared at her before standing up. "Let's go."
"Museum doesn't close for another two hours."
"Then I'm going to get beer." Dean grabbed his jacket and stalked away.
Sam waited until Dean had gone before turning to Alex. "Thanks," he mumbled.
Alex smiled. "It's nothing," she promised. "Dean's just being a total dick. If he does it again, I'll talk to him."
Sam smiled as well. "It's not like I'm being bullied."
"Doesn't mean I ain't gonna stick up for you." Alex paused. "Oh my God, I sounded like Bobby." She put her head in her hands.
Sam chuckled.
...
At nine, all three piled into the car and drove to the wax museum. Dean parked the car in the far corner of the parking lot, taking a long sip of his beer. "Okay. We wait till the Fonz is out of the way." He vaguely motioned to the white Buick that was sitting in the parking lot. "Then in and out, okay? Shouldn't be to hard."
Alex leaned against the backseat, fingering her shotgun mindlessly. Her hand went to her jacket pocket, feeling the extra rounds. She wasn't wearing her normal hunting clothes, as those were typically reserved for the more bloodier cases. Ghosts meant no blood. Which meant clean clothes.
The start of an engine made her look up. The Buick roared to life before peeling out into the street. Dean waited until it disappeared down the street before getting out of the car. Sam did the same, and, while Dean circled around to the trunk, Sam hurried off towards the building. Alex followed Dean, pulling another shotgun out of the trunk. Then they walked to the building.
Sam reappeared, pocketing a pair of wire cutters. "Simple security system," he informed them. "Took care of it." He knelt down, then hesitated. He held out his lock picking kit to Alex. "Give it a shot."
Alex hesitated as well, but knelt down beside him. "You sure?" she asked quietly.
"We have plenty of time."
Alex took the tools, carefully inserting the torque and rake into the lock. It took her almost four minutes of deep concentration, but the lock did click, and the door swung open. Alex stood up, giving Sam back his tools. He placed a hand on her shoulder in brief congratulations before following his brother into the building. Alex did the same.
They walked down the hallway and turned down the stairs. Dean stopped beside Lincoln. Alex turned when he cleared his voice. "Check it out." He had placed Abe Lincoln's hat on his head. Then he lowered his voice to imitated Lincoln. "Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat."
Alex laughed, and Dean shot her a smile.
"Dean." Sam just sighed. He had fetched a trash can, placing it on the floor.
Dean just frowned. "What? We can't have any fun with this?" He took off the hat, tossing it into the trash can.
"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, and get outta here, okay?"
"I'll go get East of Eden's keychain." Dean left the room. Alex followed him. They got all the way down to the James Dean exhibit before they heard the sound of a door slam. Alex immediately froze. "Sam?" she called.
No answer. She and Dean exchanged glances before they took off down the hall, James Dean forgotten. They turned down the hall and ran. The double door which they had stepped through were closed. Alex threw her weight against it, but it didn't open. "Sam?" she yelled.
Scuffling was heard in the other room, and Dean pushed on the door. It didn't budge. Finally, with one last push from the both of them, it swung open, and the two hunters stumbled through. Sam was struggling with a man on his back. Gandhi. Alex watched in partial amazement.
"Dean!" Sam yelled.
Dean slid to a stop. "Is that Gandhi?"
"Yeah!"
"Dude. He's squirrelly!"
"Get the-" Sam was cut off as Gandhi elbowed him in the chest. Sam gasped, motioning to the wax figure on his back with a shake of his head.
Dean understood, and rushed past Alex, who followed, cursing herself for just standing. She dropped her shotgun, knowing she couldn't get a clear shot with Gandhi hanging onto Sam like that.
"Get it!" Sam choked out.
Dean stopped by his brother, confused. "Get the what?"
"Glasses!" Sam clawed at the figure around his neck, gasping for air. Dean grabbed the glasses off of the Gandhi. Alex, having nothing else to do, locked her arms around Gandhi, and tried to pull him off.
Meanwhile, Dean threw the glasses into the wastebasket. Alex heard the clatter as they fell in, the splash of lighter fluid, followed by the ever familiar hiss of a match and the whoosh of flames. Gandhi disappeared in her grasp, and she fell backwards. Sam fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
Dean turned. "You couldn't have been a fan of someone cooler?"
Sam started at his brother blankly.
Dean continued. "Really? Gandhi?"
Alex stood up, helping Sam to his feet, which was really mostly him doing the work. "Shut up," Sam grumbled. "Just, get the key chain, okay?"
Dean did as he asked.
...
They returned to the Nite Owl Motel half an hour later. Dean stayed up for a beer, but Sam and Alex went to bed. Being that it was cold, Alex climbed into bed next to Sam. Sam shifted awkwardly, but Alex was stubborn. "Stop moving," she grumbled, putting an arm around his chest to keep him still.
"Alex. Stop manhandling Sam."
"He won't stay still!" Alex protested. "And I'm cold."
Dean laughed, and Sam kicked her away. "Get back to your own bed."
"Get back to your own bed," Alex mimicked in a high pitched voice, but did as he asked. She crawled under the cold sheets, curling up. "You're a bitch, Sammy."
"Language," Dean snapped.
"You guys don't set a very good example." Alex wiggled deeper into the mattress, yawning. "Night."
The brothers grunted in response, and Alex fell asleep.
...
She awoke when it was still dark out. Dean was sitting at the table, a few empty bottles of beer sitting around him. She sat up and approached. "Hey Dean."
Dean looked up at her. "Huh? Oh. Hey."
"You doing okay?" Alex sat down in the chair across from him. "You should probably come to bed."
Dean shook his head. "Nah. Not tired."
"Okay. You want to talk?"
"Not really."
Alex crossed her arms, stifling a yawn. "What's this about? Is it Sam?"
Dean took another long swig of his beer. "I, I just don't know if I can trust him," he finally admitted, the alcohol loosening his tongue.
"He messed up, Dean. So did all of us." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Alex continued. "You broke the first seal, he broke the last, I did squat to stop any of it. At least the two of you didn't know what you were doing."
Dean put his head in his hands. "You tried," he muttered.
Alex frowned. "Why are you so ready to forgive me, but not Sam?"
Dean looked up. "I, I don't know. You, you're you. But Sam, I should be able to trust him completely, you know? He's the smart one. He shouldn't do these things."
"He's a fucking human, Dean. Give him a break."
"He fucked a demon!"
"And you fucked a dick with wings."
Dean shook his head. "First, she was human at the time. So there."
Alex rolled her eyes. "Come on. Let's go to bed."
"Not tired."
Alex crossed her arms. "Dean. Bed now. You need to sleep if we're gonna drive tomorrow."
Dean grumbled under his breath, but he followed Alex over to the beds. He collapsed next to Sam, and soon was asleep. Alex lay down in her bed, staring at the ceiling. It was still really cold, so she got up. Then she lay down between Sam and Dean, comforted by their presence. It wasn't long before all three were asleep.
...
The next morning, Alex was the last to wake up. Something landed beside her on the bed, and she jumped, suddenly wide awake. "-strange the way Gandhi just vanished?" Sam glanced over at Alex as she sat up. He threw something into his backpack which was now lying at Alex's feet.
"Strange how?" Dean also spared Alex a glance. "Pack up. We're leaving."
"Think about it. No screaming, no big flame-out, I mean, that isn't the way ghosts normally go."
"He's got a point," Alex put in, rubbing her eyes. "It was pretty weird."
Dan shrugged. "I torched him, he vanished."
"Yeah, but I . . ." Sam let out a long sigh. "Also, I feel like he was . . . trying to take a bite out of me."
Alex got out of bed, barely holding back a cough of amusement. "Zombie Gandhi?" she joked, reaching for her duffle bag on the floor. "Sounds pleasant. I don't do zombies, by the way."
"A bite?" Dean scoffed.
"Yeah, like he was hungry. But the thing is, Gandhi - the real Gandhi - he was a -" Sam hesitated.
"A what?" Dean persisted. "Spit it out."
"He was a fruitarian."
Dean stared at his brother, then he laughed. "Let me get this straight. You're ultimate hero was not only a
short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian?"
Sam frowned. "That's not the point."
"That is good," Dean continued. "That is - even for you, that is good."
"Look. I'm just saying, I'm not so sure this thing is over."
Dean shrugged, gesturing with his whole arms. "It was a ghost. It was a weirdly super-charged fruitarian ghost, but it was still a ghost. Now let's go." He reached down and picked up his bag.
"So first you drag me into this town, and now you drag me back out." Sam squared his jaw, obviously angry at his brother, but not wanting to let it show.
"You ain't the one steering this boat. Let's go, chop chop." Dean slung his bag over his shoulder and stalked towards the door. Alex scrambled out of bed, not even dressed.
Sam didn't move. "You know, this isn't gonna work."
Dean stopped and turned, slightly confused. His voice was devoid of emotion. "What isn't?"
"Us. You, me, together. I - I thought it could ,but it can't."
Alex grabbed her duffle bag and hurried into the bathroom. She kept near the door, though, wanting to hear the conversation.
"You're the one that wanted back in, chief," Dean was saying.
"And you're the one who called me back in."
"I still think we got some trust building to do."
"How long am I gonna be on double-secret probation?" Alex heard the thunk of Sam's backpack hitting the ground. She quickly pulled on her jeans, followed by a black shirt, and stepped back out into the room.
"Until I say so." Dean was still standing at the other end of the motel, mouth twisted into a small frown.
Sam let out a quiet breath. "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 suppose to do?" Dean countered. "Just let you off the hook?"
Alex tossed her bag on the bed, crossing her arms. "Dean," she snapped. "We've talked about this."
"Shut up."
Alex huffed angrily.
"You can think whatever you want. I deserve it, and worse."
"Sam!" Alex interrupted, twisting her head to glare at him.
Don't try and defend me," Sam hissed. "I deserve this. Hell, you guys can never punish me more than I'm punishing myself. The point is, if we're gonna be a team, if has to be a two way street."
"So we just go back to the way it was before?"
"No, because we were never that way before. Before didn't work."
Dean's frown deepened.
"How do you think we got here?" Sam continued, voice raising.
"In a car?" Alex offered quietly, trying to disperse the tension in the room. It didn't work, and she sank onto the bed, trying to disappear.
"What's that suppose to mean?"
"Dean, one of the reasons I went off with Ruby . . . was to get away from you."
Dean froze. "What?"
"It made me feel strong. Like I wasn't your kid brother."
"Are you saying this is my fault?"
Alex crawled up to the head of the bed, worrying that this was going to turn into not just a verbal fight, but a physical one too.
Dean took a step towards Sam, who defiantly stood his ground. "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?" he asked, anger biting at his voice.
"You're gonna have to let me grow up, for starters."
Dean shook his head again, and opened his mouth to rebuke his brother. Hs cell phone rang, and Alex let out a breath of relief. Dean answered. "Yeah?" He listened, then looked over at Sam before immediately diverting his gaze. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He hung up. "I guess you were right about this not being over."
"What happened?" Sam's eyes narrowed, argument forgotten.
"Sheriff Carnegie. He didn't say much, but it looks like something else happened." Dean tossed his bag onto the nearest bed. "He wants us down there ASAP."
Sam nodded, then disappeared into the bathroom, grabbing his bag on the way.
Alex watched. "Can I come?" she asked. "I-I mean . . ."
"Nope." Dean pulled off his shirt and tossed it into his bag. "You know the it me and Sam, it's just me and Sam. Besides, you know how hard it is to pass you off as FBI."
"You pass me off as a 'specialist' easily enough," Alex rebutted.
"Yeah, well, we try not to make a habit of it." Dean pulled out his white oxford, buttoning it over his undershirt. Then he shed his jeans.
Alex ignored it, huffing. "I haven't done a single thing this case!" she protested.
"You went to the museum and watched Sam get wailed on by Gandhi," Dean suggested.
"Yeah, well, that didn't do anything."
"Just stay here." Dean easily tied his tie and pulled on his jacket. "Ready, Sammy?"
Sam emerged from the bathroom, nodding curtly.
"We'll be back soon." Dean quickly put on his shoes, grabbed the car keys, and left the motel. Sam followed, and Alex fell back on the bed.
...
They didn't come back until the late afternoon. Alex was sitting on the bed on Sam's laptop, the tv on in the background. She was reading Supernatural fanfiction - poorly written fanfiction for that matter - and when Sam and Dean stepped through the door, she hurriedly closed the tab. "Hey."
"Uh-huh." Sam stalked over to her and swiped his laptop away.
Alex groaned in disappointment, turning to Dean. "So? What happened?"
"We didn't kill it, that's what." Dean grabbed a beer out of the fridge. "Paris Hilton took a teen."
"Paris Hilton?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "I don't think she's dead."
"She's not."
"So it's not a ghost."
"Nope. Sam also found something in the vics' stomach. Seeds or something."
"More importantly, there was major blood loss. More than normal for those types of injuries."
"So . . . something's feeding?"
"Bingo."
"So, either a vampire's getting creative, or we're dealing with a pagan god."
"That's what we're thinking." Sam dropped two round things on the table. "And whatever it is, it's got something to do with these."
Alex got up and approached the table, picking up the seeds. "Wow. Never seen anything like this before."
"Yeah, me neither." Sam had up a webpage about local seeds.
"Sam. That's gonna take forever."
"Then sit down and help."
Alex grumbled, but opened Dean's laptop. "Thanks for lunch, by the way. Not like I need to eat."
Dean snorted. "What? You could have gotten something yourself."
"If it makes you feel any better, we didn't eat either."
"Barely."
...
They worked for a while. Dean brought back supper, and as the sun set, Alex gave up, and Dean took his laptop back. Alex meandered over to the bed, lying down next to the hunter.
It was only a few minutes later when, "Yahtzee."
"What?" Dean looked up.
"The seeds aren't from around here. In fact, they're not from any tree or plant in the country."
Alex raised herself on her elbows. "Yeah. We already got that hashed out."
"So where are they from?"
"Eastern Europe. From a forest in the Balkans, which is not even there anymore. It was chopped down, like, thirty years ago."
"So?"
"So, local legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan good whose name was Leshi. Um, a mischievous god, could take on infinite forms -"
"And let me guess. He liked to much on his fans."
Sam let out a small chuckle. "Yep. Could be appeased only with the blood from his worshippers. It would drain 'em, then stuff their stomachs with the seeds."
"That's kind of gross," Alex put in.
Dean got up and walked over to Sam. "So how's he doing it? What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?"
Sam shrugged, leaning back to look up at his brother. "Hm. It's as good a guess as any."
"Yeah, well, whatever. How do we kill him?"
"Says here to chop off his head with an iron axe."
Alex got up and walked over to them. "Sounds like fun."
Dean nodded. "All right. Let's go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton." He walked back to his bag, digging through it. "We've got an iron axe in the trunk, don't we?"
"Uh, I think so. Probably." Sam closed his laptop, standing up. "We're going tonight?"
"Hell yeah. That kid could still be alive." Dean pulled out a jacket with faint bloodstains. "Why? You got plans?"
"No." Sam squared his jaw like he as going to argue, but then gave up. "Okay. We'll leave around what? Ten?"
Dean looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. "We could leave now," he suggested.
"Can we get something to eat?" Alex got up and walked closer to the two brothers.
"You had dinner an hour ago."
"I didn't have lunch. Besides, we've got like, what, three hours to kill? Why not kill it with food?"
Sam shrugged, looking over at Dean. Dean gave in. "You know what? Fine. Fine." He dropped his jacket back on his bag. "What do you want?"
"There's a McDonalds down the street."
Sam frowned. "You just want their fries."
"Hell yeah I want their fries." Alex reached for Sam's thick grey sweatshirt. "Come on. I'm hungry."
...
Three hours and a large McDonald's fries later, Alex was sitting in the back of the Impala, head leaning against the cold window. "So, Leshi. Who would name their kid Leshi?"
"I don't think —"
"Well, someone had to name him that." Alex leaned over the front seat, looking at Sam. "Pretty sure he was created."
"By who?" Dean scoffed. "God?"
"He did create everything." Alex rested her crossed arms on the seat, then rested her head on her arms. "Or maybe he created something that created the pagan gods."
"I don't think God's everything you think he is."
Alex shrugged. "I think he is. Although," she added with a sigh, "I'm starting to think that the reason there's two universes is that God gave up on this one and moved on to the other."
Sam let out a scoffing noise. "I don't think so."
"It'd explain the whole 'absent God' thing. And I'd leave too if I had to put up with those archangels." She let out another long breath. "I don't know."
They fell back into silence.
...
They arrived at the Canton Wax Museum a little after ten. Dean turned off the headlights, and the car grew dark. A second later, the purr of the engine was abruptly cut off, and Sam and Dean got out of the car. Alex followed, slamming the door. The two Winchesters were already at the trunk. Sam pulled out the axe, weighing it in his large hands.
Dean tossed her a flashlights. "Heads up."
Alex caught it less then gracefully, barely snagging it before it hit the ground. "Thanks for the warning," she grumbled.
Dean just smirked. He handed a flashlight to Sam before taking one for himself. Then he checked his gun before putting it in his jeans. "Ready?"
Sam nodded, and Dean closed the trunk, pocketing the keys. "Give me the axe," he whispered.
"Why do you get to hold the axe?" Sam whispered back.
"Because I said so." Dean pulled the weapon away from his brother, hurrying off towards the museum. Sam rolled his eyes, following with a huff. He quickly surpassed his brother and reached the door, kneeling down to pick the lock. It opened within seconds.
"Come on." Sam pushed the door open, disappearing into the darkness inside. Dean followed, and Alex trailed after him, making sure to close the door behind them.
She followed them down the stairs, her flashlight's beam dancing over the wax sculptures. "This is creepier in the dark," she mumbled to herself, making sure not to lose sight of the two Winchesters. They passed Gandhi, which Alex made sure to skirt around, and eventually reached a hall.
With a single look, the two brothers split up, leaving Alex standing in the hall alone. "What?" she whispered. With a shrug, she followed Dean. "Dean. Wait up."
Dean turned, flashlight almost blinding her. "Keep your voice down."
"Sorry." Alex turned to examine a wax sculpture of Thomas Edison. "These are worse than manikins," she pointed out casually. A harsh 'shh' from Dean had her closing her mouth.
A whistle came from another room. Dean immediately perked up, hurrying out of the room. Alex followed to find Sam Winchester standing in front of a door. "Closed for maintenance," one sign read.
"CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS." The second clearly read, "DANGER DO NOT ENTER."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, then Dean broke the latch with the axe. Sam opened the door, pushing through the layers of plastic hanging from the ceiling. Alex followed, recognizing the plastic as the type used during renovations. Maybe the sign was right and that's all this was.
Or maybe not. She stepped out into a large room. Tree trunks stretched upwards, branches and leaves reaching for the high ceiling. A path led through them, stopping at the foot of a large white house. On the front porch stood a wax man in a suit. To its left, tied to a tree, was a young girl. Definitely not wax.
"Hey." Sam hurried over to her, checking her pulse worriedly.
"She alive?" Dean stepped through the plastic, brushing past Alex.
"Just barely."
Suddenly, the axe flew out of Dean's hands, embedding itself into a tree. Alex watched it go, bewildered. She turned back to see another person in the room. Paris Hilton — err, Leshi. Leshi that looks like Paris Hilton. She appeared in front of Dean, grinning. Then she punched Dean in the face once, twice, three times, sending him to the ground. Sam launched himself at her, and Alex blinked, freezing.
Then she ran across the path, hands closing around the wooden handle of the axe. She heard Sam hit the ground, and she tugged, bracing her foot against the tree. Then she's flying backwards. Her head hit the tree, and her vision swam. Alex took a deep breath, standing up. She vaguely saw Dean laying on the ground, and she took one step forward. Then something connected with her jaw. Then everything went black.
...
Alex raised her head, letting out a low groan. The first thing she knew was that she was standing up. The next thing she knew was that she was tied. She tried to free her hands, but they were bound tight. She opened her eyes, memories coming back. She was with Sam and Dean. On a hunt. Leshi. She looked around. To her left, Sam was stirring. To her right, Dean was already awake.
In front of them, on a stump, sat Paris Hilton. Err, Leshi. Alex still wasn't use to this. On the stump next to her lay a wide array of knives. She was filing her nails with one of the larger ones, small sparks jumping from the knife with each stroke.
Leshi looked up. "Oh. I'm so glad you're awake for this. This is going to be huge."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance past her. Alex's eyes danced between the two of them, searching for eye contact, but they ignored her.
"Super," Dean finally said, returning his attention to the god. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to miss it."
"I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately." Leshi passed the knife over her fingernails again. "So it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice, slow dinner."
"Just like the good old days, huh?" Sam tested his bonds futilely.
"You have no idea." Leshi looked up at Sam. "People adored me. They use to throw themselves at me with smiles on their faces."
"Yeah, I guess these days no one gives a flying crap about some backwoods forest god, huh?"
Alex let out a huff of laughter, and the pagan god stopped what she was doing, throwing Dean a threatening glare. "No. Not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo Plant."
"March of Progress, sister."
Leshi returned to sharpening her nails. "For years now, I've been wandering. Hungry. Scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy."
Alex scoffed, casting an glance at Dean. He ignored her.
"But then, the best thing happened." Leshi put down the knife, standing up. "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 through the doors."
"Bet it doesn't feel the same." Alex finally spoke, head raised defiantly. "After all, they're not your fans."
"So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton . . . whatever. I'll take what I can get."
"You know, I got to tell you. You're not the fist god we've met but you are . . . the nuttiest." Dean moved his wrists up and down the tree, trying to cut the ropes. The action remained unnoticed by the god.
"No. You, you people are the crazy ones. You use to worship gods. But this?" Leshi motioned to her Paris Hilton form. "This is passes for idolatry? Celebrities?" She let out a scoffing huff. "What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans?"
Alex looked over at Dean. "She's got a point," she admitted.
"Thank you." Leshi took a step towards Alex. "You use to have old time religion. Now you have Us Weekly."
"I don't know. I'm more of a Penthouse Forum man myself." He clicked his tongue, winking at the god. Alex rolled her eyes.
"Maybe. But you still have a lot of yummy meat on those bones." Leshi stepped back slightly, examining all three of them. "The choice just becomes, who do I eat first?"
"Not me." Alex raised an eyebrow. "Not looking like that, anyways. Sorry. Not a Paris Hilton fan."
"No, but you've got your own idols." Leshi's eyes swept between Sam and Dean. "The only question becomes, which of them do I chose?"
"Listen here, you bitch. If you're gonna eat anyone, you better start with me."
Leshi barely spared Dean a look. "You see, I can totally read your mind," she told Alex. "And boy is it dark in there."
Alex glared up at her, fists tightening. "If you're going to kill me, kill me," she spat. "Don't just stand around and talk."
Leshi ignored her words, eyes still focused on the young girl. "And an angel?" she finally said, raising her eyebrows. "How cute." She turned to Dean. "Of course, I could just eat you," she told him. "I know who your hero is. Your daddy, am I right?" She smirked when Dean didn't reply, turning her back to walk over to the axe still embedded in the tree. Dean began furiously working on the ropes, and Alex quickly did the same. They didn't seem to be loosening.
Dean, however, got free. He charged across the room and tackled Leshi to the ground. Alex watched helplessly as the struggled. Next to her, Sam pulled desperately at his bonds as Leshi rolled her and Dean over, managing to kneel on top of him. She punched him in the face, then again.
Sam broke free. He made it to the axe in four strides, yanking it out of the tree. Alex pulled as hard as she could, but still couldn't get free. "Dammit!" she snarled, struggling.
Dean shoved the god off of him, rolling away as Sam swung the axe downwards, burying the blade in the god's head. Blood sprayed him in the face, and he raised the axe again and again.
Five blows. Five blows with the axe before Leshi's head rolled free. Sam dropped the axe, breathing heavily. Blood splatters covered his face, and he looked around, his gaze finding his brother, who was still on the floor. He grinned.
Dean held up a finger. "Not a word."
"Dude. You just got whaled on by Paris Hilton!"
Dean tried to sit. "Shut up." He laid back down, grunting in pain as he touched his head.
"I mean —"
"I said shut up." Dean closed his eyes. "At least I managed to get free."
"Speaking of such," Alex said crossly. "Get your ass over here and untie me."
Sam grinned, walking lazily over to her. "Dean's right. At least he got free."
"Shut up." Alex waited impatiently as he untied her. "He's like twice as strong as me." The rope fell to the ground, and she rubbed her wrists. "I loosened it," she defended.
"Sure." Sam walked back over to his brother. "Come on. Let's burn the bitch and get out of here."
Dean groaned again. "You do it. I'm gonna take a nap."
Sam huffed in amusement. "We're in the middle of a job."
"No, you just killed the job." Dean reluctantly sat up, wincing. "Fine."
"Alex. Go get the tarp in the trunk."
Alex nodded slowly. "Sure." She knelt down besides Dean. "Keys?" Dean handed them to her, and she walked out of the room. Once she was out of sight, however, she broke into a run, tearing up the stairs. She propped the door open with a box before hurrying out to the car.
She propped open the trunk and stuffed the large blue and brown tarp under her arm before closing it again. Then she returned to the building.
...
Sam had cleaned off the axe. "Thanks." He took the tarp, laid it out, then rolled the body onto it. "Can you grab the head for me?"
Alex bit her lip. "Yeah." She picked up Leshi's head, holding it up to look into it's eyes. "Ugh. So not sexy."
Dean laughed from where he was leaning against a tree. Alex smiled ,then tossed the head onto the tarp. "She's going in the trunk, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I don't want her next to me." Alex helped Sam rolled the body up.
Dean pulled himself to his feet. "You clean up this, and we'll take the body out to the car."
"Yep." Alex handed him the keys, and watched as the Winchesters made their way off. She looked down at the blood stain on the gravel path. "Great." She muttered.
...
It took a good ten minutes, but she managed to clean it all up. She eventually ended up stuffing the bloodied rocks under the porch, and replaced them with the gravel in the bags against the far wall. Then she picked up the axe and put it over her shoulder. She picked up the two flashlights, and, with one glance back at the girl, still tied to the tree, made her way after the Winchesters.
They met on the stairs. "What about the girl?" Alex asked as she handed the axe to Sam.
"We'll call Sheriff Carnegie as soon as we clear out." Sam led them out of the museum.
...
As soon as they were on the road, Sam did as he promised. Dean drove them out of town, where they pulled off of the road near a largely wooded area. "Good place to bury a forest god," Alex said quietly.
Sam nodded, slightly solemn. "Yeah."
"Well, get digging." Dean dropped two shovels by her feet.
"Dean. The ground is frozen. There's two inches of snow."
"Go."
Alex grumbled, picking up the shovel.
"Just clear away the snow," Sam said. "We'll just burn her."
"We should give her some sort of a grave. If anything it'll keep her hidden for a while."
Sam frowned, then said, "Fine." He started scraping at the solid ground.
...
They stopped an hour later. Dean tossed the body into the two foot grave, then handed Sam the lighter fluid. Within a minute, the blaze of a fire warmed the air. Alex held out her hands, shifting closer to the grave. It was warm.
...
As the flames died, Dean started kicking the dirt back into the grave. "Let's get back to the motel," he grumbled. "I've had enough for the night."
Sam grunted in agreement, picking up a shovel to help. It wasn't long before the burned bones were covered. As Sam rolled up the tarp, Alex kicked snow around, trying to cover up the obvious evidence of a grave.
Dean tapped her on the shoulder. "Let's go."
They did.
...
They slept long into the morning. Alex was awaken by Dean, who was laying next to her. He rolled onto his stomach, and Alex sat up, looking at the clock. It was nearly ten. Sam was gone, his bed was made. Dean stirred. "Where's Sam?" he mumbled.
"Dunno." As Alex spoke, Sam stepped through the door, already dressed. "Hey."
"Hey." Sam met her gaze calmly. "How'd you sleep?""
"Good." Alex got up. "Breakfast?"
"We'll get some on the road." Dean got up as well, still in the clothes from last night. He pulled off his bloodstained jacket, putting on a new one. His phone rang, and he stared at it for a second before answering. "Get packed."
Alex already was. She grabbed her bag and hurried into the bathroom where she changed. Then she threw on her shoes and went out to the car. Alex threw her bag into the trunk, leaning against it, waiting. The air was warm, at least 30 degrees.
Sam and Dean stepped out a minute later, crossing the parking lot to reach the Impala. "Uh-huh," Dean was saying. "Alright. Thank you." He hung up. "Sheriff Carnegie," he told Sam. "Danielle's gonna be alright. She's sworn off The Simple Life, but other than that—"
"Glad she's okay."
"Sheriff's put out an APB on Paris Hilton." Dean chuckled. "That ought to be good." He unlocked the trunk, and both he and Sam threw their bags into the trunk. He looked up at his brother. "Hey, listen. I've been thinking about what you said yesterday. About keeping too tight a leash on you."
Sam looked at him, confused, but ready for a fight.
Dean continued. "Hell, maybe you're right. I mean, look, I'm not Mister Innocent in this whole thing either, you know. I broke the first seal."
"You didn't know."
"Yeah, well, neither did you." When Sam looked down, Dean added, "I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but you did kill Lilith."
"And started the Apocalypse."
"Which neither of us saw coming." Dean looked over at Alex for support. "I mean, who'd have thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing?" He paused, letting out a breath. "The point is, I was so busy watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you." He paused again. "So, for that, I'm sorry."
Sam nodded. "Thanks."
Dean closed the trunk, pulling out the keys. "So where do we go from here?"
"The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this."
Alex frowned. "I don't like things with only one shot," she pointed out. "So it better be good."
Dean agreed. "Let's here it."
"Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same for you and Michael, maybe there's no changing that. But we can stop writing our hands over it. We gotta just grab whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting."
Alex shrugged. "Works for me."
Sam glanced over at Alex, but his gaze returned to Dean. "Okay. But we gonna have to do this on the same level."
Dean nodded, grinning. "You got it." He walked over to the drivers seat. "Now let's get the hell out of here."
"Let's go someplace warm." Alex hopped into the backseat.
Sam started to walk to his side of the car, but Dean stopped him with a, "Hey." He held out the keys. "You want to drive?"
Sam looked at the keys. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I could, uh . . . I could use a nap."
Sam smiled, taking the keys. Dean slid over to the passenger side, and Sam got behind the wheel. Alex leaned forward. "You sure this is safe?" she whispered to Dean.
"Course." Dean pushed her away, leaning his head back, eyes closed. "Go read or something."
Alex huffed, falling back on her seat. The car started, and Sam drove them away.
...
So, after rereading this chapter last night, I realized that there was a lot of flirting with Sam. Huh.